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choerrypuffs · 4 years

Text

the element of freedom.

pairing: airbender!donghyuck x avatar!reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 8.2k (THIS WAS SO MUCH LONGER THAN I PLANNED IT TO BE)

author’s note: and last but definitely not least, hyuck’s chapter is finally here! this series was a bitch to write but i will definitely miss it now that’s it’s done 😔 thank you to everyone who read this mess and kept up with it even though it took me FOREVER to post sometimes - and for those of you just now seeing this, you can read all four fics here ;)

You’ve never been more homesick than you are now.

Travelling back and forth between the four nations has taken a toll on your body. The constant changes in weather make you feel like you always have a cold, you ache all over for no reason, and there is just so much walking. All you really want is to be home at the North Pole, coddled by your grandmother with a bowl of warm soup.

You sigh as you hand a couple of coins to the fruit vendor you were buying from. He hands you the small bag of apples you purchased and you stuff it into your knapsack. Just how many months have you been living off solely bread and fruit? Hopefully, the Southern Air Temple will have some delicious food (but something tells you that monks are not keen on greasy, high-calorie cuisines).

“Rough day?” The fruit vendor cocks an eyebrow.

“Rough months,” you respond wryly.

He winces. “Damn. Sorry to hear that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Hey, who knows? Maybe something interesting’ll happen to you today,” he says, shrugging.

His words feel strangely prophetic, and you open your mouth to comment on it—but you’re interrupted by timing so surreal that it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Someone collides into you at full force, knocking the both of you onto the ground. You hit the pavement so hard that you get the air knocked out of you, letting out a wheeze. Before you can even catch your breath, you feel yourself being hoisted up.

“Oops.” A voice, male, says under his breath. “Are you alright?”

When you finally stop seeing stars, you almost get the air knocked out of you for a second time once you see the stranger in front of you. Big brown doe eyes, pouty heart-shaped lips, and a full head of fluffy brown curls that you want to run your fingers through. He has a small smile on his face as he waits for your response.

You brain stalls and you continue to just stare at him like a deer in headlights. The boy’s eyebrows furrow and he whips his head around, seemingly hearing something behind him. He turns back to you and grins, but it’s not a cute one like before—it’s a shit-eating one.

“Actually, come with me.”

He grabs your hand and the two of you are full-on sprinting before you even know it.

Note to self: tell the fruit vendor to consider changing his profession to psychic.

You let him drag you along, still slightly dazed at everything that just happened, for a little longer before you realize he’s very obviously running away from someone. Yanking yourself free from his grip, you come to a skidding halt. He does as well, nearly tripping but catching himself.

“Are you a criminal?” you ask in an accusatory tone.

He feigns hurt. “Criminal is a bit of a strong word.”

You give him a pointed look. “So yes?”

“I prefer to be called a thief; it sounds much cooler,” he says, almost proudly.

“What—”

“Listen, I would love to discuss my trade with you but let’s do it when we’ve lost them.”

“Who’s them?”

The thief points behind you. Before you even have time to look, you hear the thundering footsteps and the angry shouting. When you do, you see several unhappy Fire Nation soldiers in the distance, running towards the both of you. Sharply turning back around, you look at the thief with dread.

“Please do not tell me you stole from Fire Nation soldiers.”

He sheepishly holds up a couple of red leather pouches and waggles them. The clear sound of gold coins clinking against each other sounds like a death toll.

“You’re crazier than I thought,” you say, dumbfounded.

“And I probably should’ve mentioned this sooner, but they think you’re my accomplice now. That’s why I grabbed you and ran,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry?”

He doesn’t even have time to fully get the apology out before you deliver a swift punch to his stomach. He lets out a wheeze very similar to your own when he had knocked you over before. You’re surprised steam doesn’t come out of your nostrils when you exhale.

“You piece of shit.”

“Believe it or not, you are not the first person who’s called me that. Crazy, right?” he says breezily. “Anyways, my glider is right over there by that tree. Once we get out of here, you don’t ever have to see my face again. Unless you want to, of course.”

The mention of his glider subsides your anger just a tad. “You’re an airbender?”

Now that you’re paying attention, you see the tips of the blue arrow tattoos on the back of his hands peeking out from under his long sleeves.

“Mayhaps.”

You cross your arms. “Are you a good one?”

“Find out for yourself.”

He grabs your hand again and runs to the big oak tree in which he hid his glider. At first glance, it’s just a wooden stick. However, upon its activation, it sprouts four orange fan-like wings. Two in the front, and two in the back. You’ve read about airbender gliders in textbooks, but you’ve never seen one in real life. At best, its reliability looks dubious.

The thief, whose name you still don’t know, holds his arms open. “Jump.”

“Like, on you?” You raise an eyebrow, thinking he’s kidding.

“Yep.”

Or maybe he’s not.

“Are you insane?” you demand, eyes nearly popping out of your head.

“Depends on who you ask. Now come on! They’re about to catch up.” He gestures for your to jump again.

“I—”

You consider your options. You could fight off the soldiers on your own, but then that would catch the attention of the Fire Nation army and make you a wanted criminal. Or you could escape with this stranger, who is already a wanted criminal, and scope out his airbending skills to see if he’s good enough to teach you.

Gritting your teeth, you take a step forward and jump into his arms. Your legs wrap around his torso and your arms wind around his neck, leaning in closer to him as you do. Despite seeming pretty scrawny, you can feel the muscles in his arms flex as he holds you. His face is only inches away from your own, and all you can do is stare into his eyes as if you’re in a trance. One of his hands makes its way to the small of your back, leaving a train of goosebumps. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

“Hang on,” he mumbles, lips slightly brushing against the shell of your ear.

Squeezing your eyes shut (half out of embarrassment and half out of fear), you let out a terrified yelp when you feel a strong gust of wind hit you like a freight train. You don’t need to see to know that you’re high up off the ground now. Tendrils of your hair slap against your face like a whip, and you can’t open your eyes even if you wanted to.

Slowly chipping away at what little dignity you have left, you cling tighter onto the thief. You kind of feel like a sloth hanging off a tree branch, but there’s not much you can do now. He still has a hand on your back, but the other arm is now holding onto the glider. You’re not sure how he’s able to support your weight and also navigate at the same time, but you’re not going to question it as long as he knows what he’s doing.

“So, what’s your name?” he asks casually.

“Tell me yours first,” you shoot back, trying to sound snappy but the quiver in your voice ruins it.

“Well, that doesn’t seem very fair,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows in an annoyingly endearing way.

“You want to talk about fairness right now?” You can’t use your hands to gesture to the position the both of you are in right now, but you make sure he gets the message through your glare.

He doesn’t argue with you. “I’m Haechan.”

“Y/N,” you gruffly say.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Why’d you decide to get involved with a ruffian like me?”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” you say through gritted teeth. “You basically framed me.”

“Yes, but it’s not like you wouldn’t have been able to handle it on your own. You seem to be quite capable of kicking ass, judging by the earlier punch. Why go this far? Is it my dashing good looks? Mischievous charm? Adorable disposition?” Haechan flashes you a cheeky smile, but you’re not fooled.

It’s not like you expected him to be completely oblivious, but you definitely didn’t think he’d catch on this quickly to your ulterior motives. He masks his cleverness well, playing it off as some sort of joke with an easygoing smile.

“You did seem to take interest in the fact that I was an airbender. What, you’ve got a thing for them or something?” He winks.

Damn, right on the money.

“And what if I do?” you snap.

“Then today is your lucky day, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure ‘lucky’ is the term I would use,” you respond wryly.

“Where are you headed, by the way? If it’s somewhere nearby, I can drop you off,” Haechan offers.

You snort. “It’s definitely not.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t pry further. You wonder if you should tell him where you’re actually going. It’d be better to gain his trust if you want him to teach you airbending.

“I’m going to the Southern Air Temple.”

You feel Haechan’s entire body stiffen. The glider dips slightly, and you cling onto him tighter. Your movement snaps him out of his daze and he steadies the glider again. His arm tightens against your waist, pulling you closer to him. You press your temple against his chest, listening to the hammering of his heart.

Clearly, you hit a nerve.

“Yeah, that is pretty far,” he says eventually, trying to act nonchalant.

You decide to let it slide (for now). “I’m looking for a teacher.”

He gives you a puzzled look. “Are you an airbender?”

“Yes,” you say. It’s not technically a lie. You want him to trust you, but you’re not sure you should tell him everything yet.

Haechan is obviously unconvinced. “You don’t look like one.”

“Neither do you,” you shoot back.

He doesn’t respond. You’re surprised at his lack of retort, but then you realize that he’s about to land. Biting down on your tongue to keep from screaming, you fight to maintain a neutral expression as the glider takes a dive at a rapid speed.

Despite your expectations, Haechan lands gracefully on his feet. Your legs are still wrapped around him, and there’s a few awkward seconds as he waits for you to let go. Your face burns as you finally detach yourself from him. Unfortunately, the lower half of your body feels like jelly and you immediately crumble to the ground.

Haechan catches you, and you grab his arms to steady yourself. It’s so easy to touch him, as if his warmth is a lifeline for you. He brushes a lock of hair out of your face, sighing.

“What kind of airbender is afraid of heights?”

You open your mouth to give him a piece of your mind, but then you notice the glowing tips of his ears. They’re so red that you’re surprised they’re not bleeding. Your lips quirk into a tiny lopsided smile, and you have a strong urge to ruffle his hair.

Haechan raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you laugh, “you’re just...cuter than I thought.”

“Well, I’d prefer devilishly handsome, but I guess I’ll take it,” he huffs.

You roll your eyes. He may be kind of cute, but he’s still insufferable.

“I suppose this is goodbye then,” he says after a moment of silence.

You don’t say anything, chewing on your lip. Were you really going to enlist the help of a deviant like him? You’re just so drawn to him for some reason, and the Southern Air Temple is such a long trip...

“Wait,” you blurt out.

He’s already turning to leave but stops immediately when he hears you call out for him, quirking an eyebrow. “Yes?”

You didn’t think this far ahead, and now you’re not sure what to say anymore.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to confess your love,” Haechan teases.

You give him an unamused look.

“Hey, you wouldn’t be the first. No need to get embarrassed or anything.” He pretends to flip his hair over his shoulder.

“Well, I was going to ask you to be my airbending teacher, but you’re making me reconsider,” you huff. This isn’t the way you wanted to ask him, but he’s just so annoying.

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he makes a noise as if he’s choking. “You want me to teach you?”

“For now anyways,” you grumble.

“You don’t even know if I’m any good!”

“You’re the one who told me to find out for myself, so I am now!” you shoot back. You stare at him for a beat, before sheepishly tacking on, “Well, are you any good?”

“Of course I am,” he replies immediately.

“Okay, then why the hell did you even ask?”

“I’m a criminal.”

“No, you’re a thief,” you grin, using his own words against him. “It’s cooler.”

Haechan crosses his arms and squints his eyes at you. “You know, you may call me crazy but I think you’re much more dangerous than I could ever be.”

You snort. “There’s no need to think; I am more dangerous than you.”

He smirks, eyes gleaming. “Then, it would be my honor to be your teacher.”

“Do you have a place to stay?” Haechan asks as you two stroll through the town you landed in.

“Nope,” you respond, “I’ll probably just set up camp somewhere in the woods.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Why not just get a hotel room?”

“Money doesn’t grow on trees, Haechan. I thought a thief would know that,” you tease.

“That’s not very safe,” he chides, sounding uncharacteristically serious.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m used to it already. It’s really not that bad,” you shrug.

He sighs. “I suppose it can’t be helped then. You can stay with me.”

You eye him suspiciously. He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Come on, Y/N. I may be a thief, but I have some morals. I’d prefer the girl to be actually interested in me before I make a move.”

To be honest, you didn’t really think he would do anything. Even though you only met Haechan a couple hours ago, you can tell he has a good heart, despite having a questionable occupation.

“Fine, but if you try it, I’ll make you wish for death,” you warn.

He beams at you, as if you just said something pleasant. “I would expect nothing less.”

The two of you continue to walk, making small conversation. Haechan seems to know his way around this place, even though you thought he just landed somewhere randomly. Eventually, the two of you reach the outskirts of the town and he leads you into the forest.

“Aren’t we going to your place?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yep,” he responds breezily.

“And how is this any different from me just staying in the woods?”

Haechan wags his finger at you. “Oh, silly Y/N.”

Instead of clarifying what he meant by that, he simply keeps walking. Finally, after a couple more minutes, he stops in front of a giant, sky-high oak tree. Patting the trunk, Haechan says proudly, “Welcome to my humble abode.”

You’re not impressed. “You live in a tree?”

Rolling his eyes, he gently grasps your chin between his fingers and tilts your head up.

You have to swallow a gasp when you see his home, covering your mouth with your hand. Calling it a “treehouse” wouldn’t be doing it justice. It’s more like a mansion made out of wooden planks, canopied by the lush leaves of the oak tree. There are rope bridges connecting it to other trees with smaller, but not any less impressive, houses. Now that you’re looking, you realize the forest is covered with them. It feels as if it’s alive, and it has its own venous system.

“You live...here?” you ask in awe.

“Well, not just me. I have a couple of roommates. Actually, I’m surprised they haven’t made an noise yet. You can usually hear them from a mile away,” Haechan snorts.

You’re still staring at the house, too shocked to even respond.

“Come on,” he says, giving you an outstretched hand.

You slip your hand into his with ease, and it slightly terrifies you because of how natural it feels. His hand is warm and calloused, and he holds yours as if it’s a precious gemstone. You’re not sure if he’s doing it intentionally, but his thumb is absent-mindedly rubbing circles on the back of your hand. When you look up at him, he has that shit-eating grin on his face and you realize he is doing it on purpose because he’s trying to soothe you for something awful that’s about to happen.

