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onlyswan · 2 months

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summary: in which you want to turn back the clock and jungkook wants you to stay.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / angst, fluff / word count: 5.8k

content/warnings: mistreatment of service workers / oc felt inappropriately touched by a customer (only mentioned in passing) / (oc works part-time in a restaurant) (then quits) / another dive into oc’s lore / allusion to death / grief grief grief / lots of crying :( / jk wants to move in together :") / mention of s*x (24/7=heaven?) / mention of period blood (they’re in diff contexts js to be clear lol) / u will get pissed and cry and laugh it’s fun <3

playlist! knees - iu ; chinese satellite - phoebe bridgers ; love wins all - iu

> in which masterlist

note: contains lil flashblacks from the giving up drabbles ^^ can be found in the timeline masterlist above this incase u haven’t read them and want to ^^ listen to love wins all when jungkook tells oc to wear their seatbelt (trust me). tried to encapsulate the epiphany of oh. everything’s going to be okay because i am loved when i’m at my lowest. as always reblogs & feedback are appreciated :") come chat!!

—

the rusty swing-set creaks as you unsteadily swing back and forth, staring lifelessly at your white socks and shoes stained with burnt orange. you look up to the sky but the moon and the stars are shrouded by the clouds. not even your favorite snack can poison your sadness with optimism. mouthful of bungeoppang, but you taste nothing, and every swallow only adds to the heaviness weighing on your chest.

your shift should be ending by now, which means you probably should be heading home, but your limbs have given up and refuses to move.

jungkook’s special ringtone ceaselessly disrupts the night scene’s quiet, but there’s no point in answering his calls when you know no words would come out of you.

“are you an imbecile?! you can’t understand basic instructions?!”

“ma’am, i’m so sorry. i’ll take it back and give you the right ord-”

“we’re fucking starving! move faster!”

you flinch as the bowl collides with the tiled floor, producing an ear-splitting sound that reverberates throughout the entire restaurant. you want to give the woman the benefit of the doubt and believe that she just shoved the bowl a little too harshly due to her frustration, but you have a hand over your mouth not due to shock, but the inexplicable pain of having your skin burnt by the piping hot soup… and she’s just… there.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry! please understand. she’s just in a bad mood. she’s not- she’s not usually like this.”

you stand on your spot, frozen and speechless, as her husband profusely apologizes. you’re only jolted out from trance when you feel him wiping your legs with crumpled tissue papers, a little too farther up for your comfort. a fleeting tug-of-war ensues when you forcefully rip them away from his hands. you thank him despite not meaning it.

you grip the edge of your skirt as you sit on your heels, picking up the broken shards of glass scattered across the floor. a concerned co-worker swoops in with a broom and you instantly jump the opportunity to save yourself from the mortifying stares, mumbling another thank you as you take your leave.

“you said table six.”

“____, i’m sorry. that was a fault on my part.”

your manager observes your current state. his stare lingers at your feet.

“but they don’t know that! she literally burnt me!”

“look, we don’t have to take this too far. it couldn’t have been that hot. we can see you’re still walking.” his condescending tone makes you feel so small, but it fuels the anger inside of you. “you don’t have to pay for the damages, so let’s just put this behind us.”

you gasp in disbelief, and it borders on a laugh. you feel crazy. you can’t believe this is actually happening to you. he can’t be fucking serious.

the workers in the kitchen remain quiet as tension arises, minds a tornado of thoughts but mouths remaining shut in fear of getting on the bad side of their superior.

“well you…” you hastily strip off your apron, bunching it up into one big ball. “don’t have to pay me anymore, because i fucking quit! i hope this place burns down!”

and you ensure that it hits him on the face before you turn around to march out of the kitchen. on the way out of the restaurant, you nonchalantly grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting off the cap as you push the door open. you leave a wet trail behind your steps as you pour the cold water over your feet, a poor attempt to soothe the sharp pain of the injury.

you know it will be alright eventually; you will heal, but this… this is leaving a permanent scar on your dignity.

with a vexed groan, you retrieve your vibrating phone from your pocket.

LAST EVICTION NOTICE— you do not even bother reading the rest of the words that come after that.

“fuck!” you scream, throwing the bottle at the nearest wall, hands coming up to your hair to roughly pull in frustration. the heels of your palm dig into your eyes and your knees give way to the ground. “this is a nightmare.”

it dawns on you that you’ve finally arrived at a surface on the rock bottom that you so awfully dread. you find yourself standing here— infront of the atm machine, staring blankly at the large number displayed on the screen. this money isn’t yours. this didn’t come from your blood, sweat, and tears. it’s an amount that you’re supposed to accept as a payment for the eulogies you had to deliver. you swore you would never do this, but desperate times come when you’re forced to swallow your pride and allow it to rot you from the inside.

you’re once again faced with the ugly difference between surviving and living.

you grab the cash, hastily pushing them inside the pocket of your jacket as if you’re being burnt by them. you feel so nauseous; if only emptying your stomach would untangle its knots.

you don’t need anything from anyone. this is the first and the last time, you swear to yourself in place of your defeated oath.

you don’t want jungkook to see you like this, helpless and hollow, the antonym of the sun he willingly flew too close to. you look pathetic seeking for solace in an abandoned playground, unfortunate soul stuck at fifteen, in denial of the passage of time.

but there goes your lover running towards you, calling out your name, and you begin praying for yourself to disappear into thin air.

much to your disappointment, no wiser being grants your plea, and now you have a man tucking you in his safe embrace, uncaring of his knees being bruised by the ground.

does he need to surprise you when you least anticipate his presence?

“i’ve been looking everywhere for you! i went to pick you up at the restaurant but they told me that you quit! what happened?”

he pulls away, tenderly cupping your cheeks in his warm hands.

“was it your boss again? it’s him, isn’t it? what did he do?”

jungkook dies a little inside. your glassy eyes study his face, a clear picture of distress and concern, but at the same time, they seem so far away… like you’re not certain if you’re truly here.

you unconsciously squirm— your feet retract themselves, escaping underneath the swing; and your ankles twist, and twist, one hiding behind the other.

this doesn’t feel like being stripped naked.

you feel like you’re being turned inside out.

“what’s wrong? baby…” he utters sadly as tears drip from your lashes—one by one— even they are lost and hesitant.

your distant stare remains.

he doesn’t know if you’re even aware that you’re crying. it’s a frightening sight and he doesn’t know what else to do. he holds you in his arms but you feel too stiff for this to be comfortable. the time passes, and he lets it do so in silence.

he waits for you to come back to him.

he waits, and waits, and waits.

“jungkook… i want to go home.”

“okay. i’ll bring you home, baby.” he strokes your hair, breathing out in relief. “yours? or mine?”

only for his world to crumble into pieces.

“my mom…” you whisper, breathless, releasing yourself from his embrace. “i want to be with my mom.”

and only then does he see traces of emotions written on your face.

“i miss my mom so much.”

the crack of your voice gives him an opening to catch a glimpse of your heart, that is but a mosaic of broken parts. pain, grief, longing… the past two years haven’t been enough to make him well-acquainted with the anatomy of your afflictions. he has only witnessed you speak of your family with a proud and affectionate beam; old stories that spark the agent of joy. and despite knowing that you must’ve been battling your pain all these years all alone, he couldn’t bring himself to meddle with how you handled your grief. however, if he’s going to be completely truthful, he was terrified of this— of seeing you so unmoored and broken. his pain is no comparison. quite frankly, it is an insult to yours.

“i miss her so, so, so much. what do i do? i…” you sobs become uncontrollable, overcome by the weight of the world crashing down on you.

how is it possible that you feel nothing and too much at the same time? is what you would often ask before, but today you realize that your pain simply goes beyond what any of your human parts is able to fathom.

“this is too hard… it’s too tiring. i can’t- i can’t. i don’t want to be here anymore. i’m always so scared. i don’t know what i’m doing anym-”

“shh, shhh, baby- baby, breathe for me-”

“how did my life end up like this? i don’t understand! the world- it’s so cruel- i can’t stand it.”

jungkook wipes away your tears, but it’s no use. once you break down, it becomes impossible to remedy. nonetheless, that doesn’t deter your boyfriend from trying. he gathers your weeping and trembling vessel in an attempt to glue you back together, and in while doing so, he also wills himself to be strong for you.

“why did she have to go after them and leave me all alone here? am i not her child too?”

the obtuse questions you’ve been too afraid to ask out loud are being brought out in the open, spilling out from the torn seams of your soul as they’ve become too agonizing to annihilate over and over and over again.

you know the answer. you know she didn’t want to leave.

but you can’t help but to be angry at the fact that her heart gave up. you don’t understand why it had to happen and why you’re being grinded in the mouth of the world.

“i’m tired, i’m so tired. it’s so unfair… i need her with me too…”

jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, gently rocking your tangled bodies — a defense mechanism. you’re succumbing to defeat as if it’s been long overdue; even your voice is giving up on you.

if he had to imagine, the earth must have shared his current dread when it witnessed a solar eclipse for the first time, wired to assume the worst of perpetual darkness.

“jungkook…”

your weak fists desperately grasping at the fabric of his hoodie— the final thread you are hanging on. your words break into stutters and hiccups, salty tears slipping past your lips and stirring their bitter taste.

“i just want to go and be my mom’s child again.”

and he would truly fucking hate to try and get into the implication of your words, but if jungkook is going to be completely truthful— he is terrified beyond words can say. of this; of witnessing you slip away from everything you’ve ever known; of losing you. maybe he’s being selfish, but whatever it takes, he will make you stay.

he swallows the lump in his throat, hurriedly drying his eyes with his sleeve before facing you.

“listen to me, okay…?” his voice isn’t enough to pull your head from underwater; he lightly taps your cheek, even though it breaks his heart. “hey, hey, hey. look at me, baby- look at me.”

he searches for your eyes, begging them to focus on him. and it’s silly, what he does next, pressing a kiss to your lips as if this is a fairytale. but then it works— you tilt your head to subtly nuzzle your cheek against his palm— and he has to quickly recover from being taken aback. you effortlessly make a slave out of his heart.

“you never stopped being her child. and that will never happen! because even with them being gone, you haven’t stopped trying your best to be a good child and older sibling to them. i… i’m a witness to that. every single day. are you hearing me?”

can he get some sort of sign whether he is doing this right or wrong?

“you’re not alone here because you have me. you do know that, right?”

and you want to believe him… you do. but just like how you’re clinging onto him right now for dear life, you can’t forget how you had to beg him to stay.

“so stop working all these jobs! please, i’m begging you! it must also break your mom’s heart to see you torturing yourself like this. it’s not healthy! just focus on studying and let me take away your burdens, please?”

you stop breathing; your features soften like you’ve made it out of a nightmare.

“jungkook…”

“let’s live together, baby.” he sounds sure; he sounds steady, but the waver of his eyes beseeches you. “you’ve been so good to me, even when i didn’t deserve it. please… let me love you in my own way too.”

“stop. i told you… i’m still thinking about it.” you say meekly, avoiding his intense gaze. “i mean, let’s be honest. what would your family even think of me? your aunt already hates me. what if she uses this to prove that she was right about me and-”

“fuck what everyone else thinks. i couldn’t care less.”

the reminder of the disrespect you were subjected to because of him has him seething all over again. his jaw clenches in anger, and he feels obligated to take a deep breath so he can keep himself composed. growing up, he was always taught to be the bigger person, but he simply can’t implore himself to do that if it means turning a blind eye to your hurt.

“i won’t let her get away with that type of bullshit so don’t even bother thinking about her anymore. i’ll take care of it. we can’t let that get into our heads. right, baby? we said that?” his thumb caresses your cheek softly, and you hold on to his wrist, silent as you try to understand him through the thick haze clouding your mind. “i want to be with the person i love. how could that be so wrong?”

you slowly shake your head in response, a little hesitant.

“i won’t leave again. no matter how hard you push me away, i will stay within your reach.”

and here he is, kneeling infront of you, seeking to make true of what he solemnly vowed to you.

are you going to take this away from him? after everything you’ve gone through together?

he is the only thing you have left to lose.

“i love you.” you whisper, initiating the hug this time.

you’re holding him tight, like you don’t ever want to let go, and it brings jungkook to the brink of tears once more.

“i love you so much.”

he sweetly kisses your cheek, but when you pull away to give him that look, a wordless command for more, his lips finally meet yours for the first time in forty-eight hours. they slowly curve into a smile, not at all surprised that he’s tasting sugar. he’d go through hell and back to experience this kind of kiss one time, only to do it all over again.

“let’s go home?”

you blink at him cluelessly. you don’t know why he’s wearing a dimpled smile out of the blue, neither do you know which home he is referring to. nevertheless, you intertwine your fingers with his, choosing to save yourself from this forlorn neverland.

there’s just… one teeny… tiny problem…

“shit,” you mutter to yourself, freezing on your tracks.

“what’s wrong?”

you awkwardly glance down at your shoes, the origin of the squeaky sound that was impossible to be missed by your ears. after inspecting you from head to toe, a worried expression morphs on his face, and you can only show him a shy wince in response.

“i don’t want to make your car dirty.”

“baby…”

his chest feels so much heavier. he is nearly blinded with red. he wants to scream and be infuriated. what the fuck happened back there?

you merely shrug, sending him a forced smile. “do you still have those extra slippers?”

—

“jungkook, i can do it myself.”

he clicks his tongue, his hand around your calf gripping. “stay still!”

you watch him from the passenger seat, your legs dangling from the edge as he carefully takes off your shoes and socks, yet again kneeling on the ground.

“does it hurt a lot?”

“not… a lot.” you answer through gritted teeth.

perhaps the stinging never did quell; it was just pushed to the back of your mind when more painful things surfaced succeeding it.

“who did this to you, huh? i need to go back there and make them pay! what kind of decent human being would do that?!”

“a miserable woman in a miserable marriage.”

in her eyes, you may be naive and she, the decades old wiser— but who is the one with a lover who would wash not their dirty hands, but their feet that have walked a million miles?

“i feel bad for her.” you comment absentmindedly.

you’re too far deep in awe watching jungkook gingerly clean your bare feet with his hands and a bottle of cool water, doing what you were meant to do earlier, if only granted that you weren’t erupting with rage.

“____, you’re too nice.”

“you’re too nice.” you argue. “also, those shoes are hopeless. just throw them away.”

he glances at you with fondness, shaking his head as he softly pats you dry with a clean towel. you stifle a gasp. it’s no longer as bad as before, but your skin still feels warm and raw. this wasn’t in the job description. you decide that you can practice empathy, as well as your strong belief in karma, at the same time. at this moment, you hope that the universe is already crafting tricks up its sleeve, because you’re in a world of fucking pain.

“there you go. wait until we get off the car before you wear the slippers, alright? and you’re not allowed to wear tight shoes.”

he rises to his feet, not wasting the opportunity to steal a kiss.

“yeah, it was wildly uncomfortable.” you mumble against his lips, tugging at his collar to properly respond to his display of affection. “thank you.”

“wear your seatbelt.” his eyes shines with a glint of with uncontainable excitement. “we’re going home.”

—

you stir as jungkook gently shakes your body awake, his muffled voice gradually becoming clearer as you gain your consciousness.

“wake up, baby. we’re here.”

you tiredly rub off the sleep from your swollen eyes, discovering your boyfriend waiting for you where the door of the passenger seat should be.

“let’s get you some more rest.” he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, before standing aside to make way for you, offering his hand as a gentleman.

you must still be dreaming. you assumed he would bring you to his apartment, but you do not recognize this place. this is a different parking space, a different parking lot.

“um… t-this is…” you stumble on your words, feeling lost. “where are we?”

“home,” he smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and turn them into little crescent moons.

you must still be dreaming. the clock attached to a nearby pillar strikes midnight, and unbeknownst to you, a brand new day awaits beyond the dark and empty sky.

you were so thoroughly convinced that you’ve been living a life past the point of salvation… but life stands before you overflowing with hope and glowing with ardor.

you take his hand and allow him to whisk you away to another world.

—

this is beginning to feel real, jungkook thinks as he presses the elevator button. earlier’s excitement becomes interweaved with nervousness. he’s a little dizzy as the giant box ascends. if you feel his hand’s growing clamminess, you don’t show it, your clasp still as firm as before.

