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binunus · 3 years

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injury | cha eunwoo

a/n ~im a simp for eunwoo, you’re a simp for eunwoo, let’s be simps for eunwoo~

LMFAO anyway this is the first week w/o true beauty and yes as much as suho’s character was a bit toxic, he was end game and that’s it !! also eunwoo bb worked so hard :’) no one can deny eunwoo’s superb acting skills alright !! and if they do they boutta catch these hands. so here’s a cute little something of basketball player!eunwoo bc im in love with him

pls watch handsome tigers or this tik tok if you wanna indulge in basketball player!eunwoo bc everyone should at least once in their life

→ pairing: basketball player!eunwoo x athletic trainer!reader

→ genre: fluff, lil angst

→ word count: 5.1k ________________________________________________

Your POV

One thing you didn’t expect when you applied to be a student athletic trainer for the university basketball team was to end up dating one of their star players, but here you were: holding hands with Cha Eunwoo–the starting shooting guard–as you two walked into the basketball court.

He gave you a smile and a kiss to the cheek before going off to join his teammates in stretching. You let out a content sigh, watching as he happily greeted the other basketball players, and then went over to the other student trainers.

Usually, you wouldn’t have much to do since the boys were just practicing, but there was someone new joining today, so you and the other trainers had to give her a little rundown on what she signed up for.

“-mostly we just tape up and ice the guys if they have an injury or a muscle strain, but yeah that should be about it. Simple, right?”

The new girl nodded, eyes trained on the court as the team just started their warmups. “Who’s that? Number 97 is hot–”

“And dating y/n.” One of the male trainers, and yours and Eunwoo’s close friend, Rocky said, narrowing his eyes at the new girl as he rested his elbow on your shoulder. “So don’t even think of any ideas to–”

“Rocky,” You scolded hitting his stomach, “Don’t be rude.”

The girl gave you a once over, an uncomfortable smile on your face, as her eyes met yours. “Ah...well, you must have an amazing personality, y/n!”

You were taken aback, did she just call you ugly? You forced a laugh, trying your best not to quip back at her. Rocky, though, had no restraints, “Clearly a better one than yours.”

Before the new girl could respond, the head trainer called her over, a huge sigh of relief coming from you. Rocky clicked his tongue as he stared at her back, “She’s not going to last long with us. I don’t get why you’re so timid when others are clearly insulting you, y/n.”

You rolled your eyes at him. When it came to your friends, it was definitely Rocky and Myungjun who were not afraid to be bold about what they were thinking. “Eunwoo and I have been dating for more than a year now, you don’t think I’m used to people always saying that my boyfriend is out of my league? I just try to ignore it now Rocky c’mon, I know how Eunwoo feels about me and that’s enough.”

“Damn hyung’s handsome face.” The younger male shook his head. You chuckled, the two of you taking a seat on the bench and conversing as the basketball practice went on. During water breaks, Eunwoo would come over to where you and Rocky were sitting, chatting it up with you two in brief increments before resuming practice. He would always pucker his lips up for a peck before leaving, which you would definitely grant and Rocky would pretend to be disgusted.

By the end of their practice, you managed to successfully avoid the new girl, waiting outside the locker room like you always do after bidding Rocky goodbye. Eunwoo smiled once he saw you, immediately draping his arm around your shoulders as he kissed your temple in greeting. “Baby, I’m hungry.”

“Mmm, you want to eat out or order in?” You asked looking up at him.

“Order in, I’m tired.” He said, the two of you already making your way to his car.

As soon as you two arrived back at Eunwoo’s apartment, he immediately plopped down on the couch. You chuckled, lightly smacking his butt, “Baby, go take a shower first, you’re sweaty.”

“Wanna take one with me?” He asked blinking his big beautiful eyes at you. You grinned, the offer was tempting, but you already took a shower earlier today and you wanted to order this food as soon as possible. Eunwoo pouted as you shook your head in rejection, getting up to go the bathroom looking like a kicked puppy.

You turned on the television to whatever variety show was on at the moment, barely paying attention as you were looking through the food delivery app on your phone. You turned your head as Bin walked out of his bedroom, no doubt having just woken up from a nap.

“Oh? You guys are back.” He said sleepily, waving to you.

“Binnie, we’re ordering for dinner, do you want something?” You asked offering him your phone, a laugh leaving you at the boost of energy he received from the word ‘dinner’

“You know a way to man’s heart, y/n.” Bin said jokingly as he started looking through the menu. “By the way, Rocky texted me about that new trainer–rude ass bitch.”

“God you guys spread gossip faster than girls.” You said amused, “I told him earlier, I’m used to people saying stuff like that. It’s whatever.”

“I guess, but you know how sad Eunwoo will be if he finds out this is still going on?” Bin said handing you your phone back. “We’ve been telling you this since the beginning, don’t let other people’s opinions get to you. You’re attractive, y/n! And to Eunwoo, you’re the most beautiful person in the world.”

You smiled, touched by his words of comfort, “Thanks Binnie, ah where would me and Eunwoo be without all of your guys’ support?”

“Nowhere because he wouldn’t have had the balls to confess to you if it wasn’t for us.” He scoffed heading to the bathroom.

“Change your mind, baby?”

“You better stay in the shower! I don’t wanna see your dick while I’m peeing.”

You laughed at their interaction, your attention shifting to the television as you patiently waited for your food and company. Within 30 minutes, the three of you were happily stuffing yourselves full with the takeout, talking up a storm while watching tv. You leaned back against the couch when you felt your stomach capacity maxed out, hands perched on your belly as you groaned, “I can’t eat anymore.”

They looked at you in amusement, Bin laughing while Eunwoo rested his hand on your knee, a fond smile on his face as he told you he’ll finish up your leftovers. The two boys then got engrossed in their own conversation of sorts, you listening quietly to the side as the food coma started to kick in. Somewhere in the midst of their conversation, you settled behind Eunwoo, legs draped next to his body as you snaked your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back. He hummed, still chewing on his food as he took one of your hands and squeezed it.

You started to zone out, their dialogue beginning to sound like a bunch of nonsensical noise. Bin looked over to where you were laying, “I think y/n’s about to knock out.”

Your boyfriend turned his body to get a glimpse of you, grinning as you whined from the shift in movement. He changed your positions so that you were leaning next to his side, his arm around your waist as you rested your head on his shoulder. “Food coma?”

You nodded, snuggling into his side to get comfortable. Bin watched the two of you with a smile, scooping up the last of his food before clapping his hands, “Well! you guys being all cuddly is making me miss my bub...so see you lovebirds tomorrow!”

You snort, eyes still closed as you respond to him, “Aren’t they hanging out with Eunbi right now? I saw it earlier on their Instagram story.”

He shrugs, gathering up the trash, “I’m going to crash their hangout because I want to cuddle too. Have fun you two, good night sweet dreams, use protection...or not, be a little spicy!”

Eunwoo rolls his eyes as he picks up a throw pillow and chucks it at his roommate, “Alright bye Binnie.”

It takes all but five minutes before Bin leaves the apartment. The moment you two were alone, Eunwoo immediately tightened his hold, practically pulling you onto his lap as he laid you both down on the couch, spooning you from behind. You let out a smile, hands on top of his as he kissed your shoulder, “You ran a lot today baby, are your legs okay?”

He cutely nods his head, his chin lightly digging into your skin, “My calves are a bit tight, but I’ll probably just roll them out at the gym tomorrow.”

You hummed, rubbing his arm, “Do you want me to massage your legs?”

“It’s okay baby, we’re both tired. I’ll just do it tomorrow.” He said, not wanting to move from the couch any time soon. You chuckled, turning around so that you faced him, your eyes finally blinking open, “If you wait until tomorrow, your calves are gonna be stiff and sore, you might get a muscle cramp. C’mon baby.”

He kissed your nose in response, “You were literally about to knock out from a food coma five minutes ago.”

“The feeling comes and goes,” You grinned, moving to stand up from the couch. Eunwoo pouted at your absence, but followed your movement anyway, taking your hand as you led him to his bedroom. He obediently laid face down on his bed, waiting as you searched his room for the roller stick. “Can we cuddle after?”

“Yes,” You laughed, giving him a kiss before you sat down next to his legs. “Baby, this is your perk for dating an athletic trainer. I need to make sure you’re in tip top shape.”

“But rolling calves always hurt.” Eunwoo whined, already wincing as you started to apply pressure under the back of his knee. You tried to be gentle at first before really going in with stretching his calf muscles, “that’s because your calves are the tensest muscles in the body, they’re put under a lot of strain and pressure from walking and running so it hurts when you try to relax them.”

“I love when you talk medical to me,” He sighs dreamily. You roll your eyes, pressing down hard on the meat of his calves. You felt bad when Eunwoo started letting out complaints of pain, trying to talk him through it and distract him from the pressure on his legs. “Ow ow baby! It hurts!”

“I know I know, almost done baby, I promise.” You said gently, rolling the stick thoroughly over both calves a couple more times, trying to get rid of all the deep knots that accumulated in his muscles. After deciding that he’s suffered through enough with the stick, you put it to the side and began kneading the heels of your palms through his skin, stimulating his muscles gently after the harsh rolling session. Your hands slowly moved north until they landed on his shoulders, briefly massaging the knots out in his neck as well. You ended up laying next to him, cooing cutely as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “all done.”

Your boyfriend smiled, pulling you into his chest as he kissed your forehead, “thank you baby.”

“You better not ask any of the other trainers to do this for you,” You pouted, a little bubble of jealousy coming up from the earlier situation at the gym. “Except Rocky, maybe.”

Eunwoo scoffed, running his hands through your hair as he met your eyes, “I would much rather have you give me a massage than Rocky. And hey, you better not offer this treatment to the other guys too or I’ll get jealous. You’re my trainer.”

“Deal.” You grinned hugging him tightly, all feelings of jealousy quenched.

Game days always had a specific schedule to be followed. In the morning, you two were free to do whatever you pleased, but it always ended up with the two of you procrastinating in bed until 11 am. Eunwoo always ate a high-protein high-calorie meal whenever he had games and today’s lunch was no different. After eating, the two of you began to get ready, which included showering and getting dressed.

Today you wore a simple set of jeans a black crop top, finishing your look with the university sports quarter zip, which you were required to wear for every game. After tying your hair up, you turned to your boyfriend who was just starting to dress himself. You took a seat on his bed, marveling at how attractive he looked as he slipped on his jersey and shorts. “I’ll never get over seeing you in your uniform, baby.”

He grinned, placing his arms on either side of your body as he hovered over you, leaning down for a kiss. You expected it to be short and sweet, but Eunwoo had different ideas, lips still working against yours as your back gave in, laying down on the bed. You whined as one of his hands took place on your waist, rubbing at the exposed skin, “Mm, baby, we have to leave soon.”

“I know,” he said moving his lips down your jaw, “I just wanted to kiss you.”

“You can kiss me all you want after your game.” You lightly chuckled, wrapping your arms around his torso in a hug. He nodded, face buried in your neck as he dug his hands under your body, hugging you tightly. You hummed, caressing his hair soothingly, “Are you nervous?”

“A little, I’m always nervous before a game, baby.” Eunwoo said pressing a kiss to your collarbone, “You’ll cheer me on, right?”

“Always,” You said patting his back, “C’mon, we should start heading out soon.”

He nodded, reluctantly getting off of you and pulling your body up with him. You offered your boyfriend a cheerful smile, reaching up to fix the bangs out of his eyes before cupping his cheeks, shaking his face in between your hands, “You’re going to do amazing today baby, as always.”

Eunwoo smiled at your action, pecking your lips again before the two of you did a last-minute search around his room for your belongings. After getting all that you needed, the two of you bid Bin goodbye, telling the swimmer that you’ll see him at the court later. You took your place in the driver’s seat, wanting Eunwoo to just relax for the short drive to the gymnasium. You dropped him off at the entrance first before going to find parking, having Eunwoo arrive early was more important than your arrival anyway.

As soon as you walked into the court, the players were already doing their stretches, your boyfriend in the midst of them all. You glanced at him briefly before greeting the other trainers, the group of you having a quick pre-game discussion of roles before being dismissed to do your own things.

You actively try to avoid the new girl as the time draws closer to the start of the game, not wanting your energy to get dampered. By now, the other team has already arrived and the stands were slowly starting to fill up. You were seated calmly behind the bench, trying to pass the time on your phone, before your boyfriend took the space next to you, hand automatically going on top of your knee. “You ready?”

“As much as I can be,” He grinned rubbing your kneecap, “Wanna come with me to fill up my water bottle?”

You nod, you weren’t doing anything anyway. The male immediately drapes his arm over your shoulders as the two of you walk to the water station, the two of you already getting excited about your dinner plans after the game. The rest of your friends would be joining you, no doubt, as you already spotted them near the front of the student seating.

You were in such a good mood, anticipating the start of what was going to be a good game. Your university was going against their rivals, so expectations for both teams were high. You and Eunwoo were leisurely walking back to the court, he still had a couple more minutes before he needed to join his team.

“Hey, you’re Eunwoo, right? I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Hana, the new student trainer. You’re really good at playing!” The girl said walking up to the two of you. You immediately felt your body stiffen at her appearance, trying not to let it show to your boyfriend. He gives the new girl a polite smile, “Ah thank you.”

“If you need anything, I’ll be more than happy to help you.” She said batting her eyelashes sweetly at him. You pursed your lips tightly, jealousy easily building up inside of you. Eunwoo only laughed awkwardly, “I appreciate it, but y/n’s got everything handled when it comes to me, right baby?”

You nod, trying your hardest not to punch Hana in the face at her blatant attempt to flirt with your boyfriend right in front of you. Eunwoo noticed your discomfort immediately, removing his hand from where it was interlocked with yours before slipping it around your waist, squeezing the skin gently. “Well, it was nice meeting you Hana, but I should go back to the team...I’ll look at you when I need good luck, baby, hm?”

You manage to crack a smile, a little laugh leaving you when he puckered his lips out for a kiss. You step on your tiptoes, granting his wish quickly, before pushing him out towards the court. You turn towards Hana and give her a forced smile before searching for Rocky.

You weren’t surprised to find him in the bleachers, sitting and chatting amongst your group of friends. You go and join them with a light feeling in your chest, greeting the other four of them with hugs.

“How are you doing y/n? You excited?” Jinjin asked as you take a seat next to him.

“Yeah! I mean the guys have a really good chance of winning this one, it’s gonna be a good game.” You smiled clasping your hands together. Rocky only scoffed as he pointed at you, “Bitch, I saw Hana approaching you and Eunwoo hyung, spill.”

You throw the younger male a joking glare, “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

Bin immediately cringed at her name, hand palming his forehead, “Oh God, what did she do?”

You shrugged passively, “She just introduced herself to him and said that if he needed anything, she’ll gladly help him or whatever.”

The boys groaned in response, Sanha reaching over Jinjin to tap your leg, “And? What did hyung say?”

“He let her down gently and said that he goes to me if he needs anything–”

“As he should!” Myungjun said indignantly, crossing his arms in annoyance. Jinjin only nodded, “Good boy.”

“If she even tries to homewreck y/n, just say the word and I’ll scream at her!” Myungjun said in all seriousness. You laugh at his claim, “thanks guys, but I think Eunwoo made it pretty obvious to her so it’s fine.”

The youngest sighed giving you a pout, “You’re too nice, y/n.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Rocky said agreeing with Sanha, “If I was you and someone was flirting with my partner, I’d clock them right in the face.”

“Hey, I wanted to–”

“You should have,” Bin sighed, “What a shame, maybe next time.”

“I usually don’t advocate for violence, but I’d turn a blind eye for this, y/n.” Jinjin agreed. You rolled your eyes at them, “You know, as much as I love to sit here and get lectured, Rocky and I have to go down to the trainer section.”

“We’ll see you guys later!” Rocky said as the two of you stand to go to the bench, taking your seats with the other trainers–and as far away from Hana as you could.

The game was already intense from the tip-off, both sides in a tight match to get a starting lead. The cheers from the stands were just as heightened, giving energy to both sides during baskets or free throws. Their plays started to get rougher from the beginning of the second half, more and more fouls getting called on both teams.

You and the trainers were busy as well, assessing each player during substitutions and icing whenever they came back to the bench. By the third quarter, your team established a good six-point lead, the energy of your section high from Eunwoo’s back-to-back 3 pointers.

You could distinctly hear Myungjun’s scream as he shouted Eunwoo’s name, a laugh coming from the bench at his volume. You hid your face in Rocky’s back, second hand embarrassment coming from the two of you at your friends’ loud cheering tactics.

You even spotted Eunwoo letting out a smile as both sides prepared for a free throw, your boyfriend giving a thumbs up to the guys in acknowledgement. His gaze then shifted onto you, your cheeks flushing as he shot you a heart-fluttering wink, a smile gluing itself onto your face.

You watched with pride as his concentration zeroed back in on the game, his team playing impeccable defense as they raced to your side of the court. After a couple back and forth relays, your team was on offense, trying to calm down the tensions as they strategized their next play.

It all happened so fast. The opponents stole the ball from your point guard, commencing a fast break. Eunwoo sped across court, the defense of your team depending on him and another player.

“Eunwoo–screen!”

He followed the instructions of his teammate well, placing his body in front of the opponent as he tried to defend your team’s basket. Unfortunately, the momentum of the other player was too much, both players roughly colliding and falling on the court.

You gasped in horror, immediately standing up from your seat as the referee blew the whistle to stop the play. Your teeth dug into your lower lip in worry as Eunwoo remained on the floor, clutching his waist in pain as some players and the referees surrounded him. The head trainer jogged onto the court, kneeling in front of Eunwoo to ask if he was okay.