“Hold on,” is all he says.

You don’t even have time to protest when you feel a large gust of wind lift you off the ground and propel you into the air like a projectile. Screaming at the top of your lungs, you grab Haechan and throw your arms around him. However, it’s over in an instant. By the time you fully wrap your arms around him, there’s already a solid platform at your feet. You can feel Haechan shaking with laughter as he gently pats your back.

You instantly get pissed, punching him in the gut. He keels over, but he’s still laughing. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“I’m sorry,” he says between fits of wheezing, “you’re just cute, that’s all.”

You crack your knuckles. “Oh, I’ll show you cute.”

When you step forward to give him the beating of his life, it finally registers that you’re on the treetop. You sigh. “Why didn’t you just use a ladder or something?”

“The only way you can get up here is if you’re an airbender. If we had a ladder just lying around, it would basically just be an invitation for intruders,” Haechan explains while he continues to brace for another punch.

You suppose he has a point, but you’re still not letting him off the hook. “Teach me how to do that first. I don’t want to be at your mercy anymore, you sadistic bastard.”

He laughs, not fazed by your insult at all. “Alright. First, you should meet the guys.”

As if on cue, the door of the house opens and three boys peek out. Two of them have black hair while the other has a lighter brown, similar to Haechan’s. They’re all extremely good-looking, and you wonder if all thieves are this handsome.

“Oh God, is Haechan bringing in strays too? Taeyong is already enough,” the taller black-haired boy groans.

“Shut up, Jisung. Where is Taeyong anyway? He’s usually the first one out here so he can chew me out,” Haechan asks, looking around.

“You just missed him. He and all the other guys left to loot another Fire Nation town. It’s pretty far, so they’ll be gone for a couple of weeks,” Jisung says.

“Oh, well, it’s their loss. Guys, this is Y/N. Y/N, that’s Mark, Jisung, and Chenle.” Haechan points to the shorter black-haired boy, the taller black-haired boy, and the brown-haired boy.

You smile and give an awkward wave. “Hi.”

“I’m going to be teaching her airbending for the time being.”

Haechan’s words are met with laughter.

“You’re gonna teach somebody?” Chenle giggles like a dolphin and you can’t help but smile too. “Good luck learning anything, Y/N.”

Mark and Jisung also join in on teasing him, and you watch the tip of Haechan’s ears grow red again. He’s responding with his own witty remarks, but it’s clear that he’s a little embarrassed. It’s so strange how he can transform from the Devil himself to an adorable boy whom you just want to protect in an instant.

“Anyways,” Haechan finally cuts them off. “It’s getting late, so I’ll show you to your room, Y/N.”

That also gets a round of jeers, but he’s already leading you away from them. When you’re inside of the house, you’re absolutely floored again. The outside was already big, but the inside is huge. You wonder how long it took them to construct this place.

“We don’t really have a spare room, so you can stay in mine. I’ll just take one of the other guys’ rooms since they’re not here,” Haechan explains.

“You should be able to stay in your own room,” you protest, “I can just take the floor.”

“How could I let my dearest protégé sleep on the hard floor? What kind of master does that make me?” he asks dramatically.

You roll your eyes at his theatrics, but you still appreciate his gesture nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“Voilà!” he announces proudly as he opens the door to his room.

For someone so over-the-top, his room is surprisingly bare. The only things in it are his bed, nightstand, and a small chest. The chest is open and you can see his neatly folded clothes at the bottom.

“You’re quite...minimal,” you note, walking in and sitting on the edge of his bed. You slightly bounce, gauging the firmness of his mattress.

He doesn’t follow you, instead lingering at the doorway. “Well, it’s difficult to decorate appropriately when you live on a tree.”

“Yeah, but you could at least get some flowers or something,” you suggest.

Haechan smiles at you, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You clear your throat loudly. “Well, uh, I think I’m gonna go to sleep soon. What time are we training tomorrow?”

“The crack of dawn. So you definitely should get some rest.”

You groan, falling back onto the bed.

“Good night, Y/N.” You hear him chuckle before the door clicks shut.

You lay there in the darkness and breathe until the butterflies finally go away.

The next morning, Haechan kindly sends one of the younger boys to make sure you’re awake. You can’t really remember if it was Jisung or Chenle because you were still in a groggy daze, but you make a mental note to thank whoever it was. Haechan is already below the oak tree, and he lowers you to the ground softly for once.

“Good morning!” he says happily.

“Do we really have to be doing this so early?” you grumble, stifling a yawn.

“Unfortunately, yes because I’m going to be quite busy today,” he replies.

“What, pickpocketing more soldiers?”

“That is on the itinerary, yes,” he says nonchalantly.

You can’t hold back a laugh. Haechan’s eyebrows raise slightly when he hears you laugh, as if he wasn’t expecting it. His surprise only lasts a moment though, before he grins so hard that the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Let’s get started then, shall we? First, let’s see how big of a gust you can form.”

You hesitate, knowing that you’re about to totally humiliate yourself. Holding your palms out in front of you, you try your best to imagine pushing a powerful air blast toward him.

Instead, all he gets is a light breeze barely strong enough to tousle his hair.

“Wow, you’re worse than I thought,” Haechan says, sounding impressed. “Have you had any sort of formal training?”

“No,” you snap, “and thanks for the boost of confidence.”

“Which temple are you from?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not from any temple. I only, um, recently discovered that I was an airbender. It’s complicated,” you fumble.

Well, there goes my cover.

Haechan, rightfully so, seems skeptical of your horrible explanation. However, he shockingly doesn’t press any further. “Right. Anyways, you’re being way too intense. Airbending isn’t something that requires critical thinking; it’s natural. Feel it, not think it.”

You close your eyes, trying to clear your mind of the whirlwind of thoughts in it. Feeling the chi flow through your body, you lift your hands and try again. The gust is stronger this time, but it’s still pretty weak.

“Good,” he says, nodding.

“That was horrible,” you point out.

“Not as bad as your first attempt,” he replies. “Now then, here’s your first assignment. I have some business to take care of today, so I want you to be able to reach the treetop on your own by the time I come back.”

You gawk at him. “But you haven’t taught me anything yet!”

“I can’t teach you anything until you can form an air blast strong enough to be taught,” Haechan says, shaking his head.

“You’re a shitty teacher.”

“I’ll have you know that desperation is the fastest way to learn,” he responds, pretending to be offended. “Because you won’t be able to get back up there until you figure it out.”

“Even when you come back?” you ask, eyes widening.

“Yep,” he smiles evilly, tapping on his wrist. “Better get to it before it gets dark, and all the critters come out.”

“I hate you,” you say through grit teeth.

“Good luck,” he winks.

With a sweep of his arm, Haechan is gone in a gust of wind.

It takes you a long, long time to do it, but you eventually manage to launch yourself onto the treetop. It’s an extremely narrow success though because you land on the very edge of the platform, nearly tipping backwards and falling to your death. Mark is kind enough to come out and congratulate you with some water. You down it like you’ve been stranded on a desert for a week, which is not inaccurate to how you feel.

“Not gonna lie, it’s pretty impressive that you did it in a day,” Mark notes. “I know Haechan doesn’t look it, but he’s actually a really tough teacher. Jisung and Chenle had a hard time keeping up.”

“I only did it because my rage was fueling me,” you reply, wiping sweat from your chin. “He’s such a little shit.”

Mark laughs. “You know he has a crush on you, right?”

“He’s just playing around.” You roll your eyes. “He wants to get a rise out of me.”

“Haechan’s actually an extremely shy person. Not with us, obviously, but he’s not very talkative around strangers—especially girls. I was really surprised when he introduced us to you and how hard he was trying to impress you,” Mark muses.

“Whatever you say, Mark,” you say, obviously doubtful. You know it’s not true, but a tiny part of you is hopeful. The rational side of you tries to quell the feeling immediately. It doesn’t work.

“Come on, Y/N. Didn’t you see how embarrassed he was when we were teasing him in front of you? Haechan never gets embarrassed; he’s got skin thicker than a walrus!” Mark exclaims.

You snort.

“Listen, I know he comes off as frivolous, but he’s a really thoughtful and sensitive person. Not only that, he’s whip-smart. He can pick up on things in an instant. He’s good at reading us, but we can’t ever read him. He worries me because, at times, he seems like a completely different person. Like I don’t even know who he is. But it’s not like that with you. He’s different around you. He’s...happier. More vulnerable and open,” Mark says, “I know you haven’t known him—us—for long, but please...just be kind to him.”

You’re not sure how to respond. You know that Haechan is much more clever than he’s letting on and that he likes to put on a show but definitely not to this extent and depth.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overload you with information like that. Of course, it’s your choice how you want to treat him and if you reciprocate his feelings or not,” Mark says hurriedly. “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything; I just want the best for him.”

You smile, patting him on the arm. “I know. He’s lucky to have a friend like you. Even without me, I think he’ll be okay since you’re here.”

Mark shakes his head sadly but otherwise doesn’t respond to your words. “You should get some rest. Haechan will be back soon.”

You’re sure it’s because Mark had just told you all that, but your heartbeat grows erratic when you think about seeing him again.

Haechan knocks on the door when you’re in the middle of drying your hair. You had just washed up, dressed in nothing but a long nightshirt. He doesn’t even wait for you to answer, simply opening the door and walking right in. His eyes gloss over your bare legs for just a moment before quickly meeting your gaze.

“I’m baaack!” His voice slightly cracks, and he clears his throat. “Mark told me that you got up here all on your own. I’m so proud of you!”

“No thanks to you,” you grumble.

He clutches at his chest, making fake sobbing noises. “And here I was, trying to give you a gift because I’m proud of my student, and this is how you treat me?!”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “What gift?”

He grins, pulling a small box out of the knapsack slung across his shoulders. “I originally got this for you as a cheer-up present because I didn’t think you’d be able to get back up, but I was pleasantly proven wrong, so it’s now a reward.”

Taking it, you examine it carefully. You’re not really sure what it is, but you know that it’s some sort of dessert. “What is it?”

“Strawberry mochi. Have you not had it before?”

They definitely did not have strawberry mochi in the North Pole.

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never had it before,” you lie.

“Well, it’s absolutely delicious and I’m so sorry that you haven’t had the pleasure of eating it until now,” Haechan says solemnly.

Opening the box, you fish one out and pop it into your mouth. You’re not sure what your actual expression is, but you imagine that there are sparkles in your eyes. You can’t speak, but you hum happily. You’re definitely going to bring some back to the North Pole.

Haechan smiles proudly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Wait, you didn’t steal this, did you?” you ask, frowning.

“Please, you insult me. Of course I bought it.”

“With your own money?”

He tilts his head, feigning innocence. “Hm?”

You grab a pillow and pelt it at him. He catches it with ease and tosses it back to you, chuckling. “Don’t eat too many or you’ll get sick. I’m grabbing a change of clothes, and then I’ll leave you alone so you can sleep.”

You watch Haechan walk over to the chest in the corner of the room and start rummaging through it. You feel guilty for taking over his room. He shouldn’t have to go back and forth like this.

“Stay.”

The chest slams shut loudly, and the clothes in his hand fall to the floor. Haechan looks up at you, eyes wide. “Wh-What?”

“We can just share the bed as long as you stay on your side,” you suggest, feeling like your face is on fire.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says slowly.

You sigh. “You may be insufferable, Haechan, but I trust you. At least when it comes to this.”

“No, I know but—it’s just that I think I’ll be too nervous to fall asleep...” he trails off. You’ve never seen him flush so much, and you’re sure you look similar.

“D-Don’t be ridiculous. What’s there to be nervous about?” you stutter.

He stares at you incredulously. “You need to be more self-aware.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He sighs. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to take a shower, so go to sleep already.”

Haechan all but runs out of the room, leaving you alone to ponder what he meant by that.

You fell asleep basically the moment you laid down, so you never found out if Haechan decided to come back or not.

Which is why you nearly shriek and slap a hand over your mouth when you see him curled up on the floor. You’re relieved that you noticed him because you definitely would’ve accidentally stepped on him.

Haechan looks so peaceful and innocent when he’s asleep. Rays of light peek through the window and make his skin seem like it’s glowing. His hair is mussed, giving you a clear view of the arrow tattoo on his forehead. You’d never really seen it until now because his bangs covered it. You can’t help but be entranced by him, unabashedly staring at him until he finally opens one eye.

“It’s hard to sleep when you’re staring like that, y’know,” he mumbles. His voice is a mix of whiny and hoarse from sleep.

It snaps you out of your haze, and you feel heat rising to your face. You let out a mortified gasp, not believing what you were just doing. “I-I’m going to wash my face!”

Not even waiting for his reaction, you dash out of the room and close the door behind you. You can feel your heart hammering against your chest, placing a hand over it in an attempt to calm it down.

Fuck.

“We’re not having a lesson today.”

You find yourself gawking at him again. “First, you make me teach myself. Now, you’re not even gonna have a lesson?”

“I’m going to spend the day with the kids at the orphanage, and I’m taking you with me because I need some help carrying all the gifts,” Haechan explains.

“Is that why you were gone yesterday? Buying gifts?” You think back to the strawberry mochi.

“Yes, which means you can’t be angry with me because that means you hate orphans,” he says smugly.

You roll your eyes. “Fine, but I better be learning something tomorrow.”

“Awesome, now let’s load everything up.”

The two of you manage to stuff all the gifts in a couple large sacks, and Haechan flies everything (including you) to the town on an air spout. It’s a strange experience because it feels like you’re on a cloud, but luckily, Haechan didn’t pull any tricks on you.

When you land in front of the orphanage, the civilians nearby don’t really seem surprised by the entrance you and Haechan make. You suppose they’ve gotten used to Haechan arriving via air spout.

“Wait here until I come get you. I gotta sneak the gifts in the back with the caretakers so I can surprise the kids,” he says.