“you bought another house…”

“hmm, but this one is a secret.” a confession that is yours truly. “this one is ours.”

your eyes wordlessly speak with each other. neither of you imagined following your hearts could materialize your future plans to the present time. what goes beyond dreaming of beautiful things is still foreign to the both of you, but jungkook is here, willing to free fall with you.

the elevator dings.

he guides you through a well-lit hallway, to a door, and you pay close attention as he punches in the passcode— another set of numbers you ought to have memorized alongside birthdays and anniversaries and id numbers.

your heart races but everything else moves in slow motion. the door opens and you get swallowed by the need to remember every moment so vividly as if you’re reliving it.

the first time you set foot into your own apartment,, the empty space daunted you despite its modest dimensions. however, right now, your head is tracing half of a circle, from left to right, just to study this large space in its entirety— and all you can think about are the endless possibilities forming intimate images of a sanctuary in your head— a place where fears and sadness can co-exist with tenderness and joy.

beside you, jungkook patiently holds your hand.

“this one is ours…” you repeat the words, more so to convince yourself, and they drip with disbelief.

you follow his lead as he walks to the other half of the room, bare feet sliding across the floor.

“this is the living room, and the other side is the kitchen.”

he faces you with a wide grin, the kind he wears when he wants to tell you something he is proud of.

“i was thinking that if we get a big television bolted on the wall…”

he gestures to the blank canvas, letting go of your hand to draw an invisible rectangle on the air with his arms fully outstretched.

“then we can easily watch even from the kitchen.”

he puffs up his chest, side-eyeing you expectantly.

“genius, right?”

“and greedy.” you blink. “i don’t think that’s safe to do while you’re cooking.”

“but i’ll be very, very careful!”

“that’s the bare minimum when you’re holding a knife.”

“okay! i look forward to arguing with you about that on a different day!”

his enthusiasm doesn’t waver. in fact, it is fueled. how could it not? when you’re starting to sound exactly like a couple who lives together?

he captures your wrist and tugs you towards the other side of the room, but you pull him back with a noise of protest.

“are we not going to address…” you hang on to your words, eyes wandering to the floor where there are signs of living. “whatever is going on here?”

a single mattress with a single pillow; a folded blanket neatly sitting on top of it. surrounding them are bottles of water, a laptop, a speaker, and a basket of what you assume are skincare products.

“i’ve been sleeping here lately…”

“i can see that.”

“i didn’t want to buy furnitures yet while you haven’t given me an answer… i just thought that if we’re living together, then we should decide on those things as a couple.”

…he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…”

his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh.

“going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

jungkook feels your stare. oblivious of your thoughts reigning chaos, he tilts his head in question.

how long has he been planning this?

“you okay?”

you blink away the tears brimming your eyes. you shake your head, clinging to his arm. “where were you taking me?”

“this is the kitchen!”

a smile of contentment graces your lips. you’re guilty of admiring the pure, unadulterated joy on jungkook’s face instead of what he is passionately endorsing to you.

“this is the fridge!” he presents to you, swinging the door open. “but there’s nothing inside.”

“what are you saying? there is something.”

the two of you peer at the green can of soda, chilsung cider, left at a far corner. the refrigerator light casts over your curious faces.

“oh, that’s still there?”

the animated sound of your giggles prompts him to look at you, and he couldn’t be more glad to be laughing with you again, bellies aching at the same time.

“do you want it?”

“it’s not peach.”

“let’s move on then!”

there are cups of ramyeon and packs of dried seaweed on the countertop, the photo of his dinner that he sent last night still vivid in your memory. your hand daintily brushes across the white marble, stealing a feel as jungkook drags you to a new space.

“this is the second kitchen and laundry room!”

he waits for a reaction as you survey the room and its overhead cabinets.

“it’s not supposed to be the pantry…? eh, you know what? cooking and doing laundry are more of your thing so you can have them however you want.”

you turn on your heel to walk away, and jungkook follows behind you, celebrating his victory by punching the air and whisper-shouting a yeah!

“what’s here?”

you reach another hallway beside the living room.

“what’s here?” he zooms past you to open a door. “bathroom. there’s a bathtub! but i still need to install grip bars so no one will slip.”

he needs to stop saying things that make you want to make him your husband on the spot.

“and we have my favorite part! the master bedroom, of course!” he swings the door open on the other side. “where else would we spend the most time in?”

“wow, really? i thought you were also endorsing the living room as the bedroom.” you jokingly quirk an eyebrow.

“nonsense!” he cheekily chides you. “you deserve better than that.”

you take a step, peeking inside the empty room that you estimate to be as twice as larger than yours. you can’t say that you care so much about its size, because behind the white curtains, you reel at the prospect of the natural light shining over your face every time you wake up. your mornings have been gloomy since you arrived at seoul four years ago.

he sneaks his arms around your waist, your back resting against his chest, and your being feels so light you might just begin floating when he lets go.

“let’s stay like this for a while.”

“okay,” he puts his chin on top of your shoulder, his soft smile becoming permanent.

the two of you stand at the bedroom’s doorway; the cusp of what could be your entire lives.

“what’s that other room?”

“which one?”

“i don’t know. i see it from the side of my eye.”

he cackles at your humorous nonchalance. “i have more to show you. there’s a guest room… if we decide it to be.”

“cute. i have somewhere else to sleep when i’m mad at you.”

“that’s fine,” he replies after a beat of silence. “at least i’d know where to find you.”

“don’t make me change my mind.”

he cries out your name childishly, burying his face by the crook of your neck. he hugs you tighter. he wants to sleep every night drowning in the sweet scent of your hair. if he had to choose, it would be the most peaceful way to go.

“we have a walk-in closet too!”

“i expected nothing less.” you giggle, not a stranger to his lifestyle. “what’s exciting is that we can finally have a big bed.”

“but i like our small beds.”

“cuddling isn’t all that fun during the summer. trust me, you’d eventually want space.”

“nuh-uh! that’s what aircons are for!”

you roll your eyes at his persistence. “then why did you choose such a huge apartment if you wanted a small bed?”

“so we can have all the space to slow-dance to love songs.”

jungkook, ever the charmer. the butterflies in your stomach come alive beneath his embrace.

“why are you suddenly quiet?” he laughs. “was that too cheesy?”

“no!”

“really?” he spins you around, and heat creeps to your cheeks when he leans in so close that you can perfectly distinguish the brown in his eyes. “so have you given it more thought?”

“given what more thought?”

“there’s nothing to be scared of. it’s only the two of us here, see?” he tells you like overeager puppy. “will you move in with me?”

if this is a dream, you wish to never wake up from it. to have a person care for you this deeply and unconditionally, you want to believe that you have done something right to deserve it.

“i just don’t think you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

his eyebrows knit together in defense. “what does that mean?”

“the thing is… yeah, sex 24/7 and cuddling and having first times together, that sounds amazing and all… but living with me would probably drive you crazy.”

a tired yawn almost interrupts the end of your sentence, and you cover your face out of courtesy. you sniffle and wipe your teary eyes with the back of your hand.

“i’ve lived on my own for so long. i’m messy and clumsy and i’m used to having everything my way… i mean… i’m willing to compromise, but i can’t promise i won’t be insufferable as hell about it.”

“ah, seriously! you scared me for nothing!” he exclaims, throwing his head back with a groan. “baby, i’ve been living with six other men for the past decade. you know that there was a time when we even slept together in one small room. can you imagine how that must’ve been like for a bunch of teenage boys…? you? messy? think about it again. living with you can’t possibly get worse than that. you don’t have to worry about me! really, i can take it! watch me!”

“but i bleed every month.”

“i’m a man. seeing a little blood doesn’t faze me.”

you make a face. “it’s actually a lot.”

“yah, why are you acting like we haven’t been together for two years?”

“it’s different living together!”

“it’s only natural! i don’t care!”

a noise of complaint bubbles in your throat when he shakes you by your shoulders, coaxing you with an whiny “please baby.”

your chest deflates in defeat. “sure, i guess… as long as we have the big bed, and the slow-dancing-”

“done!” he doesn’t waste his breath, not keen on wasting this opportunity. “anything you want, you have it!”

you narrow your eyes. “and i’ll keep my tutoring job.”

“will you punch the next guy that insists you study at his dorm for me?”

“or i can just keep saying no firmly, baby boy.”

and with that pet name, he instantly folds. “okay.”

“okay?”

“okay, since that’s the only one that you genuinely like.”

“you-” your teeth unconsciously finds your bottom lip to dig into, and you inhale sharply. “…you really love me, don’t you?”

suddenly, you’re raising your voice and waving your hands in the air. you’re feeling too many emotions at once; it’s like when you mix all the colors in a palette and end up creating black. you’re angry and happy and you may be fucking crying again.

“you were just picking up speakers one night and a pretty stranger offers you some boring food and now you want to be stuck with me forever?”

your fist throws a restrained punch to his chest, shoving him backwards.

“oh my god, you’re so stupid!”

jungkook finds this too amusing, tries to hide that he is enjoying this but a smirk is plastered on his face.

“you are loved by so many,” he brushes away the hair that has fallen over your eyes. he tucks them behind you ears and tenderly holds your face in his warm hands. “but i’m confident that i love you the most.”

you are the muse in his dreams. your perfume clings to his clothes. you make him the happiest man on the planet and your pain torments him. what is this, if not love?

“and if that makes me the stupid one? then so be it.”

“when did it become a competition?”

“since you got yourself a competitive boyfriend!”

“okay, fine! let’s make it my fault!”

you throw your arms around his neck, peppering kisses all over his face until he’s an uncontainable giggling mess.

“i’m drowning in kisses! nobody help!”

and you hope you’re hugging him close enough that he can feel the love and gratitude flowing through your veins. your eyes flutter shut, and you sigh— tranquility triumphs over chaos.

“are you falling asleep standing up again?”

“no!” you blatantly lie, drawing back with innocence masking your drowsiness. “we still need to go online shopping!”

“what are we buying?”

your face lights up. “appliances first?”

“appliances?” he cheerfully says. “sure! let’s get you new shoes too!”

as he gets dragged to the living room where his laptop is, he mumbles something with an enamored expression. “i should keep working hard.”

—

“yah, why are looking at me like that?” jungkook chuckles upon feeling your poorly concealed stare, diverting his attention away from the laptop over his stomach. “i’m the real deal. the tv is over there, on the screen.”

“just because…”

you snuggle closer to his side, heart fluttering when his arm that is your pillow moves to also hold you. you don’t really mind a small bed. this is the most favorable consequence a nuisance could have.

“i feel sorry.”

“sorry? for what?”

“because i made you sad, didn’t i? i hate that so much.” you sniffle, hand coming up to pat his cheek affectionately. “i know it must be hard for you too.”

“you’re the one who’s in a lot of pain.” he means to firmly speak, but the tremble of his voice rudely refuses to cooperate. “how could you even think of me feeling sad?”

“because i love you. of course i always think of you.” you argue, bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “i can’t do that now?”

he sighs. “you know that’s not what i meant.”

a kiss is planted on your forehead— tender and cherishing.

“let’s be happy, baby.”

the sharp edges of jungkook’s fears are eroded in a way. in a universe that relentlessly challenges you to be optimistic, your heart that is well-versed in loving continues to rise above it all.

you echo his words wistfully. “let’s be happy.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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wonwoonlight · 5 months

Text

take a chance / jeon wonwoo

Wonwoo x Reader // 1.7k words // nothing but fluff lol they're idiots

a/n: if you cant tell im absolutely insane abt this wonwoo. 100000% self indulgent and 100% not proofread as always ehe <3 v lowkey inspired also by niki - take a chance with me

He drives me crazy, it's so beyond me

How he'd look at me dead in the eye and stay unaware

Niki - Take A Chance with Me

[☆]

Wonwoo has never really been interested in romance.

When he was six and his friends started talking about girls were icky, he couldn't have cared enough to even think about girls in particular.

When he was fourteen and his close cousin who was practically his big brother told him about his first girlfriend, Wonwoo had simply nodded and congratulated him because the older guy looked like he was waiting for it even though he didn't get what's there to congratulate.

When he was seventeen and another cousin got married, he thought a little about what it'd be like to commit yourself for the rest of your life to another person.

Anyhow, now he's twenty seven and still pretty much free from the dating experience.

He just simply couldn't be bothered to try nor was he even curious enough to try.

There's too much risk. Too much things to do. Too many factors to think about. It's too complicated and Wonwoo has never been a fan of complicated.

Sure, the older he gets the more he understands about the attraction and whatnot. But the few dates that he has been on (which he could count with his two hands) was entirely due to his friends setting up with someone and his inability to say no the second time even though he did reject their so-called-help the first time around.

They eventually get the hint and stop setting Wonwoo up on a blind date.

He never sees romance as a necessity and he doesn't feel the need to have a partner, what is there more to say?

“I lost the floor 12 Abyss again.” You pout, half tempted to throw away the joystick in your hands. “I'm never playing this game again, I'm telling you.”

Wonwoo chuckles and tells you to move as he slides next to you, taking the joystick away and getting ready to restart your game.

“You just suck at this.” He teases, not minding your glare because he's way too used to it at this point. “And you say that everytime but here you are, still playing.”

“Shut up.” You pout, both impressed and unimpressed at the way he easily goes through the stages.

“Done.” He grins, all nine shining stars looking back at you.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don't.”

“I do!” You take back the joystick from him and close the window. “You don't even play this game! This is bullshit!”

He laughs under his breath and ruffles your hair, saying something about how he can't help being good at it.

You like that side of Wonwoo, as you often tell him, because people have always said that Wonwoo is quiet–that he doesn't talk a lot and it could be awkward being left alone with him.

And whilst it's not entirely untrue and you've been there too, you also know that Wonwoo is much more than his lack of words.

Wonwoo talks a lot once he's comfortable. You just need to be very patient and understanding about his silence before he gets there.

You… have been plenty patient, amongst other things.

You're patient enough to get where you are even though you've never imagined you'd get here.

Here, meaning being close enough with Wonwoo for him to be comfortable with you that he doesn't mind inviting you over to his place with no other companies.

Here, meaning being close enough with Wonwoo for him to not mind the fact that you like him and not act weird about it.

Here, meaning being close with Wonwoo despite the fact that you've confessed to him about your feelings but you're still here in his place, right next to him with not a single air of awkwardness between you two.

Turning off the Playstation, you settle on Wonwoo's sofa and decide to scroll through Instagram instead. You sigh, catching his attention, and when he asks you what's wrong, you simply shake your head no.

“What are you sighing about this time?”

This is something that people don't know about Wonwoo either: he prods when it comes to people he cares about.

Granted, he does it exactly three times to see if the other party would relent by then. He does that because that's how he is, he once tells you, because he rarely opens up at the first question but eventually cracks on the third time. That, by the third question, he's already had enough time to consider whether or not he really wants to talk about it.

“Nothing important.” You try to reassure him. “Just silly stuff.”

Wonwoo looks at you pointedly, but you simply smile and turn back to your phone, which he supposes means you don't feel like bringing it up just yet.

He closes his book and puts it on the coffee table, leaning closer to you to see what you're up to.

You wonder if Wonwoo knows what his action means to your poor, poor heart. If he's aware that, as much you said you're cool despite your confession, you still have romantic attractions towards him and confessing doesn't mean you're no longer affected by anything and everything he does.

After watching you go through your phone for a bit, it is quite easy for Wonwoo to realize what might be the core of your problem.

“You're thinking about why you're single again, aren't you?”

Your fingers freeze and so does your entire body, and Wonwoo would've laughed at how surprised you look right now, but he knows you're actually bothered by this problem from time to time though he doesn't exactly understand why.

And for someone who's observative and quite sensitive when it comes to things around him, Wonwoo can be a bit dense, still.

On what kind of universe does he think this topic would be okay to talk about with someone who literally confessed to you and somewhat got rejected though not explicitly?

“I don't want to talk about it.” You whine despite the fast beating of your heart. You honestly don't think you have it in you to talk about this with Wonwoo. At least not just yet.

“Why?”

You look at him, incredulous. “You know why.”

“Because you like me?”

You shrug, not wanting to deny it.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, voice very gentle and careful.

“What?”

“I'm sorry if this sounds insensitive.” You press your lips together as he starts. At least, he has the conscience to know that. “But… what is it about being in a relationship that appeals so much to you?”

You pause before you answer, wondering what to say. “Do you want me to actually answer that?”

“If you don't mind answering.”

Wonwoo wonders if he makes you uncomfortable by asking such question. But if there's anyone he can ask about this, it can only be you. No one else would answer it in a way that he would understand. No one else would give him the sincerity that you'd give in your answer.

He feels bad knowing you like him and still asking you like this. But he supposes you're both close enough for that discussion, that he doesn't want to let your feelings get in the way of your precious friendship.