The gymnasium was quiet, looking on to the scene that was unfolding in the center of the floor. Slowly, the trainer helped Eunwoo stand up, your boyfriend leaning his weight on the male as he limped off to the side, the coach substituting in the other shooting guard in place of Eunwoo. Both sides started clapping in respect, as they always do when someone gets injured during a play.

The head trainer looked to the group of you, “someone help me with Eunwoo.”

Before you could even respond, Hana beat you to the chase raising her hand, “I can help.”

“y/n,” Eunwoo said, eyes only on you. The head trainer looks between you and Hana, sighing, “Decide amongst yourselves, and fast.”

“It’ll give me more experience-”

“No, I want y/n.” Eunwoo said seriously, not even giving her a chance. The head trainer ushers you over, your feet finally taking a step with the help of Rocky pushing you forward. You accidentally shove Hana out of your way as you approach Eunwoo and the trainer, taking some of your boyfriend’s weight as the three of you walk to the locker room.

Once in the locker room, the head trainer immediately started assessing Eunwoo’s waist, trying to determine whether he needed to be sent to the hospital for a scan. Quickly and quietly, you follow the trainer’s lead, offering your assistance when he needed it. All the while, you hold Eunwoo’s hand as your boyfriend was trying not to think of the pain in his lower back.

“Do you think you can walk, Eunwoo?”

“I don’t know, there’s a sharp pain in my waist if I try to turn my body.” Eunwoo said attempting to rotate his upper half.

“No no no, don’t move. Let’s get you to the hospital to make sure there isn’t anything broken.” He sighed taking out his phone to call the medical team, “y/n, I’m sure you’ll be accompanying your boyfriend. Text me Eunwoo’s updates, okay?”

You nodded, briefly leaving Eunwoo’s side to gather both his and your things. Within the next five minutes, a group of EMTs entered the locker room, lifting Eunwoo onto a stretcher and rolling him to an ambulance, you following closely behind.

You didn’t say much on the way too the hospital, your mind too preoccupied with worry and thinking about the worst-possible scenario for your boyfriend. Even when you arrived at the hospital, Eunwoo was immediately whisked away to get some scans and X-rays done, you being escorted to the waiting room in the meantime. It seemed like forever until a nurse approached you, leading you to the room where Eunwoo was being held.

You let out a sigh upon seeing him, almost being moved to tears as he offered you a smile, “You’re smiling? Cha Eunwoo, I oughta–”

“Baby, I’m okay.” He chuckled lightly, hand outstretched to meet yours. You frowned, putting both of your bags down to the side as you took a seat by his bedside, “Are you okay? What did the doctor say? I need to update the trainer and your coach too.”

“Nothing’s broken,” He said first, attempting to ease some of your anxiety. “The doctor said I had a nasty fall that bruised my coccyx so there’s a lot of inflammation to the area. They gave me some pain medication so I don’t really feel anything right now, but I should be discharged tomorrow. And then he gave me a referral to a chiropractor who I’ll see in about two days. But baby, I’m okay, promise.”

“You can’t play though,” You said softly, hands fiddling with his fingers, “I feel like I’m more upset than you.”

“I played hard today so I don’t regret anything.” He said simply, “it sucks that I couldn’t finish the game, but injuries are a part of being an athlete, you know that baby. Besides, from what the doctor said, I shouldn’t be out for too long, maybe just a game or two. I told him I’m in especially good hands because you’re gonna take care of me.”

You said nothing, still not fully believing that he’s taking this situation so well. “Baby...give me a smile, hm? I’ll feel much better if I see you smiling.”

Mustering up the brightest smile that you could, you finally looked up at his face. His features only softened, knowing that you were trying your best to stay strong for him, “Are you still worried?”

“Baby, you’re in the hospital.” You said as if stating the obvious, “How could I not be worried?”

“You’re so cute being all worried about me,” He teased squeezing your hand. You scoffed, finally easing up a little at his flirting. “You laughed! I heard you laugh just now!”

“You’re annoying,” You said as you took out your phone to give the head trainer updates on Eunwoo’s condition. After you pressed send, you immediately received a call from Sanha, “Hello?”

“Is Eunwoo hyung okay?!” “Is he dying?!” “Eunwoo no he’s too young to die!”

You flinched at their loud volume, turning your phone on speaker so that you and Eunwoo could both respond to their chatter. “Guys, he’s not dying.”

“I’m okay,” He laughed taking your phone. “Hold on, did we win?”

“Are you fucking serious? That’s what you wanna know?!” Myungjun scolded into the phone. You chuckled, the guys talking over each other again as they announced they were on the way to the hospital. “They never said if we won or not.”

“I guess you’ll find out when they arrive.” You said, patting his cheek as you stood, removing your sweater. “Do you want some water, baby? I could go get some.”

He shook his head, puckering up his lips for something else. “Please? I’m injured.”

“You’re going to use this to your advantage, aren’t you?” You asked leaning down to grant him a quick kiss. “Maybe.”

After handing Eunwoo his phone, you went to the bathroom for a little bit before coming back and taking a seat on the hospital bed that he so highly encouraged. “If we get scolded by the nurse, I’m blaming it on you.”

“It’s not like you’re laying in bed with me, baby. We’ll be fine.” He said putting his hand on your thigh. He rubbed your cloth of your jeans gently, thinking to himself as you responded to messages on your phone. “Baby, you know I love you, right?”

You made a sound of confusion, looking up from your phone and meeting his eyes, “Hm? Of course I do. I love you too. Why, all of a sudden?”

“Just, when Hana was talking to us earlier and when she volunteered to try and help, I could see that you were uncomfortable.” Eunwoo said gently, “It annoyed me too, to be honest. Like what else did I need to do to show that I’m dating you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You said stroking his hair, “I’m used to people thinking that they can steal you away just because they’re prettier than me or more handsome than me or whatever. It doesn’t bother me that much anymore, baby––and it shouldn’t bother you too.”

“That’s so fucked up, y/n, how can that not bother me?” He frowned. “You are the most attractive person in my eyes, baby. If anyone pulls this shit again, I swear I won’t let it slide.”

“I know,” You said quietly, kissing his cheek. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Eunwoo said, “I don’t want you to ever forget that y/n, you’re mine and no one can do anything to change that.”

“Mmm, I’m lucky that you and the guys always defend me, aren’t I?” You lightly smiled, “God, you have no idea how many times Rocky cursed Hana out in the past week.”

“As he should,” Eunwoo nodded kissing the back of your hand, “see, this is why they’re my friends.”

“Speaking of our friends.” You said looking at the door, “I can hear them coming.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, both of your attentions at the door, which shortly was opened by five boisterous guys. The sound in the hospital room suddenly increasing tenfold at their appearance, all five of them crowding and fussing around the bed. You giggled, sharing a look with Eunwoo as the guys started talking all at once. He grinned, listening until the end of their rambles. Although he was injured, Eunwoo noticed that he couldn’t be feeling any happier. He had no doubt that he would have a speedy recovery, especially if you and his best friends were right by his side. _______________________________________

2-12-21

321 notes · View notes

koushou · 3 years

Note

Could we get uuh,,, Todoroki x f!reader who is insecure abt their looks bc they look more "boyish" than most girls? 😳 As much as I love being an androgynous queen, I get insecure sometimes, esp when it comes to guys liking me

this is my first ask im 😳💕💕

beautiful

pairing : todoroki shoto x f!reader {fluff}

warnings : none really, like the teeniest suggestive ending, just todoroki being like the best bf ugh 😩

a/n : thank you so much for requesting anon!! i tried my best, im so sorry if it isn’t exactly what you wanted but shoutout to all the androgynous queens you’re amazing !! <3 (also can you tell im terrible at titles pls)

shopping mall dates with your friends were always something you looked forward to, shoto knew this well. so why had you come back to the dorms empty-handed?

The familiar ringtone playing from your phone woke you up from your slumber, as bright sunlight shone through your windows where the curtains did poor job of providing you with any coverage. You opened your eyes and would’ve immediately shut them if not for the music still coming from your phone on your nightstand.

Swinging a hand blindly over, you felt the cool screen of your device and brought it close to your face, as an all too familiar contact name displayed on the top of the screen.

Grumbling slightly, you pressed the answer button and brought it up to your ear.

“Y/N!! Are you still sleeping??” You almost wanted to hang up right then and there from the cheery girl’s voice ringing into your ear.

“Mina, it’s-” You glanced over at your alarm clock on the same nightstand, “-literally 9 in the morning, what do you want-”

“Come on! You remember we have another shopping day today, right??”

You rubbed your eyes and rolled over in bed on your side, away from the blinding light illuminating through the glass windows.

Shopping dates with your girlfriends in Class 1-A took place almost every weekend, something you always looked forward to. Hero training was stressful, everyone was always striving to further improve and expand their quirks and skill, almost never having time for any sort of break.

Truthfully, you had forgotten about your planned day with the girls today, since it had been a pretty tough week, with work piling up on top of one another, heck, you were barely keeping up your grades.

“Oh...right.” You ran your fingers through your somewhat messy, medium-length hair, attempting to comb it slightly and getting rid of the small knots that had been formed in your sleep.

“Hey, don’t tell me you forgot - anyways, we’re meeting up downstairs at 10, so see you later!!”

“Yeah, alright.”

Quiet beeps signaling the end of your short call with Mina, you sighed and wondered how the alien girl managed to stay so hyper in the morning, not that you were surprised anymore.

Sitting up in bed, you let out a yawn and stretched out your body, excited for the day to come.

On some days, you just wanted to sleep in and have a day all to yourself in the comfort of your small dorm room, but these shopping sprees with the girls always took your mind off any troubles on your mind.

Throwing your blanket to the side lazily, you get up from your bed and groggily made your way to the bathroom, phone still in hand. Flicking on the light switch, you cringed at the sudden brightness.

A notification noise sounded from your phone, a smile spreading across your face as soon as you saw who the sender was - your one and only white and red haired boyfriend.

Unlocking your phone, you were met by a few text messages from your lover.

shouu <33 : good morning love, have you woken up yet?

shouu <33 : you’re going out today with the others right? i wish you could come and be with me, but i hope you have fun.💗

Your heart could not handle this level of cuteness in the morning.

Turning on the water to get ready for your morning shower, you typed out a reply to your boyfriend.

good morning shouto 🥺 i just woke upp

imy so much as well, i promise i’ll be with you when i get back!!💕

You stripped off your clothes and hopped into the shower, the water more on the warm side, exactly how you liked it.

After about 20 minutes, you stepped out with a towel wrapped around your torso, the cool air hitting your legs, making you shiver slightly. You made your way over to your closet in the corner of your room, picking out what clothes to wear.

It was scorching hot out, and you were feeling lazy, so a simple black t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts seemed like a good choice.

The time was about 9:40 when you had finished brushing your teeth and mindlessly slapping on some sunscreen, you didn’t want to become tan, after all.

Internally crying, you shoved your wallet with your credit card inside your small purse you usually brought when you went shopping, making a note to yourself to cut down a bit on your purchases.

You knew that promise was going to go out the window as soon as you step foot in a store, but hey, you always felt better after coming back to the dorms with bags of clothing in your hands.

Deciding to head down to the common room earlier to grab a quick snack to eat, you received another message from your phone.

shouu <33 : i’ll be waiting for you, love.

shouu <33 : are you sure you don’t want to use my father’s credit card? i don’t think he would really care if it gets maxed out, you know.

You giggled at your boyfriend’s message even though you knew he was being 100% serious.

shou...bby, i cant do that-

shouu <33 : alright then, be safe and text me when you get there, okay?

i will! ily <33

shouu <33 : i love you too :)

When you reached the common room, you were met by pink, black, green, and brown haired girls.

“Y/N!! Good morning!!”

“Good morning, Y/N.”

“Hey Y/N-chan, ribbit.”

“Oh hey Y/N!”

You smile at your energetic friends, Mina, Momo, Tsu and Uraraka, who were all lounging on the couches.

“Good morning, guys.”

Mina lets out a whine, “Where is Jirou? That girl is almost always never on time-”

“What’s that, Mina?”

A voice from behind the girls spoke, causing everyone to jump and turn at the same time.

“O-oh good morning Jirou-”

The purple haired girl stood behind the couches, and your eyes scanned over her outfit. A white, loose short sleeve hung around her shoulders, paired with some black shorts. A simple outfit, yet she made it look so much more appealing.

She charged towards Mina, who was now desperately hiding behind Uraraka. It was then that you finally took notice of the other girls’ outfits, and suddenly became all too aware of your own.

Mina, with a pink shirt tucked into her jeans, a black belt as a finishing touch. Her curves showing perfectly, all in the right places. You would expect her pink hair to be messy and puffy, but it was tamed, neatly brushed, and reminded you of soft cotton candy.

A cropped maroon top, with black jeans, complementing Momo’s smooth, black hair which was put up in a lower pony tail than usual. Her gentle features sure to attract admirers wherever she went. The way her dark bangs framed her face, the way her smile was bright, genuine - an appearance of a true, proper lady.

You glanced down at your own outfit, trying to smooth out wrinkles in your own shirt. No genius was required to see that you obviously stood out in your group of feminine friends, you being the only female with short hair and a different style.

It wasn’t that you hated the way you looked, but it made you think sometimes that you weren’t as attractive or liked as much, compared to your friends.

“Well then,” Uraraka clasped her hands together, interrupting your thoughts, and grinned. “Shall we get going?”

You all cheered, getting up and ready to head to the shopping mall.

Mina locked her arms in yours and dragged you out of the doors, grinning at you while the other girls trailed behind.

“Come on old ladies! We’re gonna max out our cards!!” She yelled at the sky once you were outside, the hot summer air hitting your skin immediately.

“Hey, who’re you calling an old lady?!” You smacked Mina’s arm, making her stick her tongue out at you.

“Fine, whoever gets there last is an old lady!!”

Your pink haired friend takes off toward the mall which was located about 20 minutes away from your school, with you laughing and running after her, followed by your other female friends.

The negative thoughts you had on your mind previously vanished as you all ran after one another, not giving a care in the world to the questioning looks passersby shot your ways. Spending time with your friends always somehow managed to brighten your mood, regardless of whether they knew how you were feeling or not.

And your love for them could never be put into words.

6 girls arrived at the Misako Mall, panting, out of breath as they bought water from a vending machine.

“Oh-” You pant, fumbling with the buttons on the machine, inserting a few coins in and watching as the bottle falls to the bottom.

“Ura-ha..ha...Uraraka, you’re an old...ha...lady!” Mina teased the gravity-quirked girl in between breaths.

“Yo-you’re so mean, ha, Mina,” Uraraka coughed, sputtering as she practically shoved the water bottle down her throat, drinking half of the bottle in a few seconds.

“Slow down - ribbit - Ochaco-chan,” Tsu patted the said girl’s back, making sure she didn’t choke.

“Well, guys, where do you want to go first?” Momo spoke up, after you guys rested a bit on the benches in the lobby.

“I kind of wanted to check out the accessories in that shop we passed earlier,” Jirou scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, nodding towards a shop near the entrance of the mall.

You all turned to look at the store she was talking about, not surprised to see the exterior of the shop decorated in dark, emo-style accessories - exactly Jirou’s style.

“I want to go there too - ribbit,” Tsu nodded in agreement, this time shocking the group, since Tsu had always seemed to be into more cuter accessories.

“I was actually interested in that one over there,” Momo tapped her chin thoughtfully, gesturing towards a high-class looking store on the second floor of the mall.

“That looks nice! I really like that white dress they have in the front,” Uraraka stared dreamily at the level above you guys, and an idea popped into your head.

“Why don’t we split into pairs? That way, we can all check out the stores we want to and meet up back here when we’re all done!” Your suggestion earned approving nods from the rest, all of you agreeing to text in the groupchat you had when you were finished in your stores.

Tsu and Jirou, Momo and Uraraka, and you and Mina walked off into different directions of the mall, chatting excitedly.

You and Mina decided to first go into a casual-styled store filled with jeans, tops, jackets, etc.

Walking into the store, a friendly cashier at the counter greeted you guys, who you both smiled back at.

Thankful for the cool air conditioner providing a contrast to the burning weather outside, you scanned the racks for anything that caught your eye.

“Oh! Y/N look here!” You turned to where your pink friend had ran to, spotting her a few aisles down.

Making your way towards her, she holds up a light pink, off the shoulder top decorated with small flowers and a lace ribbon in her hands eagerly.

“Do you think this would look good on me? I really like the color!” She beams at you, holding the clothing item up to herself, admiring it in a tall mirror nearby.

You study it for a second, before smiling back at her and nodding excitedly in agreement.

“It suits your skin color so well too! You should go try it on!”

“You think so??” She grins at you happily as you chuckle back in response.

“You should pick out some clothes first, then we can go to the changing rooms together!”

“Okay, let me look around a bit more!” You walk off to the other side of the store, studying any clothes that may peak your interest.

A striped red, orange, and white button-up shirt catches your eye, hanging on one of the racks. You take it and hold it up to your torso, satisfied with the way it looked.

Keeping it around your arm to try on later, you decide to pick out a few more clothes to try on to avoid making multiple trips to the changing room. Just as you were about to turn around and continue your search for more clothes, you felt a figure approach behind you.

“Hey, uh, sorry to bother you but I thought you were really pretty, and I was wondering if I could get your number?”

A voice made you turn around, and you were met by a man who looked a bit older than you.

He was standing right in front of you now, his eyes staring at...the top of your head?

You cleared your throat awkwardly, not expecting the sudden question.