You nod. Haechan grabs the gifts and heads to the backyard of the orphanage, leaving you to twiddle your thumbs. A couple minutes pass by, eventually ten, and then you start to get impatient. Bored out of your mind and tired of just standing there like an oaf, you decide to walk around.

You pass a vendor selling flowers and decide to get some daisies for Haechan’s room, remembering how you had told him to get some flowers. There’’s a bulletin board at the very end of the street, and you go to take a look since you don’t have anything better to do. There’s flyers for fundraisers for the orphanage, announcements of town halls, advertisements for stores, and a hell of a lot of wanted posters.

Most of them are posters of Haechan’s posse, with Haechan having the most. You can’t help but grin because you aren’t surprised at all. What you are surprised at is the camaraderie between the boys and this town. No one has turned them in. Maybe it’s because of Haechan’s contributions to the orphanage, but you’re not really sure.

There’s so many posters that they nearly over up all of the other flyers. You see a wanted poster of Haechan in the very upper right corner of the board slightly coming off, and you decide to take it so you can tease him about it later. As you peel it off, you realize there’s another one underneath it, but it’s different than the rest.

This one is weathered, like it’s been there for a while. The corners are curling and torn, and it’s a beige color instead of a crisp white. The sketch is different too, though it’s definitely Haechan. He looks younger, chubby-cheeked and close-cropped hair. More importantly, there’s one thing that stands out above everything else.

MISSING: LEE DONGHYUCK

It’s hard to focus on anything that’s happening right now. The children are excited because of the gifts, whooping and hollering, but you can’t hear anything right now. Haechan, or Donghyuck, is playing with them and not really paying attention to you (which you are grateful for). The missing poster is tucked in your back pocket, and it feels more like a grenade than a piece of paper.

You don’t know whether to confront him on it or not because he hasn’t been asking you questions either. To get upset about being lied to by him would make you a total hypocrite since you are hiding things from him too.

“Y/N, you okay?” Haechan cuts through your thoughts like a knife and you jolt.

You open your mouth to speak, but you can’t even get a word out because the doors are blasted open with a fireball. It’s so close that you can feel a heat wave hit your back. Haechan quickly pulls you into his chest, covering you from the debris of the splintered doors. When you turn, you see Fire Nation soldiers.

The ones that were chasing you and Haechan before.

“We’ve been looking all over for you, ya little rat,” one of the soldiers sneer, holding another fireball in his palm. “Come with us or we’ll burn this place to a crisp.”

The kids begin to howl with fear, and the caretakers hurriedly try to shush them. You whirl your head back, trying to tell Haechan with your eyes to not go. He looks down at you and shakes his head, taking a step away from you, and glaring at the soldiers. “Leave everyone out of this. I’ll go.”

You clench your fists as you watch them shackle Haechan. It looks like you have no choice.

“Goddamn, these brats are annoying,” the soldier complains. “Their yappin’ is giving me a headache.”

The other soldier smirks and launches a fireball directly into a group of kids. Lunging forward, you manage to catch the fireball and redirect it back at them. The soldier cries out in pain when it sears his arm. Everyone is staring at you in shock, Haechan most of all.

“Bitch!” The soldier kicks up in the air and sends a crescent-shaped wave of fire at you.

You pull water from a flower vase nearby and easily neutralize the fire. “Let him go right now.”

“You can bend two—the Avatar?!” There’s fear in both of the soldiers’ eyes now.

You stomp once on the ground, and it begins to shift underneath their feet. They lose their balance and fall to their knees. Walking forward, you fish the keys to the shackles from one of their belts and free Haechan. His hands drop limply to his sides as he stares at you in a daze.

The soldiers are still on their knees, shaking as they look up at you. You give them the nastiest scowl you can muster. “This town and all its people are under the Avatar’s protection. Leave this place and never come back.”

They bow their heads before scrambling to their feet and running away as fast as possible. You sigh as you watch their retreating figures, carding a hand through your hair. You can feel everyone’s ogling on your back, and you’re hesitant to even turn back around.

Well, there definitely goes my cover.

Needless to say, after signing autographs for all the kids, you and Haechan have an awkward and extremely silent trip home. When you land on the treetop, you finally can’t stand it anymore.

“We should talk.”

“Yes,” he answers quietly, “we should.”

The two of you go to Haechan’s room, and you sit yourself on the bed. You expect him to take a seat next to you, but he lingers near the door. He’s looking at you as if he’s not really sure if you’re even there.

“I should’ve told you, and I’m sorry,” you finally say. “I just didn’t want my identity to be so open.”

“I’m not upset,” he shakes his head, “I’m just...trying to process.”

“I-I’m a waterbender from the Northern Water Tribe.” You can’t seem to stop yourself from rambling. “I’m on a journey to master all of the elements. I was going to go to the Southern Air Temple to learn airbending, but I ran into you so I thought it’d be easier to just learn from you.”

Haechan stares at you for a beat before saying, “Have I ever told you I’ve got a thing for waterbenders?”

His words take a second to register for you, but you feel a wave of relief once they do. You laugh, so glad that he’s not angry with you. However, that relief immediately evaporates when you remember what’s in your pocket. You want to pretend like it never happened, but you can’t. He’s smiling at you fondly as he watches you take out the poster, and his smile eventually becomes puzzled.

“This was on the bulletin board,” you start off, unfolding the poster and showing it to him.

Haechan’s entire body stiffens when he sees it. It’s like he’s going into a mental and physical lockdown, looking at the poster as if it were evil incarnate. He marches toward you and snatches it out of your hand. “Forget you ever saw it.”

His voice is deathly serene, yet his hand is trembling violently as he looks at his old self on the poster.

“Donghyuck, I—”

You don’t mean to call him that, but it just slips out. His head shoots up and he looks like he’s about to cry. Whatever words you were going to say die in your throat instantly. You take an experimental step towards him, and when he doesn’t protest, you step closer. Eventually, you’re right in front of him. Tears are falling from his eyes, and you carefully brush them away with your thumbs. You can see the pain in his expression, and you gently wrap your arms around him. He clings onto you tightly, desperately.

Donghyuck weeps, and all you can do is hold him.

You’re not sure how you both ended up on his bed asleep, but you wake up with your head tucked under Haechan’s chin and his arms around you. You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your temple before moving back slightly to see him. His face is streaked with dry tears and his eyes are puffy; only he can make it look ethereal.

“You really do enjoy staring at me.” Without opening his eyes, Haechan pulls you close again. “I’d rather it not be with pity though.”

He’s cracking jokes, but that only makes you worry more. “It’s not with pity.”

“Yeah, right. How long are you going to pretend like you don’t know how I feel?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Because I don’t want to tell you about my past. It’s humiliating,” he sighs.

You wriggle out of his hold and sit up. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

He eventually sits up too, staring down at his hands. You cup his face and lift his head so he’s looking at you. “I won’t push you to tell me if you really don’t want to because I understand that you may not be comfortable enough and the fact that I hid my own identity from you. But you should tell someone because trying to bury it like this isn’t healthy.”

His hands grip your wrists gently. “It’s not that, Y/N. I just don’t want you to hate me.”

“I put up with you all this time already, didn’t I?” You smile. “I won’t hate you.”

Haechan—no, Donghyuck shakily exhales. “I was an airbender at the Southern Air Temple. I guess you could say I was a prodigy of some sorts because the Council of the Elders had their eye on me since the day I could walk. They said I was going to be the greatest airbender that ever lived as long as I got the proper training. It was hell for me. No matter what I did, I was never good enough. I kept reaching for something higher and higher, but then I realized that there was nothing to reach inside of me. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be this amazing airbender. I just wanted to live and make my own decisions. But I couldn’t just say that because everyone was depending on me. Gods, my little sister idolized me. She went around telling everyone who I was. My family was always so proud of me. But I couldn’t take it anymore, so I ran away on my fifteenth birthday. They searched for me, scoured every inch of the Four Nations for me. They couldn’t find me though, because I’ve always been good at hiding. That’s what cowards do best.”

“You’re not a coward,” you say firmly.

“I am. I’ve been on the run for four years. I’ve never once contacted my family. Do you know why? Because I like being a thief. I like the thrill of it all. I like being apart of this troupe of other airbending thieves. I threw my family away and joined a bunch of strangers to commit crimes and I don’t regret it! How sick is that? How can I face my family when I’m like this? And you know what the worst part is? To clear my conscience, I steal a bunch of money from soldiers and buy a shit ton of toys and donate them to the orphanage. Not out of the kindness of my heart, but because they’re the only people that think I’m a good person. That won’t last forever, so I’m just desperately trying to cling onto what little time I have left before they grow up and realize what I truly am.” Donghyuck is crying again—hot, furious, and shameful tears.

“Look at me,” you order, forcing him to make eye contact with you. “There is nothing wrong with you. You’re not a coward, and you’re not sick. It’s not wrong to finally discover something that makes you happy after being miserable for so long. The children at the orphanage like you because you’re genuinely a good person, Donghyuck. You’ve made mistakes, but so has everyone else. But you can’t keep running like this. Tell your family that you’re okay and that you’re happy. They’ll understand. More importantly, they just want to know that you’re alive.”

“How can I tell them that I’ve found happiness by becoming a thief?” He laughs bitterly.

“You don’t steal for yourself, you steal from the corrupt and give to the less fortunate. There’s nothing dishonorable about that,” you reassure him. “Besides, you can also add on that you’re the Avatar’s airbending master.”

Donghyuck gives you a small smile, a genuine one. You grin back, drying his eyes with your sleeves. “Dummy, you wouldn’t have cried like a baby if you didn’t care.”

He catches your wrist and places a soft kiss to your fingertips. You feel yourself blush. After a couple moments, he realizes what he did and goes red as well. “Sorry. I-I shouldn’t have done that. I know you don’t—”

Your hand reaches for the back of his neck and you pull him down so you can press your lips against his. Donghyuck freezes, hands hesitantly resting themselves on your waist. His lips are plush and soft and lovely. Kissing him is so easy when he has lips like these. He eventually grows more confident and pulls you into his lap. When you two finally break apart to catch your breath, he looks up at you with a dreamy glaze in his eyes like you hung every star in the night sky. You brush his bangs to the side and kiss him on his forehead, right in the middle of his tattoo.

“When I go see my family, will you come with me?” he asks against your lips.

“Of course,” you promise.

“Say my name again, please.”

“Donghyuck,” you whisper, ducking your head so you can kiss him again.

#neowritingsnet #ncitynetwork #cznnet #neocaratnet #nct scenarios #nct imagines #haechan fluff #haechan angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream imagines #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct 127 imagines #haechan #nct #choerrypuffs #master of all elements

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ceruleanskies · 4 years

Text

crescents and daggers (l.jn)- preview

details: royalty!au, arranged marriage!au, enemies to lovers!au

genre: romance, slow-burn, angst, fluff

pairing: nct’s jeno x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, violence, drinking, mentions of bereavement, mutual pining (y/n is an idiot who jumps to conclusions), mentions of post-traumatic stress, panic attacks, graphic injury detail, smut (fingering, protected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), oral, praising kink, biting kink, princess kink)

“Your majesty.”

The deep voice behind you caught your attention. You straightened up and turned to face the owner of the voice, shocked when you were met with the black-haired man who hadn’t applauded your speech earlier. He bowed at you. You felt your heart lurch when you caught sight of his face as he straightened up. Deep, brooding, chocolate eyes and plush pink lips. He was the definition of ‘Prince Charming’.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” He said and pressed his lips to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to him, but the fact that he hadn’t applauded your speech right away got under your skin. Had he done it to get your attention? The man’s tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lips and you watched as they curled up into a smirk. You looked into his eyes and felt a chill run down your spine.

Over the years, you had realised that you could obtain a lot of information about a person by their eyes. ‘One’s eyes tell a story that their mouths never could,’ was what your mother used to say. But in Jeno’s case, you saw nothing. As if he had put up a front; slick and artificial. The prince stood before you must have gone through something so traumatic for his eyes to give nothing away like that.

“Y/N, this is Prince Jeno,” Your mother introduced, popping up seemingly out of nowhere. She seemed tense- you guessed that was as a result of the prince’s presence. Then, she leaned in to whisper in your ear,

“Of the Lee Dynasty.”

a/n: this has been in the works for a while now! it’s also my first jeno scenario on here, which is crazy!! i’m really looking forward to uploading this, i hope you guys will enjoy it!!

word count: 25.6k (yep, she a long one. rip mobile users)

upload date: cerca 3rd july.

want to be added to the tag-list? send me an ask or reply to this post :))

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #neocaratnet #kwritersworldnet #nct smut #nct x reader #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct x you #jeno #lee jeno #jeno smut #jeno scenario #jeno fanfic #00 line smut #nct dream smut #nct jeno #jeno angst

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holdhyuckshand · 4 years

Text

[3:14 a.m.]

A thousand and one things are on your mind, yet the late hour keeps you from focusing on any of them. Stuck in a catch-twenty-two where your head is too full of thoughts to rest, but the restlessness obstructs your ability to work through any of them, you’ve taken to the task of cleaning your kitchen. It isn’t particularly dirty, just a day’s worth of dishes stacked in the sink, and a condiment or two left on the counter from your earlier shopping trip.

It’s nice though, the monotony of it.

You’re only halfway finished when familiar arms circle you, linking just above your belly button while your boyfriend makes a pillow of your shoulder.

“What’re you doin’ up?” Donghyuck mumbles into your shirt, sleep lacing a certain hush over his query. It reminds you of that quiet moment before the world wakes, the one you’ve witnessed countless times in your nightly musings, when the world is still and time hangs suspended, delicate. A time where the smallest sound may break the spell. You revel in that lull, just as caught up in the magic as the rest.