Perhaps he's selfish, but he doesn't want to be too conscious when it comes to your relationship with him despite everything.

“I guess it's just the fact that someone's always there for you.” You start, not looking at him even though his gaze is locked at you. “That there's this person who… you can tell everything to, from your secrets to what you feel like eating today. That when you want to do something, you can always run to them first before wondering if anyone else is available. That–”

“But that's already how we are?” He cuts you off.

You stare at him wide-eyed, wondering if it's some kind of prank even though you know he's not that kind of person.

“That's already what I do with you.” He says one more time–more firm and somewhat determined with a hint of confusion. “Why do you think you're in my place so often?”

“I… I– I don't know? You're… bored? And I happen to be free?” You stutter a little, not used to the way he's staring at you.

“I am bored.” He agrees, things suddenly crystal clear in his eyes. “But I'm bored because I don't have you around. And I want you here. That's why I asked all the time if you're available.”

You open your lips to say something–anything, but nothing comes out because your heartbeat is ringing throughout your body right up to your ears.

“You're the only person I send those posts about places I want to visit because I want to visit with you. I don't send them to anyone else. I don't even like going out all that much.”

“I… I don't understand?”

“Are we in a relationship?” He asks rather bluntly, mixing all your feelings together with one single question.

“Wonwoo, I don't think this is how you should go around it–”

“Have we been dating all this time?” He asks one more time, not even seemingly nervous about it.

He looks at you like he's expecting an answer, but how are you supposed to answer that? You've simply been happy that you get to spend time with him. You didn't think for one second that he might be into you despite all the time he asks you to accompany him somewhere and all the time you're alone in his place.

“I've been too oblivious, haven't I?” He concludes by himself, your silence doesn't deter him at all.

He reaches for your cheek, and if he notices how warm your face is, he doesn't mention it. But he caresses the apple of your cheek as he looks at you with the gentlest reflection you've ever seen in his eyes.

“I'm sorry it took me too long.” He whispers, and you bite your lip so hard to hide your smile because you don't want to be too happy before anything's decided. You're not sure what he's trying to say, your head is spinning with thoughts and your heart is beating at an erratic rhythm. “Do you mind… letting me learn a bit more?”

“About what?” You whisper back.

“Being a good boyfriend?” He smiles when you do too, feeling warmth all over his chest at how shy you seem to be. “You know I've never done this before, right? Let me take a chance with you?

You finally let yourself grin at this, no longer able to control the happiness blooming within you at whatever this might mean.

And as you lean your face more into his palm, Wonwoo thinks he's ready to take all the risks that might come together with whatever the future has in store as long as he has you by his side.

#wonwoo fluff #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #khione.fics #seventeen au #seventeen scenario #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo oneshot #psa reminder that hes MINE

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starryknight-tarot · 8 months

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𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓬𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓱 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾

pile 1 -- > pile 2 pile 3 -- > pile 4

my masterlist<3 . paid readings Hello beautiful souls✨Today we will be looking what your celebrity crush would think of you if you met. This might be a little shorter cause it's just for the kicks and giggles but if you meet your celeb crush you will know how they think about you lol. Remember to meditate, take a deep breath and pick whatever pile calls to you the most. My readings are meant for everyone, no matter what sexuality or identity you are. Since this is a general reading, make sure to take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Pile 1 Cards: The Magician rx, Page of Wands, The Hierophant, Nine of Cups, Four of Swords, Four of Pentacles, The Star, Page of Cups Back of the Deck: Knight of Cups

Pile 1, I feel like your celebrity would really appreciate you. You may have liked this person for a really long time, like before they really blew up or even since the very beginning of their career. I feel like your celebrity crush acknowledges that they won't have anything of what they have now without people like you so if you were to meet, they would be really kind to you, I even just saw the imagery of someone kissing someone's hand so they may be very polite and like prince like(?). It's really cute it got me blushing lol. I feel like this meeting would be like a dream come true for you (obviously) but I feel like they may also be pretty excited to meet you and they would just find you pretty cute. I am getting that your celebrity crush would actually really like you, I feel like you would have a really nice conversation. I am being brought to a conversation I saw between the NCT member Ten and a fan that he was talking to over video call and I remember thinking to myself while watching their conversation, "Wow they are talking to each other like they are good friends or they already knew each other well.". I feel like you could have this kind of connection with your celebrity crush. Although, I do feel like your celebrity crush won't be able to look past the fan/celebrity aspect of your relationship. They know that there is a sort of power imbalance in your relationship or it may be that you will always just see them as this celebrity that is so cool and talented, and you may struggle to see the more human parts of them. You may also be a lot younger than them and they may see you in a more youthful way. For some of you, they want you to spend a little less time focusing on them and taking some time for yourself. But overall, they seemed to think you are pretty fun.

Advice Cards:

Make your presence felt You can if you think and believe you can Remember that in universal law, all is well and fair You are wiser than you think It's time to realize the blueprint of your soul Considerable and consistent effort may now be required You are greater than your story

Channeled Songs:

Pile 2 Cards: Knight of Cups, Nine of Swords, Six of Cups rx, Ten of Cups, The Sun, The Magician rx, Eight of Swords, Three of Pentacles rx Back of the Deck: Four of Pentacles

Ngl Pile 2, I'm picking up that your celebrity crush would be a little scared of you at first. For some of yall, you may come off pretty strongly and it might throw them off but I don't think thats for everyone (if yall are into the group TXT, there was this one girl that went up to Huening Kai at a fan sign and basically started throwing compliments at him and I'm sure he was flattered but it was A LOT, to the point that Beomgyu asked if she was a rapper cause she was speaking so fast, spirit keeps showing me this so I thought I would mention it lol) I am getting that they may be a kind of shy and timid person, even if they don't really seem like it and I feel like you have a really intense personality. I don't think this is in a bad way, it may be that you are loud, talkative, or just really energetic and I feel like this is a kind of energy your celebrity crush isn't used to. Their first impression of you just might be that they are nervous around someone with so much energy. I am also picking up for some of yall they are gonna feel shy cause they find you really attractive and they are afraid of making a fool out of themselves (aye go get em Pile 2). You may also have a pretty bold appearance (unique hair, colorful makeup, tattoos and piercings) and they may make certain assumptions about you from your looks but I feel like overall they are kinda blushing from your looks Pile 2. Yeah I feel like you would make them feel self conscious. Spirit keeps telling me that they would be learning a lesson from you(?). You would teach them an important lesson to nurture your inner child and to be authentically yourself. Your celebrity crush would see you as a really successful person, someone that is living life to the fullest. They see you as very independent and capable, like you could do anything you put your mind to.

Advice Cards:

A connection needs deeper attention You can manifest your heart's desire Give up resistance in your current situation Control is an illusion. Surrender and allow the Universe to guide you You are moving beyond your old form. Congratulations! Complete the project or task. Something is calling for closure

Channeled Songs:

Pile 3 Cards: King of Wands, Three of Swords, The High Priestess, Seven of Swords, The Lovers rx, Nine of Pentacles rx, The Magician rx, Two of Pentacles, Back of the Deck: Eight of Swords

Pile 3, you would straight up remind them of their ex. That message came out the strongest as I was shuffling. Spirit is telling me it's mostly because of how you look, you have a similar face structure or hair style to someone that they used to know (wonder what the channeled song is lol). You could also resemble another celebrity or person in their life and they can't help but see you as that person, I feel like they would accidentally say that person's name to you. I feel like after getting to know you, they would be REALLY interested in you, like probably more interested in you then you are in them. Like Pile 2, I feel like they would also be pretty self conscious around you, although I feel like this would be stronger than Pile 2 because they would really want you to like them. I heard "Senpai wants you to notice him."LMAO. I'm getting that your celebrity crush would actually think about you a lot, they may even have dreams about you right now (although I am hearing some of yall have been using some spells to make them think of you so if you have, this is confirmation that it is working). Honestly Pile 3, I picking up that your celebrity crush may have a lot of internal problems that they need to work on and if you knew them personally, I would advise you to distance yourself from them to give them time to work on themselves. I don't think your celebrity crush is a bad person at all, but they do got some stuff they need to work through. I am also picking up a small energy that some of yalls celebrity crush would see you really cool and chill, specially someone they would wanna play games with.

Advice Cards:

Be sure to keep your promises, especially to yourself Reflect on the state and use of your personal energy Give up resistance in your current situation Create a plan and take the first step A connection needs a deeper attention You may need to take a break from the situation or simply take a rest Spend some time in stillness to reflect

Channeled Songs:

Pile 4 Cards: The Chariot, The Fool rx, The Empress, Two of Wands rx, The Hierophant, Ace of Pentacles, Ace of Wands, Ten of Swords rx Back of the Deck: Page of Pentacles

Congratulations Pile 4, this is the only pile I pick up on romantic feelings lmao. It's pretty cute honestly. I feel like they would be pretty awe struck by you but OH MY GOODNESS Pile 4. All piles have kinda showed signs that they would find all physically attractive but this pile is on another level. The mixer of The Hierophant and Empress, I just see straight worship for you like yall. They are on their hands and knee for yall. Spirit is telling me if they could, they would make a whole statue or painting or some shit to show off your beauty. They be simping for you Pile 4. If you were talking, their attention is ON YOU, they are listening to every words. They see you as SO talent and smart Pile 4, they would feel like you have a lot of potential to do really amazing things, they would probably do everything in their power to help you out. Although, they would feel like they won't need to do anything cause you are just so powerful. Your celebrity crush would be at a loss of words around Pile 4. I am picking up some of yall are on the shy and quiet side but they would find it really cute. A very strong message from this reading is that they wouldn't want a conversation with you to end. Spending time with you, they wouldn't wanna go home. I am feeling that if you met, they would probably make a fool out of themselves and look stupid but it would come off as kinda cute. This is actually one of those rare moments when I actually don't see any negative energy from this Pile at all, this pile has a very comforting feeling, and they would probably feel that way around you. Comfy and cozy.

Advice Cards:

You need to make the first move Change is being introduced into your life Act on what you know A powerful dream will guide you The issue at hand is about reflection. What is the mirror showing you? A change in attitude toward the greater good could be beneficial

Channeled Songs:

(really felt like I needed to add literally any song called Attention but this one felt the best with the energy of the reading)

Thanks for tuning in₊‧.°.⋆🫧•˚₊‧⋆.

#tarot #tarot reading #pick a pile #tarot reader #pac tarot #pac reading #pick a card reading #pick a photo #advice #celebrity readings #celebrity tarot #spotify #celebrity crush #love tarot reading #Spotify

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sharkdoughnutz · 6 days

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it might've taken me over 3 months, but i've finally finished my own designs for the mane 6

my main thought process for designing them was to use a color from the rainbow! i had to look up colors and their meanings to determine which color should go to which pony

rainbow dash is red because she's the most fierce and bold. sidenote: her mane and tail color is actually white but she finds that boring so she dyes it, not her tail because i didnt like how it looked there

fluttershy is green because of nature and animals, pretty basic i know lol. also her pelt pattern is supposed to look like a deer's

applejack is blue only because i felt orange would fit rarity better, and yellow and purple were going to the other two remaining girls, so apple got stuck with blue but i tried my best to make it work for her. i think blue also means like maturity or smth similar so it works out anyways

pinkie pie is yellow because she's like the embodiment of happiness and joy so it made sense (also i had to use the pink color cuz there is no yellow color for the font)

twilight is staying purple mainly because of her previous life surrounded by royalty and the such, and also because purple is a main color in a twilight sky - orange is secondary so thats why she now has orange too

and finally, rarity is orange because of her creativeness, especially when it comes to fashion design; i think her design is my personal favorite.

i also tried to come up with creative cutie mark designs and i think i passed. though, the only one that isnt super obvious what its trying to represent is probably twilight's. basically i was going for a six pointed star (each point representing each girl) then it comes together in the middle by the white part to symbolize they all need each other or smth like that

i might get around to celestia and luna because i feel like they'll be fun to redesign, and maybe even spike or the cmc

#sharkz artz #character design #mlp redesign #mlp fim #rainbow dash #fluttershy #applejack #pinkie pie #twilight sparkle #rarity

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moondirti · 10 months

Text

7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts.

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel.

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them.

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between.

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?)

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this.

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing.

Deep space, your stars – your Sol.

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.)

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it.

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing.

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies.

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next.

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour.

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.)

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened.

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place.

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement.

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution.

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror.

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected.

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–”

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,”

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul?

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway.

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.”

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.”

“Whit is it this time?”

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?”

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame.

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?”

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?”

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression.

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time.

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come.

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws–)

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please.

Just this one thing.

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut.

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns.

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care.

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance.

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you.

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right.

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved.

Huh.

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology.

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh.

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it.

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side.

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like.

The day pass?

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse.

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds.

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him.

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion.

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should.

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple.

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you.

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?”

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”)

You really hate him sometimes.

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.”

He squints.

(Rightfully so.)

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass.

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve.

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero.

You hope that one day, you will too.

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues.

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief.

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.”

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?”

“You bet on my survival?”

“Silver linings!”

“Lyra.”

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.”

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving.

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?”

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.”

“Explain something to me, would you?”

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath.

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation.

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place.

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours.

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion.

Get a hold of yourself.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.”

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–”

“You can’t control your powers, can you?”

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options:

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit.

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here.

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again.

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.”

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously.

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?”

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.”

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud.

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference.

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,”

“There was a thing with a super-collider.”

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk.

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.”

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command.

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.”

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile.

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced.

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense.

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.”

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you.

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how.

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.”

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice.

chapter eight

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nevernonline · 3 months

Text

✧.* twenty-seven?; ksy

synopsis: you always wanted to be considered a ‘serious’ journalist, but to get the chance at moving up the ranks and getting to produce your own stories, you’re get an idea to do one final story and impress your boss, that’s where inspiration strikes with the one and only soonyoung.

part of my ninety minute movies one shot series. ♡︎

paring: hoshi x fem! reader.

genre: strangers2lvrs

warning/s:mentions of substances (alcohol, weed, cig, vape etc.) swearing, very bad jokes!, just fluffy and nice no seggsy time

word count: 8.4k

content: . non-idol idolings, some other svt members. hoshi is down bad fast xo.

note: my next little inspired movie writing is the icon that is 27 dresses. except instead of our female lead being the one in the wedding its my fav tiger (hamster) soony. I just love sappy cutie soonyoung so I apologize in advance. also unedited bc im a loser srry. it shouldn't be tew bad bc I tried to take my time lol. ily.

Finding a cozy spot at a table to the left of the bride and groom, you flipped open your notebook and started jotting down pin points on the decor, the flowers, the bride's beautiful flowing silk gown, and the way the groom looked at her with stars in his eyes.

The first dance song rang around the room gathering all the adorned looks of friends and family watching as another couple took the leap on spending the rest of their lives together.

A rocks glass was placed in front of your pen and paper as the chair next to her was suddenly filled with the stranger who put it there.

“Taking notes for your own wedding?”

“Oh. No, I'm doing a piece for the Daily on their wedding.”

“Are you y/n l/n by any chance?”

“I am. You’re familiar with me?”

“Yeah, just through the bride. She’s my sister. She talks about you nonstop. I’m Soonyoung, I was the one who contacted you.”

“I see. Nice to meet you. What’s the drink for?”

“Working hard, I figured you should at least enjoy yourself a little bit.”

“That’s nice. Thank you.”

Soonyoung stared at the girl across from him, trying to catch a peak at her notes seeing if she was painting this night in a perfect light.

You caught on and shut the book quietly, giving him a small wink as a shout it would be everything his sister wanted.

“What’s the drink?”

“A vodka soda, lemon.”

“So, you know my drink order? Thought you said you didn’t know who I was?”

“I saw you at a wedding a few weeks ago, my friend Seungkwan. I noticed your drink, that's all. That’s how I got your contact actually.”

“Lying on the first meet, a great sign. No wonder you look so familiar to me. You were the best man right? But blonde at the time?”

“My sister would’ve killed me if I was blonde at her wedding and sorry not lying just felt creepy admitting it.

“I liked it.”

Soonyoung laughed remembering the conversation he had with his sister about his hair.

“So what’s it like being in two weddings in one month, Soonyoung?”

“Actually I’m going to be in three. Next week my coworker is getting married. Which would make my wedding count twenty-six.”

“You’ve been to twenty-six weddings?”