“Oh! Thank you, but I have a boyfriend already, I’m sorry-”

The man’s eyes finally focus on your face, before laughing at you.

Wait, what?

You furrowed your eyebrows at the still laughing man, who looked down at you like you were a mere piece of dirt below him.

“I’m not talking to you, you’re not even pretty?” He scoffed when you gaped at him.

“I’m talking to the hottie behind you,” He grinned and stared past you to whoever was standing there.

You slowly turned around, expecting to see some random stranger behind you, but you were met by a puff of familiar pink hair.

“O-oh, Mina...” You mumbled, not wanting to make eye contact with your friend, disheartened from the man’s words.

You were never one to get bothered by anyone’s words, especially not from a stranger, but this one hit you differently.

“What did you say to my friend?! You wanna repeat that, huh?!” Mina yelled at the man, steam almost emitting out of her pink ears.

“Woah, calm down, pinkie, I just wanted to get your number - I didn’t know she was your friend.” He chuckled, and glanced at you again.

“Just saying, you could do so much better.” It was like bullets, the man’s words, aimed straight at your heart.

Storming up to the man, Mina slapped him directly on his face, leaving both of you in shock.

“Say that again, I dare you!!” You ushered Mina away from the furious man despite her protests of wanting to beat him up.

“Hmph, who does he think he is?!” You stopped walking when you guys were a good distance from the stranger.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress your emotions and not make a fool of yourself in a public space.

“It’s fine, I-I don’t really care,” Sighing, you gave Mina a small unconvincing smile, which she saw right through.

“Are you okay, Y/N? Don’t listen to him! He’s just blind,” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

You chuckled softly, trying to change the subject, “I’m fine, come on, let’s go try on our clothes.”

Mina sighed, eyeing the one top you had on your arm. “You only have one shirt? Don’t you want to try on more?”

You scanned the racks around you guys, randomly picking a pair of black plaid pants, flashing your friend another smile.

“It’s okay, there’s not much I like here,” You grabbed her arm and led her into the changing rooms, chuckling at her pile of clothes hanging over her arm.

“You sure got a lot, Mina.”

“Their clothes are really nice!!”

Mina and you went into rooms besides each other, and you could hear the girl squealing while trying on her clothing.

Instead of trying on your clothes immediately, you slumped against the white door, taking a deep breath, the man’s comments still on your mind.

You’re not even pretty.

You could do so much better.

Wrapping your arms around your torso, you looked in the mirror on the wall across you, taking in your appearance.

There were few things about you that would seem appealing to any man, and you should’ve gotten over the stares people give you wherever you go by now, but it was hard.

It really was.

Of course people would be attracted to Mina first, or anyone in your friend group, for that matter. She was outgoing, kind, bright, and feminine.

Tears poking at the corners of your eyes, you quickly wiped them away with the back of your hand before they fell.

Why couldn’t people just accept who you were?

Why couldn’t people accept the fact that you were happy in your own body, and that you loved yourself the way you were?

The common stereotype that all females had to be feminine, had to be proper, you were tired of it.

A loud knock from the other side of the door you were leaning against sounded, and you jumped a little, before hearing your friend’s cheery voice.

“Y/N! Are you finished? I want to show you the top!”

“Oh- One second!”

Quickly tidying up your appearance to get rid of any hints of your silent breakdown, you unlocked the door and looked over Mina.

You were right.

The light pink color of the top really did complement her skin color well, her slender shoulders were exposed, and the lacey ribbon around the collarbone area of her shirt gave it a finishing touch.

Gasping, you admired how good it looked on her, while she giggled and jumped excitedly in place.

“It looks so beautiful on you Mina!!” You gave her a small hug, giggling along. “It’s like it was made for you!”

“Thanks!! What about your clothes?” She nodded towards your top and pants still sitting in the changing room, untouched.

You coughed, “Oh- uh give me a second, I still need to try on the top,” She nodded and pushed you back into the room eagerly.

“Show me when you’re done!”

You nodded and smiled back at her before walking back into the room and locking the door behind you.

You had already lost all interest in shopping today, but reluctantly changed into the striped button-up shirt, looking at yourself in the mirror.

It was okay, nothing really special, and you certainly wouldn’t be spared any second glances from anyone. Not that you cared, you were already in a happy and healthy relationship with Shoto.

Shoto.

A thought suddenly popped into your mind.

What did Shoto think about your appearance? Coming from a rich family, it was only natural that he would be into proper, feminine females.

Why was he even dating you? Does he actually mean it every time he calls you beautiful?

Maybe you should change your hairstyle. Or the way you dressed. Maybe then, Shoto would love you.

Maybe then, he would think you’re beautiful.

Running your hand through your short strands of hair, you suddenly didn’t want to be here anymore.

You wished you were in the safety of your dorm, under the blankets where no one would have to look at you.

You were probably an eyesore, walking around everyday at school, getting judgmental looks from left to right.

Shaking your head, you tried to push those thoughts to the back of your mind, straightening yourself back up.

Unlocking the door again, wanting to get this day over with, you were met by a excited Mina as she looked over at you. You noticed that she had changed back to her own shirt.

“You look great Y/N!!” She hopped excitedly over to you as she admired your top.

You shrugged, glancing down at your top. “I mean, it’s okay, I guess.”

She raised her eyebrows at your response, asking worriedly, “Do you not like it?”

“Not really, it’s kind of plain.” Sighing, you picked at the sleeves and wrinkles of the shirt.

“Oh,” Mina pursed her lips together, cocking her head to the side. “That’s alright, then. What about the pants?”

Truth was, you had forgotten to try on the pants while you were inside, and you didn’t want to risk purchasing something you weren’t sure would look good on you.

“Oh-uh, I didn’t like that one too much either,” You glanced back at the item still hanging in the changing room.

“Oh no,” Mina pouted. “Are you going to buy anything?”

Biting your lip, you shook your head. “Guess not.”

It wasn’t really that you didn’t want to buy anything, you just thought that at this point, it didn’t matter what you wore.

Because, you weren’t as feminine as other girls.

"Give me a second to change back, and we can go to another store.” She looked like she was about to say something, but decided to close her mouth and nodded instead.

The remaining time you spent with Mina was just her jumping around stores excitedly and you mindlessly staring at clothes you wouldn’t ever buy.

It was about 2 in the afternoon when you all decided to meet back up, ready to head back to school.

You realized that you hadn’t bought a single item in the past 4 hours spent in wandering around the mall.

“Y/N! Did you not buy anything?” Momo asks worriedly as you and Mina approach the other two pairs in the lobby.

You shook your head at the tall girl, sighing, “Nothing really caught my eye today.”

“Oh, we can walk around a bit more together if you’d like!” Uraraka offers, holding a large bag in her own hands.

You smiled at her words, shaking your head again. “No, it’s alright! I’m sure we’re all tired, let’s head back.”

“Gosh, this weird man came up to us earlier and had the audacity to call our little Y/N here unattractive??! And then proceeded to ask for my number??” Mina huffed, clenching her fists dramatically at the memory.

You chuckled awkwardly. “Mina, you didn’t have to slap the poor man.”

“Poor man? By the sounds of it, he hasn’t learned his lesson yet.” Jirou speaks up, cracking her knuckles, eyes darkening. “Where is he?”

You laughed. “Jirou-”

“Oh dear, that’s terrible.” Momo patted your shoulder. “You’re very beautiful, Y/N, you know that?”

You smiled at the kind girl, letting out a deep breath.

“I understand where he’s coming from, though...” You mumbled quietly.

“Did you say something, Y/N?” Uraraka asks from next to you.

Shaking your head quickly, you link your arms with the brown haired girl, grinning at everyone. “Let’s head back now!”

Pushing open the large glass doors, you were met once again by the humid air, the sun’s rays burning down on your exposed skin.

The girls chattered happily about their new purchases, peeking inside the others’ bags and taking a couple out to show.

Even though you walked in the middle of Uraraka and Momo, you couldn’t help but feel left out, not having any new clothing to wear.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nudged Momo, making her turn around and look at you.

“Hey Yaomomo, what’d you get?”

She smiled and opened her bag for you to peek inside, and you almost had to close your eyes from the amount of bling inside,

Bling, meaning dresses decorated in gems, with a few jewelry pieces and other accessories. Of course, there were a couple casual wear on the bottom of the bag.

“Oh, I’m not even surprised anymore,” You pretended to huff at Momo, turning the other way.

“You’re so classy and fancy, Yaomomo, are you trying to flex your class on me?”

She laughed, slapping your back lightly. “Oh sorry, I just can’t help that I’m so rich and proper.”

You tensed up at her words. Of course, you knew she was being sarcastic, but her use of words hit the same spot in you again as earlier.

“Hey guys...” Mina starts, wiggling her eyebrows.

“What?” An ominous feeling settles in all of your stomachs.

“Last one to the dorms is an old lady!”

All of you groan, watching as the pink alien girl takes off once again, having no choice but to follow behind.

6 girls arrived back at the dorm building, panting once again.

“Mina- ha, I swear to - god,” You breathe out, pants coming from all six of you.

Mina just giggles at you as you all arrive back in the common room. Your classmates are sprawled out in different places throughout the room, and their heads all perk up simultaneously at the new arrivals.

Bakugou were surrounded by Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero, as always, trying his best to swat them away.

Tokoyami and Aoyama were chatting in the kitchen, while Iida, Midoriya and Shoto hung around the TV, watching whatever movie was put on.

Ojiro, Koda, Shoji, and Sato were nowhere to be seen, you guessed they were up in their own rooms.

“Oh, hey guys! Welcome back!” A certain red-head’s voice chirped from the middle of the room, flashing you all his big smile.

“Hey Kirishima!” Mina smiled back at the boy before making her way up to her own room to organize her newly bought items.

Momo, Tsu, Jirou, and Uraraka followed after her, while you made your way over to where your boyfriend was on one of the other couches.

“Hey, love.” Shoto smiles at you softly as he opens his arms for you to give him a hug.

“Hey Sho,” You happily accept your place in his arms, tired from the long day you had. “I missed you.”

“I missed you as well,” He plants a small kiss on the top of your head. He was about to say something else before a realization dawns on him.

“Love, did you not buy anything?” You gulp, afraid that your boyfriend would see through your feelings and ask you what was wrong.

“Oh- uh, I just didn’t feel like anything caught my eye today!” You shrug, hoping that he would accept your answer and move on.

Of course, Shoto could be dense at times, but he is everything but stupid.

He always knew how you adored these little shopping sprees with your girls, and never once had you arrived back empty handed. On top of that, your vibe just seemed a bit...off.

“Can we go to your room and cuddle? I’m a little tired,” You look up at him, to which he responded by giving you a small kiss and chuckling.

“Of course, let’s go, love.”

After saying goodbye to Iida and Midoriya, you both made your way to Shoto’s dorm, immediately flopping down on the bed after stepping inside.

Shoto laughed softly at your eagerness, wasting no time and following in after, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you flush against his chest.

The warmth and vanilla scent of your boyfriend was enough to calm you down and get rid of any past bad thoughts you were having earlier that day.

You felt him bury his face inside your hair, inhaling softly your shampoo from this morning. Normally, you would’ve swooned at the action, but it somehow made you feel uneasy. Insecure.

Shriveling away a little from his body, you were met by a very confused Shoto staring back at you.

“...Love?”

You bit your lip, not sure how to explain why you seemed uncomfortable.

“I-,uh, Shoto?” Your eyes made contact with his as he hummed in response. You decided it was now or never.

“Do you...think I’m pretty?” Biting your lip anxiously as you awaited his answer.

Confusion flashed through your boyfriend’s face. What kind of a question was that?

That was what he wanted to ask, until he noticed the tears forming in your eyes, and worriedly sat up, bringing you with him.

“Of course I think you’re pretty. You’re beautiful, darling.”

Not convinced, you sniffle before asking again, “Really?”

He furrows his eyebrows together, lifting you up and onto his lap so you were straddling him now, both of you in a sitting position.

“Did something happen, love? Why are you asking me these questions?” He reaches up to wipe a stray tear that had slipped its way through your eyes with his thumb.

“No reason-” You started, but your boyfriend’s piercing gaze told you he wouldn’t take that as an answer.

Taking a deep breath, you avoided his eyes as you began to speak.

“Today, when we were at the mall, a man came up to me, called me pretty, and asked for my number-”

Shoto raises his eyebrows, to which you wave away quickly.

“-I thought he was talking to me, but turns out he was speaking to Mina, who had been standing behind me. He then called me-” You cleared your throat, a bit anxious for your boyfriend’s reaction.

“He said that I wasn’t pretty, and that Mina could do so much better than being friends with someone like me...” Your voice trails off as you felt Shoto’s grip on your waist tighten.

“He...what?” You could’ve sworn you saw flames flicker behind Shoto’s eyes, his left and right hands heating and cooling on your sides without thinking, to which you yelped a little, surprised by the temperature change.

His eyes softened, looking down at your waist and rubbing it softly. “Oh- I’m sorry, love, I did not mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, smiling at him. “You didn’t hurt me at all, Shoto.”

He exhales deeply, looking into your eyes. “Baby, you’re the most beautiful, kind, amazing girl I’ve ever met in my life. Don’t ever listen to what anyone else says, you’re absolutely perfect the way you are.”

Shoto plants a deep kiss on your lips, tears threatening to spill over at his touching words.

When you pull away, there’s still a lingering thought in the back of your mind.

“Don’t you ever wish - that you had a more...you know...” You rubbed your eyes, sniffling as the first few tears made their ways down your cheeks.

Shoto tilts his head to the side as he pulls you closer to his body, rubbing soothing circles on your lower back.

“A what, love?”

“You know, a more...feminine...girlfriend?”

You nervously glance at him, waiting for his response.

There’s silence for a moment, and your heart drops.

“Who ever said that girls have to be feminine?”

You directly look into his eyes for the first time that evening, confusion plastered on your face.

Shoto has a soft and loving, but firm expression as he speaks.

“I don’t care if you dress, or appear differently than other girls. There is no “correct” way to look if you are a certain gender. You’re absolutely beautiful no matter what you do, or wear.” He leans forward to peck your lips once again.

“But...when I look at someone like Yaomomo, she’s just - so much more attractive and proper than someone like me...”

Shoto sighs, tilting your chin down to look at him.

“Proper? What’s not proper about you, Y/N? Your hair? Your clothing choices? Baby, you could wear a trash bag, have long hair - or even shave your head bald, I’d still fall in love with you all over again.”

You giggle a little, making him chuckle, seeing that he successfully cheered you up a bit.

“I mean it, Y/N. I love you, and I’ll continue loving you, forever. Please don’t ever feel like you have to compare yourself to other girls, because you’ll always be the prettiest girl in my heart.”

Your heart felt like it was on the verge of bursting as you leant forward, kissing your boyfriend deeply. It was like all your emotions were expressed through that kiss. It was almost as if Shoto’s loving words washed away every single insecurity that has ever passed your mind in your whole life.

“Thank you so much, Shoto. I love you, so, so much.” You both grin as you placed your foreheads together, noses brushing against each other.

“I want you to say it, love. Tell me you love yourself, and that you’re beautiful.”

Your face heated up from the request, placing your hands on Shoto’s shoulders and trying to push him away, only to have your wrists caught by his strong hands as he leaned closer.

“Come on, Y/N, I’m waiting,” he smirks at your flustered expression.

You pouted a bit, before taking a deep breath, embarrassed from Shoto’s intense stare.

“I-uh- I love myself the way I am, and...I’m beautiful.” You squealed and cover your face with your hands after finishing your sentence, not used to those words coming out of your mouth.

A laugh escapes Shoto as he pries your hands away from your face, placing a kiss on your nose.

“That’s right, love. What do you say we go shopping tomorrow, just me and you?”

Your eyes brightened at the idea, and Shoto could feel butterflies flooding his stomach.

“Yes!! I’d love that, Shoto,” You threw your arms around your boyfriend’s neck, burying your face into his hair.

He chuckles in response, leaning back and studying your face for a moment, making you confused.

Then, he takes your arms and pushes you back until your back is pressed against the bed, pinning them above you. His body hovers over yours, as his knee sneakily moves up to place itself between your thighs.

“But right now, let me show you just how beautiful you are, darling.”

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #mha x reader #todoroki fluff #mha shoto #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #bnha scenarios #mina ashido #bnha tsuyu #momo yaoyorozu #jirou kyouka #uraraka ochako

129 notes · View notes

bubmyg · 4 years

Text

orchid - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: fluff, angst, childhood best friends to lovers, fake engagement au? kind of?, emotional constipation to the max, rapper/singer!yoongi, wedding planner!reader; set in a beach side town because i can’t help myself, loosely based off like three different hallmark movies, told entirely in yoongi’s pov, random svt members appear too

word count: 19,079

summary: everyone has a theory as to why renowned singer songwriter min suga hasn’t released an album in over two years but none of those theories point to a crippling inspiration block. or to a wedding. or the one where yoongi doesn’t know his fiancé's favorite flower but he knows yours.

a/n: the longest fic and the hardest fic i’ve ever written is done. i’ve never written something that was this invested completely from a member’s point of view so this was certainly something new and challenging and fun! i hope u enjoy (pls let me know if u do) and thank u for reading this monster jfkjsld

Petals of bleeding purple, a hard line in the center of white where blending hadn’t been buffed out with a brush, almost pink meeting in a jagged line as if dipped onto nature by the curved tip of a damp paintbrush. They came in uneven waves, plucked from their stem to rest on the edges of Yoongi’s yellow notepad. His smile grew with the volume of words he scrawled across the page, patient in gently brushing them aside with the curve of his tiniest finger the longer you fiddled with the flowers in your grasp.