As much as that moment leaves you breathless, you still prefer the drowsy voice of your beloved, the airy tenor that rasps smooth and wonderful, a hearth that warms you endlessly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you whisper back, motionless, body and mind ensnared by the boy who holds your heart. He mumbles something incoherent into your neck, breath tickling your skin through the thin cotton, and you squirm just a touch. Helpless, you smile, something dizzying and pleasant working its way through your blood, encouraged by his embrace.

“Everything okay?” he says after a pause, clearer, and straightens his posture. You nod, leaning back against him easily, falling into the habits of affection you’ve both built over the years. “Do you want to sleep, or?”

“I think I’d like to finish cleaning first. Therapeutic, and all that,” you reply, though you can’t decide if the soothing cycle of washing and drying dishes outweighs the comfort Donghyuck brings you. Either way, it’s a task to accomplish, and you’d hate to leave it undone.

“Alright.”

You think that’s that, when he relinquishes his hold and presses a kiss to the crown of your head, not without a gentle squeeze to your waist before he goes.

You’ve been wrong before, but never so heartwarmingly so.

After a few minutes, you’re met with the opening strings of Michael Jackson’s Love Never Felt So Good, and you turn to face your boyfriend for the first time since he’d gone to bed. The sight is a familiar one, but one that never fails to captivate your heart to palpitations. Puffy faced, fluffy haired, and droopy-eyed, he looks objectively pitiful, but damn if he isn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Babe?” you begin cautiously, a confused smile finding its way to your weary features.

He cracks that grin he’s known for, the one that blasts your unprepared self in the face with unadulterated sunshine, and for a second you empathize with those anime side-characters that dissolve under the sheer power of the protagonists. Not that Donghyuck would ever view you, or allow you to call yourself, anything other than the best main character to ever exist.

“Well,” he steps towards you, pulling the dish towel from your hands with a cheeky wink and a chaste kiss. Placing the towel over his shoulder, he takes your hand to spin you around, and you find yourself facing the sink with his hands on your hips, swaying drowsily to the slow beat. “No reason we can’t have a little dance party while we do the dishes.”

You can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of your throat, or the heat suddenly alight in your chest and cheeks. “How is that practical?” you ask, baffled, but endeared by the hilarity nonetheless.

Donghyuck pinches your shoulder, and you can almost feel the palpable fondness imbued in his response.

“Practical shmacticle. I want to be cheesy.”

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minghaoss-archive · 5 years

Text

of hues, of blues - m

summary ↯

wherein heartbreak teaches you to love again.

pairing ↯

xu minghao x fem reader

genre ↯

oneshot, angst, smut

and just a smidge of fluff hah!

word count ↯

6.811 words

alternative universe↯

friends with benefits to lovers, hanahaki disease.

warnings ↯

blood, vomiting, explicit sexual content.

author’s note ↯

idk this is absolute filth + a little attempt at poetry. im so sorry this is abysmal.

Surprises are not Xu Minghao’s cup of tea.

He realises this at a very young age.

When he’s riding a bike for the first time, schooling himself to grow accustomed to the unsteady glide of the vehicle. Looking out of the corner of his eye like this, a myriad of colours begin to collect in his peripheral vision. He can smell the freshly cut grass, see the enlarging manicured bushes lazing out in dusted gold, bathed in morning dew, the sight of his parents sat out on a picnic mat and he thinks he’s almost made it - just a little longer. He smiles and then grins and laughs and giggles, feeling as if he had grown wings. Then the world spins in a whirlpool of chartreuse canopies and he falls.

When he grows up, however, surprises are less dramatic but not quite different in proving to be a great displeasure to him.

When he’s 22, for starters, surprises are Seokmin’s ear damaging ‘Happy Birthday!’, a room full of people he can’t seem to recognise and an obligation to stick around talking absently about nothing when all he was planning to do was curl up in bed with a freshly minted copy of an unread book.

At 22, surprises are red coloured bars which tell him he has failed his painting course when he was sure he’d aced it.

At 22, surprises are finding catharsis for his sour mood in giving into Mingyu’s constant nagging requesting his rare presence at a stupid college party.

You arise from a blur of crimson lights and sweaty strangers. Like a newborn phoenix. A mere haze of dark clothes; a stark contrast to the vibrant tints pulsing around you, press a cool beer can to his chest and press a sloppy kiss to your mouth, as a consequence of a childish game of spin the bottle.

It’s right then that he knows that this is comprised of nothing but carnal desire. This isn’t what Minghao wants, he knows this, he wants something everything to mean something more but he just can’t help himself. The aching loneliness in him demands to be fulfilled, by something, just anything.

He shouldn’t follow you upstairs. In fact, he shouldn’t follow you anywhere. He shouldn’t press your back up against an unfamiliar bedroom door and push the hem of your outfit upwards.

Or hiss when you touch him.

Or rut his hips into yours. Or listen to the quivering moans billowing past your chapped lips, Or slide his fingers around your throat,

( a loll of your head, a sigh, his name tumbling from your lips.)

But he does anyway. He wants to.

The next morning, Minghao wakes up to a head splitting hangover. And a very, very empty bed. He kicks off the piss yellow sheets and glares at the cracked paint on Hansol’s ceiling.

When was the last time someone was in this room? Had he made you up? Definitely not.

The imprint of your body, a ghost, begs to differ. He reaches out and smoothes it over. Whatever. Minghao isn’t in the best mood.

Surprises are not his cup of tea.

....

The next meeting is at the college fair.

“You want a flower?” You lean your head to the side, hunched over the stall and he tells you a meek yes, “Those..ones.” gesturing to the pretty blues around which your hair curls.

Minghao may not know a lot but he knows it would be something ridiculous to miss, the gentle graze of your fingers against his ear when you place the pretty ring of blue atop his head.

“They’re called..?” He trails, running his finger along its slender stem. Maybe it’s the rings around your eyes or the way you bite the inside of your mouth, the subtle quality that of being peculiar makes him want to look at you longer than he should. It piques his interest.

“They’re hydrangeas.“ You supply. Minghao nods. Observing the way your nose crinkles and how you purse your lips when you think.

“I’ve never properly introduced myself.” smiling your endearing smile, you snap him right out of his thoughts. The kind of jolt one feels when they dream of falling. Mischievous eyes. Wondering eyes.

“We should..” You pause, swallowing down a chunk of words. Gaze downcast. It takes him awhile to understand that you are anxious, bashful even. Interlaced hands. Clammy. But sharp eyes. “We should do it again sometime.”

Your dealings with Minghao are so frequent that thinks he can’t quite imagine what his life would be like without it happening again.

By now he can tell your silhouette apart from everyone else’s. If he spreads his palms on your lower back and sucks on your neck, you hum and groan. If he wants, he can tell you exactly where every mark, indentation, valley and curve on your body is.

He’s been staring at an empty canvas for a while now, ideas jumbled, colours appearing together behind his lids and turning to a confusing mix of everything and nothing at all.

He’s listened to Chopin to a point where he’s convinced he can compose the andagios and allegros all by himself.

He's looked for inspiration in between violets and the cerulean sky and poetry, of course.

But it’s no use.

At the end of the day, Minghao only drowns in a sea of unfinished assignments; wallowing purposelessly in the tangerine glow of his makeshift studio, heavily caffeinated.

You coax him out the day Mingyu calls you. Dramatising his best friend’s state with a kiddish pout and flailing arms.

Minghao follows you around like a lost puppy. Resting his chin on your shoulder when you cook him a proper meal, fingers dancing along your apron. Distracted. It’s moments like these that truly confuse you; the care with which he kisses your cheek and the roughness with which he undresses you after.

What do the spaces between these differences, the oceans and hills, the softness of his sighs and the harshness of his grunts, even mean? Whatever. You haven’t fucked in a week or two.

The easel stems from the floor and curls around his primed canvas like a rose plant, thorns, pointed leaves, soft, blushing petals and he feels like he’s looking at his own reflection, devoid of ideas, faceless, empty, spotless.

Then suddenly, sighing, with a loll of his head, Minghao glances back at the bed, your bare body; streaks of rosy dusk splattered on your thighs, oranges and yellows smudged along your cheeks, the subtle rise and fall of your chest with every breath you take. A sliver of the rising sun. Summer air.

He touches his paintbrush after weeks and refuses to let go until all he can see is a waltz of reds and blues, a spin of everything he feels when he touches you. Your face. The gaps between your ribs.

He thinks, if anyone asks, he could talk about it for a good few days.

Minghao passes the semester with flying colours.

This is what happens, Jeonghan’s car grumbles, the air conditioning isn’t working and Minghao is too tall to sit with two other people at the back but he doesn’t mind because your knees are touching.

The wind blows your hair back in messy tufts. You’ve cut it shorter, upto your neck. He decides he likes it better that way.

There’s an Air Supply song playing in the background. Hansol smiles knowingly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his palms pressed firmly against the steering wheel. “That’s our song.” He says.

Then the car is still for a second. But suddenly you kick off your sneakers, bare feet on leather seats.

You giggle and giggle and giggle.

Tips of your fingers smudged of acrylic clouds. Patches of trees melting away into the amethyst sky. The sun sinking back into a blonde horizon. You’re singing loud. Laughing. You haven’t laughed this hard in a long time. The kind of laugh gives you a stomach ache. The kind of laugh that you think about for days.

Minghao thinks you’re beautiful like this.

He shouldn’t.

It’s not right.

He takes a photo.

...

We are only as remembered as long as we want to be found. Breadcrumbs. We are only remembered if we leave something behind.

The art of disappearing is something Xu Minghao is a master of, perhaps. Sometimes he turns off his phone and lies on park benches and tries to think of ways he could fit the world in his palms, mold it out of acrylic and entrap it in a picture. He is a sorcerer of sorts and magic only brews in solitude. In secret. When no one can hear him say his incantations. It’s a secret between him and the universe.

He leaves not a trace during these periods of artistry. No texts. No confusing social media applications. No boorish human beings. No hindrances.

Minghao doesn’t leave the studio for days. Not until all he sees is black and white. A monochromatic world. When bursts and explosions of platinum lightning have oozed out of the grey sky.

He rushes over to your apartment. Chasing thunderbolts. Desperate. A rainy day. A yellow bus. A knock. Two knocks. Three knocks. He arrives always. In search of colours.

You press your mouth to his before he can step foot into your room, words said between frantic kisses.

“God, where were you?” You say and he thinks you almost sound angry. His duffle bag drops with a soft thud.

He pulls your stringy dress off with a harsh tug. Hands skimming over the curve of your waist, your breasts, your skin. Goosebumps all over.

He tugs you closer by the heels of your feet. Hunching forward. Kissing you. Greedy fingers leaving you bare, shivering and craving in their wake.

A trail of sloppy kisses from the curve of your ribs to the slope of your stomach. Minghao’s fingers rest on your inner thighs, sucking in a multitude of colours. Fingers curled inside of you. Lewd squelch. Lewder whispers. Loud whines filling the room with each passing second.

He has you whining, sweaty underneath the rough pads of his fingers. Teeth scraping along the bend of your throat. Angry crescents. Minghao’s kisses on your tummy. Your fingers in his hair.

“Look at me.” He commands, holding his fingers up. Your eyes widened, glazed over. Lustful. Mischievous eyes. Wondering eyes.

If it’s you, if it’s like this, if this all you’ll ever be, wants to leave his trace, wants it to mean something, he wants to be remembered.

“Hey, stop that.” You say, covering your face with your hands. As if he hadn’t memorised it already.

Minghao’s pencil comes to a screeching halt. He’s on his stomach. Bare. Basking in the rubscent sunshine. Your sheets kiss his body, accentuating the slender shape of his waist.

Then the boy glances back and smiles. For a moment, you forget this isn’t love. This isn’t love. This isn’t supposed to be love.

Truth be told, Minghao isn’t good at sketching, he never was. He has never been quite fond of it. Minghao always imagines the world in vibrant colours. Never, in his mind, is beauty in black and white.

But in spite of his bitter exchanges with shaky borders and strange strokes before; now, he seems to excel at putting you on paper, be it in the form of ash pencil lines or splatter of colours, colours and colours, he can never seem to wrong your beauty. “Okay.”

He says and lays on his back. Wondering. Marvelling.

Your chin placed on your folded hands.

He pushes a rogue strand behind, one which always seems to keep falling over your eyes. Somehow every time you’re together, you end up like this. Craving. Touching. Never more. Never less. Can it be less? Can it be more?

No.

He shouldn’t say say or think or want something of that sort. Thinking is wanting. Wanting is saying. Saying is craving.

It isn’t right.

“Stop thinking so much.” You whisper, looking up at him with a look in your eyes that he doesn’t want to understand. Something which says more than what’s told.

Stop. He doesn’t quite stop. Minghao thinks and wants and craves. He mustn’t. Your face fits in his palms, you lean into the touch like a love starved kitten and he craves again. Wants again.

If you were a colour and not a million Minghao thinks you’d be blue.

Change. Change is strange. Sometimes you wonder how the world is frosted over, crystallised, whitened with snow and in a blink again, flowers bloom, spring comes and so comes hummingbirds. Change is strange. Sometimes you wonder how all you two share turns from mere lust to profound conversations of everything and nothing at all.

Minghao possesses a kind of intelligence that is unparalleled, he’s quick to understand thoughts and quicker to word it. You’ve been doing that quite often; talking and talking without meaning to stop. Change is strange.

“Do you believe in love?” Your voice is a low, broken thing, words barely there, airy.

"Yes.“ Minghao gazes at the sky, littered with more stars than there are in the city; the soft glow of silver lights his face up in an unusual way. A way about which you could write a thousand villanelles about.

Stars. Dim and twinkling. You wonder how many of them must have aligned for you to have found each other. Incomplete. Your half said words hang in the air. This comfort is peculiar.

Silence has never been an unpleasant thing before. You’re laid down with your arms and legs spread apart, gaze upcast.