“Yep. After next week anyway. What’s your wedding count?”

“Ones I’ve covered? Too many to count. Ones I’ve been in? Two I think. Both of my brothers are married. That’s about it.”

“So you cover weddings but aren’t married?”

Rolling your eyes at his unfiltered nature, you couldn’t help but feel like his question was out of curiosity and not judgment. The way his eyes searched hers for answers was genuinely adorable.

“Almost at one point, but he cheated on me and is marrying her now. I didn’t actually become a journalist to cover weddings anyway, it sort of just happened.”

“I see.”

“What about you? Being at all those weddings and never getting married?”

“No. Not even close, I was in love with the same girl for a long time, but she didn’t feel the same way.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

After spending the rest of your night enjoying Soonyoungs company, you bid goodbye to the bride and groom and headed back to your home to get down to working on the article.

Digging through your black leather tote you realize you forgot to take your journal home with you, leaving it on the white table cloth being distracted by a new friend.

Realizing you don’t have his number you took it upon yourself to stalk his social media profiles in hope you could find a way to get in contact with him, maybe he was your saving grace in taking your book for safekeeping until he could give it back to you.

Saying fuck it for now you just began typing away about your night, thanking god or whomever that you backed up your calendar digitally when you get a clever idea to write an article still about weddings, but about the person you met who had been a groomsmen all those times. Searching for any kind of photos and videos of his past times supporting nuptials.

All you came up with was a couple cheesing photos of him posing in his suits of many colors and types when you get the idea to go back into your own rolodex of photos and writings from weddings you’ve done in the past, noticing him standing near the bride and groom in just a few it was now safe to say he has piqued your interest even more than before.

You decided to draft an email to your boss begging for the chance to write her an article about the types of bridesmaids and groomsmen who’ve been involved in many years of weddings as a support, if you found one person who had done so many in a short time it wouldn’t be hard to find more right?

Before getting ready for bed you sat refreshing your email waiting for the go-ahead to investigate Soonyoung further with the excuse that it was simply just for work, it took multiple scrolls to the point where your thumb was starting to hurt from running it over the screen until she replied.

‘Y/n, feel free to start drafting up the story. If I like it I’ll let you have more creative articles in the future. Please have it on my desk in two weeks.’

When the morning finally arrived, you had to make the rough decision to get out of bed and head to grab a coffee from the shop in your apartment lobby. Normally you’d be cuddled on your couch with your cat, spending your Saturday morning reading and watching reruns of your favorite reality shows, but much to your surprise the coffee stash you usually have stocked has dried up.

Exiting the silver doors of the elevator a call came from the front desk attendant and you were met by a brown paper bag tied with a bow, the outside scribbled on with some crayons of silly faces and drawings of cartoon tigers, stickers of hello kitty, and a pink note taped to the handle.

“Miss. Y/l/n! Some boy dropped this for you last night.”

“Oh? Thank you, Max.”

Ripping open the small note in line for your morning brew, it instantly puts a smile on your face.

‘Hi, I noticed you left this on the table. Hope it’s not weird. I dropped it off for you. Your address was inside. At least I can stalk you now. - Soonyoung (wedding guy lol)”

Inside the bag was your planner and a few random pieces of candy thrown around. A small bookmark was placed on a page and written underneath was a date for next Thursday and the number of your new favorite subject marked ‘single seeking wedding date.’

After grabbing the paper cup from the barista behind the counter you whip your phone out and dial the number written inside your prized possession.

“Hello, is this the single seeking a date?”

“Hey, it is. Is this the cute girl who’s planner I found?”

“I think so? I don’t know any other cute girls who like going to weddings.”

“Are you available for drinks and a little pre-wedding party?”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight? Wow. Eager to see me again I see.”

“I am. And I’m being bold right now which is new for me, so please don’t make me cry.”

“Aw. But I’m sure you’re so pretty when you cry.”

“I’m always pretty, y/n. So?”

“Sure. Why not?”

You heard Soonyoung gasp over the phone and drop something loud.

“Really?”

“Want me to take it back?”

“No. Cool. I will.. pick you up at 6:30? We can get some drinks before and then it’s just like a casual party, but my friends are kind of fancy so maybe like nice cocktail attire. I’m sure you know.”

“Okay. I’m sure you remember where to find me? After all, you did confess to being a stalker.”

“Oh my god. I was kidding, don’t take me seriously. I’ll see you then.”

“See you, Soony. Ok now I’m corny. That wasn’t meant to be a pun. Bye.”

Hearing the boy's laughter over the phone almost gave you butterflies.

“You’re funny. Bye.”

Spending the rest of your normally relaxing afternoon getting ready to slyly interrogate your new friend, you decided to not go out of your way to look overly special after all you weren’t even sure this quote on quote date was anything romantic or just a way of initiating a friendship.

Just before you leave your front door you sat to think if it was appropriate to bring along the same journal that was delivered to you the same morning, but made the conscious decision to leave it behind and not make this first night getting to know each other about you digging into his life for your own gain.

The ride down the elevator had you inspecting yourself in its small safety mirror, fixing the very last strand of hair that felt out of place on your head, not paying any attention to the people jumping off and on from their various floors.

When you finally stepped out into the marble covered lobby, you immediately spotted Soonyoung draped over the side of the couch holding his legs close, almost like a nervous child looking around the room and pouting because he can’t find his toy.

When he finally locked eyes with you his childlike demeanor changed immediately into a spunky puppy, jumping up from his seat and dusting off crumbs on his pants that weren’t even there in the first place, maybe to wipe his hands from their small sweat they were undergoing.

“Hi, y/n. You look very nice”

“Really? So do you. Where are we headed?”

“There’s a cool poet themed bar just like two blocks from here, I thought you’d enjoy it since you’re a writer and everything.”

You looked at Soonyoung with wide eyes, it was a sign of how considerate he was yet again, just like the thought he put into bringing you, your planner and decorating the bag.

His sharp brown eyes sparkled under the street lights, almost like they were reflecting stars, his baggy khaki pants with matching jacket slung perfectly over his frame, he was cute. You could admit it to yourself that something about him was magnetic and you already wanted more.

“Y/n? Is that not your thing? I’m sorry we can do something else, I shouldn’t of assumed all writers like poetr-“

“Oh I’m sorry, I was distracted. Has anyone told you that you have insanely cute eyes? But yes, poetry’s cool. I’m more of a classic novel girl, but it sounds fun. Stop second guessing yourself. You’re good.”

Your hand moved faster than your brain as you brought it up to pat him gently on his shoulder, a confirmation that you were having a good time and trying to ease his awkwardness.

“Yeah, people have once or twice.”

“Good. They really are cute.”

The pink of Soonyoung’s cheeks grew into a deep red as he led you into the bar. The walls were covered in decaying pieces of paper written with words people had to get out for comfort. The smell was like the oldest library on earth, with a tinge of vanilla and vodka ringing through.

Your brain took a moment to be present and remember all of the bad dates of your past. Maybe this wasn’t a date of your future, but if it was, he had already exceeded your expectations.

As the waitress took your order, one Body Electric for your new friend a legit inspiration from Walt

Whitman to your choice which was a play on a Sylvia Plath poem.

“Are you a lightweight?”

You looked at Soonyojng not even halfway through his drink, feeling the ease and warmth of his body next

to you.

“How can you tell?”

“You relaxed for the first time tonight.”

“I was nervous to hangout with you. I’m sorry. You’re just cool and pretty and I don’t know I feel like you’re way smarter than me and I’m intimidated by that sober”

“I’m sure that’s not true. But if it’s any help I was nervous too.”

“Really? So I have game?”

“No. But you’re so cute I’d die if I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’re a lightweight too?”

“What? No way. Just honest to a fault.”

Soonyoung smiled into the rim of his glass before taking his final sip and prompting you to finish your drink quickly, which you happily obliged.

“Okay, on the way there.. I have to admit something. The party we’re going to is for the girl I liked before she got with this guy… it’s like unrequited love in a way.”

“The girl you said you don’t love anymore?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I just wanted to see you again so I thought it was a good idea.”

“I’m down. I’m not sure what, but I’m down.”

“Cool.”

“Want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? Or? I feel like it would be weird to say we were on a first date.”

“Is this a date?”

“Is it not?”

“It was meant to be and it definitely is now.”

“So pretend girlfriend, Soony?”

“Maybe not an official girlfriend, how about… fourth date?”

“Okay, have we had sex?”

Soonyoung choked on his own spit which caused the two of you to end up in a fit of laughter on the street as you reached your next destination.

“Obviously.”

“That’s fair. I’ll tell everyone you were good.”

“I think I love you.”

“Shut up.”

After spending the night waltzing around and parading your further long relationship with your fake new boyfriend to his friends in hopes to prove his fondness for his newest engaged friend has gone away even slightly.

While maybe you were pretending to be on a date with Soonyoung, your head was spinning. If this was a fake date it was better than any date you had previously. Stepping outside to take a break from the party inside you pulled out your phone, jotting down notes and small nuggets of information you learned about Soonyoung’s past wedding experiences.

“Taking notes on me? What are you a PI?”

Behind you, you hadn’t realized the door you snuck out of opened and the boy had followed behind, curious if you were okay.

“Yeah, you’re under investigation for being overly nice. Sorry.”

“What do they say? I didn’t read them, just saw my name.”

“Just some antidotes I want to remember. Nothing crazy.”

“Do you want to leave? I’m starting to reach my alcohol limit and I would rather die than have you see my drunk alter ego the first time we hung out.”

“Yeah, come on, let's go.”

Going back through the back exit, you tripped behind Soonyoung’s tall frame grabbing onto his shoulder and giggling before he stood in the way of you hitting the ground.

His lips were curled into a goofy smile.

“I swear to god if you say something about me falling for you, you will get punched.”

“How did you know?”

“That fucking goofy smile you have on your face right now, I could just see it brewing in that head of yours.”

“Okay, I don’t like that you’ve already figured me out. Let’s go, klutz.”

Before you and Soonyoung could exit back into the fresh air, a familiar face appeared in front of you. Your ex boyfriend. Something about this night clicked for you, it was his party, there were so many people around and the only person from the wedding party you met was the bride. But taking a breath in and looking around the room, you realized how stupid you were to not see all the signs that this party was for him.

“Y/n? Hoshi? Hey, how have you guys been?”

Soonyoung still holding his arm around your shoulder gave a small back and fourth look between you and the tall boy who knew your name.

“You guys know each other?”

“Yep. Hi, Jihoon.”

“I didn’t know you knew Hoshi either?”

“Oh well we just started dating, he invited me to come hangout.”

“Dating? Wow. I didn’t know you had time for people outside of work anymore.”

“Jihoon, if you don’t mind we have to go now. Thank you for the open bar and this amazing time chatting, congratulations on marrying your hookup. Goodnight.”

The start of your walk with Soonyoung was pure silence, there was an obvious elephant in the room and you could tell he was just itching to talk about it, so you decided to prompt him.

“You’re curious aren’t you.”

“Yes. But I don’t want to ask you to talk about it because we’re having fun. So I figured I’d try to ignore it.”

“It’s fine. I’m curious too actually, it’s kind of funny that the girl you liked was hooking up with my boyfriend and now they’re married. And by funny I mean actually funny and we just spent the whole night not knowing that.”

“I didn’t even know that Jihoon had a girlfriend when they first met, he never said anything about it.”

“I don’t blame him actually, I do work way too much. I just wished he’d broken up with me instead of cheating on me for a month.”

“When did you guys break up?”

“Last December.”

“Oh.”

“It was more than a month wasn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“Cool, cool, cool.”

“That’s fucked up y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay, we weren’t supposed to be together and his new girlfriend or future wife whatever seems like she’s really nice.”

“She is, but she’s too nice. She does everything he wants, maybe he couldn’t handle your independence.”

“Soony. You caught on that I’m a bad bitch?”

“Have you met yourself?”

“No. But, if I did I’d be obsessed with her and hate her at the same time.”

“That’s exactly how I feel.”

You punched his side, before stopping and realizing you had come up to your front door. Not even worried about the way your feet were aching to get out of your heeled shoes.

“This is me.”

“I know. I’ve been here like three times now in less than twenty-four hours. I’m starting to believe you actually think I’m stupid.”

“Not stupid. Just silly. I’ll see you again right?”

“I mean I did put days on your calendar to schedule out time for me.”

“You littl-“

Suddenly you were cut off by Soonyoung’s hand covering your mouth to put a stop to you cursing him out.

“I won’t take no for an answer.”

Sinking your teeth into his hand he retreated from his momentary confidence quickly, looking at the proud smile you were sporting, pointing your well manicured finger in his face.

“Don’t tell women to shut up, Soony.”

“I never said shut up, you were going to call me a mean name and I’m sensitive. Go back to calling me cute.”

“Maybe. Next time.”

You went in for a one armed hug when all of the sudden Soonyoung came in with both arms, clinking your heads together.

“Very smooth.”

He liked the fact that you constantly teased him while making light of situations, regaining his confidence he pulled you into his embrace enveloping both arms around your shoulders, placing a small kiss on the part of your forehead that crashed into his.

“I’ll see you next week.”

“What’s next week?”

“The wedding, check your planner. Well actually I’ll see you in two nights because we have to shop or go through your closet so we can match! Bye, y/nie.”

Caught off guard by the kiss on your head and watching him hail a cab like it was nothing, you couldn’t help but smile on your way into your building, met by Max at the front desk beaming as wide as you and giving you a wink. Knowing that he saw the cute and awkward interaction you shared with the hyper hamster outside.

The two days in between you and Soonyoung’s first official interaction, you felt yourself looking forward to seeing him again and being in his presence like your own personal serotonin boost.

The insane fact that your ex was marrying the girl he cheated on was enough, but the girl being Soonyoung’s painful crush? Especially when you felt he was becoming yours was beyond insane.

You made up separate drafts of your article about the people who make weddings shine, from the families, the bridal parties. the insane bachelor and bachelorette nights, and mainly Soonyoung’s love for love.

The two works of nonfiction were from different perspectives, one being your head and one being your heart. You couldn’t decide if it was appropriate to present a piece basically claiming how amazing you found Soonyoung for the whole world to see when you’re not even sure if he’d ever consider you to be more than a silly writer girl y/n, his friend or fake girlfriend. Your other was from the space of practicality, a genuine love letter to your career and the person who inspired this story, but also digging deep into the ideals of how frantic and selfish the wedding industry can be and what it means for an unmarried friend to take in burdens constantly for their loved ones when it takes a toll on their own heart.

The biggest debate in your body was the fact the real article, the one you wanted to write, was at the fault of someone who had only in the short space of two days made you feel again, but it was honest and genuine.

You knew Soonyoung had to have some pain working and being a part of a wedding for the girl he saw himself marrying.

Luckily you have another few days to decide which way it’ll go.

Sitting on the thought of what one you should put out, you were awoken out of your thought bubble to a string of buzzes from your cell phone sitting face down on your desk.

None other than the boy that had been living in your head for the past 48 hours.

Soonyoung’s texts were multiple lines of photos and silly messages asking you which outfit he should wear that could match any of the dresses you had hanging in your closet for the wedding.

One of the options was a beige suit, simple in theory but something about the way he styled it with a funky sage green t-shirt and matching sneakers made you smile. Even if you didn’t have anything to match this outfit you would make an effort to go out and spruce up your wardrobe to be on his level.

After quickly responding that it was your choice, he retorted back in his true fashion you’d have to send him your options too or he’d come over to help you.

In a desperate subconscious way you agreed to his antics.

Now nearly an hour later a call came from the front desk that a visitor had arrived asking for consent he could come upstairs which you happily agreed assuming it was none other than Soonyoung himself. The person on the opposite side of the door was not the sharp eyed boy you’d expected, but Jihoon.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you after the other night, I just wanted to say hey.”

“Okay? Then text me. Don’t come over unannounced, I have a friend I’m expecting.”

“You wouldn’t have responded.”

“That’s true.”

Standing with your arms crossed in your doorway not letting Jihoon into the now redecorated apartment you once had let him live in, you weren’t budging on your gut feeling to let him in and talk.

“Can I come in?”

“Like I said. I’m expecting a friend. So.. no.”

“Who? Hoshi? You guys aren’t seriously together? He’s not your type, too goofy.”

“Isn’t he your friend?”

“He’s Nana’s friend, but he’s okay. I’m just saying it's not your style.”

Nana? A stupid nickname for his fiance who’s name was simply Anna. So as you rolled your eyes and shut your apartment door behind you as you stepped into the hallway as a clear defining factor he was not welcome you stood far apart from him as a line in the sand.