“Sorry,” You hushed after the third time he’d nudged the offending petals aside, burying them in grains of sand that moved each time you shifted closer to him. He dropped his pen just to glance at you, something bleeding into his own vital organ at the way your eyes were comically, genuinely, dilated in apology.

“S’okay,” Yoongi’s hand fist in the sand behind him, lounging backward. “I suppose I should be, you know, talking to you.”

“Why?” You gently shoved at his shoulder, “Special occasion?”

His cheek lulled against his arm, eyes falling shot as the corners of his mouth turned up. One deep inhale and he hummed, “—going to miss you, you know?”

Your grasp didn’t move from his arm, instead sliding downward to curve your fingers around his elbow. When he didn’t budge, you shifted closer, squashing any remaining petals below your thighs as you settled your cheek against his sleeve. “Are you really, though?”

Yoongi’s eyes shot open, chin pointing down towards you, “Are you serious?”

A sliver of your irises appeared under your eyelashes, turning away into his grasp after a second to shrug.

“Well…” He let out a grunt as he shifted, dropping his notepad and pen on top of his nearby bag, “I probably won’t miss you catching crabs just to drop them down the back of my shirt. I won’t fondly remember that time you shoved me into the tide with my work uniform on. I definitely will be forgetting your haircut in seventh grade—” You smacked his thigh, earning a gentle grin as he jostled his arm, coaxing you to look at him.

“But you?” Yoongi reached past his bag, gathering one of the flowers you’d plucked into diligent fingers. The crooked end of his index finger pleated it behind your ear, hand hovering there. He leaned closer instead, heart swelling in the same way your pupils dilated to collect all the celestial bodies glittering on the push and pull of the tide beyond your tiny campsite.

He shook his head, barely a twitch in his neck, “I could never forget you, angel.”

“Good!”

Yoongi startled forward instead of back, bashing your foreheads together with an audible, hollow sounding thump. He groaned in time with your scrambling, your touch leaving him to instead stretch over his lap, rustling around in your own bag. It didn’t come without you digging your palm into his inner thigh, forcing another tiny grunt from Yoongi’s mouth before you settled again, a safe distance away.

He eyed you again, welt quickly swelling onto the crown of his hairline, sand digging into the dip in his eyelids. You held something in cupped palms and he had half the mind to assume it was a crab to dump down his shirt like some sort of sick joke.

But Yoongi supposed the sick joke was on him because in a blur of momentary pain and a two percent chance that you’d snatched a ghost crab out of the darkness, you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“—because I bought you something to remember me by.”

Yoongi’s studio collected trinkets. A baseball jersey with his stage name plastered across the back draped to his chair. A tiny Kumamon plush squished between his monitor and a sea turtle shaped coaster that held his favorite coffee tervis. An oxymoron of a welcome mat with a brutish cat advertising go away.

A framed platinum record for his debut single encased on either side by a song of the year and a record of the year trophy. Just trinkets.

Something meticulous to his nature never moved his items. Their arrangement created some sense of security and warmth, feet stepping out of rubber sole slippers in the hallway to the thick grey rug over the tile floor like brushing away a curtain of gathered mist in the haze of an already uneasy conscious. The programs on his massive computer monitors didn’t help, nor did his untouched keyboard or the various other pieces of equipment scattered with less than neat wires over his work space.

But the trinkets didn’t move. That he could count on.

The press, he could count on them too. Their newest angle, an attempt to prod their way into his growing collection of items, was plastering a grainy image of himself onto their glossy covered magazine front. He could handle the images when they were nothing but background noise in his email, a notification from an intern in marketing that he’d been caught. Yoongi deleted the email with a good conscience. Going to a bar didn’t warrant front page gossip news.

He’d seen it all in two years since releasing any substantial work. The first guess had been that his contract was under negotiation. Dropped after successful debut? Then he’d signed for five more years and they had to scramble for something else. A fake feud with long time soloist Jung Hoseok, battle of the company’s two superstars, who will come out on top? Hoseok released new music first. Yoongi had producing credits on it.

And Hoseok was the other shadow in the grainy press image in the present day, his face cut off by the massive pink banner that curled around the perimeter of the magazine’s layout.

Excessive partying? The headline read. Yoongi pressed his thumb to the center of the cover, bending the magazine as he lifted it closer. Font a handful of sizes smaller than the title looped underneath the image, the curled edges of characters slipped around his throat and stalling his sharp inhale for a half second.

Min Suga, one hit wonder? New questions as hiatus stretched toward the two year mark.

The vibration of his cellphone startled him out of his trance. The magazine flopped forward in his grasp, giving out to curl over his knuckles as he poked at the device with his free index finger.

“Hey.”

Yoongi dragged his fingers down his cheek, letting the limp magazine rest against his thigh. “Yeah, Tae?”

“Are you working on something?”

His blank monitor mocked him, the plain black screen with massive SUGA written through the center ridiculously simplistic and frustratingly idle. Yoongi shook his head even though his manager couldn’t see him over speaker phone. “No.”

“Great, they want you in the conference room in ten,” Taehyung’s voice dropped an octave, falling out of professionalism as he casually asked, “Have you seen the headlines?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi let the magazine fly, hitting the free space near his keyboard with a smack and a tinkling noise. Just another trinket. “What do they want me for?”

“To talk about the headlines,” He could hear the smile in Taehyung’s voice and he could hear the way it erased at Yoongi’s lack of response. “No we’ve...figured out a way to move forward from this. From all of this. Maybe. Just be here, alright?”

“Where else would I go?”

“I don’t know, the bar?”

Yoongi let himself laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. The last time he’d set foot in a club was the last time he’d been photographed in one. An incident that happened far before his first album when he’d just been signed to the label from some offhanded success on a self published streaming site.

“Watch it.”

“Didn’t know you still had it in you, old man,” Yoongi could sense Taehyung beaming and he relaxed. Marginally.

“Whatever. See you in a few.”

His phone hit his work space with another elicited click of soft against glass. The reflection of his idle monitors curved over the object in question, contouring shadows around the silver and purple object until Yoongi reached for it, dragging it out from underneath where he’d shoved the magazine.

A tiny glass orchid purposed to be a pin with the sharpness of a gold latch strapped to the back teetered in Yoongi’s open palm. A misplaced trinket. He clutched it tightly, letting the smooth edges cool into the calloused lines of his hand as he stood from his desk chair, safely depositing the object a tier up on his desk, far away from any further misplacement.

The magazine didn’t last long in Yoongi’s collection, though. He rolled it, depositing it with a heavy thump into a trash bin on his way out the door.

Taehyung fidgeted in time with Seungcheol shuffling papers at the head of the small conference table. He crossed his legs, uncrossed, shuffled to the side, fingered at the edge of his own stack of folders slipped sideways from their neat tower, shifted enough to bump shoulders with Yoongi where he sat white knuckled in the chair directly next to him. Yoongi nudged him back, intentional, reaching over to pat his thigh until he settled. His manager and friend glanced at him with wide eyes and Yoongi shrugged, retracting his hand to fold it with the latter then shoved intertwined fingers between his thighs.

“How’s the writing coming?” Seungcheol asked finally. He hadn’t looked up, continuing to filter through a myriad of stapled packets, one eyebrow cocked into styled bangs.

Yoongi shrugged again, features wincing. His shoulders hunched from the curl of his stature into himself but he allowed his muscles to relax, and inverted shrug. “No different,” It was shame at himself in his voice, at the nagging innards that told him he needed to make music and at the smoldering creative synapses that refused to fire anymore. Softly, he added, “But I’m working on it.”

“Have you spoken with Jihoon?” Seungcheol looked up then, enough to flatten a packet to the table and slide it across. It was a list of credited songs to said company producer, ones Yoongi would have to do no more than record over his soft vocaled friend and send out a release date to the public.

The high value Yoongi held his art to, personal and important to him, loomed in his subconscious. Somewhere in the archive he was sure he could connect to Jihoon’s words, dig out enough content to compile into an EP and sate the media.

But it was the principal of the thing.

“I’ll figure it out.”

Seungcheol accepted the packet when Yoongi pushed it back, nodding with folded fingers settling over the paper. “About the press...recently—”

“We have an idea!”

Yoongi glanced at Taehyung like he’d grown a second nose from the round of his smiling cheek but Seungcheol didn’t seem affected, nodding with a gentle smile curving upwards on his lips. “Go on, Taehyung. You explain.”

It was only the three individuals in the cramped conference room, a spare in the back corner of the company hallways that was grabbed for the sake of privacy and the ability to drop formalities between the artist, manager, and CEO who’d become easy friends. Yet, Taehyung’s dramatic pacing around the perimeter of the room suggested he was plotting a multi-million dollar investment to a swath of shareholders.

“What’s the one thing in the world that takes ages to plan?”

Yoongi squinted, “...I don’t believe that description is limited to one thing.”

Taehyung ignored him, “When googling this very thing, there are to do lists that range anywhere from a ten step process to an eighty-eight step process, depending on how you choose to split up the planning…”

“It’s an event in which there is an entire job created to plan the very thing.”

“Event planners are a universal job,” Yoongi sighed, “Go on.”

Taehyung’s steps stalled, one arm still folded behind his back, the latter lifting one finger in Yoongi’s direction. “What’s the one, single most romantic day and event that will ever happen in a couples life?”

“Romance is not limited to a singular interaction and often the horrors of capitalism prey on that insecurity when in reality, leaving someone their favorite coffee in their favorite coffee mug before they go to work can be considered romance—”

“Correct!” Taehyung remained unaffected by his rant, letting his wrist hinge to point a stiff index finger in Yoongi’s direction, “If one day you happen to find someone willing to put up with those kind of statements, what would you like to do to them? Or with them, I guess—”

Seungcheol sighed, brushing his paperwork aside to clatter ring clad fingers against the top of the conference table. “How do you feel about getting engaged?”

Yoongi briefly thought the world had chosen that exact moment to flood the remaining thirty percent of it’s surface with water, voices sounding far away as if muffled by an echo and thirty pounds of wool. He managed to pull himself out of it by actually looking at something blue, the stretch of skyline on the tiny window just beyond Seungcheol’s shoulder and even if towers of smoke created faux clouds, it still reminded him to breathe.

As a result, a neanderthal question tumbled out of pouted lips, “To who?”

“Someone,” If Yoongi weren’t fond of the organization in his files, he would have tossed one like a frisbee directly at Taehyung’s neck. His manager flailed his hands as if it were simple, “Anyone! That’s the beauty of the plan.”

Seungcheol had shifted forward to bury his face in intertwined fingers, muffling the audible sigh he let out. “At first, we thought to sign a contract with someone within the company,” Red marks were left in the path of his fingertips dragging down from underneath his eyelids, “But the aftermath of the eventual breakup would be too much for both parties. We can’t do that, not to someone in or outside the agency—”

“I wouldn’t do that anyway,” Yoongi’s levelheaded sternness faltered as he dropped his gaze to the fiddling fingers in his lap, “This is all my fault. I’m not incidentally sharing my burden with someone innocent.”

“Besides—” He tried to smile, “—not sure you could get anyone to want to fake marry me.”

“You are so dense,” Taehyung scoffed, “Half our talent would add a dating clause to their contract right now if you were on the other end of it.”

A deep spring pink blossomed in jagged puzzle pieces over Yoongi’s bare cheeks and he was thankful for the lack of schedule and makeup as he involuntarily lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“Essentially, your partner will remain nameless,” Seungcheol drew a shape on the table with his nail, “We’ll disguise them as a non-famous individual. Something about a short term relationship but a long term planning process for the wedding—” He nodded solemnly, “—that’ll be why your music has been on hold.”

He wasn’t done, lifting his finger from the table, “The suddenness and the eventual break up of the relationship will be a win win. Each will buy you time to write.”

“And you know what else?” Taehyung had sat again, barely, dangerously hovering on the edge of his chair as he leaned toward Yoongi. “You can go home!”

Another folder glided across the table, coming to a stop in front of Yoongi’s furrowed eyebrows. He tucked his thumb inside, flipping it open to be met with a full page ad, one that had his breath stalling in his throat and his tongue curling into a dried knot.

“There’s still a wedding business that runs out of your parents’ former home.”

Yoongi watched you spread the petals with a delicate touch, fingers placing pressure in the sand as you instead created them a tiny rut to rest in, safer from the curl of gentle night breezes brushing off the calmed waves. His gaze trailed in a jagged line, from the ballpoint tip of his pen to the half drawn character crooked between the lines on his yellow notepad to the stretch of his legs outward on the tiny embankment to the crouched curl of your stature. Finally you settled, one full flower in cupped palms, breeze catching the petals there to drape them across the lines in your hands.

“Did…” He paused when you glanced at him quizzically, “You got the last of the contract details finalized, yes?”

A bright smile encased your features at his question, nodding, “Same day you signed your contract, superstar!—” You leaned closer, hand falling over his knee and he tensed, “Technically I’m a business owner now. You should be nicer to me.”

“So you never finished the application then?” You tilted your head and Yoongi clarified, “School. Scholarship. The city…” My city.

A quiet smile graced the wrinkles next to your eyes even if your teeth died from it, dropping your chin. One petal plucked from it’s center, lifted by the pinch of your fingers until the wind caught it and it drifted toward Yoongi, slipping up over the spine of his notepad and settling against his belt.

“I don’t need a degree to teach me a business I already manage,” You said kindly. “If your parents felt confident enough to completely sign it over to me in their retirement, then I suppose we’ll just have to trust their judgement.”

You tilted your head, “Why? Do you not trust me?”

Yoongi swallowed. He wasn’t holding his bag, but it felt heavier in that moment, like it’s very important contents were weighing on the straps slung to shoulders that drooped involuntarily. You’d gone back to plucking at your flower by the time he gathered himself, eyebrow still raised albeit.

“No, no, it’s not that,” The next mark on his page was angrier, dark and scuffing through thin pages to leave flakes in its wake. “You’ll do great.”

“I…” Your speech stalled but your petal picking didn’t, “You know, up until I signed the contract, the business was yours to have. Your parents would have left and still would leave it to you in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t want to run the business. You do. We both know that,” And he meant it. Taking over the family business had never been more than a joke passed over dinner and the occasional holiday, especially not when you’d earned full time employment there. His parents had never been interested much in the idea of keeping it in the family. It hadn’t started that way and there was no reason for it to be such in the future. Why allow you to spend thousands of dollars to start your own aspirations from the ground up when you could continue something that had only improved in legacy from your thoughts and ideals in the time you’d been employed there, anyway.

Still, Yoongi knew you felt a certain level of apprehension towards signing the contract. There were invisible standards to hold up in your mind, just like there were invisible boundaries you desperately never wanted to cross.

There was a feeling of indebt clouding the way your clammy fingers shook to sign the paper on the same dinner table you’d been invited in to by the boy whose gum filled smile only shined for you.

The petals had stopped drifting against his calves again. He glanced at your shoulders rounding, arms limp between the part of your thighs.

“You’re sure?”

Yoongi nudged your shoulder, incessant until you looked at him.

“I’m sure.”

Your face grinned at Yoongi in melded inks, ones clearly from the office printer in Taehyung’s office slapped onto low grade, basic copy paper.

“Do you know the owner, by any chance?” Seungcheol nodded toward the document in Yoongi’s possession, “The person who bought it from your parents?”

Purple specks bled into pink when he dropped the folder to the table, instead using the last link of his middle finger to rub at his eyelid.

“No,” He met the tattered edge of his fingernail instead of the eyes of his boss, “I have no idea who took it over after them.”

Fingertips patterned a beat to the table top, lining over Seungcheol’s soft hums as he considered the information, shuffling a bit more at his paperwork.

“Story will hit the press in three days. Your flight will leave in a week. I’ll email you the itinerary but essentially there will be a series of different press dockets done in your time at home—” Seungcheol gestured vaguely, “—engagement photos, staged bits of you planning, things to make it believable, completely produced and sent by us, of course. Keep the prying away from your next album.”

“We’ll insinuate that this is a wedding you’ve been planning for a while, something you’ve been fronting the majority of the work for in the comfort of your ridiculously romantic seaside hometown.”

Yoongi set his shoulders after a half heartbeat of silence, one that earned Taehyung’s gaze on the side of his face, “Is that our only option?”

“Of course not. It’s an idea, no more no less,” Seungcheol sighed, “Unfortunately, we’re to the point where there is only so much I can do for your image. Refuting claims of going to a club seems ridiculous, but the narrative is out there now. No one cares that you were there with Hoseok, they only remember their fabricated feud.”

A gentle smile crossed his lips, “An inspiration block isn’t a good story until there’s music that comes out of it.”

“How do I keep—” Yoongi’s tongue dried on your name, stuttering it back into his throat as he corrected, “How do we keep those close to the situation from telling the press?”

“We’ll give the wedding planner a check. Otherwise, no one should know the wedding is fake. Improve authenticity if anyone gets a hold of the gas station attendant who met you one time,” Seungcheol made air quotes with his fingers, “Trusted sources, you know.”

“...is that something we should be worried about?” He leaned forward in his chair, “Someone leaking something to the press, that is?”

Yoongi swallowed. His chin broke the rigidity of his stature first, dropping, then shaking, fists on curling outward until flattened palms curled around the edge of the table.

“No,” He said finally, “Shouldn’t be an issue.”

Particular details he knew would be in various reminder emails and sent by text from Taehyung well in advance became background noise to him, like the water from earlier had returned and lipped over his ear canals. They’d taken his lack of protest as a go ahead on the plan, discussing contract details for legality and file purposes without much input from Yoongi. He wasn’t going to deny them, anyway. No matter what the selfish ball unfurling in the sinking pit of his stomach told him to feel.