Between the two of you, the wet patch of sand feels like a dried ocean, deserted. Lonely. The foamy sea lilts and sings and calls you to her; but you only lay silent, unmoved.

Minghao reaches out and interlaces your fingers. Hope is a funny thing. Desire is a funny thing. He doesn’t understand what it means to say a lot but speak no words at all. His hand tingles from where you rub your thumb. It’s the first time you’re together. But unbare.

This comfort is peculiar.

He’ll always remember; your shoulders erecting to mountains. Your eyes red and swollen, portions and bits of a conversation about a lost lover. The first time he saw you. Hansol’s piss yellow blankets. Seven minutes in a closet. Heated kisses. Your heart in shambles.

Minghao wonders what it means to love like that. Love that stays even when people don’t.

The sky is suddenly darker than before; mighty ravenous clouds seem to have gobbled down constellations after constellations. It’s going to rain again.

“Do you?“ He asks and you almost look, Minghao thinks, like you’re about to cry.

He wonders why it bothers him, why it makes him want to reach out and pull you to him. But he doesn’t, of course.

He shouldn’t.

It’s not right.

Something in your eyes is forlorn. Tight lipped. Sometimes he wishes he had a stethoscope to hear your thoughts, the ones you don’t unveil, despite your much fabled bravado.

You sit back, glance at him and smile briefly. Strange. Undercurrents. Tempted to trace your lips like it were brail. He wants to know what it means, the downward tilt of your mouth.

You’re insolent, an offensive girl, insulting every pretty scenery around you with your very strange beauty. Messy hair, moonlight kissing up your naked face, circles around your widening eyes and closing, parting mouth , like you’re trying to remember something or rather forget. He wishes his camera were with him.

"I can’t.” You say and the pain in your voice startles him.

"You can.“ Minghao corrects, sliding closer you. Toes touching. Bumping into each other. How one could think they can’t be reduced to the foolishness of a lover is beyond his understanding. Everyone can be a fool. In their own ways, of course. Everyone can fall in love. They just choose to. They just choose not to.

“Of course you can.” He says, sounding slightly injured by your ludicrous comment. Always flared up and cross. You rest your head on his shoulder. Stifling a laugh. It’s moments like these that truly confuse you, the gap between your bodies and the yearning to close it.

Believe in love;

You can.

You do.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

Sometimes love lasts forever. Sometimes love gives you reason and makes you believe. Sometimes love is soft whispers, never wilting roses. Sometimes love is forever and always. Sometimes love is the tranquil sea. Sometimes love is comfort and trust. Like the first touch of spring.

Such was not true for Yuta and you.

Yuta fell in love with you one winter morning and fell out every other.

Sometimes you wonder if he had been a phantom. If you were touching air. If you had imagined him all along.

You remember tracing your finger along his back, bumps and drops of his spine, trying to find the man you loved once. You remember kissing him, touching him, undressing him, aching for him to look at you the way he did. To tell you he loved you back. To mean it when he did. You should’ve seen it coming.

When it happens it happens so unsurprisingly. When it happens it happens so surprisingly.

You get off class early. A trail of clothes at your feet. It’s a funny thing, watching someone take away everything you love. It’s a funny thing watching someone give away everything you love.

“Get out.” You say to him with a straight face.

You want to stop him.

“Fine.” Yuta shrugs, sighing, running a hand through his hair. You wonder how many times he’s held her with those hands. Has he ever thought of you when he fucked her? Did he feel sorry for you every time you kissed him? Did he have a good laugh when you weren’t around?

He looks back one last time; as if to say you can pull me back and tell me you love me. You can drag me back and tell me it’s okay. You can forgive me and we will go back to bed. Like nothing ever happened.

Your mouth parts. Words pleading to escape. I love you. Was I not enough?

"I never want to see you again.“ You grit out instead. The door shuts with a soft thud.

You don’t stop him.

...

Minghao hisses when you drag your tongue down his abdomen. Your hair entangled between the gaps of his fingers.

You meet his eyes, watery and widened. Taking him in. “Fuck.” A sight you’ll never share. Afraid someone will steal it from you. A sight which only belongs to you. His brows knitted together, mouth parted in a silent moan.

He cums with a groan and you wipe the corner of your mouth clean, lean on your palms and say, “Happy birthday.”

...

You don’t understand Minghao.

Sometimes he calls you his darling and takes you to his bedroom. Undresses you with care and care and care.

And other times he walks past you like you don’t exist.

...

Nasty wet trails travel down your spine like liquid serpents. They bite your clothes, twist their heads around your lower back and cling onto your skin like they would swallow it whole. It’s summer and your mouth is very dry.

“Hold still.” He scolds. Tapping your bare thighs so you stop moving it so much.

Minghao’s head is in your lap, face shielded from the lurid orange sun. Shaded by a reddened poetry book which says Robert Frost. Your face invisible. Only a hint of your eyebrows. He pulls it back.

“Hey!” You exclaim, trying to seize it but he tucks it away, under his bum. A complacent grin breaking out on his face. All teeth and no shame.

“I hate you so much.“ You say, sighing and brush away a few strands from his face. He’s pretty like this. Skin aglow, brown eyes suddenly an astonishing liquid gold. Honey.

You’ve been falling.

Minghao sits up suddenly, solemn look on his face. Amused no longer. He presses his mouth to yours. Beating heart and clashing teeth. Fingers holding your jaw in place. “That’s not true.” He says, swiping his thumb over your swollen lips.

You don’t understand Minghao.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

He’s drunk.

Minghao rests his head against your chest and draws circles into your stomach. Falling. You might be falling.

It scares you.

"I’ve got to go.“ You say suddenly. Body cold as the warmth of his own slips away. He’s sitting up on his bed.

He is the prettiest tonight.

Face still rubicund. Pitch black strands gone rogue,falling over his eyes. He swallows thickly. Adam’s apple bobbing.

He’s had too much to drink.

“Stay.” He says, pulling you back, looking up at you with big doe eyes. He tugs you closer. Ear pressed to your tummy. Arms looped around you.

If he doesn’t hold on tight, the whole world starts to spin. He wants to hold on tight. He always has.

“I want you to.” He whispers with such sincerity, you think you might turn to liquid.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

Minghao doesn’t remember.

He stares at you. Your body pressed to his. The bend of your spine and your eyes clamped shut. Your hair always unkempt. His fingers yearn for a paintbrush.

His memory is a haze. A swirl of blurriness. A gaping cavern. How did he even get here? In your arms, your lips parted, face buried in his chest. The soft beating of your heart.

You’re awake. He knows.

He can tell. You only tap your feet when you’re awake.

His body slides away from yours.

“We’re late.” He says, his voice all garbled, like the sound was hindered by a rock lodged deep inside his throat. “What happened last night?“

Words seem to be a foreign thing to you for a minute. You look to him and pretend. How do you tell him?

You think of his ear pressed to your stomach and his beautiful eyes, a magnificent ebony looking up at you. You think of thinking. How you’ve been doing too much of it. Minghao elbows you, demanding an answer.

“Nothing.” You say and are surprised by how true it sounds.

You don’t want to be awake

⊱ ────────── ⊰

Melancholy has a peculiar way of coming. Sauntering away in her bluest gown. She meets you often. When you’re drowning in midnight ruminations. When you listen to the most sublime tunes humans have ever crafted. Today she comes suddenly, when you’re watching a movie you’re not watching. Feet propped up on Junhui’s lap. She comes in her bluest gown.

See you’ve been talking for an hour and your jaw hurts.

Junhui and you sit in a discomfiting quietude. He’s been your best friend through thick and thin. Through untamed pigtails and pubertal bacne. Through bad relationships and good. He’s known you long enough to know when you’re lying and when you’re not.

“You know.” He gulps. Looking at his hands. “The way the way you talk about Minghao…like you’re ready to take a bullet for him…it’s..”

“Is that a bad thing?” Your head snaps in his direction, you look annoyed. He winces. “No.” Nervously, he keeps tapping his foot. “Not if you love him.”

“Do you?” He nudges you. Then you tilt your head back and think of nothing and everything.

Your head weighty, inundated with thoughts of him. You keep thinking of Minghao’s smile. You think of his giggles.Stay . His smile. I want you to .

It isn’t until Junhui touches your face, a flick of his index, a tender thing; do you realise you’ve been crying. “I’m scared.” you say, leaning into his touch.

The older male smiles knowingly, passing the bucket of popcorn to you. Junhui is patient. Wordlessly taking your hand in his. He looks so unsurprised it scares you.

"I know.” He says, with no rancour or judgment. As if he has been looking at the insides of your head for long now.

When you were little you doubted the sweet voiced boy had the superhuman power of reading your mind. Knowing when your mum scolded you. Knowing when you wanted to cry and when you wanted to laugh. When you wanted an extra gummy bear. What if he knows now? What if he hears you think he doesn’t love me back? What if he hears you think I am in love with him, I have never been in love like this, what if?

"Let go.“ Junhui suggests, meeting your eyes with a kind of warning which perplexes you. A grand affirmation of all your fears. “It’s not good for you.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

It’s dark outside and you’re lying on his arm, listening to his pulse. Bodies flush against each other.

When you look up; Minghao is staring intently at the ceiling fan, mouth parted, eyes widened, he’s looking at one thing and seeing a million. You wonder what he thinks so arduously about. Then you lean over and press your lips to his. He hums and smiles and laughs against your mouth, “I love you.“

It’s a tragic thing, the quickness of these words falling off of your lips. Minghao stops smiling. You think he stops thinking too. He sees one thing now. “It’s late. We should sleep.” He says suddenly, clearing his throat. As if words had clogged up inside.

Inside your chest, something turns to smithereens.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

It isn’t his fault. It’s not your fault.

“Don’t go.” You whisper to Minghao, a reiteration, a lost memory you’re trying to relive. He sighs and glances briefly at you from the corner of his eye.

"We aren’t supposed to do this.“ It’s more of a thought than it is a suggestion, an idea he renders just to catch your reaction.

For a second, it’s so quiet that he can hear the soft plops of raindrops against your windows. Home. Suddenly he misses Anshan. Feeling rather uprooted when you unlace your fingers from his.

Minghao thinks summers are beautiful, he thinks sunflowers are yellow and that you shouldn’t date.

The words feel deafening to hear. But you’ve always been good at hiding your feelings. Phenomenal, actually. So you ignore your aching heart with no difficulty. “You’re right.” You say, “We shouldn’t.”

Sometimes we find things we aren’t searching for, sometimes we’re told things we don’t want to hear. Minghao thinks it’s the price we pay for not speaking our minds.

“Oh.” He says, sounding a little disappointed.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

It’s funny how it’s so aggravatingly sunny outside.

In your head, it only rains when you are in pain. A reflection of your sorrows. The whistling wind. The hissing thunder. The ugly lightning. Inner storms.

But today, it rains not a drop. Despite you feeling like you’re being torn apart.

Has anything in your head ever been real? Have you conjured up the very idea of Minghao? Is he only an outline of a person you’ve filled in with imagination? A skeleton fleshed out of your pet desires?

Maybe.

Today his thrusts are sloppy, he groans into your skin and you hold onto him like you’re about to let go any second, like you’re losing him.

“I gotta go.”

He studies your face intently, finding that you have something to say in response. Maybe it’ll be a scold. Maybe it won’t be a scold. Whatever. He doesn’t expect you to look at him the way you do. With a kind of spark in your eyes which begins to die out.

“We should end this.” You sigh and Minghao waits for you to say more. For the mischievous glint. For you to say you’re just kidding. Like you always do. For you to say something, anything at all.

“Is it..is it about last night?” He queries, pausing.

“Because..I..” you look at him with a sudden sharpness, something that says stop me, please stop me. But he says nothing. He forgets that words are a thing at all. You look away.

What is unsaid tastes like blood on his tongue. Like blades. Hurtful. He’s trying to touch your shoulder, to see if you’re real.

You sink into the mattress.Looking rather defeated.

“No.” You lie. You sound like a different person. Someone who is brave. Someone who isn’t you.

He kneels between your legs, tugging onto your shorts, sighing. Hopeful eyes searching your face over and over again. “Don’t come back.” You say softly. Not meeting his eyes still. Afraid you’ll give into the temptation of retracting the previous demand. You can’t look at him.

“You always want me to come back.” He whispers, voice heavy. As if he were clinging onto it for dear life. A dying tree to its roots. A sinking ship to its broken anchor.

This isn’t love, this isn’t supposed to be love. You remind yourself again.

Only this time it sounds like an excuse, a poor attempt at concealing the awful pain inside your chest.

“Not this time. This time you can go.”

Your sheets still smell like him. Your shirts still smell like him. Minghao has managed to entangle himself in every aspect of your life.

You wonder how long it’ll take for you to get rid of him. How many washes, detergents and days, months, years.

“Okay.” He says, nodding.

Let go. Junhui’s hand in yours. I love you. Minghao’s involuntary giggle when you say something witty. His bare body on your mattress. It’s not good for you.

Minghao turns into a dot of charcoal against the firmament. The groaning motorbike of his now soundless.

You don’t stop him.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

Something like this was bound to happen. It was waiting to happen from the start. It was waiting to happen from the end.

You arrive late at Wonwoo’s party and Minghao’s shoving his tongue down some other girl’s throat. The bottle’s been spun in unfortunate circles, a turn of fate.

Your friends say nothing. Speaking of this and that, anything but how Minghao’s probably fucking someone else’s brains out upstairs. You feel stupid.

“You okay?” Mingyu asks suddenly, you're surprised.

He’s Minghao’s best friend after all. Does he pity you this much? To traipse through restricted territories, comforting you in the most comforting way there is? You decide friendship and pity are parted only by the thinnest line.

Mingyu is your friend too.

“Yeah.” You reply, smiling briefly.