“He’s not goofy. He’s sweet and yes he’s on his way so maybe you should leave before saying anything else so he doesn’t get the wrong idea.”

Jihoon wavered a bit, looking towards the elevator door at the end of the hall as if like a movie Soonyoung would walk out of the elevator at the mention he was on his way over.

“Maybe take the stairs. I’ll see you at your wedding with my date.”

Rushing in and slamming the door in his face, you sink to the floor in a moment of pure exhaustion over interacting with someone like your ex.

Why wasn’t Soonyoung right for you? Why did you not want that to be true? And why were you so dead set on proving him absolutely wrong?

In your rush of emotions another knock came to your door. Without looking through the peephole you swung it open rapidly.

“Look I told you to g- oh, Soonyoung! Thank god.”

Your body made a move before your head could even catch up as you ended up hugging him tightly, rushing him inside as if Jihoon didn’t get the message and was watching in from a hidden spot in the corridor.

“Y/N are you okay?”

“Yes. Sorry, someone just came over that I did not want to see. Welcome.”

You watched as his eyes took in the view of your pink and green splattered apartment, things like funky vases full of wildflowers, plant tendrils floating down from shelves tucked between books of various sizes and ages, a small nook with sleeping white and black cat hid inside snuggling into his stuffed toy.

“I love it here.”

“Really? I redecorated recently, it was cold before. I love it now.”

“Also it smells amazing, do you bake? It smells like cookies and coffee. Wow.”

“I do not bake, but I do have candles that give the illusion. What’s in the bag?”

Soonyoung set a small black duffle bag down on the counter and began pulling the contents out one by one, showing them off like a beauty guru.

Wine, five small bags of potato chips, beer Incase you didn’t like wine and he was unsure, a slice of delicious looking chocolate cake, and a container marked with your name of his moms homemade soup.

“Why did you do this?”

“I thought we would have fun while picking out matching outfits. Will you let me see your closet? Please, please, please. I’m so curious.”

“It’s not that impressive at all.”

“If your apartment looks like this then I have only the highest expectations for you.”

Smiling, you jokingly made a come on motion with your fingers and led him into your spare bedroom that now existed as a half home office and half closet.

His eyes took in even more of your fun design work, the racks of records, pictures of you and your friends, and one of the things that made him feel like he could fall in love with you, your rack full of limited edition shoes and bags.

“Not impressive? You have some of the coolest shit I��ve ever seen in here?”

“I’m just a girl with a cat and a lot of time on my hands. Since being single I’ve just spent it on shopping and ordering take out.”

“If you don’t mind me asking what were you and Jihoon like together? You guys seem really opposite to me.”

There it was again, someone not right for you. Was it just in your head that you think maybe you’re the problem of why this comment is being made?

“Uh, we were okay at first. We met in college about three weeks before graduation and spent so much time together. But if I think about it, we just hung out in his dorm where I watched him play video games and watch anime even though I was not interested. I kind of wish I was more outspoken about it. I missed a bunch of things my friends had done wasting away on his futon drinking shitty cheap alcohol and waiting on him hand and foot and whatever else.”

“Really? So you guys dated for a long time I guess. Did it change a lot once you got out?”

“Not really. A lot of people knew we were ‘dating’ but in the time that we did, we probably went on one or two actual dates.”

“That makes me sad actually.”

“Why? I made the choice to do all those things. At least I don’t have an ugly poster of John Lennon on my wall just to show I loved him.”

Soonyoung was set off by that, laughing and imagining you having a photo of a musician on your wall to impress your boyfriend.

“What’s so funny? Haven’t you done anything embarrassing to impress a girl?”

“Definitely. Too many to choose from actually.”

“At least you're charming, I came off as obsessive and stupidly in love. Not a good look for me.”

“Caring too much is never a bad thing when you think you’re in love and you’re charming too.”

“Why thank you good sir.”

“And you’re weird. Which personally is a green flag for me. I didn’t expect that from you actually.”

“Is that a compliment though, really?”

“For me? Yes. I don’t like normal people well, not normal people I guess, just people who have no personality or something I can learn from. I want someone as a friend or whatever else to challenge me a little, it’s healthy.”

“I think that’s really cool of you, I agree. I like people that are willing to try new stuff or get me out of my comfort zone.”

“Was showing me your office a way of me getting you out of your comfort zone?”

“Sort of. This is kind of like my safe haven.”

Soonyoung just gave you a wide toothed smile, beaming from ear to eat that you admitted he was even just slightly somewhat of your type.

As the night went on and on the boy that has now broken down a couple of your walls, not quickly but brick by brick was sitting comfortably next to your cat curled up in the same manor helping you pick out something that would go with his two outfits, one for the wedding itself and one for the rehearsal dinner which he promised you that you’d only eat and leave to have more fun just out of respect for the couple and his friend Anna.

Now each of you taking the bottle of wine he brought slowly, sitting on your floor surrounded by shoes and loose pairs of pants, giggling over nothing he stared in your eyes almost like you could read that he had another interrogating question.

“Was Jihoon the one at the door before?”

“How did you kno–”

“I can’t remember you mentioning anybody that would come over unannounced and make you look as upset as you did.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know why he was here?”

“He just gave me some stupid antidote that he wanted to see me after the other day, I didn’t ask further. When I told him I had a friend coming over he just knew it was you for some reason and then told me we couldn’t be dating seriously because you’re not my type? As if he’d know? It was weird all around.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

“No. I realized once we broke up and now after knowing he was cheating on me more than a few nights that it was an amazing decision. When we first ended it I just kicked him out and ghosted all his texts, he used to update me on his life every now and again, the last time we talked for real, before today he called me crying that his Grandmother was sick, so we just had a brief talk and it ended for real there. I genuinely never thought I’d see him again.”

“Also, am I your type?”

Ss wine dribbled down your chin you were once again surprised by Soonyoung’s random fit of confidence.

“Yeah. You’re nice and I love how annoying you are. I think you get under my skin in the best way.”

“Wow. I’m surprised you admitted it.”

“What can I say, wine drunk y/n is honest.”

“And what about my physical type? Sexy, cool, handsome, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen?”

Taking a note from his book you swung your closest arm to him, you clipped your fingers over his mouth and shut him up.

Much to your surprise he took a note from your book and instead of biting your hand he stuck his tongue through his lips and licked your fingers which caused you to lunge towards him further, jokingly pissed he did just so.

As you were fighting for comedic relief you sat suddenly face to face with him holding onto your wrists to resist more thrash fighting.

The two of you stared at each other filling the room with intense tension of your lips being so close once again.

“If I knew you wouldn’t be mad at me I’d kiss you right now.”

“Soonyoung, you’re so stupid. Why would I be mad at you?”

“So I can kiss you?”

“Nope.”

Soonyoung pushed his bottom lip out from his top, replacing his cute puppy face with a pouty one.

You decided to quickly dive in and pace a peck on his protruding bottom lip.

He immediately let you go and erupted into a fit of giggles like a little kid, as you tried to sneak away quickly he grabbed onto the arm of your sweatshirt which you quickly unzipped and slipped out of, running through the door of your office and into the rest of the house as he chased behind.

“You have to know I’m going to catch you for that, that was so mean y/n.”

As you were winning the fight, getting away from the boy chasing you around, you suddenly tripped up and felt his hand grasp your shoulder, turning you around with secret strength.

Standing face to face with him now, your stubbed toe throbbing through your fuzzy socks, you both were holding in a whole lot of laughter.

Soonyoung’s hand slipped behind your head and pulled you in for a much more romantic type of kiss than you gave him before. The two of you touched lips softly, as your smiles were still prominent on your faces.

Before anything could escalate further your phone began to ring again and your boss's name was plastered over the front, which you answered with panting breaths still in a haze from kissing the boy you made you feel young again.

“y/n? Hi, would you be able to send over a draft of your article you begged me for? We were looking for something to print for tomorrow if you’re interested? I’ll have someone expedite the editing process tonight.”

“Oh, shit. Yeah of course, I’ll rush and email it to you now.”

“Thank you, congratulations y/n.”

“Thank you. Bye.”

Oh my god, Soony, stay here. I have to email my boss quickly about my article, she wants to print it for tomorrow's paper. I’ll be right back.”

“What? Congratulations. But don't worry, I’m not leaving.”

“Good, sorry, be right back.”

Rushing back into your office you flipped open your computer and sent your final article draft, choosing the one that your gut felt would be better for your personal life at the moment, especially after the kiss you just shared with the boy it was about.

Typing a quick message along with your attachment you just said a big thank you and clicked send before grabbing the half drank bottle off the floor and ran back to Soonyoung munching on a bag of chips waiting for you.

“Shall we celebrate?”

“What are we celebrating?”

“Me, idiot. I’ve been trying to get a real article published ever since I got the job doing weddings. I love weddings, but always being so happy and cheerful and not getting a chance to stretch my creative juices is frustrating.”

“Can we also celebrate kissing? That seems more fun.”

“Shut up, asshole.”

Taking a swig from the bottle, you passed it over to your male counterpart and watching him take an equally large drink matching your energy.

You and Soonyoung spent the rest of the night talking about how tomorrow will go, where will you and he be sitting, will Jihoon be giving you side eyes or talking shit with some of the other guests. How nice of a chance it’ll be to experience a wedding simply just enjoying with someone on your side and not for work.

After sitting in bed and still thinking about your kiss with Soonyoung many hours later, you saw a text from your boss letting you know she loved the article and to watch out for it in the morning.

When that finally rolled around, you woke up to a lot of messages congratulating you and your new found success, many people from college, your parents, but the one person you were looking for was nowhere to be found in those texts.

Putting the praise aside for a moment, you slipped back out of your bed to jump into the shower and start getting ready for your dinner celebrating the devil that was your ex.

When you stepped out and went to grab onto your device once again you saw a text from the one person you were most excited to read, but it was less than exciting. Soonyoung expressed how upset the article made him and accused you of using him to further your career, something Jihoon supposedly warned him of the night of his pre-wedding party and he chose to ignore.

Confused why he would be so upset about your praise for him, you ran to your front door and ripped open the pages of the paper only to find the article that you sent was a mistake, it was the one shitting on weddings, basically claiming Soonyoung himself was an unmarried loser, not in those words but you could see why it came across that way. Some of the simple moments of praise for his hard work were cut out in the editing room, only leaving the small bits of gossip and harsh criticisms sprinkled in between.

Rushing back inside as your stomach sank to the floor you tried his number three times before getting no answer. Which made you frantically dial your boss’s number and interrogate her on why parts of your article were cut out, she simply answered that fluff doesn’t sell and she was proud of you.

Soonyoung not responding had let you in on the fact that he wasn’t going to be seeing you today or maybe even seeing anybody for that matter, he was embarrassed and rightfully so.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Continuing your quest on trying to reach him, you decided to still get ready for your night out, maybe not in the intense matching outfit way you wanted to last night, but just something where you could sneak into Jihoon’s wedding party and slide Soonyoung the real article you wanted him to read.

Running down the street to the venue with no accurate directions in sight, you saw your ex standing on a corner, smoking a brown wrapped joint in his suit.

“Jihoon. Jihoon.”

“What? Back to grovel for a favor?”

“Yes, please, just give this to Soonyoung for me. Please, I’ve never asked you for a favor like this, just once do something for me.”

“You’re really serious about him?”

“I am.”

“So you didn’t mean to slam him in the article like you did?”

“No. My boss cut out the good parts of the article, this was the one I meant to send. Just for me. I want you to be happy, Jihoon, I do. I want it for myself too, just please give it to him. Make sure he reads it.”

“Okay.”

“I know we haven’t had the best past and I know I'm coming here askin- Wait? Okay? Really?”

“Yeah. I can tell this means a lot to you and the reason I came over today was just to formally invite you to the wedding. You’re a big part of my life and now Soonyoung’s, well maybe, besides the point. My fiance is one of his best friends, she liked you too, that was the only reason.”

“Oh. Well I don’t think I’ll make it.”

“How about you come on official business and give this to him yourself?”

“No. I couldn’t do that. It’s your day not mine.”

“We both deserve a big love, y/n.”

Taking back your enveloped letter, you couldn’t help but be impressed by how mature Anna had made Jihoon become and you knew he was right. Sometimes love just falls in your lap and you can’t do anything about it.

Ashing out his joint, he handed you the other half as an olive branch to celebrate old times and bid you goodbye until tomorrow.

Before going back inside, he turned to you with one final wish.

“You better look damn good tomorrow too, no suits. Wear something nice to confess your feelings, otherwise you’ll look like a dumbass.”

“Got it.”

Catching your breath and shoving the letter and paraphernalia back into your purse, you decided to take Jihoon’s advice. To look amazing, you stumbled upon a shop called ‘All's Well that Ends Well.’ situation just a block down from the poetry inspired bar Soonyoung took you to just a few days before.

Stepping inside the store, the first thing you saw was a navy blue dress, the halter neckline and the silk straight flowing down to the floor, you knew it was meant for you. Especially because it would match the light pink suit Soonyoung was meant to be sporting with you by his side. The easiest shopping experience of your life.

As the sales associate packed your order up and sealed it with a light pink bow, you knew it was a sign or something of the sort.

With less than twenty-four hours of doing the most insane thing of your life, confessing to a man who essentially hated you after you had been kissing just hours before, you stayed up all night, using the weed that Jihoon gave you to stay focused on the task at hand, you almost considered cutting of your hair to enter a new era of your life, but only girls who were going through something would consider that and you attempted to tell yourself you were calm.

When the morning sun rang around you finished writing a letter to match the one already placed in the envelope to accompany your sorry. You even decorated the outside with stickers of tigers and spongebob characters just to make Soonyoung smile.

Sliding into your navy blue dress and silver heels, your hair was down and curled into perfect waves. You kissed your cat on the head and made your way over to the venue by foot, just to give yourself a little fresh air and piece of mind, hoping to slip in early enough so that you’d be seated before he even knew you came.

Slipping into a space near the back of the room on Jihoon’s side, you opened your phone to an encouraging text from him telling you that you’ve got this and he’s excited to hear more about it later, plus reminding you to have fun and enjoy yourself.

As the progression started you watched along with the other wedding goers, catching glimpses of Jihoon’s smiling family, which made your heart feel warm.

As the wedding part waltz down the aisle in their pastel pink suits and rosy toned dresses, you saw a now blonde again head appear on the arm of a girl who looked a lot like Anna, so it was fair to assume it was her sister.

Soonyoung didn’t glance your way, but something about the change in his demeanor made you aware he knew you had come.

“Everyone please rise for the bride.”

Anna walked out with her father on her arm, floating across the room like an angel in white. Her dress was adorned with small beaded flowers from the tips of her fingers down to the vail over her blonde hair.

She was truly beautiful, you couldn’t help but feel like a peasant in the room with this woman who both of the men you had either once had feelings for or now did once loved.

The whole ceremony was beautiful, but you missed a lot of it as you stared Soonyoung’s way trying to catch his eyes, but he never met yours. He was too busy enjoying the fact that his friends were getting married and the fact you had upset him.

When the ceremony ended you followed the other guests to the front of the church, holding your envelope in your hand and greeting the bride and groom, Anna and Jihoon beamed at you before she pointed her finger to a room off the side of the front door, some sort of administration office where Soonyoung would be waiting for you. Which also told you Jihoon had filled her in on your little plan.

You cracked open the old wooden door, trying to be subtle but the rotting wood creaked under the old floor boards making your entrance more known than you would’ve liked.

Soonyoung was seated in a red leather chair to the side of the desk, his now blonde hair meeting your eyes before his face. Not giving in to turn around and look at you.

“Soonyoung? I know you probably don’t want to speak to me. But, this was the real article. It was never meant to be that way. I’m sorry.”

You placed the letter in front of him on the desk and moved to turn back to the door before you heard his voice.

“So you didn’t mean all those mean things you wrote about me? That I was a desperate groomsman waiting for his shot to have a day for himself?”

“No.”

“You didn’t mean to say that my ostentatious nature was cringe worthy?”

“Not in that way no, my boss cut out all the good things I said about you. She put it in her own words for dramatic effect. I quit this morning.”

“You quit? Why?”

“I wanted to try to make this right in the best way I could, she wouldn’t reprint the article how I wrote it and told me that if I didn’t like her style I should get a job somewhere else. So I quit.”

Soonyoung just nodded, he couldn’t imagine why you would give up a golden opportunity just to prove your boss wrong or right for that matter all because of him. The only way he could make sense of what you were saying is that you were truly sorry and you cared about him.