Taehyung standing caused him to stand, numb in moving as his brain registered the quiet dismissal without his conscious quite catching up. It was his name that startled him enough to focus, Seungcheol standing opposite him with a hand resting on the back of the chair he previously sat in.

“Enjoy your trip home,” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a request. The next bit was a comfort, “It’ll come back.”

In the light of his trinkets, Yoongi lounged into his office chair, carefully pulling his phone to his face. The expected text messages were there, ones Taehyung had labeled with giant letters WRITE THIS DOWN WHEN YOU OPEN IT, an email from Seungcheol with his flight information, and an obligatory email from Jihoon that he assumed was at the prodding of their shared boss. He swiped past all of them with a delicate index finger, instead tapping around meticulously organized folders until he found his contacts.

Phone changes had been abundant through his young career but he maintained a vast majority of the information. Including your name, one he scrolled by without truly remembering if it were there but quietly hoping to see anyway. He let that same finger hover over the name, gathering enough courage only to press on it to pull up the full contact page but not to hit the tiny blue phone hovering out next to the number.

Instead, he slipped his phone to his desktop, shaking awake his idle screen to click onto an internet browser. The business name appeared in the search box from a prior investigation but Yoongi typed it all out anyway, making sure to add the town so that the relevant place was pulled up.

The website was a bit generic but it was leaps and bounds ahead of what it had been when his parents still held control all those years ago. In any case, it was a higher quality version that the manila folder Seungcheol had presented him with, that a screen cap of the business homepage that currently stared at Yoongi in ridiculously bright pixels.

Incidentally, the cursor hovered over your picture, one slightly bigger than the panels of options and tabs scattered underneath. His gaze wandered from the familiar lines of your smile to the orchid he’d placed aside earlier, gaze wavering until he could see the reflection of the glass in the computer monitor.

Long fingers plucked the trinket out of it’s place for the second time that day, letting it rest to the heel of Yoongi’s palm as he placed it between his thighs, sighing.

“See you soon, angel.”

Muscle memory presents in things like riding a bike, something your body never quite forgets how to do. But even the trained cyclist will bobble after years of not climbing aboard their vehicle or at the very least, they certainly won’t be hitting their personal record the first time back out. In a similar fashion, Yoongi’s wrist remained limp over the head of his steering wheel, bypassing the correct turn twice.

It wasn’t that he was lost. He recognized his surroundings once engulfed further into the scenery, pulled into the days of his youth and budding adulthood. But it wasn’t his final destination.

By the third time his rental SUV rolled past the gravel turnoff, he started to think his subconscious was doing it on purpose.

His conscious remembered the back way, guiding his car out to the highway that circumvented the coast line, blue blurring into the early afternoon sky until he was almost startled by the return of trees as the road curved back on to land. A few purposeful turns later and his phone GPS, a backup that he’d tuned out the nagging of, happily informed him you’ve arrived.

The grass was a bit greener than he remembered, almost plush under his tennis shoes as he stepped out of the car. The flowers definitely were, decorated meticulously around varying archways, wire and wooden in build, chevron patterns of pink and purple and blue and yellow and everything in between. Paneled outsides of the main building appeared to have been freshly painted, a red outlined in white dirtied near where the cinder block foundation peeked up from the ground and the mulch collected in the landscaping.

Yoongi scuffed his way to the winding dirt path that led to the front door of the two story farmhouse, the only thing that appeared as though it hadn’t changed. Bits of gravel stuck here and there but the path was otherwise a beige dirt, dust clinging to the ground from the lack of rain and kicking up around Yoongi’s ankles as he shuffled. Ground lanterns lined the way, solar panels absorbing the heat for their evening duty, some staked out of the ground more so than others, tilted at all angles but the effect in the night was there regardless.

A handful of paces from the house was a wooden sign, it’s white outer edge not fairing the same as the house as chips were missing to show the wood underneath, splinters poking out in all directions otherwise. Most were covered by stacks of hay bales positioned strategically around more clay pots of flowers, ones that had started their vining process up the rough posts.

Your face wasn’t there this time but your logo was, contact information splayed out underneath the looping script, Be Happy, white on top of a powder blue. You hadn’t changed the name when you took over ownership. Yoongi had a size too small t-shirt somewhere deep in the recesses of his closet with the same name in opposite colors, black and white. You’d looked ridiculous when you worked events together, even when you returned back to the house and spent hours on the front porch swing sipping slightly unbalanced lemonade Yoongi made on the spot while shit talking the groom.

The memories, plural in the way they swirled to the forefront of his conscious at the first step of his sole onto the lowest porch step, elicited a tiny upward curl to the outer seam of his lips. Curled fists stuffed their way into the pockets of his pants, hanging his head as he vaulted another step up until two heeled boots cinched at the ankle came into his view.

The lipped edges of his white bucket hat flopped into his direct line of sight but he still managed to register a lot of black, skin tight in a pair of ripped jeans, in the ajar hang of a leather jacket on toned collarbones, in the widen of perfectly round irises that blinked three consecutive times at Yoongi’s frozen figure.

“Suga?” The man squeaked, taking another step backward on the staircase. “What are you....why are you....”

“How did you get to this town of all places?”

Yoongi’s lips parted just enough to let out a noise that would stall the younger man, a prolonged hum until he finally settled on the gentle answer, a tease in a monotone, “By plane and then rental car.”

The black figure giggled, giggled, a high pitched noise that made his features crunch up in the center of his nose. In his distraction at Yoongi’s poor attempt at humor, he rushed out your name, something that made the younger man pause in his laughter fit to cock an eyebrow.

“Do you need to....” The poor man blinked again, chin cocking in the slightest, “Are you needing…” A high pitched noise of confusion came from the back of his throat and his chin twitched the opposite direction, “How do you know Y/N?”

Yoongi’s lips pressed into his cheeks again, just for a fraction of a second, “Small world—” Determined yet wobbly steps carried him to stand level with the man yet still leaving him a few inches below eye level. Sharply, he stuck out a hand, “—Yoongi.”

“What—”

“Call me Yoongi,” Yoongi slipped his bucket hat off with his free hand, letting black locks fluff in static pieces around his eyelashes, “Please.”

“Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk,” The younger man surprised Yoongi by grasping his palm with both hands, giving it a firm shake. He continued to stay attached to him as he turned up toward the house, eyes darting wildly until he chirped, “T-they’re out right now but if you want to come inside, I can go see if I can find—”

“That would be great,” Yoongi smiled kindly, letting his hand stay in Jeongguk’s grasp as the younger enthusiastically began to drag him toward the front door.

A lot of things appeared to be updated from when Yoongi resided within the creaking floorboards of the house yet somehow, you’d tastefully managed to keep its original charm. There wasn’t anything that said you couldn’t update whatever you pleased, you owned the house and you owned the business, his parents happy to hand over everything in favor of an easy retirement a few cities up the coast, a bit more lively than the sleepy, tourist free town they’d spent the majority of their adult lives in. Even then, Yoongi found himself oddly charmed by the way you’d retained a lot of what you’d grown up around too, a consistent visitor from your cognitive teenage years to a steady employee through high school and college.

It was between admiring the sealer you’d chosen for the hardwood floors and wondering how you’d so artfully covered up the floral wallpaper his mother insisted on piling onto drywall that Yoongi’s heart stopped beating somewhere in the base of his throat, resuming it’s patter at a skyrocketing pace as it shot downward into the pit of his stomach.

There was something to the low sitting wardrobe piece kept in the foyer of the business section of the house that Yoongi couldn’t quite understand. In the end, he decided it was probably due to the fact that none of the drawers would quite stay on their tracks, sticking shut when you tugged on their flapping gold handles after twirling tiny gold bars into minuscule locks and then tipping out and forward when you finally could get them out, puffs of dust curling outward from the harsh scratch of wood on wood in the process.

Maybe it was that the top left drawer stayed unlocked at all times, enough to harbor a cardboard box that kept the keys for the rest of the drawers. Maybe it was that he knew there was nothing in the locked drawers aside from some decades old paperwork, a handful of paper grocery bags, and his every day personal items, ones that never stayed in there during business hours.

That is, until he started storing a few secrets underneath his wallet and car keys.

The first secret didn’t remain that way for long. Plane tickets were booked just as a formality but they signified so much more, like the unsigned contract he’d had emailed to him in the middle of recording something on his half dead microphone to upload to the very account that had pushed him toward getting recognized by an entertainment company. Unsigned quickly became signed and synonymous with the day it no longer became a secret, breaking the news to his parents that he wouldn’t be going back to university after the summer of catering to carrying any and all truckloads of equipment associated with a wedding planner to and from their positions. Yoongi was careful then, softening the news as to why there was a new key on his lanyard and garnering the warmth that his announcement of finding an apartment near his new job had lessened his parents' apprehensions in the slightest.

Then there was you. The person who’d started off as willing to listen to his halfhearted rants about basketball and the specifics of what an angry bride sounded like over crust-less peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and eventually became the person his parents trusted with hearing those complaints firsthand. In a roundabout way, he had your eventual co-workership to thank for starting his career, giving him more time to write and record and publish, particularly when you lessened your hours at your shared university in order to take over a greater role at the business.

In Yoongi’s mind, the ideal scenario was the one with the highest probability of becoming reality. He would sign with an entertainment company not minutes away from a university with a high ranked business graduate school. You would get into said graduate school, giving his parents a final few years to iron out any details they wished for your eventual takeover.

He would have enough time to translate song lyrics into Yoongi words and effectively cure part of the yearning in his heart that dragged his chest first toward you anytime you were in his general vicinity.

The addition of you to his secret drawer came in the form of a tiny velvet box, the first step toward allowing his yearning to manifest in an exterior way rather than remaining simply as his heart swelling and spilling between the spaces in his rib cage.

Yoongi took the staircase two at a time, dropping onto the ground floor with a resounding creak. Socked feet pulled at the various splinters formed between the spaces in hardwood as he made his way through the silent business level of the house. His plane tickets and apartment key came out of hiding, resting on top of the wooden piece of furniture as to not forget them with the addition of his massive grey suitcase stationed next to the refrigerator two rooms over. He left the normal essentials though, allowing himself that familiarity in what would be his last night in the house potentially for good.

Meticulous fingers balanced the proper key between the hole underneath the handle, mechanical click making Yoongi’s tongue pull back into his mouth in triumph as one hearty tug had the drawer popping free. He shrugged his backpack from one shoulder, enough to deposit his wallet into the front pouch and snag his keys on the twirl of his index finger. The next object made his throat dry, digits clasping around the box with a hard swallow.

If you can’t see it, it can’t make you anxious. Yoongi promptly hid it away next to his wallet, shoving his arm back through the dangling backpack strap and striding for the front door.

You seemed to be just as startled as his most vital organ, pausing your advancements into the house just in front of the heavy piece of furniture, loose knobs rattling with the steps you took. Yoongi instead scrambled, tripping out of the oak chair Jeongguk had left him in when he’d scurried away in search of you. In the process, his hip nudged at the corner of the round conference table, scuffing across the floor and effectively rattling all the metal again. And every other loose object in the house, it seemed.

“Yoongi?” Your voice came out soft, lips parting like a fish out of water. Your apprehension lasted long enough for a soft smile to corner into the seam of his lips before you were coughing, shaking your head as your stature set, “What can I do for you?”

The bashful smile spread into a bit of heat that sprinkled his cheeks and his hand touched his neck, shoulders hunching. “Uhh—” He squinted from underneath his eyelashes, “—do you happen to plan weddings?”

He missed the way your stature froze again, rigid all the way down to the tips of your toes that rooted to the ground inside your shoes, gaze instead jerking to the squeak of delight Jeongguk let out from the doorway. The younger’s eyes widened when your gaze whipped to him, trying to retreat outside before you could scold him but to no avail.

“Can you go finish loading the archway into the trailer for me?” Jeongguk nodded frantically, another step dragging the door with him until you added an octave louder, “The sunflower pots go with it, not the petunias.” His got it! was muffled by the echoing shut of the front door.

“Thank you. I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble—”

“Sit.”

Yoongi plopped directly down into the chair, watching with pursed lips and round eyes as you drug out the chair across from him, taking your time in sliding to the end of the wood. A sharp inhale racked your shoulders, keeping your gaze on the grain of wood where it peaked out from the lace table runner curled down the center of the furniture until you finally looked at him.

“No how are you? No how’s business going? No stack of signed CDs for me to hand out to customers as incentive?” Your eyebrows furrowed in teasing but the light didn’t quite reach your full smile. Not the one Yoongi remembered. “Just a I’m getting married.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

Yoongi’s smile softened, leaning forward until one of his hands could encase the fiddling of yours. You glanced at him between picking a bit of skin from around your thumb nail.

“How have you been, angel?”

It was childish, the way you pulled your hands against your chest, and there was still a hint of something in your voice, teasing, “No, too late now.”

He shook his head, a soundless laugh leaving through his nose. “Business seems to be going well. I see you’ve made a lot of upgrades on the property—”

“I told you,” Your arms instead threaded at your chest, leaning back into the chair, “You are too late. Should have done those formalities first.”

“Ah, right. Customer treatment now?”

“What’s your spouse's name?” You shifted again, enough to cross your legs, “For the paperwork. Not for the press.”

Part of Seungcheol’s monologue curled into his mind in that second but he had no reason to believe you were series. He shook his head, earning a laugh from you that confirmed his suspicions. You were kidding about the last part.

“That’s actually, uhm—” Yoongi turned, glancing in the general direction of the staircase, “—is there anyone else around?”

“Jeongguk is my only employee. Spill, who are they?”

“Have you...read anything about me lately?”

“Truthfully, Yoongi—” Your arms uncrossed to grip the chair underneath you, legs unfolding to place your feet flat on the ground, “—I try not to.”

Yoongi nodded. Right. You’re the one who left. You’re the one who stopped returning phone calls.

“The press hasn’t exactly been...patient in waiting for my second album. The negative press has piled on so much that it’s started to reflect on my image and frankly the state of my agency.”

“Is any of it true?”

He blinked at you, “Last week they contrived the image of me being an excessive party-er.”

“Right, they have no idea then.”

Part of Yoongi grew warm at your conviction. “I suppose…”

“The idea is to create positive press with a story my agency can control.”

“Ah, so to fake a wedding,” You nodded gravely, “Everyone loves a celebrity wedding.”

That’s what Taehyung said. “I guess. They thought if they sent me home, that it would give greater meaning to the story. That I’ve been pining at home trying to make the wedding perfect for all these months.”

“And your music?”

Yoongi blinked, finding you leaning forward again with your fingers clasped together, thumbs rubbing at each other. “What about it?”

“Why is it so delayed?” You were gentle again in your obvious statement, “You used to write a song a day here. At least.”

“Wasn’t that much.” And something in Yoongi remained endeared at the fact that you thought he was constantly writing something new each time he carted his notebook around with him and not fretting over a set of three songs he’d written with your smiley nose wrinkle in mind.

“Just haven’t felt anything in a while,” To say it out loud felt weird, especially in the presence of someone he’d no much as said hello to in the past handful of years let alone confided his feelings in. The house wasn’t your weekly beach trips.

And you weren’t his best friend anymore.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“So you need me to…”

“Help me plan a fake wedding,” He said it simply because in his head, he wanted it to be simple, “Obviously, we don’t need the nuanced things in between. But I do need the outward details to be very apparent.”

“...there will be press here eventually to take pictures of me planning. I need to be seen at a venue...here...picking out flowers...you know. Doing wedding planning things.”

“After a few weeks, my company will call it off and I’ll go home. Somehow, they plan to frame the story as a mutual breakup that leaves me in heart break,” He had to refrain from rolling his eyes, “Hopefully from that I can slap together some music to sate them. At the very least, maybe they’ll give me some space.”

“Probably not.”

The tension left Yoongi’s stature and he allowed himself to laugh for a few beats at your bluntness. “Yeah, you’re right, probably not. It’s worth a try or at least, my agency thinks so,” His eyes flicked across your face, “It’s nice to be home, anyway.”

You didn’t allow him the luxury of enjoying the simple silence of your presence, instead standing with a harsh scrape of the chair across the floor. He held his breath as you approached the wardrobe, exhaling when you reached past the top to crouch on the bottom, yanking open the right to retrieve a stack of stapled papers from within.

“Do you want to go ahead and start?”

Yoongi frowned, “You don’t have any questions?”

“No.”

“You aren’t worried about the press being here?”

“You’re my client,” You shrugged, “Whatever comes with that isn’t my business.”

“...do you want your check?”

It was your turn to frown. “Has your service been fulfilled to your utmost satisfaction?”

Yoongi settled back into his chair. “No...not yet.”

“Then I don’t need paid yet.” A pen materialized in your grasp, one you twirled twice before clicking on. “State your full name.”

You blinked at each other in a challenging silence until you shrugged, “I could just put Min Suga, if you like—”

“Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi watched the poke of your tongue between your cheek fondly, enamored even when you didn’t look up from writing to say, “Spouse...to be determined…”

You’d moved your paperwork party to the front porch of the building, sign now flipped closed and the main entrance gate shut and looped together with a rusted old chain. Condensation lipped down Yoongi’s knuckles when he reached for the glass of lemonade Jeongguk had brought the both of you, ones that garnered his attention away from your incessant chattering.

“I don’t need to make a full guest list,” He said finally and when you didn’t respond, just continued to rock yourself in the wicker chair you perched upon, he clarified, “The wedding isn’t actually happening.”

“What are you supposed to tell the press then? What if they want a rumored guest list?”

“I’ll just tell them Hoseok—”

The chair stopped abruptly. “...J-Hope?”