A soothing hand on the small of your back. A reminder of how you’re real and this is real, definitely not a nightmare.

Across the room, with the booming music ricocheting off pasty walls, a background of sweaty strangers and twists of neon, Junhui is looking at you.

No, that’s not right.

He’s looking through you.

You want to throw up.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

You think about sunlight caught in his eyes. Sunflowers in his hair. The way he shivers you when kiss his throat. You think of him once and twice and three times. You can’t stop. You mustn’t.

“What are you doing?” Junhui’s voice echoes through the bathroom. “Are you okay?“ He watches his dearest friend lean over the toilet seat.

You don’t know what to say. You’re looking at a ring of hydrangeas, afloat in a pool of your own blood and bile. And suddenly you know this means something, this always has.

...

Minghao catches your glaring eye and he’s surrounded by a thicket of roses,they are a kind of pink that is more orange than pink. He is painting. Birds warble and the wind hits his fringe to provide an unobstructed view of his face.

The next morning you spend an hour cleaning blood out of your sink. The same soft petals circling him, accompanied by vicious thorns. And you think it’s worth it, to die like this, to die for love.

...

He thinks of your smile often. Tries to commit the curve to his memory like he’ll forget it otherwise. Perhaps that is what he fears. Forgetting you. Your face. Your smile. Your voice. He fears to never be able to paint you again. Perhaps if he had forgotten, you’d cease to exist.

“I can’t do this.” He says to the nameless girl, her lipstick smudged.

It’s not right. It doesn’t feel right.

He yearns to run his fingers through your unkempt hair; he can’t stop thinking about you, your roaring laugh and your poetry, your heart, your fingers. Your imperfections. The bend of your spine and the slope of your neck.

Minghao searches for you in other people and finds only a gaping hole.

...

Minghao keeps having a recurring dream, one dream amongst thousands. He’s had it since he was a child.

He’s swimming at first, halving sapphire water with every stroke; whilst the sun shines above him. A spotlight.

He’s alone one moment and then he isn’t. Then he is in a meadow, a green meadow, a brilliant green that is too green to be just grass and not shards of emerald.

He’s lying down, head rested on his folded arms, the sky is cobalt, not a cloud in sight.

Peculiarly enough, in his dream, he knows he is in love and it is with someone who lies with him.

The first time he has this dream, he is 13. It teaches him to touch a paintbrush. To flirt with paint and fall in love with colours. Passion no longer latent. At 13, his lover is faceless.

Now, he lies in the same meadow, he looks to his beloved, anticipating the same blank outline he always has seen

and finds your smiling face instead.

...

Junhui swears at Henry James often. Unable to decipher whatever the hell the author drones on about. One time he flung his copy of The Wings Of The Dove and watched it tear into two miserable halves of stupidly sophisticated words.

But you understand him. You pick up the torn pages and glue them together. You understand Henry James.

The Turn Of The Screw. Horror in places that aren’t horrific.

A kiss of autumn. The commencement of reds, darker browns and crunchy leaves. Not horrific. Minghao is looking at you, vines of steam from his coffee, brick red beret. He’s looking right at you. Not everything around you. Not autumnal beauty to catch inspiration from and spill it on his canvas.

...

Minghao used to love someone once.

A rattling thing inside his chest. He was young, too trusting and a blatant stranger to the jolting ache of unrequited love which comes when she quickly turns him down.

He promises to never love like this again.

Fast and unsteady. Without reason. Without logic. Unconditionally.

He thinks of your fingers, smaller against his. He thinks of dusk laying atop your body. He thinks of the rings around your eyes. The curls of your eyelashes. He thinks of blue.

(Minghao has never been good at making promises.)

⊱ ────────── ⊰

It’s past midnight and you’re waiting for melancholy to visit like she always does. But she never comes. Never in her bluest dress. Never anymore.

You haven’t been coughing up flowers for a few weeks now.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

Nervous is a laughable understatement.

There’s an elephant in the room and its squeezing Minghao’s throat with its trunk, crushing the poor thing to dust.

The café is anything but silent. Soft music. Buzzing with teenagers. Loquacious couples. In between all the unspeakably loud bustling, Minghao is surprised to find that he can only hear Junhui’s tapping foot. The tings of Joshua’s phone. Hansol’s low humming. Minghao clears his throat. “I think .. I’m in love with her.” He says, sitting straight suddenly. He blurts it out like it’s a grand revelation.

Junhui silently sips his drink. He’s only decided to see the younger male because he was offered brownies.. Minghao investigates silently, eyes darting all over his friends’ face. Hansol nods. Joshua says nothing but offers a huge grin. Unsurprised. He was expecting a parted mouth at least, if not dropping jaws.

It’s only Junhui who breaks the obnoxious silence. “You’re the last to find out.” He says finally, narrowing his eyes. Minghao frowns.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

He’s wearing the same shirt that he wore the first time you saw him. Baby blue. Sheer. Smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes. Then your stomach twists. Finally, in your head echoes a delirious laugh. How foolish it was to get one’s hopes up.

You wonder what it will be this time, perhaps lavender, perhaps a water lily, perhaps wisteria.

But nothing comes.

You only find your own reflection, staring back at you, gaping eyes emerging from dirty ash toilet water. Then you try the sink.

Nothing comes.

"When were you going to tell me you were dying?“ You jump,turning and finding him leaning on the door frame.

Arms crossed. Minghao has the audacity to look offended.

“When were you going to tell me you’re in love with me?” You say instantaneously, frowning. If nothing comes now. If nothing comes for weeks. No thorns. No flowers. It means what you think it means. You’re glancing at him from the bathroom mirror. He shuts the door. Just the two of you.

Craving and Wanting. Thinking.

It isn’t wrong.

Wanting you isn’t wrong.

A ring on his little finger. He rubs his nape. Sheepish smile on his face. “I was hoping now.. isn’t a terrible time.”

You’re sitting on the ceramic ringlet of the sink, feet dangling. Like a child, you jut your lip out “It is.“

See you don’t mind the way he comes to you. Standing in between your legs. Foreheads pressed together. Fingers entwined. The oceans and hills. The gaps between your bodies. The tear in your heart. Forever closed.

“You're trying to seduce me.” You frown, and he’s laughing and giggling, fingers tilting your chin upwards.

“Am I not succeeding?"

You shake your head a no. Toying with the hairs dropping over his eyes. "Failing miserably.” He recognises your jests in an instant. Mischievous eyes. Wondering eyes.

Then he kisses you, soft and lingering. Muffled words pressed against your lips.

“I love you.” He says, breathless. Eyes widened. Lips swollen. He thinks you’re driving him a little insane now. Searching your face for an answer. “If I didn’t love you back…” You say, nails painted a kind of wine red that never should be unsweetened, “I wouldn’t be dying.” Thank you for saving me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for saving my life.

You tug Minghao closer by the ends of his outgrown hair and kiss him a little dizzy. He thinks you’ve been driving him insane ever since you’ve met him.

⊱ ────────── ⊰

A cream envelope in hand, velvet under his fingers, a present amongst many presents. You’re wearing his shirt. The fabric reaching right below the curve of your bum. Speed Hunter scribbled on in chalky white. “I’ve tolerated you for an entire year.” You say and press your mouth to his. A tingly sensation in his tummy. It almost feels as if he’s swallowed a jar of butterflies.

Surprises are not Xu Minghao’s cup of tea. Seokmin’s screams still scare him, he falls off bikes and still fails courses sometimes.

But still, he, too, unwittingly, finds himself falling in love with a villanelle called Stars.

Your name inscribed underneath.

3K notes · View notes

yeetlixus · 4 years

Text

𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽 | L.JN

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Husband!Jeno x Fem!Reader 𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕖: Non-Idol!AU; Fluff, Maybe some crack 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: Kinda suggestive, (only one) mention of sex, morning sickness things, language, someone is gonna be a dad!

[a/n: ok, but I've been thinking of this since last night and I really just love what my brain was thinking so here it is! Also, I’ve been doing some research on stuff like this (because it was for science), so I’ m sorry if some of the things mentioned about pregnancy or morning sickness are wrong T^T, but I hope you enjoy anyways! This is the first time I wrote something this long! I’m so proud of myself!]

It was morning, but Y/N didn’t want to wake up. She was stuck in her husband, Jeno’s warm embrace, her face buried in his bare chest. The sun shined on her eyes, as if it was signaling her to wake up, but she didn’t. Instead, she buried her face deeper into her husband’s chest. He yawned, waking up slightly. He looked down to see Y/N still trying to sleep and softly smiled. He brought one hand up to his face to rub his eye, but Y/N grabbed onto his arm and lowered it down again.

“Good morning, baby,” Jeno laughed lightly. He heard Y/N sigh.

“Sleep...” She mumbled into his chest. Jeno’s smile never left his face.

“Come on, the sun is up! It’s time to wake up!” He said. He sat up and Y/N whied from the bright light.

“Ack! Too bright!” She covered her eyes with her arms. Jeno shook her.

“Come on, get up!” Jeno said, going into the bathroom. Y/N sighed, sitting at the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes.

“Ok, I’m up...” She said, walking into the big bathroom.

“We should go out!” Jeno said. “It looks like a good day outside today.”

“But I wanna sleep!” Y/N said, scratching her hair.

“But we should go shopping,” Jeno tried. “It’s your birthday next week, and since I’m going to be super busy with work this whole week, it’s a good day to shop for your birthday!”

“But we have all next week too...” His wife mumbled. She turned around to look in the mirror and widened her eyes as she saw the purple marks that littered her neck. “And I’m not going out with these!” She glared at Jeno.

He slightly smirked. “But you enjoyed it baby~”

“You don’t know that,” She quickly replied, her cheeks turning slightly red. She felt Jeno hug her waist, putting his head on her shoulder.

“But I do baby,” He said into her ear.

“How do you know?” She asked.

“Because you were practically screaming my name last night,” He said, lightly kissing one of the purple marks on her neck. Now her cheeks were completely red.

“S-shut up...” She said, lightly slapping his head away. Jeno laughed.

“We’re already married and you still blush whenever I say something like that to you,” Jeno said, smiling.

“Because it’s embarrassing!” Y/N said.

“But you weren’t embarrassed when you-”

“Enough Lee Jeno!” She shouted and Jeno laughed again. “Now get out so I can change!”

“But I’m fine! It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before,” He winked at her.

“GET OUT JENO!” She said, pushing him out the door of the bathroom. Jeno smiled, chuckling to himself as he waited for her to change. When Y/N was done getting ready, she went out of the room.

“Let’s go out then,” She said, smiling at Jeno. He softly smiled at her, taking her hand.

“Let’s go~” He said and they both went out of the house. They drove down to the city. “Where should we go first?”

“Let’s go to ******!” Y/N replied.

“Ok then,” He said, holding Y/N’s hand in his. He used his thumb to softly caress the top of her hand and Y/N smiled at the feeling. When they parked, Jeno looked at her. “I love you, you know that?”

Y/N laughed lightly. “I love you too.”

It’s been a few days now. Y/N woke up like every morning to see that Jeno went to work and wasn’t there next to her when she got up. She sighed, wincing in pain. She felt sick and nauseous. She sat at the edge of the bed, breathing in and out, hoping the pain would go away after a few times...it didn’t. Y/N quickly jumped off the bed and rushed to the toilet, vomiting.

‘What’s going on?’ Y/N thought to herself. She vomited at least 3 times (as she counted in her head). She never felt this sick before. But after she did what she did, she felt a little better.

‘Probably just stomachaches...’ She thought. Y/N walked down to the kitchen and took some medicine for the little pain left. Throughout the whole day she felt better. She didn’t need to go back to the bathroom and vomit. Y/N sighed in relief. It was just a stomachache after all...

But soon, it became a[n] (almost) daily thing. Wake up, feel sick and vomit, the rest of the day was fine.

‘This isn’t really stomachaches...’ Y/N thought. ‘It has to be something else...’ She didn’t tell Jeno, worried that she’d get him more stressed than he already was. Instead, she texted her friend. Mria about it.

______________

[Mira]: Yeah, I don’t think those are stomachaches...

[Y/N]: Then what is it Mira? You’re kind of a doctor, you should know some of this

[Mira]: I’m not a REAL doctor yet, Y/N, so I don’t really know...

[Mira] Maybe just go to the doctors if it keeps happening....

[Y/N]: Ok, thanks M....

______________

Soon, it was the day of Y/N’s birthday. It was a weekend and Y/N hoped that she wouldn’t have to go through the process of going to the bathroom and vomit again. But, nope. A few minutes after she woke up, the pain in her stomach appeared again. Y/N tried not to think about it much, but it really annoyed her. She got up, quietly and quickly going to the bathroom again. She sat next to the toilet, doing her breathing technique again so she can stop herself form vomiting again.

After a few minutes, Y/N could hear Jeno yawning and groaning, signaling that he was awake.

“Babe...?” Jeno mumbled. Y/N wanted to answer and tell him that she wa shere, in the bathroom, but she vomited again. “Y/N?” She could hear the worry in his voice. She then heard the creaking of the bed and in a few seconds, she saw Jeno right beside her.

“Fuck, Y/N, are you ok?” He asked, holding up her hair. She shook her head. “What’s wrong?” She sat back.

“I...I don’t know...” She mumbled. “But I don’t feel good...”

“Baby, are you sick?” He asked, putting his hand on her forehead. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “You feel ok...” She nodded. He took one of the hair ties from Y/N wrists and tied her hair up.

“How long has this been happening?” He asked.

“A few days now...” She said. “I didn’t want to tell you because I was worried I’d put more stress on you since you’re already stressed out about work...” Jeno sighed, grabbing ahold of Y/N’s hand.

“You should’ve still told me anyways,” Jeno said. “I’m your husband, babe. I’m supposed to know if you’re sick or feeling something like this.” He gave her a kiss on her forehead before standing up. “Stay here, ok? I’m going to go get medicine for you.”