He made a bold move and threw the letter in the trash can to the side of the old oak desk and got out of his chair to hug you.

“You’re not going to read it.”

Speaking into his shoulder, you got a calming exhale of his cologne.

“I don’t need to. I know you're telling me the truth, you said it yourself you don’t lie when you drink wine, and I can smell it on your breath.”

Slipping your hands up from their place around his neck into his hair you giggled slightly, looking at the now dyed blonde locks of hair.

“You dyed it back?”

“You said you liked it. I thought you’d be my date and I had the appointment so I didn’t want to cancel.”

“You weren’t hoping I’d show up here?”

“I knew you would. I saw you talking to Jihoon outside last night through the window. I wasn’t sure exactly because you did walk away and he never told me what happened. But, when I saw you today sitting in the crowd. I knew my inkling was right.”

“Did the cohesive outfit impress you? I missed one night, but I hope I made up for it today.”

Soonyoung pushed you away slightly by your shoulders and made you do a spin for him.

“You look beautiful.”

“You’re such a dork.”

Soonyoung playfully swung you around in the office covered in photos of church go-ers and crosses, bringing you into his chest tightly.

“So, what did you write in that article? That I was devilishly handsome and cool?”

“Nope. Just that you were a bad kisser.”

“Seems like you need a reminder.”

“Maybe.”

As your lips met Soonyoungs once again your heart sank into your stomach and was beating rapidly. You just fit and he never once doubted your heart.

“What do you say? Should we go outside and dance?”

“Can you even dance?”

“Y/n? Can I even dance? What do you even think I do for a living?”

“Oh. I’m such an idiot. Anna works at a talent agency. Got it.”

“Come on, silly. Before our audience outside gets bigger.”

When you exited the office back into the group of people outside, for some reason Jihoon started a cheer alongside his new wife.

Soon you and Soonyoung were dancing the night away and drinking a little too much than your stomachs could handle.

When you finally got a moment of dizzy drunkenness alone, he had you sitting on a bench where he knelt to the ground. Your mouth got the better of you once again.

“Oh my god you're not proposing already are you I mean I know I’m amaz-”

“Y/n shut up, I’m tying my shoe.”

“Cool, cool. Got it.”

“But the next wedding I attend hopefully I’ll be the groom.”

With a wink Soonyoung sat back at your side as you watched the stars together, making a mental note that the next wedding would belong to the both of you.

taglist: @sahazzy

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yellow-yarrow · 3 months

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did you know that the Insulandian Phasmid quotes from the bible? I got curious if looking at the context of the bible quote would add anything to the interpretation of this scene, and maybe there are some parallels. Meeting the phasmid is like a revelation, just like how in that part of the bible god talks to Isaiah. (I can't belive im reading the bible out of all things for a video game lmao. god damn it.) yeah yeah maybe it's not supposed to mean anything other than the phasmid loves this world but it can be fun to look into it. maybe it is that deep

think of this as more of a web weaving post

You - I exist too. Insulindian Phasmid - Tell me what it's like for you. You - It's *wunderbar*. Insulindian Phasmid - Yes, holy is the lord of hosts. And all the Earth is filled with his glory.

Isaiah 6 BSB

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted; and the train of His robea filled the temple.

Encyclopedia - (..)An Innocence is a continuous, compressed event, a sacred human being. It is an honour and a glory to live when one is in office. You - Is one in office now? Encyclopedia - No. We are alone.

Insulindian Phasmid - You are a violent and irrepressible miracle. The vacuum of cosmos and the stars burning in it are afraid of you. Given enough time you would wipe us all out and replace us with nothing -- just by accident. (...) You - Have I always thought this way? Insulindian Phasmid - No -- you're only thinking it *now*. This is a revelation.

Above Him stood seraphim, each having six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling out to one another: “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of Hosts; all the earth is full of His glory.” At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook, and the temple was filled with smoke.

In Hebrew, the word saraph means "burning"

Insulindian Phasmid - Tell me what it's like for you. You - Fire, burning.

Insulindian Phasmid - You were right. Little bubbles form on the mouthparts of the creature -- on its segmented lower lip. It looks to be foaming, slowly. The foam is white, then yellowish... Perception (Smell) - The faintest smell, like you've never felt before. Like burnt roses.

Insulindian Phasmid - The foam slowly turns a darker shade, like burnt caramel -- as the insect moves its mouthparts, masticating. The little bubbles begin to burst, one by one... Perception (Smell) - Letting out that same smell, like summer burning.

Then I said: “Woe is me, for I am ruined, because I am a man of unclean lips dwelling among a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of Hosts.” (..)

The Deserter - "I've seen the *real world*. In '06. The flags unfolding. Young people marching, being kind to each other. They dreamt of a million years in the stars. This here..." He looks down at the ashes. "Is pale in waiting."

The Deserter - "Straight to Yekokataa for this old revisionist." He gives you a little nod. "At last -- atonement for my sins: revisionism, reactionary ideation, desertion..."

The Deserter - "The material base for an uprising has eroded." He nods and blinks his black eyes. "The working class has betrayed mankind and themselves..."

(? maybe? idk.)

Then one of the seraphim flew to me, and in his hand was a glowing coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And with it he touched my mouth and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your iniquity is removed and your sin is atoned for.”

maybe this one is a stretch (like the others too lol)

You - Lick your finger. Interfacing - It tastes like... sugar. Very faint. The arthropod towers above you, tufts of reeds pointing from limb and head alike. Perception (Taste) - Odourless, mostly comprised of water.

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying: “Whom shall I send? Who will go for Us?” And I said: “Here am I. Send me!” And He replied: “Go and tell this people, ‘Be ever hearing, but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving.’ Make the hearts of this people calloused; deafen their ears and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed.” Then I asked: “How long, O Lord?” And He replied: “Until the cities lie ruined and without inhabitant, until the houses are left unoccupied and the land is desolate and ravaged, until the LORD has driven men far away and the land is utterly forsaken. And though a tenth remains in the land, it will be burned again. As the terebinth and oak leave stumps when felled, so the holy seed will be a stump in the land.”

Insulindian Phasmid - Everything your eyes touch goes back there -- behind the nerve mirror. What if you blink? Are we still here? (Please don't blink). What if you misplace us all one day -- or just forget? You - Have I always thought this way? Insulindian Phasmid - No -- you're only thinking it *now*. This is a revelation. You - This is the Gloaming I've been waiting for. Ever since I woke up in the hotel room.

Man with Sunglasses - "About *what?* You don't look like a cop..." He inspects you. "You know what you look like?" You - "Like a prophet?" Man with Sunglasses - "Not the prophet shit again..." He looks away.

Evrart Claire - "It says..." He looks in the folder. "Oh yes... very interesting. It says you're more like a mad prophet than a cop. Always rambling about the end of the world... I'm sure these stories are exaggerated."

Cop of the apocalypse (early version from the game files):

or perhaps

Rhetoric - You -- against the atom, the charm and the spin. Where the whole world failed -- matter failed to bend to human will; human will failed to get out of bed and tie its laces -- you alone, single-handedly, will rebuild the dreams of the working class. You are The Last Communist.

well regardless, the quote is another instance of christian symbolism in elysium

#disco elysium #de meta #'are my theories too wild' no. i need to get weider

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theragethatisdesire · 11 months

Text

much ado about nothing chapter 1 - eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

i am so excited for you guys to finally meet the eren that has been haunting my dreams for the last few weeks lol.

specific cws for this chapter: drug use/mentions, alcohol use, a wee pinch of smut (fantasizing specifically), swearing, floch being the actual worst

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” - As You Like It by William Shakespeare (Act III, Scene 5)

You take advantage of the short ride to your fourth-floor apartment to release your heavy tote bag from your shoulder, wincing as it crashes against the elevator floor. The little boom makes your head pound, and you rub your eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to suppress a frustrated groan. It’s week six of the semester, midterm week, and as an undergraduate professor, you’re feeling the pressure as much as your students.

You’re feeling the pressure twofold; you may have thirty-five midterm essays to grade, but you also have four to write for your Master’s program, absolutely none of which you’ve started. You’ve called Eldia University home for the last six years, and while the library is essentially a second apartment to you at this point, the four thirteen-hour days you’ve pulled there just this week are starting to take a toll on your sanity.

The front door of your apartment looks like an oasis in a desert, and your knees nearly buckle when you crack the door and the scent of home hits your nose.

“That you?” Historia’s voice reaches your ears, floating from living room.

“Yeah,” you call back, placing your keys on the little decorative key holder Historia bought junior year, slumping with relief when you abandon your tote by the door. You’re burnt out, but Historia has lived with you for almost four years now; being around her is as good as being alone. You scrounge around in the fridge for a well-earned beer, popping it open and rounding the corner to join her in the living room. To your surprise, she isn’t alone.

“Stor?” Your initial reaction is confusion, quickly elevating to alarm when the man sitting across from Historia turns his body to you, giving you a glimpse of several baggies full of pills. Your cute, hand-painted coffee table is currently covered in drugs.

Historia smiles sheepishly. “My professors fucking hate me. Just a little study aid.”

You nod slowly, the panic dissipating in your chest– so she hasn’t fully gone off the deep end. You’ve both used Adderall to get this far along in your academic careers, not liberally, but desperate times and all that.

Now that the source of the pills is sorted, you draw your attention to the unfamiliar man looking laughably huge in comparison to the little Urban Outfitters bean bag he’s perched on. He’s lifted his face to look at you now, eyes none-too-subtly flicking down to where your tits are being pushed together by your crossed arms. Scummy, you think, but oddly enough, you don’t mind. He’s hot, like where-do-they-even-make-guys-like-you hot, deep brown hair pulled into a messy bun and brooding, bloodshot eyes scanning you up and down. The side of his pouty mouth quirks up.

“Hi,” you state awkwardly, offering your name. You’ve partied, sure, but you’ve never been into the druggie scene, never gotten the hang of interacting with these guys that possess the nonchalant confidence that only drug dealers can tout.

“Eren.” The name fits him well, simple but unique. His voice is deeper than you expected, a low rumble. He shuffles through the pill baggies he’s brought with him. “Want anything? I have 40 and 60 milligram Adderalls and Vyvanse, some extended release…”

“I’m clocked out for the day,” you tip your beer bottle at him meaningfully. Eren’s smile grows at your little quip.

“Thought I’d ask while I’m here.”

“Thanks,” you say, unsure of what to do with yourself now. You settle for plopping down beside Historia on the couch, sipping your beer quietly as you watch the little transaction take place on your coffee table. You’re not involved, not after the obligatory introductions, but he’s piqued your interest. You listen as he walks Historia through what she’s purchased, how many, and how much it will cost.

When Historia leaves to grab her wallet, he turns his gaze towards you. “Grad school?”

You’re surprised; he’s so casual, borderline bored, with the way he carries himself that you hadn’t expected idle conversation from him. “Yeah, I teach a couple undergraduate classes, too.”

“That’s a lot,” Eren looks impressed, “you must be pretty smart, then.”

“Pretty broke, you mean. I get a huge discount on my tuition if I teach while I take classes,” you explain. Eren nods along, a curious glint in his green eyes. It strikes you that he’s not just hot, he’s actually pretty, in a grungy, bad-boy sort of way. Historia returns with a beer for herself and her money, snapping you out of your private realization and whatever strange tension has begun to build across the coffee table.

You find yourself admiring his large hands, taking note of the little sparrow tattoo nestled on the back of his hand behind his thumb, watching intently as he counts Historia’s cash. Your stomach twists in a way it hasn’t in a very long time as he bids you goodbye. Oh boy.

“I take this as a sign that we’re going out tonight?” Historia gestures to both of your beers. You’re a little shaken from the last five minutes, blinking slowly as your Shakespeare-saturated brain works through what she’s said.

“I mean, I wasn’t going to go out out, but I could definitely blow off some steam.”

“Thank god you said that,” Historia sighs dramatically, flopping back into her seat beside you and taking a long swig out of her bottle, “Ymir’s going home this weekend, and I’d look like such a sad sack if I went and sat at Scout’s by myself.”

You chuckle, thinking fondly of the grimey dive bar you’ve both developed an affinity for. “That would be pretty pathetic, but I’m happy to be of service. Scout’s it is.”

“Should we text Sasha?” Historia starts rattling on about what she wants to wear– something cute, but not too cute, but not trying not to look cute– and your tired mind drifts back to…Eren, oddly enough. You want to think into why he asked if you were in school, why he looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t put together, but you were as realistic as you were imaginative. Sure, Eren didn’t exactly seem the type to make small talk, but you’d known him for all of five seconds. And maybe that wasn’t a look, maybe it was just…his face? You’re out of ideas, mulling it over when Historia snaps her fingers in front of your face.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

You sigh, busted. “Nope. Not one word.”

“Are you seriously that braindead from the library? And here I was thinking you got home early today,” Historia shakes her head pityingly.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, and before you can stop yourself: “How do you know that Eren guy?”

“I was going to ask how you didn’t know Eren,” Historia says, eyes widening incredulously, “who was your dealer in college?”

You grimace. “Floch.”

“Figures,” Historia rolls her eyes with a visible shudder, “I still don’t know why you ever–”

“Stor, focus,” you reroute her before that unfortunate conversation can be rehashed, “Eren?”

“I think he sold Ymir and me some molly at a party sophomore year– no, wait, maybe junior?” Historia shrugs. “I don’t really know, actually. He’s just one of those guys everyone knows one way or the other.”

“Not me I guess,” you take a sip, trying your best to look nonchalant. Historia knows you too well, however, a wicked grin playing at her mouth.

“You think he’s cute, don’t you?”

“What? No, he’s like, a sketchy drug dealer. No way.” Your face grows warm, betraying you.

“Eren’s not sketchy,” Historia says decisively. She catches the disbelieving expression on your face. “He’s really not. He lives like, three blocks from us, and he hangs out with Armin and them.”

“Armin?” You picture the soft-spoken blonde man you’ve befriended from your graduate courses who always wears sweater vests and prefers tea to coffee. Armin’s damn near a genius, far too bright for your small program. “Like, Armin Armin?”

“They’re like, best friends,” Historia affirms, “see? Not sketch. Plus, he’s super fucking hot.”

“You’re literally a lesbian,” you deadpan, “how would you know?”

“I may fuck women, but I have eyes,” Historia smirks, “plus, he was totally checking you out. When was the last time you even got laid?”

Embarrassingly, you have to think on that one. It’s been at least since before the semester started, and you were so busy with those summer courses, not to mention that bartending job you’d taken for extra cash… “I…I honestly don’t know.”

“See?” Historia wiggles her feet under her bottom excitedly, sitting up on her knees. “I have his number–”

“I am literally twenty-four years old. Don’t you think we’re a little too mature to run around fucking our drug dealers?”

“On account of my lovely, beautiful girlfriend and aforementioned lesbianism, I am. You, on the other hand, are not,” Historia grins, pulls out her phone, “you sure you don’t even want his Snapchat?”

“My Snapchat career died when I drank my last Four Loko like, three years ago,” you scoff, shoving her phone away from you. “Don’t you have a not-cute outfit to put on, anyway?”

Historia narrows her eyes at you. “It’s not not cute, it’s trying not to be cute while simultaneously being cute!”

“What?”

“I actually confused myself a little with that one,” she admits, scratching her head, “but you’re right. The sooner we can get to the bar, the better.”

You both scramble through the pile of clean clothing on your floors, each of you too busy and overworked to bother putting it away, and before you know it, you’re in your happy place: chatting with Sasha and Historia, tucked snug against the sticky bar at Scout’s. You’ve all been coming here since the fake ID days; you still remember Historia’s twenty-first, when she had smacked her real driver’s license into the chest of the grumpy old barkeep, Levi, with a triumphant “Ha!”. He’d given you all a round of free shots, and then promptly thrown you out and banned you for a week as time-out. You’d all taken to calling him “Captain” because of the way he ran his bar tight like a navy ship.

“Oh, Captain Levi!” Sasha sing-songs down the bar at him, waving her empty beer bottle and blowing him a kiss. Levi’s unimpressed, dropping another Bud Light onto a coaster in front of her and walking away without a word. “He hates me.”

“He hates you,” you agree, nodding into– what is this, your third beer? Fourth? You’ve already resigned yourself to a lazy Saturday morning, deciding (after some prodding from Historia and Sasha) that your overworked brain deserves more than a two-hour break.