Yoongi rolled his lips together to keep himself from laughing, “That’s the one.”

The rocking resumed and the audible sound of the pen scratching against paper could be heard over the breeze and chirping of birds. “I forgot you were signed under the same agency. Hope World is one of my favorite albums.”

“I had a feature on there, you know.” It was embarrassing how quickly he informed you of the obvious fact but you smiled to his flushed cheeks.

“You also had a number one best selling album.”

“Did you ever get the album I sent you?”

“I gave it to Jeongguk.”

Yoongi didn’t have to remind himself of his guilt, he just had to keep it at bay. He smiled, “I can get you another copy.”

“So can I,” You scribbled a nonsensical line to the paper, letting your wrist rest on the pad of paper as you looked at him, “Who else?”

“You.”

You didn’t blink. “I’ll be there. I’m the event coordinator. Theoretically.”

“And theoretically, I’d want you there,” Yoongi didn’t blink, “In another circumstance. I’d invite you.”

He didn’t miss the way your voice softened into a murmured thanks, resuming your haphazard scribbles, “—but unfortunately I am nothing the press would be interested in. Give me another name.”

“Uh...Taehyung I guess. He’s my manager. The fans know a good deal about him. It may be obvious that he would be there, though.”

“It’ll work for now,” Your wrist carried your pen in looping circles down the length of the page until you flipped it at the stapled corner. “Okay, next. Who would you have stand up with you?”

“Taehyung.”

You couldn’t hold your laughter that time, puzzling Yoongi’s features. “I can do that—” You eyed him as you pressed pen tip to paper, “—but that would really make it obvious that he’s attending.”

“Oh,” Yoongi frantically reached for his lemonade again, downing a sizable gulp, “You’re probably right.”

“Okay, most important question. For me and for the press,” You clicked the pen a few times in a rhythm he didn’t recognize, “Give me a date.”

“I was told I had a four week time frame. Agency orders,” His eyebrow cocked when you choked, “What? Do you need more time, because I can call—”

“You think a month is enough time for people to believe you?”

There wasn’t anything condescending about your question. You’d been sitting with him long enough for the sun to start to hide behind the coastline, bathing the world in a color that bordered between black and blue, a hue he couldn’t quite place a name to but knew by heart. You hadn’t jumped at the first opportunity to write a number on the blank line of the check tucked neatly in his wallet. You’d barely considered the validity of his motives and immediately jumped into the task at hand.

You hadn’t asked him what was wrong when you, of anyone, had the absolute permissions to do so.

“The press currently believes I’m lazy, undermine close friends for fame, am not genuine in the message of my first album, and, for some reason, that I am unapproachable,” Yoongi shrugged, “I’m, frankly, not too worried about what they do and don’t believe at this point.”

Your features quirked as you shut the packet on your lap, settling your palms flat to the paper to let the pen roll a few paces away in your lap.

“Yoons.”

Part of his facade crumbled at the tenderness in which you uttered the nickname as he gripped a bit harder to the chair in an attempt to keep it in place. An audible breath shuddered in and out of his nose before he looked at you.

“Are you doing okay?”

The fragmented part of his heart that had tumbled into his throat threatened to spill out as you offered him the compassion he wasn’t quite sure he deserved from you and the only way he knew to keep it down was to stand and swallow. His bucket hat came in white knuckles, smashing the article of clothing over wind ruffled hair as he averted his gaze to anything but you.

“Fine. It’s getting late and I’ve already kept you far past business hours,” Long steps carried him past your stature, pausing with a hand on the rail and a foot on the second step. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

For a second, Yoongi’s peripheral swore to him that you reached for his hand in passing.

“You’re…”

“Hi,” Yoongi thrust his hand toward the blonde headed man in front of him before he could finish. “Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you.”

The stocky florist blinked at the hand presented to him, then to the taller Jeongguk standing behind Yoongi. Yoongi didn’t have to look to know that giddy smile was still plastered on Jeongguk’s lips and he swore he felt him nod against the side of his ear from how close the younger man was standing to him.

“Park Jimin,” He said finally, settling his smaller hand into Yoongi’s grasp. After a brief shake, his fingers continued to grip on as his gaze wandered to you where you were picking through a jar of fresh lilac. “What...what can I do for you guys today?”

“Why else do I come to you, Minnie?” You turned, wielding one of the long purple stems to tickle toward the blonde’s nose. Jimin broke away from Yoongi to giggle, swatting at you. “New client. New wedding. New flowers.”

“Right. I have a few of those,” Jimin nearly head butted the glass counter displaying arranged boutineers and sample bouquets, returning a moment later with a tiny notepad and a pen he took off the cusp of his ear, then jammed in plump lips while he flicked through the lined pages. Through the object in his mouth, he muffled, “What can we start with?”

“The usual. Twenty some of each,” Yoongi watched in muted fascination as you moved about the shop, dropping the lilac back in its place in favor of something green and leafy. Various other stems snagged on the ruffled leaves, dragging a messy handful of vegetation, earning a surprised squeak from your lips as you began to untangle them.

Subconsciously, he reached across, fingers brushing yours in route to pull away one of the three strands.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you?” Yoongi plopped the freed strand back into its container, again stretching long digits toward you.

“Do you want to be photographed with me?” You wielded the stems away from him until he stopped making grabby hands and instead resorted to jutting his bottom lip out. “Me being your fake fiance’ wasn’t part of the deal.”

“They’re not going to think that,” Yoongi finally succeeded in snagging the tangled flowers away from you, gentle fingers prying them apart and placing them back in their rightful container. He smiled to the glare you set on his cheek, “We’ve got it covered.”

“We’re here for flowers,” You childishly poked your tongue out at him, “Not to argue the logistics of your weird celebrity powers.”

“Don’t make it sound so glamorous,” Yoongi huffed, trailing you as your footsteps took off rapidly through the shop. As abruptly as your speed picked up, it stalled, making him nearly topple over you and a stand of glass butterflies in the process. His hands gripped your waist to steady himself, an action you barely flinched at as you covered his wrists with your hands, leaning past his arm in silence.

After a handful of heartbeats more, Yoongi ducked closer to your ear and whispered, “Why did you bring me back here?”

There was a small crash from somewhere on the opposite end of the store, then a fit of mingled laughter, something that had you relaxing out of Yoongi’s embrace to look at him.

“They can’t hear us back here,” You explained. “Now...if you were to actually be getting married, what kind of flowers would you want?”

Yoongi blinked, “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

You weren’t amused, “What about your fictional spouse? What would they like?”

He spotted your figure on the bridge carrying over some of the largest sand dunes, your figure just a silhouette but your features lit up by your phone pulled to your nose. He ignored the buzz of a notification in his pocket, instead calling out your name.

“Yoongi!” You bounced a bit in greeting, arm waving so that the illumination on your screen remained for him to see. He ducked his head in response, gripping the straps of his backpack a bit tighter as he stepped out of his sandals, crooking them in between his index and middle fingers to change terrain to the sand coated wood. He barely reached you when you were snagging his wrist, dragging him down the opposite side of the bridge until bare feet changed once more to pure, cool granules of the beach.

“Come on,” You tugged a bit harder until he fell in step next to you, “If we hurry, we can pick some before it gets dark.”

“These would be the ones you’d pick,” Yoongi grunted a few minutes later, crouched on a sliding hill of sand to reach his fingers into the vined mess of vegetation rooted to the dirt underneath. The rumble of a crab itched in the arch of his foot where it was buried deep in the sand to anchor him in place but he was afraid to jerk away in fear that his already squinted eyes would be unable to spot the singular stem of pink flowers again. Something in his shoulder popped, knee too, and the crab finally secured it’s pinches into his skin, but he managed to return with the stem in twirled fingers, falling backward onto his backside in a pride crushing triumph.

Your phone flashlight blinded him as you jogged around the corner, frowning first then breaking into soft giggles. The center of the light shifted away from his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the fact that you were hovering above him with an entire handful of pink and white stems.

Miserably, Yoongi lifted to a seated position, quite as the last of the sand fell back to the ground from his shoulders and around the crevices in his cloth backpack. His arm stretched slowly upward, holding out the flower with eyes scrunched shut until you slipped it in with your existing bouquet.

One eye peaked when you didn’t say anything, the second falling open in time with your lips softly touching the apple of his cheek. You held your free hand out, palm up, until he laced his fingers with yours.

“Thank you, Yoons.”

He waited until he was standing, stalling your excited dragging of his figure down the beach with an exclamation of your name.

“I have something else to give you later,” Yoongi said slowly, “Don’t let me forget.”

You used your intertwined fingers to punch his thigh with his own knuckles, “Better than this flower?”

A slanted smile was the only thing his rapidly beating heart would allow him.

“Hopefully.”

“Orchids,” Yoongi decided finally, gaze still wavering off beyond your figure, “They’d probably like orchids.”

You swallowed, bouncing once on your heels. Your chin cocked, eyes staring straight ahead from where he stood in front of you. Quickly, he amended, “Is that okay? Are those not good wedding flowers—”

Your steps picked up in speed like they had before, effectively bumping into the bin of glass landscape decorations in trying to brush past him. He took the time to balance the tin, centering a blue butterfly and it’s green caterpillar counterpart before dashing off after you.

Jimin and Jeongguk appeared as though they’d been caught with their hands in a cookie jar although they were no more than crowded around the computer monitor of a shop that Jimin owned and managed. Nonetheless, you seemed to pay no mind to their startled appearances, speaking past Jeongguk’s chin on Jimin’s shoulder to nod toward his forgotten order notepad flopped open on the glass container.

“Did you—”

“Orchids,” You said, “Pink ones, if you can.”

There was a strange lingering scent from the greenery Yoongi had helped you separate, one he didn’t notice until he was rubbing crooked fingers underneath his nose while waiting for Taehyung to answer his call. He squinted at the smell with a wrinkled nose until the dial tone rolled over to an obnoxious rustling that projected loudly through the speaker.

“How’s it going, married man?”

Yoongi flinched at the content of Taehyung’s words and the volume, using his thumb to lower it while holding the phone away from his face. When he was sure his manager’s excited outbursts wouldn’t be wholly projected to the entire hotel, he sighed, “I’m not married.”

“But you’re going to be soon,” Taehyung sang. More rustling on the other end. Yoongi wished he could hurl a much too white hotel pillow through the screen.

“Why did you send me five texts asking me to call you? What do you need?”

“Oh, right,” There was something muffling Taehyung’s speech now that wasn’t the aggressive sound of crinkling. The heel of Yoongi’s palm met his forehead in realization and he could picture the over-sized hamburger clenched between Taehyung’s fingers from miles away. “Namjoon and the team will be there with a new photographer tomorrow to get some staged shots for the press.”

“Staged…” Yoongi rolled to his stomach, sanctioning his weapon pillow against his chest, “Of what?”

“It’s supposed to simulate an engagement photo shoot. They want the pictures for a cover story. That’s why there’s a different photographer coming. You’ll actually get to meet this one,” More wrapper crinkling. An audible swallow. Yoongi began to think a pillow wasn’t the only weapon he needed.

“How am I supposed to do that with just me?”

“They only want your face. The anonymity adds to the suspense and interest,” Taehyung sighed, “They should be bringing a model with them. They’ll just be used for their shadow, essentially. Maybe their hands, hand shots of the rings will be good—”

“I don’t have rings.”

“We do.”

Yoongi groaned into the plush of his pillow. “Won’t that ruin the whole facade if someone figures out who the model is? I don’t want to drag a literal total stranger into this mess.”

“Give me a better idea, Yoongi. Use both your hands? Craft a cardboard cutout in your hotel room?”

“I just…”

If he closed his eyes, it was like traveling through idealization with a fish-eye's view, placing him first in the depth of that rickety old wardrobe piece while a hand he recognized as his own looted around inside to snatch a velvet box, one his point of view was tethered to as he then was transported to the inside of a backpack, rattled around inside with a yellow notepad and a handful of uncapped pens.

Somewhere along the way, the trip was halted, marked by a nonsensical swirl of color as his fingers rubbed at his eyes, Taehyung’s sarcastic rambles just background noise as the story picked back up in the forefront of his consciousness. It was a longing that generated the second half between the darkness of the backpack and the open breeze off the beach, viewpoint now situated in his own palm, looking up at your tear filled eyes, then skipping forward to peer into the familiarity of his own gaze as he was slid securely onto a finger.

It was the ridiculous daydream about becoming a literal piece of jewelry that made him speak, cutting off Taehyung’s increasingly outlandish suggestions.

“I’ll do it just…” Yoongi settled his chin on top of the pillow, letting his eyes open to the cloth headboard in front of him, “Don’t send the model. I have someone I can get to stand in.”

There were muffled noises of surprise marked by more, very apparent, chewing until Taehyung sighed, “Won’t that just create the same issue you said previously? What if someone finds out who your stand-in is? What do we do then? Pretend to marry the two of you?”

“That won’t happen,” Yoongi saw shades of pink in hazy petal shapes when he closed his eyes a second time, squishing his cheek against his free hand that rested on his pillow. “Just don’t send the model. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t know much about the entertainment industry but don’t they generally have models available that can do these kinds of things?” You blinked across at Yoongi as his stylist, Mingyu, jabbed a makeup brush between the closed crease of your eyelids.

“They do if you’d like me to have them call one,” Yoongi shifted in his own chair, fiddling at the collar of his button up that had just been meticulously fixed for him. He tucked an index finger under the tight fabric, tugging it away from his neck. When that couldn’t sate him, he popped the top button and folded the lapels across his chest. “This isn’t exactly part of your contract…”

“It’s not.” He continued to be amazed by the nonchalant way in which you accepted his suggestion, seeming to move in autopilot since he rigidly explained the dilemma from your dew covered front porch that morning. Stunned must have graced his gaze when you glanced at him, your eyebrows raising considerably when Mingyu moved on to poke and prod at your hair, “But you’re my friend, so I’m helping you.”

You ducked a bit, catching his eyes that darted away while gloss tinted lips parting into a neat oval. “We are still friends...right?”

Yoongi masked his relief with his tone, pitching his voice in firm words so that you couldn’t hear the way his heart did several back flips that tickled the back of his throat and retrieved some of their broken pieces in their tumbling path, settling a bit of warmth that was a step closer to full into his chest cavity until it spread upward into the tiny tug on each curve of his lips.

“Of course we are,” Stoic faltered when you blinked at him. Yoongi let himself smile.

“One more question,” You lowered your voice, dipping a bit closer to him Mingyu shifted behind you to continue toying with your hair, “Why do I have makeup on if you won’t see my face?”

Yoongi’s shoulders bounced in silent laughter, lips wrinkling then rolling together to prevent anything audible and he shrugged. His healing heart let him study your face for far more time than necessary, finally settling on your eyes as his cheek nearly lulled to his shoulder.

“You look nice,” He assured gently.

You turned away, surprising Mingyu in the process as he now had better access to final touches, but even through the touches to your face with fingers and brushes and pads, Yoongi didn’t miss the trace of your smile.

“Okay you two…” The photographer approached you like walking through sand was wading through knee deep water, sandals dangling on feet he lifted in high stepping advancements until he was stationary in front of your folding chairs. Knee length jeans appeared to be self tailored by a pair of kitchen scissors and a pink hoodie hung off broad shoulders along with a camera dangling off an equally thick strap. “Are we ready?”

Yoongi slipped off his chair first, offering a hand to you. You took the offer delicately, feet hitting the sand with a minimal puff of debris. He was a breath away from addressing the photographer until he spoke to Yoongi’s publicist Namjoon instead, the only other individual wandering around beyond Mingyu’s box of equipment.

“No faces, right?”

“Uhm, you can get my face. Just...my face,” Yoongi smiled kindly, squeezing your hand in reassurance, “That’s preferred actually.”

The photographer blinked at the smaller man in front of him for a passing beat before addressing Namjoon again, “So...no faces then?”

“Seokjin,” Namjoon warned tiredly, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a crooked knuckle, “Cooperate.”

A wheezing laughter broke out from the photographer’s lips, Seokjin’s lips, the noise carrying upward into the coastal breeze of early afternoon. There was a minuscule tug on the twine of Yoongi’s fingers and he found himself, perplexed, glancing at you. Despite the fond expression on your lips, he could sense the confusion in your aura too. He gave a second comforting squeeze until Seokjin’s laughter quieted away into periodic hiccups placed between the raise of his free hand until it landed on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“I’m just joking,” A kind smile was left in the wake of Seokjin’s giggles, patting twice at Yoongi’s shoulder before he was off wading through the sand again.

You tugged down on Yoongi’s hand, squeaking, “Are we supposed to follow…?—”

He pulled in the opposite direction, leading you through the ruts Seokjin’s fussing left. When you caught up to him, shoulder bumping into his arm, he laughed quietly, “I guess so.”

“Okay!” Seokjin’s sweeping announcement sent a domino effect through the small caravan of three people now subject to the wind in the center of the beach. Yoongi bumped into him, you bumped into Yoongi, Yoongi was sure Namjoon was laughing from where he watched on. The photographer turned, catching sight of intertwined hands first and he lifted an eyebrow as he addressed Yoongi..

“Just your face, right?”

Instinctively, Yoongi pulled you closer even if the inquiry was spoken without any ulterior motive, instead a genuine confirmation. “Just my face,” Yoongi nodded sharply, “In fact, if we can limit the pictures to shadows and features—”

Seokjin held up a solaced palm, “No worries, I know what’s going on here.”