Y/N nodded. “Ok...” She sighed. He walked out of the room and went to go get medicine for her. What was happening to her? Why was she vomiting almost everyday?

A few minutes passed by, and Jeno returned with medicine...and something else?

“Here you go love,” He said, handing her the plastic bag. Y/N went through it and retrieved the bottle of meds from the bag, but not without finding that something else was also in the bag. She took it out.

“Jeno, what is this?!” She asked. It was...a pregnancy test. Jeno shrugged.

“Just incase,” He said.

“Wha...I...” She said.

“Just take your meds babe, we can talk about this after,” He said. Y/N nodded and took one of the pills. Jeno handed her a cup of water and she drank it. A few moments later, Y/N was feeling a little bit better. She sighed, feeling tired.

“Jeno…?” She asked. He hummed as an answer. “What if...I am really pregnant?”

“Then you’re pregnant...there’s really nothing we can do,” He replied, sitting next to her. Y/N put her head against Jeno’s shoulder.

“Do you want to be a dad?” She asked. Jeno hesitated, but then nodded lightly.

“Of course...” He said. Y/N looked at the pregnancy test in her hand.

“Then let’s see...” She said, standing up. Jeno looked up at her, still sitting down with wide eyes.

“Really?” He asked. Y/N nodded. Jeno stood up, smiling. “If we do have a child, we’re going to be the best parents in the world!” He walked out of the bathroom so that Y/N could take her time. After a few minutes, which felt like hours to Jeno, Y/N finally stepped out of the bathroom. Jeno looked at her, his heart beating faster.

“So...?” He asked, a little nervous and excited. At first, Y/N showed no emotion, but then a smile started to spread across her face and tears fell from the corner of her eyes as she nodded. Jeno felt a burst of excitement and happiness inside of him as he quickly went over to hug Y/N.

“I...I can’t believe it...!” Y/N said, sobbing into Jeno’s arms. Jeno smiled as tears fell out of the corners of his eyes.

“Y/N...we’re going to be parents...!” He exclaimed. He kissed her forehead. “Thank you for bringing me so much happiness, Y/N! I love you...so much!” Y/N giggled, wiping her eyes.

“I love you too, Jeno…”

“And happy birthday babe....” He said. “I, uh...I didn’t really get you a present...but we did go shopping last week, remember?”

“Jeno,” Y/N smiled. “It’s ok, because this right here...” She patted her stomach. “...is the perfect present.”

A month later, Y/N still can’t get over the fact that she’s pregnant. She was happy, of course, but she also felt nervous. It was her first time experiencing things like this. Jeno was also happy and a little nervous about being a dad, but his friends assured that he’ll be a good dad.

Y/N and Jeno told their friends and family right after they found out.

___________

[Mari 🍀]: I’m going to be an aunt already?! But I’m young!

[Y/N 🌸]: M, you’re 18

[Mari 🍀] EXACTLY!

____________

[Renjun 💥] Congrats Jeno! I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad before me!

[Haechan ☀️] I’m going to be their favorite uncle! Wait, what’s the gender? Is it a girl or boy?

[Jeno 💫] It’s a boy...

[Jaemin 😈] Well shit! I'm seriously going to have to help raise another kid?! Nah, just kidding, congrats Jeno!

[Chenle 🐬] I’m going to teach them Mandarin so we can both talk smack about you~! (jk, congrats!)

[Jisung 🐀]: ANOTHER BABY IN THE FAMILY?! I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO BE THE ONLY ONE?! But anyways, congrats! You’re going to be a dad!

[Jeno 💫]: I can't believe you crackheads are going to be my child’s uncles-

[Jaemin😈]: You love us tho

[Jeno 💫] Whatever

_____________

They were all excited about the new addition. Y/N and Jeno were the most excited. Y/N still has her morning sickness and goes to the doctor once a week for a check up. They were told that the baby was probably going to be due around April 24, about a day after Jeno’s birthday.

“Oh god, so if he’s born on that day, then we’re going to have to celebrate your birthday and then his,” Y/N said. Jeno smiled.

“What if he was born on my birthday though?” Jeno said.

“That would be nice,” Y/N mumbled. Around that week, Y/N stayed at the hospital just incase anything happens to her or the baby. Jeno couldn’t stay the whole day with her due to work, but he made sure to check up on her during his lunch break everyday. Until it was his birthday. He told Y/N that him and the boys were going out during his break to celebrate his birthday.

“That’s ok,” Y/N said. “Go have fun with the boys...I wish I was there to celebrate with you...” Jeno kissed her forehead.

“I’ll come later that day, ok?” He said. Y/N nodded and waited for him. It was getting late and Y/N was getting ready for bed when...

“Ah!” She screeched from pain. The nurses in the halls all scrambled into her room. Her baby was coming soon...

Jeno was on his way to go check up on Y/N when he got the call.

His heart started beating faster as he arrived at the hospital and raced to the room he was told that Y/N was at. He saw that the door was locked close, meaning that he couldn’t come in, so he stayed outside, waiting. He was inpatient, but he waited anyways. He was breathing heavily, nervous and excited.

In an hour or so, Jeno was finally going to be a dad! He constantly looked up at the clock on the wall, watching the time go by. The last time he looked at the clock, it was 11:11. Jeno closed his eyes.

‘I wish that my son is safe and healthy when he’s born.’ He wished in his head. Then a few minutes after, he heard crying sounds coming from the room. His eyes shot open and he stood up.

One of the nurses came out and smiled at Jeno. “Congratulations sir. You’re officially a dad.”

Jeno smiled widely. “Can...Can I go in?”

“They still have to clean up and stuff, but in a few minutes, you can,” The nurse replied.

“Thank you,” Jeno said, bowing. “Thank you so much!” And those minutes were some of the longest minutes in his life. But when the doctors came out and told him that he can go inside, he rushed in. Y/N was asleep and beside her bed was a very small crib. Inside was his baby. Jeno smiled softly. He sat at the seat next to Y/N’s bed and held her hand.

“Baby....” He whispered. Y/N slowly opened her eyes. He smiled at her and she returned his smile.

“Jeno…” She said. “Happy birthday!” She giggled and Jeno laughed lightly, being careful not to wake up the baby next to him.

“Thank you love,” He said, kissing her forehead. She looked over at the crib.

“What should we name him?” She asked.

“How about ‘Chul’?” Jeno asked.

“‘Chul’...that sounds like a good name...” Y/N sighed tiredly. “I’m sorry I don’t really have a present for you...” Jeno smiled, kissing her hand.

“Don’t worry about that babe, because this right here,” He pointed at the crib, “Is the perfect present.”

#neocaratnet #neowritingsnet #nct #nct dream #nct jeno #nct ff #nct fluff #nct angst #nct crack #jeno ff #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno crack #lee jeno #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream crack #nct dream jeno #finally done!

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werejusttouchingeachother · 4 years

Text

tqa – v.

genre: smut (m) words: 615

Jaehyun’s eyes immediately follow the dip of your back, raking over your sleeping form as he steps into the dark bedroom.

Practice had run later than usual today and you'd fallen asleep watching random videos on YouTube before feeling your eyes growing heavier and heavier as the hours ticked by, giving up on waiting for your boyfriend as you finally crawled under the covers. Although he'd usually be too tired once he got home, the way your bare thighs gleamed beneath the moonlight that filtered through the half-opened curtains had Jaehyun’s fingers reaching for you.

He hesitated when he got to the edge of the bed, staring down at your peaceful self as you laid on the bed. For a moment, he wonders if he should just go take a cold shower but all he can think of is how you'd drunkenly joked one night last week that you'd love to be awakened in a very unconventional way–a conversation that had started because Jaehyun had been reminiscing the morning when you'd woken him up with your mouth wrapped around his hardening length.

“I just think such morning favours should be returned,” you'd laughed, eyes twinkling with mischief as you had sipped the wine.

Your words echoing in his mind, he reaches slowly for the sheets that were tangled around your hardly covered body. Pulling the duvet away from your legs, Jaehyun sucks in a breath when he notices that you're not wearing any underwear.

Slowly, he crawls on top of you and trails his hand on the inside of your thighs. Being a deep sleeper, you don't stir even as he lightly traces his fingertips over the soft flesh. When he finally reaches in between your legs, Jaehyun can't help the startled sound he involuntarily lets out when he realises that you're slightly wet.

Slipping his finger in easily, your walls immediately clench around the digit and your boyfriend's eyes dart to your face, half-amused and half-surprised at how you're still sleeping soundly. Lowering his weight over your back, he settles more comfortably as he traces slow circles around the small bundle of nerves. He watches as your eyebrows furrow, a small noise sounding at the back of your throat as he kept teasing your clit.

Once you seemed slick enough, Jaehyun retrieved his finger that was glistening in the dark with your arousal and pulled out his erection that was painfully straining against his sweatpants.

There was something so incredibly sexy about this, about the way he was slowly pushing himself into your dripping pussy and Jaehyun wonders if you'd been as excited for him to wake up on that morning as he was waiting right now. He thrusts himself all the way in, groaning softly into your neck as he feels your warmth envelop him before slowly drawing back again. His hand slips beneath your shirt then, gripping your hips tighter as he began moving and your eyes flutter open, a loud moan escaping your lips.

Your fingers immediately clutch the sheets beneath you, his name a soft drowsy murmur on your tongue as you come to your senses, realising with a growing arousal what was happening as your boyfriend fucks the sleep out of you, quite literally. Breath growing shorter as he goes rougher, whines of his name fall from your mouth as your walls squeeze around his length.

Jaehyun hardly notices that you've fully waken up now, entirely too consumed by the delicious and addicting feeling of your pussy as he thrusts harder and you manage to push your own hips back into him, wanting to be filled up by him completely as he finally returned your sweet morning favour.

masterlist

#ncitynetwork #neocaratnet #cznnet #neowritingsnet #TQA #the quarantine anthology #tqa jaehyun #nct 127 #nct #nct 127 smut #nct smut #jung jaehyun #jaehyun smut #i hate this one

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d-nghy-ck · 4 years

Text

Peach Tea

Pairing: Haechan/Lee Donghyuck x Reader

Genre: Fluff, best friends to lovers, romance

Summary: Thoughts of the flavor of his lip balm do little else besides cloud your mind.

Word Count: 2k

Getting a crush on your best friend wasn't something you'd signed up for when you met a certain sun-kissed boy last summer. And yet, as you sprawl with him on the steps of your front porch on this warm, breezy day, you can't help but reconcile with the fact that you've fallen deeply for him. Starting out as teasing jokes and snide snickers, your admiration for him grew with the changing of the seasons, and suddenly as the year revolved around you, your mind spinning, you are met face to face with the reminder of a summer love and how much he means to you.

Donghyuck twists an uprooted clover blossom between his busy fingertips as he leans across your front porch steps, a smile on his lips. His mind is as idle as the hazy scene around him as he breathes in the sweet scent of flowers on the wind. Alongside him, you set your sights on the clouds above the canopy of trees before you. On a sultry day like today, with its warm glow of light and its air blanketing you in a warm, languid embrace, you hope to calm your nervous energy around the boy of your affections.

The mesmerizing kaleidoscope of swaying tree branches above allows a filter of speckled golden sunlight to shine down upon his wavy brown hair. He ponders for a moment with pouted lips before asking, "Do you like the flavor of matcha?"

You pull yourself out of your dreamy reprieve to consider his thoughtful side profile as he looks out across the field. "I do!" you reply simply, and he turns to study you with curiosity as you continue, "In fact, it's the flavor of my lip balm."

His eyes automatically drift down to glance at your lips before he nods and hastily looks away, the pace of his fidgeting with the flower between his fingertips increasingly hastened. "Oh, I never noticed. That's nice." He speaks low and wavering as the flower disintegrates in his hands.

"What's yours?"

"Mine is peach. I like it." He smiles softly, expression pensive as he tosses the remainder of the clover.

You hum in response as the space between you is filled with the sound of bees buzzing amongst the clovers beneath you and wind gusting between tree branches above you. Nervously, you continue to admire his form. He's so attractive like this, lost in his own world, his eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks when he blinks. He straightens up and leans back on his palms, stretching out his long legs across the stone path before him and his fingers tap on the wooden planks of the porch as he casts his gaze towards the sky. You wonder what it would be like to have him as yours. Oh, the amount of times you've considered how his steady, strong arms would wrap securely around you, how his playful giggle would sound at your ear, and now you know how his lips would taste -

Your train of thought is interrupted by a leaf floating slowly down upon him, catching in his hair. Your fingers jump hesitantly before reaching forward to pull it out of his wind-blown strands. Stirring beside you to meet your concentrated gaze, his quizzical expression implores you to wave the leaf in front of his eyes with a grin as he comes to an understanding of your sudden nurturing touches. With a giggle, you comb his golden brown hair back into place, paying attention to curling it around his ears just right, admiring how the tips grow red at your touch. When you pull back to see his eyes watching you attentively, you suddenly notice how close he's leaned in, even if only to assist your reach.

"Is there another leaf, or what?" he asks expectantly.

"Oh, no - I'm just fixing your hair. It looks silly." You continue to comb your fingers through the wayward strands that catch the currents of the passing breeze.

"Ah, you're so sweet," he coos. His moist lips catch a glimmer of light, and a thought occurs to you. Suddenly your heart is fit to burst as you're thrown into a whirlwind of intrusive ideas.

"Uh- " you open your mouth to speak, but you don't dare utter your immediate thoughts. Before you say anything brash, you mash your lips together and break eye contact in favor of looking back up at the trees, but he clues in to your obvious flustered avoidance like a bait.

"What were you going to say?" He leans toward you, teasing and frisky, and you already know you're doomed.