“I don’t get why,” Sasha pouts, digging her hand into the complimentary peanuts the Captain had flung at you upon arrival, “I always tip well.”

“You have to tip well because you annoy the shit out of him every time we come,” Historia corrects her, glancing towards the door.

You frown at her. “Who are you looking for? That’s like, the fourth time you’ve checked the door since we got here.”

Historia makes a show of faux-innocence, checking her phone and looking back at the door again. “No one.”

“Ymir’s out of town, and we’re both here, so that rules out the only suspects I can think of,” Sasha shrugs. You watch Historia closely, the way she checks her phone every few moments, the way her eyes haven’t landed anywhere but you or the door for the last ten minutes, remembering the way she had insisted you tug your shirt down to bare a little more cleavage a few minutes ago…your heart drops.

“You. Fucking. Didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Historia’s got a smile tucked under her teeth now, another glance toward the door.

“You didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” Sasha whips back and forth between you two, panicked. “Didn’t what?”

“You did not invite him.”

“I didn’t invite him–”

“Who?” Sasha demands. You seethe, refusing to take your withering glare off of Historia.

“Her fucking dealer.”

“You have a dealer now, Stor?” Sasha’s eyes fly wide with worry.

“He’s not my dealer,” Historia rolls her eyes, “it’s Eren.”

“Eren Jaeger?” Sasha calms instantly, even looking bored. “Why does that matter? Is he bringing Armin?”

“He came over earlier, and he was totally checking her out–”

You interrupt Historia’s explanation, exasperated. “How does everyone know Eren?”

“I told you, he’s just one of those guys–”

“Everyone knows, I know,” you grumble, taking a long sip, “but even Sasha knows him, and I don’t? I mean, come on.”

“I only know him through Connie,” Sasha pets your arm, chastising, “and my old roommate was hooking up with him for awhile. He’s seriously packing.”

“I heard that!” Historia practically squeals, shaking Sasha’s arm. “Is it true?”

“Who cares?” You shoot daggers at both of them, well aware that you’re making a show out of your annoyance. A small part of your brain does care what’s lurking behind Eren’s zipper, but it’s not like you’re going to act on it. “Why did you invite him, Historia? We don’t even know the guy.”

“I told you,” Historia shows you her phone, proof on the screen, “I didn’t invite him. I just happened to mention we’d be here, and it turns out he’s coming anyway. See?”

> thanks for coming by such short notice earlier! is anyone having a kickback tonight? we’re stopping in at scouts but not sure ab later.

> Not that i know of but me and min will be there later i have a few guys picking up around 10 see u then.

The English major part of your brain instantly hates the way he texts; what kind of psycho doesn’t include a single punctuation mark in between three independent clauses excepting a period at the end?

“He texts like he’s illiterate,” you wrinkle your nose. Historia and Sasha groan.

“He’s a dude, he probably is illiterate, but who cares? I’m talking like eight inches–” Sasha’s cut off by Captain Levi reaching across the bar to slam her beer back onto its coaster from where she had moved it onto the hardwood, fixing her with a disgusted glare. “Oops.”

“Poor Captain,” you muse, watching as he dutifully polishes a set of clean tumbler glasses. “No wonder he hates you.”

“He hates everyone, if it makes you feel any better.” A familiar voice floats over your shoulder, and you smile, swiveling on your barstool to lock eyes with Armin. You hug him like you hadn’t just seen him this morning, the few drinks you’ve had pushing you to be a little over affectionate.

“How are you?”

“Thirsty,” Armin responds, smiling bashfully. Your excitement fizzles into nerves when you notice who’s behind him. Eren got his hands tucked into the pockets of a well-loved, olive-green hoodie (that makes his eyes pop, an unhelpful part of your brain notices), one corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Funny seeing you here,” Eren exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Historia, one that makes your entire face warm.

“Very funny,” you say dryly, shooting a nasty look in Historia’s direction, “work or pleasure?”

“Mostly the former,” Eren says, reaching over the bar to grab two beers from the ice well, “but might as well.”

Your jaw drops; you look back to the Captain, waiting for him to throw Eren out of his bar, but the Captain simply nods coolly at Eren, returning to his polishing.

“How did you just survive that?” You can’t help but gape at him. Eren hands one of the beers to Armin, shrugging.

“I keep half of his late-night staff awake and on-task. Call it a perk of the job.” You want to hate the ease with which he says it, but the lack of arrogance in his voice stops you. He’s not like other dealers you’ve met, always covered in tacky face tattoos and posting Instagram stories of, like, three hundred dollars, showing it off like it’s enough to buy more than a decent used TV with. In fact, you couldn’t picture Eren showing anything off; he’s self-assured, but not smug. Cool, but not out of touch.

“We’ve been coming here for years, and the Captain still hates us.” You’re loath to admit it, but you’re a little– but just a little– impressed. Eren raises an eyebrow at Sasha behind you, telling some story to Armin that evidently requires so much enthusiasm that she’s waving her hands wildly, nearly knocking her beer over. Armin catches the bottle as it happens, looking over his shoulder anxiously at Levi.

“I wonder why.”

“Sasha’s just…” you want to defend your friend, but she’s busy tipping her beer over for the second time, “easily excited.”

“And you’re not?” Eren asks quizzically, amusement clear on his face. In comparison to his unreadable resting expression, any form of emotion looks good crossing his features. A nervous fluttering erupts in your stomach, one you desperately try to quell.

“Hey! I’m fun, just…not as fun as Sasha.”

“I don’t think many people are,” Eren agrees, wincing as Sasha’s beer finally escapes Armin’s quick fingers, crashing over the bar. Levi rushes over to scold her, something that makes both of you laugh.

When you turn back to Eren, his eyes are looking over the top of your head in the direction of the door. A sandy-haired frat dude has entered, looking around and tapping his foot with an obviousness that rivals having walked in with a huge neon sign that read Looking for my plug. Annoyance flickers on Eren’s face for a moment, and he sighs.

“Gimme a sec,” he sets his beer beside yours, “I’ll be right back.”

You haven’t indulged in the conversation long enough to require the promise of a return, but as you watch him walk towards the door, steer the frat dude into a corner you know the cameras don’t catch, you catch a hint of excitement in yourself for him to come back. You pick anxiously at the label on your beer bottle, putting conscious effort into looking anywhere but the back of Eren’s head until an unpleasant, familiar scent envelops you. Your stomach roils.

“Hey you,” Floch slides into Eren’s formerly-occupied spot, smiling saccharinely sweet, “where have you been hiding?”

You can practically feel Historia and Sasha bristling behind you; Floch isn’t an ex, exactly, more like a prolonged series of lapses in judgment. You sigh, trying to look just interested in him enough not to be rude.

“You know me, I stay busy.”

“So busy you can make time for Scout’s without inviting me?”

You feel the grimace flicker momentarily across your face. “You’re here anyway, aren’t you?”

“Would have come earlier if I knew you were going to be here,” he gets closer, his tacky cologne clouding the air around you. You nearly groan; what had ever possessed you to hook up with this guy? Multiple times? The thorn he is in your side now is what you deserve for your stupidity.

“Can we just cut to the chase?” You surprise even yourself with how curt you sound. “I’m too busy for anything like…that at the moment.”

Floch pouts, contrived innocence on his freckled face. “Anything like what?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Eren’s pushing his way back into the spot he’d been standing, interrupting whatever weak-willed excuse you were preparing to offer Floch. Floch’s clearly flustered, moving aside to make room for Eren, eyes flickering between the both of you.

“Hey Jaeger, good to see you again, man,” Floch slaps a stiff hand on Eren’s shoulder. The look on Eren’s face can only be described as a mixture of bewilderment and thinly-veiled distaste; you have to hide your snicker behind your hand.

“Yeah, you too…?”

“Floch Forster,” Floch’s eyes dart off to the side, a light flush rising to his cheeks. “I think we actually met a while ago, at Onyo’s birthday thing? I’m a friend of hers.”

Eren’s eyes meet yours; you try to make the most subtle expression you can to alert Eren to the fact that you and Floch are most definitely not friends. Eren inclines his head ever so slightly to confirm that he’s picked up on your signal, turning to Floch and using the few inches he has on him to bully the other man further out of your space.

“Okay well, Floch, we were sort of in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind…”

You blink, startled at Eren’s bluntness, the sort of outright tone that’s only used by someone who can back up their shit. Floch’s taken aback, backing up by a foot or so, but he furrows his brow. He’s never been one to go down easy.

“In the middle of what, exactly? We can’t all be friends?”

Eren chuckles lightly, but the threat is there. “No.”

Floch’s features twist with anger. “What’s your problem, dude?”

“No problem,” Eren says coolly, “just in the middle of something.”

Floch looks to you to confirm, and you nod your head silently, angling your barstool towards Eren to make your point. “I’ll see you around, Floch.”

“Yeah,” Floch’s frown grows deeper, but he mercifully makes his way back to his table, “see ya.”

A beat of pregnant, awkward silence passes between you and Eren as Floch retreats, the unasked question weighing the air down between you.

“So, he’s not–”

“Please tell me that isn’t–”

You both speak at the same time, cutting yourselves off with a laugh. Eren brings his beer to his lips, grinning. “You first.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not an ex.”

Eren raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”

“He’s just…a bad decision or two, that’s all.” That’s as gently as you can put it without bringing up the days when you were as fun as Sasha, maybe even more so, pounding as much tequila as you could get your hands on and going home with more than a few unsavory characters. You’ve left most of that life behind now, but Floch loves to rear his head at the worst moments and rarely backs down without a fight. “Thanks for getting him out of here, by the way.”

“You didn’t seem overly interested,” Eren finishes his beer, leans forward onto the bar and makes a little hand signal to Levi. You smirk.

“Only get the first round free?”

“Two more,” Eren ignores your teasing to speak to Levi, pointing between himself and your near-empty bottle. He pulls out a twenty, slides it to Levi, holds up his hand when Levi offers him change.

“Big spender too, huh?”

Eren rolls his eyes, something playful toying at the corner of his mouth. “Just because me and ‘Min drink for free, doesn’t mean you do. If I’m getting you a beer, I’m going to pay for it.”

“And tip triple what it’s worth?”

“Honestly,” Eren leans close to you and lowers his voice, something woody and intoxicating wafting off of him, “I think I pissed off your ex, and if he’s anything like the guy I think he is, he’s going to get trashed and try to fight the pinball machine in the corner. It’s the least I can do.”

His proximity goes to your head, makes your brain cloudy. He’s close enough that you can see his pulse thudding in his throat. You swallow hard, scramble for a response. “Aren’t you quite the philanthropist? And he’s not my ex.”

“Go tell him that,” Eren scoffs, “get the pinball fight on early.”

“Do you talk to every girl like this?”

“Like what?”

“Patronizing,” you say accusingly, letting a sip of cold beer wash over your tongue, hoping it will shock you out of your little trance. To your surprise, a divot appears between Eren’s thick brows and his bottom lip sticks out a bit in a pout.

“‘M not trying to be patronizing,” he leans on the bar, god, now he’s even closer, “sorry if it came off that way.”

“I was teasing,” you smile half-heartedly, leaning back in your barstool to get a few precious inches between you two.

“I just…really don’t like that kid. Gives me a bad vibe.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head there,” you agree, chancing a glance back over your shoulder to the redheaded man at the hightop. Floch doesn’t notice you peeking, too caught up in making a group of underclassmen who are definitely underage giggle demurely at whatever he was saying. That was always something you hated about him; he was so showy, always having to establish himself as the center of attention in every room. He was just so unlike…Eren. You want to smack a palm to your forehead, knock the thought right out of your brain.

Something catches Eren’s attention, and you turn to look. Yet another antsy frat boy is hovering by the door, sweating bullets. Eren glances down at you apologetically, but you only smile back at him, understanding.

“Go ahead.”

“Two seconds,” Eren promises, pressing his beer into your hand as a guarantor of his return.

The next hour or so passes in mostly the same fashion; Eren alternates between standing beside you and making inconspicuous handshakes with a few more customers that come ambling into the bar. Some are anxiety-ridden like the first two, some appear to be friends, clapping Eren on the back and pulling a bright, genuine smile out of him that makes your stomach do backflips. You shoot the shit in the meantime, bickering over trivial topics like the best late-night pizza shops around and which streaming service is actually worth the money.

You don’t learn anything too substantial about Eren, but you do learn a few things. He seems to enjoy listening to you talk about literature, a welcome change from Historia and Sasha, psychology graduate students who tend to zone out whenever you let a term like “character development” slip. His eyes light up when you go into a detailed rant about how Hamlet isn’t overrated and anyone who thinks it is just doesn’t know how to properly analyze it, and he cackles when you inform him that Dante’s Inferno is essentially Bible-based fanfiction that has irreparably altered the Christian religion for the worse.

You learn that family is a sore spot, an innocent, obligatory question from you about life back home casting a shadow over Eren’s face. You immediately backtrack, of course, but pocket his reaction so you can avoid the topic later. You learn that he’s a cat person; he has a little black kitten at home named Gumi from his favorite anime. You learn that he’s deathly allergic to pistachios, but not any other nuts for some reason that his childhood doctors could never pinpoint. Most recently, you’ve learned that he hates tequila, basing this observation on his fake-retching reaction when Sasha orders a round of shots.

He raises his eyebrows, impressed, when you throw yours back without flinching. “So you’re a tequila girl, huh?”

“I’m blowing off steam,” you brush him off. You can hear your voice developing a slight slur to it, though, and behind you, Sasha and Historia are starting to sing some old, classic rock song you used to pregame with. You know your fun night out has started to reach its expiration date.

“Not driving, right?”

“God no,” you shake your head vigorously, “I live around the corner, remember?”

“That’s right,” Eren’s mouth quirks up in a way that makes you think he’s not thinking about the past, but of a potential future he could file that address away for. Warmth pools in your stomach, bubbling low and molten in your core; yeah, you need to get out of here.

“Speaking of…” you pull your purse around to set it in your lap, rifling through it for your credit card, “we should probably head that way soon. When I start taking shots and Sasha starts singing, it’s bedtime.”

Eren blushes; you have to hold back a giddy laugh at how cute it looks on him. “You don’t need that.”

“Don’t need what?’

“Your card.”

You roll your eyes at him. “I get that you have friends in high places here, but my name is permanently engraved on the Captain’s shit list, so I actually have to pay my tab.”

“I, uh, sorta took care of it while you were in the bathroom. Figured you’d be heading out soon.” Eren rubs a hand over the back of his neck. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he almost looks bashful.

You blink, processing his words. “Eren…you didn’t have to do that.”

“Wanted to,” he shrugs, turning to face the community of sticky bottles on Levi’s side of the bar, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

“I’m going home alone,” you clarify, just in case you’ve given him the wrong impression. Well, it might not necessarily be the wrong impression; you’ve been trying to keep the simmering under your skin contained all night, but you’re still not going to take him home…at least not the first day you’ve met him, you tell yourself.

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckles, “I didn’t pay because I thought it’d convince you to go home with me. Sometimes people are just nice.”

You’re a little stunned. Somehow you think you’d be less surprised if he had said he paid it with the expectation of you fucking him. “...right. Well, thank you, anyway. You really didn’t have to.”

“No problem,” Eren’s air of casual coolness has returned, he slings an arm around your shoulder when you slide off of your barstool to land on the floor beside him, squeezing your body tight to his in a little half-hug. “It was cool talking to you. Sure you don’t need an escort?”

He eyes Sasha and Historia behind you, giving their goodbyes to Armin via a peppering of kisses all over his now-red face. You shake your head up at him, feeling rather incapacitated with the weight of his muscly arm bearing down on your shoulders. “I think we’ll survive.”

“I’ll see you soon, then.” The promise glitters in his eyes as it leaves his lips, leaves your head in a whirl.

To your disappointment, he hugs Historia and Sasha goodbye, too, and you make your drunken way home, arms linked as you charge through the October chill. Your friends beg for details of your night, Historia gloating intermittently, but you aren’t even sure what to tell them. Nothing of importance had really happened, and yet, it felt like it had.

As you drift into what will hopefully be a long night of much-needed sleep, you try to make a mental list of all the things you need to do to set up your class’ next unit. You’re moving onto Shakespeare, but your hazy mind keeps inexplicably wandering back to green eyes, plush lips, long fingers wrapping around a sweaty bottle. You hadn’t actually been lying to Floch when you told him you were far too busy for anything remotely resembling male companionship for the time being, but something about Eren…he was stuck to your dwindling consciousness, the most irrelevant details of your conversation together playing on a loop in your head. Much ado about nothing, indeed.