Yoongi felt your gaze on the side of his face but he situated his thinning eyes to the man in front of you as he began to fiddle at the various knobs and buttons on the back of his camera. His smile erased into something of confusion when he found Yoongi eyeing him, rushing in a series of startled noises to amend, “It’s understandable that you would choose to keep your partner anonymous if they are not in the spotlight themselves. I’ve covered it before—” Yoongi’s expression softened only slightly when Seokjin lifted his camera to his face and the lens twirled closer to the point of Yoongi’s nose. The shutter clicked over, making Yoongi blink, and Seokjin pulled the device away to squint at the preview. A thumbs up followed, paired with the purse of tulip shaped lips that spread into a kind smile, “—your secret is safe with me!”

Part of him forgot that there was a limited group who were aware of the full situation even in scheduled events like a photo shoot, a timeline for what was supposed to be something of life changing unity. The weight in his pocket wasn’t one that would hold any higher meaning, rings faux quality and meant to superimpose elegance where Namjoon had pulled them from a plastic prop bag. This wasn’t his bulky backpack with his deepest regret hidden in the front porch.. Instead, it was just another gimmick to save face and time for his favorite writing journal that he’d unpacked from his suitcase only to move over into the shoulder bag he carted around everywhere.

And, to some people, it looked like he was, truthfully and honestly, engaged to you.

There was a twitch of your hand in his and Yoongi relaxed with that pressure in mind, nodding once. A grateful smile laced the seam of his lips and he backed off of his stance with a nod, “Oh, right. Thank you…”

“Of course,” Seokjin beamed, gesturing vaguely again, “Should we get those face shots first?”

You were turned gently around the pivot point that was your connected hands, free palm slipping gently into the crooked fingers Yoongi offered face up. As for your hand he’d previously held, you slipped it away, just quick enough to rub the clamminess against your thigh before returning it to its previous position. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to Yoongi’s.

He didn’t even try to hide his fond smile as the camera shutter whirred over your shoulder.

“Do couples actually do this?” You complained through clenched teeth, rigid smile coating your mouth even if no one could see you but him. Something genuine twitched upward in your lips when his smile grew a bit brighter at your whined complaints, “This is so awkward.”

“That’s great, perfect,” A few more clicks and the sound of Seokjin’s thumb against plastic buttons. “A few more...could you touch their face, maybe?”

Yoongi didn’t give you time to complain, cupping his palm to your face, stroking his thumb gently under your eye to soothe the tension that immediately curled upward in your shoulders.

“Better or worse now?” He teased, tilting his head to look between your wide eyes.

Your fingers responded to him, slipping around his wrist to keep his hand cradling your face. In the same moment, you took your hands that remained intertwined and molded his hand around your waist, stepping closer to him in the process. Your thumb pressed against his racing pulse point and he swallowed, a moot attempt to calm his heart that he was sure you could hear and feel.

“I don’t know,” You shot back, smile loosening, “You tell me.”

Yoongi shook his head, a genuine laugh emitting at your antics while his thumb continued it’s strokes to the apple of your cheek and his hand scrunched it’s way to the small of your back, holding you against him.

Seokjin jogged backward across the beach with some vague instructions, haphazard words sticking in Yoongi’s brain to act on. Pretend and dance. The implication of the words roused a single syllable laugh from your lips, head tipping back, more of an amused smirk settling into your expression when you came to.

“This should be good.”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” You repeated the challenge from before, a daring confidence seeping into your aura now.

His touch fell away from your face, holding his hand palm up instead. “Give me your hand.”

Your expression didn’t falter as your hand landed in his, head only tilting when he squeezed your hand and started to move you.

“You know, the sand doesn’t exactly make this easy.”

“Is that your excuse for squishing my toes?”

Yoongi’s expression crossed into horrified for a fraction of a second, “I haven’t stepped on you!”

“Not yet.”

“What if I dipped you?” He tightened his grip on your waist.

“Then they’ll see my face,” You squeaked when he half jerked to do so, lightly smacking his chest in retaliation.

“The picture will be cropped.”

“Yoongi—”

“I’m going to do it.”

And he did, a full pivot that bent you at the waist, half hovering over your angled stature. The slow spread of his laughter across his features came in time with his foot giving out as support underneath him, sending your figures stumbling a few paces. He managed to ground himself while you clawed at his shirt in an equal amount of startled joy, dragging yourself up by tight fists on the open collar of his shirt with your forearms pressed to his chest.

“I think you need some dance lessons, Min Suga.”

If you were anywhere else in any other circumstance with any other person, Yoongi would have kissed you. He told himself that, a firm response to his conscious that was trying to will his muscles to do so. He was wholly aware of the desire, one stirred by your proximity and your presence and you. And, given a few more seconds of silence aside from the lip of foam across neatly created ruts in the sand and the mechanical flick of a camera shutter, he might have excused the situation and the circumstance and the presence of another person.

But, Seokjin, who was none the wiser to any of it yet assumed the relationship before him was very real, tried to combat a kiss regardless. A loud, satisfied wah! Came as he approached in messy steps that sent sand flying everywhere below his still attached sandals, startling your embrace apart to find him hunched over the preview screen.

“Great,” His smile was knowing and his wink confirmed it, “Shall we move on to something else? Hands, maybe?”

Yoongi took to threading his fingers around yours to combat the heat that curled behind the thin layer of makeup on his features, staring straight at the overlap of your index and middle fingers around the bend of his thumb. You cleared your throat into the painful silence and the ambiance of waves continued to be blissfully unaware.

Seokjin sliced into the tension with confusion, “Uh, yeah, that’s great but...rings?”

Yoongi felt like those waves had just become self aware and barreled out of gravity’s clutches, swallowing him whole and effectively dragging him into their depths.

“I mean, if you guys aren’t doing rings, that’s fine too. There are all kinds of symbolic ways to outwardly show your unity, I just assumed it was with rings but perhaps that was wrong of me. We can do something else—”

The band meant for his finger was just too small but Yoongi jammed it on anyway, aided by the clamminess slowly engulfing every inch of his skin. Scrambled movements nearly sent yours tumbling to the sand below but he managed to secure it between the pinch of his thumb and index finger, joints twitching periodically as he let his gaze meet yours again. The tips of your fingers barely brushed his curled knuckles and he moved the ring out of your reach.

Yoongi swallowed, taking the crook of your left hand in his free one. “Let me.”

The hollow echo left by the screen door clattering shut on his shoulders felt like the raw crescendo before the soul gripping bridge in a song. Except the final chorus wasn’t the round trip loop, a tie up with a neat bow on top that made a song a story. His story wouldn’t lead him back to the rickety screen door and the creaky floorboards underneath the heavy piece of wardrobe furniture in his parent’s, your, business foyer.

Yoongi didn’t think the last time he’d open the top drawer would be to put the velvet box back, its contents still very much intact, his heart very much not. The plane ticket and apartment key mocked him, a reminder of his unfinished heart song, one he supposed would remain a rough draft with no clear path to an end.

At least, that end wouldn’t include you.

He felt selfish for the hot tears that pricked the back of his eyelids, the direct result of your excitement, your adamant exclamations of how perfect your futures were about to become. The guilt was eating him alive, that he couldn’t simply feel happy for you without his conscience drifting to the ring he’d bought you and how selfish, horribly selfish, his confession would be after you’d just poured your one track soul to him. He couldn’t remember half of what you’d told him due to his own personal inhibitions.

He couldn’t tell you he was hopelessly in love with you. He couldn’t do that to you.

Yoongi let the drawer shut for the final time, choosing to drag everything else out so as to not see the black box again. One tear became three, lipping down his nose and dropping onto his fumbling fingers as he jammed the lock into the knob, turning the mechanical click one more time.

And then, he simply went to bed. He had a flight to catch, after all.

“Is it true?”

He stopped flipping through the paperwork, non disclosure agreements and consent forms you’d scribbled your support onto in the dull blue pen Namjoon had handed you. You sat in the chair from before, makeup wipe Mingyu had handed you damp against your thigh as you instead took to fiddling at the diamond band still wrapped to your finger.

Yoongi pressed the pages shut, leaning into the back of your chair, “Is what true?”

You turned to peer up at him, diamond tucked between your fingertips, “...that you get to keep props sometimes.”

“You want to keep the ring?”

“It’s pretty,” The band slipped easily off your finger, cradled in your palm, “A little big, but that’s okay. Who doesn’t want the evidence of their first fake engagement?”

“Not your first magazine cover shoot?”

“No one will ever see my face. I’m basically a hand and head model.”

“You can keep the ring,” Yoongi conceded with a laugh, “Are you done with this paperwork? Nothing else you want to read?”

“I am and if you are as well—” You jumped off the chair to stand in front of him, “—I want to take you somewhere.”

“Don’t you have work to do today?”

“I’m working right now. Wait right here.”

He watched, silent, as you skipped over to where Seokjin was chatting with Namjoon in the small gravel area beyond the sand. Seokjin’s expression flitted to you while Namjoon’s went to him, raising an eyebrow while you tugged on the photographer’s sleeve to cup your hand around his ear.

“Yeah,” Yoongi heard Seokjin exclaim, scrambling backward away from your whispers with a frantic smile, “Yeah, of course. I have a few hours before my flight leaves. Lead the way!”

You approached him in a similar, giddy fashion, taking his wrist. He raised an eyebrow, stumbling a few dramatic paces when you tugged on his arm.

“Yeah. Lead the way.”

“Why are we at a dance studio?”

You tugged on the strap of his bag rather than his hand this time, ignoring him as you coaxed him through the glass doors. It was dimmer inside, lights shadowing the rounded front desk and the flutter of various flyers pinned to a cork board in the corner with the small ceiling fan that whirred overhead. Even then, Yoongi still startled at the noise, yes noise, of greeting the man twirling in an office chair at the front desk let out.

The man knew you by name, stretching forward rather than standing up to take your hand over the desk. He directed his attention to Yoongi next, standing but in a quieter fashion than his previous actions suggested, gradual in the way he held his hand out.

“And you’re...Suga, right?”

“Yoongi,” He corrected quietly, slipping his hand into the man’s, “Nice to meet you…”

“Soonyoung,” You and the man provided at the same time, effectively earning mingled laughter. “I thought I heard from somewhere that you were in town. Planning a wedding, right?” Soonyoung leaned away to pass his gaze between your two figures, “I guess the rumors must be true if you’re hanging around with this one.”

That earned a halfhearted swat from you and more giggles from the man as he shuffled around, presenting a clipboard to the top part of the desk. “Are you needing studio space again?”

You nodded, pressing a pen between Yoongi’s fingers and sliding the paper underneath his curled hand. He blinked absently at the words name, time in, and time out. You continued to talk while he feathered the general outline of his name above the line, “If anyone asks, it was his idea to rent studio space.”

Puzzled, Soonyoung slipped the clipboard from Yoongi to squint at it. “Will someone ask? Why would someone ask—”

Again, your hand was on the strap of his bag, dragging him around the corner, “If, Soonie, if!”

An echoed got it! was the last thing Yoongi heard until you shut him inside a dark studio space. He watched his shadow light up in the mirror when the lights crackled to life, tint uneven on his lips, shirt he wore to the shoot a bit haphazard across his collarbones, black fringe windblown and stuck in blinking eyelashes.

“Am I allowed to know why you brought me here yet?”

“I told you,” He watched in the reflection as you crossed the wood floor, crouching next to a small set of outlets with varying cords dangling out of them. You jammed the short white one into the end of your phone, prodding around with your index finger until the soft sound of something top forty began playing through the speakers. You stood, approach to his figure marked by swaying, off beat movements, “I’m giving you dance lessons.”

“Are you going to show me how to do that?” Yoongi accepted you when you took his hands despite his dismissive words, “Because if so, I don’t want them. I want a refund, in fact—”

“I told Seokjin to follow us here and take a picture of you signing up for dance classes. They’ll run the story like you did it directly after the cover shoot photos,” Dramatically, you swung your twined fingers together to the rising beat of the music, “Cute, right?”

Yoongi hummed, continuing to allow you to lead him in messy circles around the studio, “I thought Namjoon was my publicist?”

“Maybe you should hire me,” Your eyes cut in zigzags down his features before you dropped your chin, movements relaxing enough for him to take over, “This soft image suits you better, anyway.”

“You’ve been reading the articles?”

“Free publicity. Need to see how my business is being represented” You shook your head when he squinted at you, “I’m joking. They’ve never mentioned the business directly. The pictures don’t give enough clarity to location.”

You looked at him again, “So yes...I have read a few.”

“And they’re portraying me as…” Yoongi’s nose wrinkled, “Soft?”

“Quiet. Gentle. One who shows his love in simple ways,” One corner of your mouth turned up in a smile, “Frankly, it’s rather unfair that they thought anything otherwise.”

Another broken chisel of Yoongi’s heart slotted itself back into place, healing with the warmth that spread quickly to the tips of his toes. He squeezed your hands, “I’m glad you still see me that way.”

“The Agust D video though,” You gripped his hands back, tilting your head, “The bleached hair and the makeup. Perhaps I understand the savage hype—”

Yoongi shoved you away, a halfhearted attempt as you still clung on to him with the last link of your knuckles tucked between the empty spaces in his spread fingers. Laughter followed suit, mingling with the silent, shoulder bouncing emission of his before you were brought close to him once more. This time, there were no cameras. No Namjoon to type reports to Taehyung and Seungcheol, no Mingyu to tuck plastic ends of brushes into sea breeze hair, no Seokjin to fool. Second time failed to be the charm, Yoongi’s face leaning a fraction of a space closer to you until you dropped your gaze again.

“We can leave soon, if you want. Seokjin should be out of town by now.”

Yoongi didn’t move until his silence coaxed your eyes back to him. “I was dragged here against my will for dance lessons,” He let go of your hands, stepping back to shrug himself out of his cross shoulder bag and place his appendages on the high rise of his hips, “and I intend to get them.”

Lessons came less in the form of serious intention and instead manifested in you teaching him what not to do as he observed with his back against the mirror and his pen against his notepad. The yellow pages were no longer empty, the tray of ink shoved through the middle of his pen now considered to be used. The radio hit on max volume couldn’t drown out your laughter and if Yoongi ignored the tiny, unfamiliar space the joy was confined to, he could convince himself that everything was back to normal. That this was just another off day between carting flowers and chairs and catered crock pots to venues where he got to watch your joy overfill his heart with a warmth that he had to make space for more by manifesting that into something tangible.

Filled lyric notebook and all.

“This is going to look like a stock image.”

Yoongi couldn’t contain his snort, adjusting his stance a bit to fit your comment. Legs angled wide from his hips, arms folded neatly to his chest, nothing relaxed about his stature. He turned to where you were mirroring his position. “You’re probably right.”

Jeongguk leaned so far across Yoongi he stumbled out of his similar position, tripping to a stop between the two of you as he looked up with wide eyes. An apology came soft but his inquiry came an octave lower, “...what is going to look like a stock image?”

The item on the agenda was picking a venue, or rather, make it look like you were picking a venue. With the rumored wedding date less than days away, finishing touches were to be in order, but the press would be days behind by virtue of what was being actively publicized as a private wedding. And by the way you were standing just in front of a mock row of chairs beyond a meticulously decorated arch, pastel pinks and yellows and blues and purples, it looked like you’d just been cut directly from a wedding magazine’s ad section for structure rental. Yoongi wasn’t sure how the press would frame it. The house wasn’t the rumored location for the wedding, anyway. The beach was. But the press was only available for a short time, their hired stint by Yoongi’s company lasting until their flights left in the evening after they would capture what would eventually be the last of Yoongi’s wedding planning ventures.

He shifted in the plush grass, squinting closer at two flower pots that made symmetry to the front display of the mock wedding alter. The way they moved with the wind was artificial, and his focus slid to see if those beautiful petals on rungs of the arch were fake flowers as well.

“Do people actually have weddings here?” He thought back to his years as an employee. You’d always arranged for off property events. Your set up in the field behind the house suggested otherwise.

“Not yet,” You nudged Jeongguk where he’d scrambled to stand between the two of you, managed to fit his broad stature in the minuscule space, “Jeongguk has been heading the project to get us a space to do so here. We could offer a discount on the venue if they used our services. Extra profit.”

“But for now it’s just a mock set up,” Jeongguk nodded. “That’s why I don’t understand why we’re here...shouldn’t we be getting the last of everything set up at the beach?” He turned to Yoongi with a question in his round irises, “And Yoongi, when is your fiance’ getting in? Have you arranged for transportation from the airport? Should I go get them?”

“Jeongguk,” You touched his arm, squeezing gently, “Why don’t you take the rest of the night off? I’m going to need you to be at full capacity the next couple days.”

“But I can come help—”

“Jeongguk.”

Yoongi glanced behind him as the sound of tires on gravel descended, watching as the familiar SUV that had been trailing him through the weeks made it’s exit. Somewhere in his pocket, flight details buzzed from Taehyung. His gaze found your serious expression when the car peeled out of sight, speaking kindly to your coworker, “I’ve got it. Please take the night off. Tell Jimin the same.”

It hit him then that it wasn’t just you he’d be leaving to deal with the aftermath of his press playtime. In fact it was you that he’d be leaving to deal with it, your knowledge effectively making it ten times harder to sate what would essentially be a town’s population left confused and without him. The panic of it made his lips part but you cut him off before he could speak.

“Do you want to go down to the beach for a little bit?” Your eyes widened, gesturing to where Jeongguk was still very much in earshot in the trek for his car. “Make sure everything is in order…”

Part of him was relieved that you seemed to want to talk to. The tension left him in a sigh, “Absolutely. I’ll drive.”

“Hold your hand out.”

Yoongi blinked, still trying to shake off the vibrating blurs in front of his lenses from the force in which his head had smacked into yours. He rubbed at the space that throbbed in an attempt to lessen it, “What?”