#aot x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren x you #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #mabn #aot fanfiction #aot smut

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years

Text

Coming Home (Part Eleven)

Azriel x Reader

Is this me...being SOFT?! (Seriously tho, I have zero experience with writing romance and chemistry between characters, so I'm sorry if it's not great lol)

Warnings: None!

⧪

Mor tells me you aren’t coming to Starfall.

The handwriting was Azriel’s. Brilliant and intricate on the parchment that had appeared before you, you studied the curves and loops of the words, a smile playing on your lips.

Mor would be right about that, you wrote back.

Things had become…better — calmer — in the two weeks since that awful night in Windhaven. You’d braved a few returns to check in on Thea and the other girls — Azriel insisting on taking you there and back every time — and they were recovering well. The relentless strength of younglings never failed to amaze you.

Things with Rhys were on better footing — in the loosest way. Not perfect, by any means, but you’d agreed to put things behind you for the time being. There was still much you needed to talk about, get out in the open, but you’d decided to let things lie until after Starfall.

And then there was Azriel.

You were friends again, no longer avoiding each other, no tiptoeing around a massive rift. You were on your best behaviour, keeping things purely platonic and not overstepping the mark. And it was a relief. A weight off your shoulders.

Things between you had begun to feel like they used to — like they were before you’d dared to attempt that kiss on Starfall night all those years ago. A comforting, familiar thing that you’d gladly fallen back into, just like old times—

Yet somewhere amongst it all, things had slowly begun to…change. Become different.

The notes — writing back and forth when you weren’t physically together — was an entirely new thing. Azriel’s witty words had become somewhat of a calming presence during long days at the clinic. You found yourself excited for the notes to appear before you, found yourself grinning like an idiot as you read over his thoughts and questions and light teasing, and you formulated your responses.

And maybe he was just trying to make sure you were keeping your shit together after that awful night in Windhaven. Or maybe he was simply enjoying having your friendship back, revelling in it. Whatever it was…Azriel was always the instigator. Always the first to write.

It’s your first Starfall in almost a century — why would you not come?

You studied the question he’d written back, chewing your lip. So many things you could write — the truth, maybe; that you weren’t sure you could face the memory of your last Starfall in its entirety. It was one thing having the gnawing recollection of it in the back of your mind, staining your cheeks pink, but being back up on that balcony while light and life burst through the skies above you, was a whole different thing. Seeing the passing stars cast flashes of light across Azriel’s sculpted face, his full lips—

No. Pointing that out to him did not align with the whole being friends thing. It would be inappropriate, awkward, to bring it up.

So you simply wrote back, I have nothing to wear.

Such a pathetic excuse, that you snorted to yourself — and imagined Az doing the same. Seconds passed before his writing once more appeared before your eyes.

So I’ll buy you something.

Your heart did a silly, pathetic flip, a grin pulling at your lips. You loved this — the teasing; had missed it. And even though it was slightly different to what it had once been…somehow more than it had once been…it still made you feel light and giddy and content.

Yes — you could totally do the friendship thing. Could totally be responsible and appropriate and proper.

You didn’t write back to his jestful suggestion, having found yourself occupied by a patient walking through the door of the clinic.

But it was just as you were closing up for a quick lunch at noon, that you heard the thud of footsteps approaching the front counter, and you turned to find Azriel there in all his brilliant, dark glory.

The sight of him had your heart picking up. Gods, he was beautiful. Writing notes back and forth was one thing, but…seeing him in person…you felt your body flush.

You gave him a once-over — no injuries that you could detect. So why was he here?

“Please tell me you haven’t been hit with an ash arrow again.” You said.

One side of his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin. “No, lady. I’m completely intact.”

A stab of relief pinched at you, relaxing your shoulders. “So what brings you here? I was just about to close up and take a quick lunch.”

“Perfect. We’re going shopping.”

You stopped, blinking. Surely he wasn’t serious. He seemed to find your surprise amusing, and he dipped his chin, as if to hide a smile.

“Don’t you have someone to spy on, or something?” You asked. Most days, it was a novelty if anyone saw Azriel at all, besides the flash of his flying form in the skies above them.

“No, I don’t.” He smiled. “My afternoon is free — and yours. If you’ll have my company.”

If. Was he aware of how preposterous it was to bring such a thing into question? Of course you'd have his company — as much of it as he’d give. Maybe he truly didn’t realise that.

Still, your eyes flicked around the wooden interior of the clinic, responsibility nagging at you from the back of your mind.

Azriel tracked your gaze. “I’m sure anyone in great need of a healer would track Madja down.” He pointed out. “Why don’t you close up for the rest of the day? You work hard enough as it is.”

You cocked an eyebrow, the phrase pot-kettle-black springing to mind. “As do you.”

“Well, then.” The smirk on his lips was delicious, breathtaking as he held out a hand to you. “Clearly we both deserve a break. Let’s have some fun.”

And maybe it was stupid and reckless and not in keeping with the platonic boundaries the two of you had set for yourselves, but you relented.

Every part of you tingled as you placed your hand in his, and he led you out the door.

⧪

The Palace of Thread and Jewels.

Perhaps the most opulent of the four market squares in Velaris. Every inch of it boasted wealth and decadence, with window displays of intricately-woven tapestries, others glinting with the jewels and gems that the afternoon light bounced off of. And of course, the clothiers; it seemed there were outfitters there for every occasion you could possibly need to shop for, be it a ball or a wedding, a steamy night with your mate – even just lounging at home. You’d always found it breathtaking; the talents behind the makers of such garments and jewels. That they knew precisely what to do with yards and yards of beautiful fabrics.

It dawned on you very quickly that in the time you’d been back, you hadn’t truly taken the chance to simply appreciate the unique experience that was walking around Velaris. It was an assault on the senses in the most heady, wonderful way. The constant accompaniment of chatter, and the faraway music that drifted on a wind from The Rainbow, seeming to snake its way through all corners of the city. The trickle of the market fountain that children played around, flicking coins into the water or chasing birds across the square. And the delicious smells that wafted from restaurants and cafes, of tea and coffee and spices and sweet treats.

So many places you’d been to across the world, and yet none of them were quite like this.

Azriel strode closely by your side, eyes always watching and alert. He wouldn’t say it, but…you got the sense that he was uncomfortable, with the way people stared – soaking in the novelty of their High Lord’s spymaster and sister strolling amongst them. Even with his scarred hands tucked into gloves, he kept them shoved inside his pockets as though making entirely sure that no one would catch a glance.

It made you want to grab one of those hands more than ever. Hold it openly and proudly.

Azriel led you into a shop that you’d trailed Mor around many times before – her favourite, you knew. The clothes it sold were gorgeous, the seamstress behind every one of the pieces an utter expert at producing intricate garments that were sexy and classy and beautiful. You brushed your hand over different dresses as you followed Az in, wondering what might look good on you, which colours were best against your skin tone, which materials complemented your body the most.

The two of you looked up as the seamstress emerged from the back of the shop, her eyes immediately fixing on Azriel. She looked him up and down, a familiar flash of hunger in her eyes.

“Shadowsinger,” She greeted him – not you – in a voice as smooth as melted chocolate. “What can I do for you today?”

Azriel inclined his head in your direction, hands still shoved into his pockets. “I’m here to find the lady an outfit suitable for Starfall. One as beautiful as she is. I know you must have something, Mauve.”

Mauve was forced to look at you then – though she seemed reluctant to tear her eyes from Azriel. She appraised you in a way that made you feel strangely naked, her eyes taking in the dips and curves of your body. “I’m sure there’s something here you’d find suitable.”

“We won’t keep you from your work.” Azriel’s smile was easy, charming – and a clear dismissal. “We’ll give you a shout should we require your assistance.”

Mauve didn’t push it. Dipping her chin, she turned and disappeared through the door she’d emerged from, leaving you and Az alone on the shop floor.

You turned to him, a small, coy smile playing on your lips. You couldn’t quite believe you were going along with this – allowing him to buy you something for Starfall when you hadn’t even agreed to attend in the first place. You felt strangely nervous and shy, fiddling with your hands.

“Would you favour a dress?” Az murmured in his lilting voice, already walking past clothes racks and mannequins in slow, easy strides. “Or perhaps something more akin to Amren’s style?”

You cleared your throat, falling into step beside him. “Um. A dress, I suppose…”

He nodded, and you watched as he finally pulled his hands from his pockets. The gloves came off next, bearing his beautiful hands to the warm interior of the shop. It took you a moment to realise he hadn’t merely grown too hot from the heating enchantment – he wanted to feel the fabrics. To test how different materials brushed his skin.

He ran his hand over different dresses, a pinch of thought on his face. “You like autumnal colours. Reds and oranges and yellows.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. An observation. He’d actually noticed that about you – taken note of the shades you often wore, the different ones you paired together.

“I do.” You concurred, watching his fingers glide over silk of a burnt orange colour.

“Perhaps that’s why you like Lucien Vanserra so much.”

Your eyes flickered to his, finding him already gazing at you, his head on a slight tilt. His face was always so unreadable, it was hard to know the meaning or intent behind his words. But you thought…thought maybe there was a flash of ire in there somewhere. Or something like it.

“What’s so bad about Lucien?” You asked.

Azriel shook his head. “Lucien isn’t a bad male. Not by any stretch of the imagination.” His tongue swiped over his bottom lip. “Perhaps I’m just selfish.”

Before you could question him, he brushed past you, crossing the shop floor and stopping before another rack. You could feel the frown tugging at your face – something about you wanted to push the subject.

But things were good again. And you were enjoying yourself for the first time in a long while. You were loath to get into a disagreement with him.

“Here.” His voice hummed as you approached him from behind. He angled slightly towards you, his deft fingers brushing a velvet dress the colour of plum. “This – it reminds me of the dress you wore at the ball Rhys threw for your nineteenth birthday.”

You baulked at him. “You remember that?”

His hazel eyes were like heated syrup that burned into yours. Like he was trying to communicate something without saying the words.

“How could I forget?” Was all he offered.

Indeed, that night was the most beautiful you’d ever felt, after years of plain, unassuming clothes that you merely wore to hide the scars Tamlin’s father had left you with. The first time you’d ever really felt like a woman instead of a girl – and it seemed that every male in that ballroom had echoed that sentiment. Never had you been asked for so many dances or offered so many drinks. That dress had given you confidence you’d never imagined yourself having. And you’d never quite been able to emulate it since.

“Do you see anything you like?” Az asked, letting the fabric drop from his fingers. “Whatever you want, you’ll have.”

There it was again – that flipping of your heart and your stomach. You pursed your lips, nodding at the plum velvet dress. “I want to try it on.”

You could have sworn there was a hint of a smile as he eased it from the rack, holding it carefully as though he was worried his scarred hands would marr the beauty of the garment. Still, he carried it for you, leading you through to the small changing area.

“I’ll wait here.” He handed you the dress, perching on a chair that in no way accommodated his massive wings.

You were…you were nervous, you realised, as you sidled into the changing stall, the dress draped over your arm, and slid the curtain across. Something felt so intimate about this situation…like crossing a little line you never had before.

You didn’t quite understand how you’d ended up here, when a matter of weeks ago, you and Az hadn’t been talking. Not that you were complaining.

You undressed, hyper-aware that nothing but a flimsy curtain was separating the two of you. Your body felt too hot, too tight as you slid the dress on, the velvet caressing your skin.

And realised the dress did up from the back.

You almost groaned. Like the Mother, the Cauldron, the Gods-damn fates, were trying to push you into compromising situations with Az, no matter how hard you tried to avoid them, to behave yourself. Of course you would try on a dress you couldn’t reach the fucking ties to.

You tweaked back the curtain an inch, clearing your throat. “Um…” You murmured, cheeks flushing as Az glanced up. “It kind of…laces up at the back.”

He stared at you. Just for a split second, before he rose from the chair, so big in that tiny little changing section that it was almost comical. You stepped aside to make room, and he had to duck just to get into the changing stall.

You turned your back to him, coming face-to-face with the mirror. And the sight of you both…him stood at your back like that, close enough to feel the cool press of his leathers against your skin…it could well have set you alight.

It was an effort to keep yourself upright, to stop your knees from buckling, as Az’s rough fingers gently brushed your hair to the side, letting it fall over one shoulder. He was silent as he began to pull at the laces, but his breaths – they were heavy. Loud. Fanning the back of your neck with delicious warmth.

“Hope I’m doing this right.” He murmured, his brow pinched in concentration.

The dress was pulling tighter against you, accentuating the silhouette of your figure through the fabric. And perhaps that was why you were breathing so quick and so heavy, feeling like you may just pass out from the proximity, from his potent, earthy scent. You closed your eyes as you felt him reach the last of the laces, bracing your hand against the wall.

“There.” His voice was soft, gentle, the sound of it moving through his chest and brushing your back. It was a task in itself to bite down the moan that wanted to slip from your lips.

It took you a while to actually face what you looked like in that dress. And Az was patient, still lingering behind you as you slowly opened your eyes and drank in your reflection. It was simple, yet pretty…not adorned with beads or jewels, but it didn’t need to be. Something about the soft velvet…the deep purple shade…it just looked right. Dark and gorgeous and daring.

Like you belonged in the Night Court.

Az was staring, too. Staring hard. You watched as his eyes moved down and down, taking in every inch of you; appreciating every inch of you. They slowly flicked back up again, his gaze meeting yours in the mirror. You could see the rise and fall of your chest through the dress.

With careful movements – like he was testing himself, or you, or something – he placed a hand on your shoulder. His fingers brushed the skin there, before moving down the length of your arm. Each delicate touch left a trail of heat behind it. You wondered if he could feel it, sense it – what his touch did to you.

His eyes followed his own movements, watching as his fingers glided over your wrist and stopped at your hand. Where he took it in his own, his palm warm against the back of your hand.

He laced his fingers between yours, giving a gentle squeeze that drew the slightest of sounds from your throat.

“I’ve always thought you have the prettiest skin.” His voice was a whisper, and yet daringly loud in your ears.

You could have been the only two people left in the shop, in Velaris, in the whole fucking world, for all you aware of it. It was just you and him in that moment, in that tiny, cramped stall, when your bodies were pressed together, his hand clinging to yours.

“It’s like…” He continued, his thumb brushing over yours in soft strokes. “It makes me think of water. When it’s still and unbroken. Just…clear. Serene. Magical.”

You closed your eyes, sure you were definitely going to faint. Maybe even die. Maybe you were already dead, and this was the beyond, and–

You yelped as Az suddenly spun you around, forcing you to face him. A single breath had your fronts brushing against each other. He didn’t let go of your hand, and you didn’t dare open your eyes.

“Look at me…” He whispered.

Releasing a staggered breath, you willed your eyes to open. There wasn’t a part of you that didn’t tremble, even with the firm grip of his hand holding onto you. You could feel how flushed your cheeks were, how much of a simpering fool you must have looked.

But Azriel drank you in – not your reflection, but you. Every last bit of you. His throat worked on a swallow, his lips parting.

“You…” He breathed, swallowing again. “You’re a wonder.”

Your heart did that silly little flip in your chest, your eyes darting to the ground. You couldn’t face him like this, couldn’t–

“Don’t hide from me,” His other hand gently grabbed your chin. “Please…”

There were so many things you wanted to say in that moment. So many things you wanted to do – the most pressing being the urge to shove him against the wall, to rip his clothes off and taste every bit of him. Or maybe you could be slow, be methodical about it. Maybe you could try a small, soft kiss, test the waters–

“Hello?” The harsh, feminine voice was like being jolted awake. You and Az jerked back from each other just as the curtain was pulled aside, and the seamstress took in the sight of you both, pursing her lips in clear disapproval. “Did you find what you were looking for?” She asked.

Az looked to you inquisitively – it was your choice. “We’ll get whatever you like. This one, or we can look for another–”

“I like this dress.” You cut in quickly, clearing your throat. “I’ll get this one.”

The seamstress gave the two of you one more scathing glance before she nodded. “I’ll be waiting at the counter.”

Az turned back to you, eyes flicking over you again. Eyes you couldn’t meet without losing your cool completely.

You cleared your throat again. “I think I can actually manage with the laces.”

Azriel seemed to hesitate, before he nodded. “I’ll be just out there, then.”

He stepped out, pausing just to cast one more glance at you over his shoulder. Like he wanted one more look at you in that dress.

“Very good choice.” He said quietly, and let the curtain fall between you.

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

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