“Unless you don’t want my gift. I can keep it.”

He was slightly disoriented but he didn’t miss the embarrassingly fast thrust of his hand toward you. “No,” He said simply, “I want it.”

You beamed, taking his wrist to press your fist against his palm. Slowly, you spread your fingers, depositing the smooth object against his skin. Then, you folded his fingers together over it, gently pushing his curled digits towards his chest.

“It’s a…”

“Orchid!” You nodded, bouncing slightly where you sat, “It’s a pin, if you want to put it on your backpack. Or you can just display it. It’s yours.”

Yoongi turned the glass piece over in his palm, stroking his index finger through the smooth rivets of glass where white and purple mixed in a marble like texture underneath the surface. His smile was teasing as he passed it to his opposite hand, “Anything to remind me of nearly dying in sinkholes trying to help you pick these, huh?”

“Shut up,” You dug your fist into his thigh, leaning closer to him again. Dangerous territory for the endeared roar of Yoongi’s heart in his ears. “Where’s my present?”

“What?”

“You told me to remind you that you had something else for me. You know, other than the orchids gathered by near death experience,” You blinked at his confusion, “This is me reminding you.”

The weight on his bag could finally be released, a weight that had previously tucked into that wooden drawer and forever had resided on the tenderest part of his stuttered heart. All his pent up emotions, ones swallowed down and confined to the red lines crossing horizontally on his yellow notepad, could be released, could fly off the page and relieve a bit of his intense yearning.

At the very least, he could say I love you out loud.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bring himself to do that to you.

So, instead, Yoongi reached past you, bringing his lyrics back into his lap. His flips through the pages were calculated, counting until he made it to the eighth draft. Meticulous fingers peeled back everything in its way, tugging until it was a clean rip in the paper. Gently, he held the page out to you.

“A piece of paper—”

“It’s the song the label wants to release as my first single,” Yoongi blinked at you until your teasing sobered up, dropping back a bit from where you leaned over him to take the page with you, “The first draft of it anyway. I want you to have it.”

It’s for you.

Your eyes widened, squinting through its contents as the sun began to bath dusk pastels into the landscape surroundings. Yoongi added softly, “Something to remember me by.”

“You make it sound like you’re dying.”

“That’s what you said,” He laughed gently.

“Yeah, but the way you said it. The way you keep talking. This song…” You frowned, “You’re only moving a plane ride away. A phone call away at that. We don’t have to say goodbye.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

You tried to reach for his hand, “But not for good. This isn’t the last time we’ll ever see each other.”

Yoongi evaded your touch to make it hurt less. The more time between your last touch on his skin, the easier it would be to forget. He stood to not have to see the hurt in your eyes, holding his notebook against his chest as he reached for his backpack.

“Speaking of, I have to be at the airport fairly early tomorrow,” He adjusted the straps of his backpack, pointedly shoving his hands into his pockets. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“Remember the last time we were here?”

“Similar circumstance, too,” You brushed spread fingers across the small hill of sand in front of your crossed ankles.

Glittering fairy lights strung to a timer on varying ends of the venue set up reflected on your skin and in your eyes when you eyed him. White chairs in a ten by thirteen grid buried into the sand, a velvet pink rug cut between the fifth and sixth chairs in the row, leading upward to where a white sheet took the place of where the wedding party would presumably stand. There was a custom arch, too, one Jimin had sweated over to have only the best pink and purple orchids threaded through the white rings and rungs. The venue space existed even when there wasn’t an event scheduled, that part of the beach roped off to tourists and locals alike, but it had certainly been magnified at the premise of the false wedding that was supposed to be occurring the Saturday following the current Thursday.

“You’re really leaving tomorrow?”

“Day after.”

“Ah,” You nodded, scooping up some of the sand and letting it drain between the spaces in your fingers, “Rather than being left at the altar, you’re doing the leaving.”

“I’ll have someone sent to help you clean everything up,” Yoongi touched underneath his chin, letting his fingers slide to the back of his neck, “I’d stay and help but—”

“No need,” You waved a hand, “Maybe making Jeongguk do it will suppress most of his questions.”

“Right…” Yoongi’s lips pressed into his cheeks, “Sorry about that, by the way. I hope he doesn’t think too horribly of me.”

You ceased all movements, turning to him. He paused in plucking miniscule specks of dust from his jeans, seizing at the softness of your tone. “Why are you saying a definite goodbye again?”

“I’m not.”

“Then you can make sure Jeongguk doesn’t hate you when you come back and visit. Or when you text me. I’m not asking for much. Even a happy birthday would suffice.”

He hadn’t felt a chomping sense of all consuming guilt since he’d lied about not saying goodbye before.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” The curl of your hand wrapped around his index and middle fingers where they rested in the sand, “Just don’t say goodbye to me again. Not like before.”

The suffocating weight was back, like a crater sized boulder resting directly in the thinnest part covering his most vital organ. Yoongi let himself nod.

“Okay, angel. I won’t.”

You smiled away from his gaze, letting your fingers slide just barely away until the two of you were no longer touching. Instead, you scrambled, gathering your feet underneath you to crouch next to him.

“Want to help me pick some orchids?”

“Can I take them off the decorations?” You smacked him, standing yourself to brush sand from the backs of your thighs. “What? No one is going to see them anyway.”

“Don’t remind me,” It was scoffed but he sensed the sincerity. He didn’t want to remember either. “Come on, I think there’s a patch further up the shore—”

Yoongi fully woke the third time his cell phone rang on his bedside table. The light bathed his stack of packed luggage in the corner when he dragged it closer, ignoring the caller ID in route to accept it and press it against this ear.

“Yeah?—”

“Yoongi,” Taehyung sounded as exhausted as the sand heavy behind his eyes felt, “I booked you an earlier flight. You’re to get on it.”

“Why?”

“Do it. Details are in your email. Don’t look at social media, if you can help from it.”

“I won’t look at social media,” Yoongi found it within himself to snort, rubbing at his eyes with a tired knuckle, “How early is this flight? I still have to pay the wedding planner.”

“Let us do that. We’ll direct deposit it. It’s the twenty-first century, we should do it that way, anyway.”

“Taehyung,” He sat up in bed, letting his duvet and sheets curl around his torso as he squinted at the soft white filtering through the sheer curtain of the singular window in the room, “I’m not leaving without telling them goodbye. They’ve helped me, us, tremendously through this. The least I can do is tell them thank you in person.”

“Besides, what’s the rush for me to get back? I don’t have a schedule for at least another two weeks.”

“Yoongi, they know.”

In the silence left by that vague yet horrifying statement, Yoongi swore he heard a camera click. Then another. Then a flash to pair.

“They know what? Who is they?”

“The press. And not that the engagement is fake,” Taehyung rushed to amend as if that made it any better, “They found out where you are. Someone must have been tipped off through the pictures we published and sent their own team to investigate. And they found out the identity of the wedding planner. Which, I kind of commend you, having them step in for those pictures was genius. Are they wanting any extra money for pretending to be engaged to you? Seungcheol said he’d pay whatever they want. You should see the headlines, marrying the wedding planner, the story just keeps getting cuter!”

“You told me not to look at the headlines,” Yoongi cut off numbly. He was on autopilot moving about the room, yanking things back out from their neatly packed suitcases, managing to locate a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that vaguely matched. “I’ll call you later.”

“The flight, Yoongi! Don’t do anything stupid please—”

There was a small group of reporters waiting on him in front of the hotel, ones he managed to shake off with relative ease but it did nothing to calm his nerves as he sped through familiar streets to get to you. He found the same scene in the parking lot of Be Happy, a handful of reporters crowded around with their cameras and phone mics and notebooks, shouting out questions that were still so far off base from the reality of the situation that it forced a headache behind his ears and on the spot below his fringe almost immediately. He shrugged them off too, leaving them at the gates to the drive that you hadn’t opened well into business hours, jogging until he reached the front door.

It was locked, understandably so, forcing him to tap knuckles gently at first and harder the more frantic he got while calling your name. “Angel, it’s me. Let me in, please, let me help.”

Yoongi saw red, red and pink, and more red when you fiddled at the locks, dragging the door open to reveal tear filled eyes that only amplified at his presence and the volume of the shouts outside. He touched you only enough to shuffle you backward, letting the door shut behind him and he was halfway through locking it when you thrust something toward his face.

It was a blurry picture from the night before, your face fully on display as you accepted something that was very much not an orchid from his grasp. It was a weed, something Yoongi knew the name of when his only thought wasn’t occupied by the tears lipping angrily down the slope of your nose.

“I don’t know why it shocked me, really. That someone found us. Even if I hadn’t done that photo shoot with you, it wouldn’t have mattered. People would have assumed it was me, anyway. People were already starting to question with all the things your company allowed to be released. I was getting weird phone calls to the business phone and I just assumed they’d all go away when you did,” You swiped your phone away from him, letting it clatter harshly to the circle table, “I didn’t think the universe was selfish enough, that you were selfish enough to leave me like that again.”

“You should have told me you were getting weird calls,” Yoongi rasped hoarsely.

“Right, and what would you have done?” You blinked, “Called it all off? And then what, left me again?”

“Why do you keep saying that, angel—”

“Don’t. Do not call me that,” You held up a hand, collecting yourself until the streams of tears weren’t as thick on your skin, “I keep saying that because it’s what happened. You left me here without so much as a second glance back. Then, when you needed me again, something to save face for a writer's block, you came back.”

“Why couldn’t you have just come home before that?” You were sobbing again, unable to help it. Yoongi felt all the healed pieces of his heart scar for a second time, “You were always writing when I was here. I could have helped you.”

“And I did help you. But I hurt myself. I had to live through all the reasons why I fell in love with you with no plausible endgame that wouldn’t shatter my heart. Again,” You laughed despite the unattractive sniffle you sucked in, “You did this to me again.”

He could hear his heart in his ears, “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“How could you have?” Another laugh, one that made Yoongi wince, “You forgot to not forget me. Even then, you never let me get a word in.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Great,” He watched your fists curl at your side, setting your shoulders, “Then if you’ll excuse me—”

“What—”

“I have a wedding to get ready for,” You shrugged, “That’s what everyone expects, right? Then that’s what we’ll give them. In real time, not on some corporate media delay.”

“I’ll fix this. I will, I’ll—”

“Yoongi.” You paused across the room from him, facade clearly shattering as you begged, “Please just go. You probably need to pack for your flight tomorrow still, right?”

“Angel.”

“Go.”

“You’re to call it off. Now.”

Seungcheol sighed into the phone speaker, overlapped by Taehyung interjecting, “We can’t do that, Yoongi.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. I do not care how you cover this up, how you choose to handle it, or if you have to eliminate my contract. I don’t have a preference and I don’t have any ideas,” Yoongi sighed into his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “All I ask is that it’s called off. That the media knows it’s not happening and that they leave me and everyone in my hometown alone.”

“All I can think is to suggest that the wedding is postponed indefinitely due to some sort of complications—”

“Great, do that. I’m not taking my flight, either. Neither flight.”

“You have schedules in a few weeks.”

“I’ll handle that when the time comes,” Yoongi sighed, covering his face with his hand, “I just...I really need to stay here for as long as possible.”

Taehyung continued to mutter to himself while Seungcheol murmured, “May I ask why?”

“It’s a long story,” Yoongi eyed the bouquet of pink in his fist, swallowing toward the heavy tides as they propelled towards the shore on the heels of heavy winds, “I’ll have to tell you some other time. But right now...I have to go.”

In any other circumstance, Yoongi would have sobbed seeing you ascend the aisle. And frankly, in the given circumstance, he wanted to as well, breath welling in the base of his throat when you hesitated upon seeing his figure, choosing eventually to drop your head and stalk for him. When you were in earshot, he said, “You didn’t pause.”

Tear tracks were still evident on your skin, fresh in fact, when you glared in confusion, “What?”

Yoongi gestured with his free hand, cuffs on his suit jacket riding up over the jewelry dangling from a delicate wrist bone as he pointed for the place beyond the last row of chairs. “You’re supposed to pause until the proper music starts. Standard wedding procedure.”

“Good thing this isn’t a wedding,” Your fingers brushed at your cheeks, trying to cover up, “Why are you still here? I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

“Change of plans. I don’t think I’ll be leaving for a little while now. Turns out I have a fiance’ here,” He took one step toward you, kicking up sand with the polished toe of his dress boot, “Weird, right? Who would have known…”

A short huff left through your nose. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Otherwise, I wouldn’t find this funny.”

“I don’t think this is funny. Not what I have to tell you, at least.”

“Well get on it with it,” You kicked up some sand without moving, “I have wedding details to finish.”

“I’ve kept this in for far longer than I should have. I thought it would be selfish of me to say it, especially when I really wanted to. After all, I was leaving. I wasn’t just leaving to go to university a few towns over or to accept an internship. I was signing to release an album. A real life album, something I’d always dreamed of doing.”

“And in my ideal situation, you would come with me. You would have taken the scholarship for that business school and at least stuck by my side for just a few more years. It was selfish of me to even have the thought. I feel guilty about it every day.”

“The extension of that thought was why I had it in the first place. Why my conscience would even think to conjure up such a painting of the future, one that included you in the short term but would assure you in the long run. Hopefully. I always hoped that.”

“When it didn’t work out that way, I didn’t want to give you any indication that I had wanted that in the first place. You had your mind set up and you were so excited. So excited. I couldn’t do anything to pull you away from that. I didn’t want to. I still don’t want to.”

“And I’ve regretted it every day since that night,” Yoongi used the bouquet as a wand, waving it vaguely as his free hand dug around in the pocket of his jacket. “Have you ever looked through the drawers of that wardrobe piece in the foyer of the first floor?”

You blinked, welled up tears not able to break from the streams you’d previously wiped away, “I could get all but the top right open after your parents moved out. I guess I lost the key to it.”

“It’s because I had the key,” The black box balanced between his fingers, tucked underneath the first knuckle on his thumb and the pad of his index finger, “This was in there.”

Yoongi popped the box open, revealing the glittering band inside. It was real, unlike the prop you’d happily collected from the photo shoot, polished in its original condition where the dusted outer edges of its container didn’t fare the same. “This is what I had to give you that night. It’s not what you think,” He shrugged, shifting to let the box slide fully into his cupped palm, “Or maybe it is. I wasn’t proposing, certainly. But I didn’t want to give you this. Not the draft of that song. Nothing else.”

“And it had a message attached to it so—” Yoongi thrust the flowers toward you, waiting until you took them so he could fully cradle the ring box in both hands, “—if you’ll allow me to be just a little bit selfish for a second, I’d wholly appreciate it.”

“I’m in love with you. I always have been and at this point, I think I always will be. My goodbyes and my horrible communication all were done with the idea of protecting you in mind but now I know it did nothing but hurt you more and for that, I apologize.”

He stepped twice, bringing him to stand directly in front of you. “I don’t think what would have happened if I would have told you all this that night. I can’t predict and I don’t want to think about it. I can’t change it,” Yoongi shut the ring box, gripping it tight in one hand as his opposite appendage tested your wet cheek, finger breaking the trail in route to cradle your face, “but I’m telling you here and now that I love you, angel. I really, really do.”

“I can tell you what would have happened.”

Yoongi frowned, attention split between clearing your tears and watching your teeth try to collect your trembling bottom lip.

As if it clarified, you added, “I would have told you the same thing I’m about to tell you now.”

“I love you. Then, now, always,” You sniffled into quiet laughter, “Even a few Min Suga scandals can’t push me away.”

The seam of your lips tasted like salt and strawberry lip balm and you, one touch of your mouth as a result of the words Yoongi had waited years to hear come out of your mouth effectively sweeping up all the pieces of his shattered heart into a dustpan and fusing them back together, leaving it to soar in his ears as the moon fondly watched his hand on the side of your neck draw you closer.

“I have two questions,” You mumbled against his lips. “Can I have the ring now? I think I’ve waited long enough.”

Yoongi laughed, pecking your mouth one more time in fear you’d dissolve into the ocean waves and he’d wake up in his apartment in the city. His grip fumbled the box back open, just as shaky as he had been in pushing the fake ring onto the proper finger as he nodded, “Yes, you certainly have. Second question, shoot.”

“Do I still have to marry you tomorrow?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Better you than J-Hope,” You grinned through your tears when he laced your fingers together to squeeze your hand, dragging you in for more sweet affections from his pouted mouth.

“Right,” Yoongi punctuated his words through stamped kisses down your jaw, “I’ll remember you said that when I introduce you two.”

“Besides. I’m only wary about the wedding being tomorrow,” Your features scrunched when he nosed your cheek, “We need a little more time to plan, don’t you think?”

“Maybe just a few years. Maybe just a few months,” You shrugged when his gaze returned to yours, laughing as the realization flickered over in real time to Yoongi’s expression, “Just some more time I think would be good.”

Yoongi hummed, letting go of you to pry apart the stems in your hand picked bouquet, careful in plucking one of the flowers away from the center before reaching to pleat it behind your ear, lips following to settle on your cheek.

“Good thing I know a wedding planner.”

Min Yoongi, better known as rapper, singer, songwriter, and producer Min Suga released his second studio album on Friday. Titled ‘Orchid’, it’s rumored to be a series of poems written for and about his spouse with which he recently celebrated marriage to from the privacy of his secluded, beach side hometown. This release comes nearly four years after his debut album and some fans have speculated the songs seem to be speaking to each other, as though the track lists tell the story of the couples love from Min’s perspective. The album is projected to debut number one, proving that perhaps the wait is, in fact, worth it in the end.

#bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #yoongi imagine #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #fic: orchid

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