Heaving a deep sigh, your face feels on fire, and you're sure your embarrassment is written all over you. "I can't. It's too much."

"Oh, come on. You can tell me anything." His hand lifts to reach for yours where it rests on the porch, placing his warm palm over the back of your hand.

Rapidly, your heart rate thumps and you close your eyes in an attempt to concentrate on breathing, but his thumb slowly tracing the veins on the back of your hand doesn't help to calm you. You gulp before throwing out an excuse. "No, now that I've made it a big deal, I especially can't say it."

"Why's that?" The taunt in his voice sings through the air.

"Because you'll wonder why I care so much about it." Shaking your head, you pull your hand from beneath his and burry your face in your hands in an effort to hide how absolutely mortified you feel. "I'm so transparent, oh god."

You're met with the view of his inquiring gaze as he pulls your hands from your face to hold them in your lap, rubbing his hands back and forth over yours reassuringly, creating a warm friction. He puts on his best persuasive pout and whines out, "Pleeease." Tugging at your hands, he jostles you gently from side to side, and as much as you try to fight it, a grin creeps onto your lips at his silly, lighthearted gestures, eyes squeezing into crescents to match his. Even when he is unknowingly the source of the problem at hand, you can't deny that sometimes he's also the ideal solution. Nerves calming, you breathe deeply and relax your shoulders, attention downcast at your joined hands.

The silky slide of his fingers gently interlacing with yours feels so delicate and comforting, but you can't refuse the thrill as your stomach flips. You notice how perfect it looks - his hands slightly bigger than yours as they cradle you before giving an encouraging squeeze, and you look up to find him leaning in towards you, studying your features. "You're cute when you're like this, you know." His voice is inviting and accepting, and your heart soars.

Entranced by his gaze, you nod faintly. The way his eyes melt and his hair floats in the oncoming breeze only serves to throw you further into despair.

"So please," he continues. "I have to know what's got you so worked up."

You consider for a second, taking the opportunity to study his handsome features this closely for the first time. Hypnotized by the power of his radiating smile and deeply trusting gaze, you feel within you the growing courage to speak up. Without warning and beyond your will, your lips part to speak.

"You said I'm sweet... well, you're sweeter," you clearly state, attention focused on him unwaveringly as you continue. "After all, you taste like peaches and I taste like tea."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Donghyuck's movements on your hand halt and his lips part, slightly agape in surprise. Eyes wide and quivering, a flush blooms across his cheeks as realization hits. His close presence feels stifling as his eyes drop down to trace your lips. Peach-flavored breath tickles your skin as he closes the distance, leaning forward to catch your lips in his. The soft, moist glide of his satin lips clouds your thoughts as you're surrounded by the sweet aroma of floral stone fruit on top of your own herby balm. Relief overcomes you as you sink into the kiss, mind numb to all thoughts except those that revolve around him.

He pulls back just enough to lick his lips, his bright, exuberant eyes glinting. Hovering to only barely drag his lips against yours, he murmurs against you, "Tastes like peach tea," before pressing forward with added fervor, releasing an elated giggle muffled by your lips on his.

His hand squeezes yours so tightly, fingers intertwined, before softly floating up your arm to your cheek to brush his thumb lovingly in velvet-soft touches against your skin. The care with which he moves to cradle your face against his conveys just how much he covets you. His hand twists your hair at the nape of your neck and you press yourself into this summery boy, savoring his refreshing taste. Pulling back, you're rendered breathless as he matches the scene around him; the light filtering through the trees casts his deserving halo, his eyes glow with joy matched only by the sun, and his lips and cheeks are peachy like his taste.

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choerrypuffs · 4 years

Text

not another love song.

pairing: musician!jeno x waitress!reader

genre: fluff, just full of clichés and cheesiness

word count: 3.7k

synopsis: jeno has always just been the quiet (and cute) guy that sits next to you in your creative writing class, but a single open mic night changes everything.

author’s note: thank you so so so so much to the sweet @ncttrinities for this idea! everyone check out her works because she’s so talented and deserves the world 💕 the song jeno is singing is maybe by james arthur, but we’re just gonna pretend like jeno wrote it for the sake of the fic :)))))

Letting out a loud yawn, you drop your backpack on the floor and plop into your seat. The classroom is nearly empty, only a handful of people having shown up. Not that you blame the ones who decided to skip; everyone is coming back after spring break and if you had the luxury to party through its entirety, you wouldn’t have come either.

You take a long gulp of your iced coffee before reaching down and pulling out your notebook and black pen. Checking the time, you see that there’s still a couple of minutes before class starts. Sipping at your coffee, you slowly turn your chair to face the boy sitting next to you.

Lee Jeno is furiously typing away on his laptop, fingers clicking against the keyboard so swiftly that his hands are basically a blur. You watch him for a moment, amused by his ability to block out the things around him. His brows are furrowed, and you can see the tip of his tongue peeking out from the side of his lips.

“Good morning,” you say in a sing-song voice.

He jumps as if you shouted at him, hands freezing mid-type. Pushing his glasses up to his face, he turns to look at you and smiles shyly. “Morning, Y/N.”

When you first met Jeno at the beginning of the semester, you thought he hated you. He would never look you in the eye and seemed scared whenever you even slightly acknowledged him. However, he continued sitting next to you, and you finally realized after about two weeks that Jeno was just extremely timid. The two of you managed to strike up a friendship of sorts, though you don’t interact much outside of class. He’s still a little jumpy around you, and you normally have to initiate the conversation. However, Jeno is genuinely a sweet guy. It also doesn’t hurt that he is the dreamiest and most adorable person you’ve ever met.

He’s got raven black hair that frames his face perfectly and effortlessly, with sharp features that give him a chiseled look. His rough exterior is softened by his porcelain skin and angelic eye smile that can melt the coldest of hearts. He has the most endearing habit of scrunching up his nose as he pushes his glasses up, which he does often since his glasses constantly slide down. He’s always wearing a cozy sweater or a soft t-shirt, and he smells like fabric softener. There have been times where you’ve seriously debated on asking him if you could borrow a hoodie.

Lee Jeno is the walking dictionary definition of boyfriend material.

“How was your spring break?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Uneventful. I just slept, occasionally hung out with friends, and worked on the final for this class. You?”

“What else?” you groan. “Work, work, and more work. I also totally forgot about the final.”

“Well, you still have a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “what are you doing for it?”

Jeno fidgets, looking down at his hands. “Er, I’m, uh, writing a song.”

“That’s awesome, Jeno!” you exclaim, giving him a slap on the back.

“Thanks,” he says, blushing to high heaven. You’re grinning like a proud mother.

“Hey, the café I work at is having an open mic Friday night. You should totally perform!” you suggest.

“You’ve never even heard me sing. How do you know if I’m any good?” Jeno points out, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on. I don’t need to. I know you’re good,” you say confidently.

That gets him all embarrassed again. Rubbing the back of his neck, he mumbles, “Will you be there?”

“Hm?” You lean in closer, so you can hear him properly. He sharply inhales as you do, throwing himself back so hard that he nearly falls out of his seat. You give him a confused look as he coughs loudly.

“I said,” he says after clearing his throat, “um, will you be there? At the open mic?”

“Of course! Where else would I be?” you snort. “If I’m not on campus, then I’m at work.”

Jeno hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, before finally saying, “Well, I guess I’ll see you there.”

“Really?” you say excitedly. “I can’t wait! You’re gonna be amazing!”

He goes to say something else, but is interrupted by the professor walking in. The class starts to stir as people begin pulling out their materials. You also focus your attention to the front as the professor takes attendance. He turns his gaze back to his laptop as well, but he can’t fight the giddy smile tugging at his lips.

Luckily, you don’t notice.

“It’s really not that funny, Renjun,” Jeno says wryly.

Huang Renjun, Jeno’s best friend (unfortunately at times, especially now) is nearly choking on his lunch, laughing so hard that tears are forming in his eyes. “No, it really is that funny. You are so pathetic, Jeno.”

Jeno half-heartedly tosses a potato chip at him, wishing it isn’t true. “I don’t want to hear that from you, asshole.”

“So, let me get this straight. For your final, you’re writing a song about the girl you like, who just so happens to sit next to you in that very class. And then, that said girl unknowingly invited you to perform it at her place of work. And then, you agreed. To perform the song you wrote about her...to her,” Renjun enunciates.

“Thank you for spelling it out. Say it louder so the whole cafeteria can hear you,” Jeno replies sarcastically.

“And you’re still not going to ask her out? The universe is giving your lame existence this golden opportunity, and you’re going to throw it away?” Renjun exclaims.

“Believe it or not, I don’t enjoy getting rejected,” Jeno responds, rolling his eyes.

“How do you know she’ll reject you? You may be an absolute idiot, but she won’t be getting a terrible deal,” Renjun says seriously.

“Wow, that makes me feel a lot better. I appreciate it, Renjun.”

“Oh my God, just grow a pair and ask her on one damn date,” Renjun yells, exasperated.

Jeno doesn’t respond, opting to take a long gulp of his soda. He knows that everything Renjun said is true; Jeno is just too much of a coward to do anything about it.

He has had a crush on you ever since you sat next to him on the very first day of class. You were so breathtakingly beautiful (and still are) when you smiled at him and introduced yourself. It’s cheesy to say, but he really did feel like he was in a rom-com film for a moment—the part where everything goes in slow-motion while generated wind blows through the female lead’s hair as a halo of light surrounds her, which thus makes the male lead fall in love immediately.

Jeno never believed in love at first sight; he only pretended like he did for the sake of writing songs. But when he found himself writing songs about you, he realized that he had become the very thing he used to think was total bullshit. Every time he’s around you, he just melts and becomes putty in your hands. All it takes is one bright smile, like sunshine after a long storm, and his brain is mush for you. He adores how you’re unabashedly yourself, yet you don’t know how lovely you are.

When you asked him to perform at the open mic, he wanted to say no. But for some reason, he didn’t. It wasn’t like you pressured him or anything. You had simply asked, yet he couldn’t bring himself to say no to you. In fact, he was even happy that he was going to be able to see you outside of class.

The song that he wrote for the final was supposed to be his confession to you—a confession that he never wanted you to hear. The irony is too cruel; it’s like the universe is playing a sick joke on him rather than giving him an opportunity.

But it’s so obvious that you don’t even have the slightest clue about his feelings, much less reciprocate them (but that’s one of the reasons why he fell for you). Jeno is okay with that, or at least that’s what he tells himself. It’s more so that he’s afraid of ruining what semblance of a friendship he as with you. He’d rather be your friend than nothing at all.

You really are pathetic, Lee Jeno, he thinks.

Friday nights are always hell at the café.

If all of the wild frat boys and sorority girls are at the bars, all of the pretentious humanities majors who think they’re too good for partying show up here. Instead of throwing back shots of tequila, they’re throwing back shots of espresso.

To be honest, there are times where you wish you were dealing with the frat boys and sorority girls instead.

Checking your watch, you see that it’s 7:45 PM, and Jeno still hasn’t arrived yet. The open mic starts at 8, so it’s not like he’s late. You’re not sure why you’re so restless. It doesn’t really affect you one way or another if he does or doesn’t show up, even though he did say he was going to come when you asked him about it in class this morning. You wonder if Jeno would find it strange that you seem to care this much for absolutely no reason.

You don’t have time to dwell on it any further because your manager screams at you to stop daydreaming and start clearing tables. His sharp words snap you out of your thoughts, like being doused with ice water. Apologizing, you quickly get back to work.

As it gets closer to the start of the open mic, more and more customers flood in. The café is at its busiest, and all thoughts of Jeno are abruptly kicked out of your mind. You’re in the middle of balancing two full trays of empty cups on your arms when you hear someone tapping the microphone at the front, clearing their throat.

“Alright, everyone. Welcome to our monthly open mic night,” your manager drawls monotonously. “Thank you for coming, we are very excited to have you.”

His words are met with scattered applause and a single whoop. You can’t help but roll your eyes as you place all of the dirty cups into the sink. Your manager introduces the first act, and with that, the open mic is officially underway. You don’t really pay attention to any of the performances, too occupied with washing the dishes and wiping tables to care. You do your best to take advantage of everyone being distracted and try get as many chores done as possible, so it won’t take as long when it’s time for closing.

All of the performers come and go seemingly within seconds of each other, and before you know it, it’s already time for the final act.

“And last, but definitely not least, please give a warm round of applause to Lee Jeno.”

You nearly drop the plate that you’re scrubbing, doing a double-take. You had been so focused on work that you completely forgot about him. Quickly yanking off your soapy rubber gloves, you clap along with the audience as you tip-toe to an empty seat in the very back.

Jeno slowly rises from a table, glancing back at his friends who are with him. He gets a couple of slaps on the ass from them, making you giggle under your breath. Taking his acoustic guitar and strapping it around him, he climbs up on stage and situates himself on the wooden stool. There’s a couple seconds of silence as he awkwardly adjusts the microphone stand to his height.

“Um, hi. So, I’m going to be singing a song that I wrote today,” Jeno pauses, glaring at his friends who are doing an extremely poor job of containing their laughter. “I hope you guys enjoy.”

Clearing his throat, he strums his guitar before leaning forward and beginning to sing. His voice is a little shaky, probably because he’s nervous, but it’s a warm sound—comforting and gentle, just like him. It feels like being enveloped by fluffy clouds, or an extremely soft hug.

“—and I love how you're so forward. Is it too soon to say I'm falling?” Jeno’s eyes wander as he looks into the crowd, slightly squinting at the stage lights in his face. It’s actually quite cute, you think to yourself.

But then he finally finds you, his gaze locking onto you like a magnet meeting its other half.

Jeno continues to sing, but all of a sudden, everything feels different. He’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. Like he’s serenading you and you alone. Like this song is meant for you.

Your surroundings seemingly fade away, and it’s as if you’re right in front of him now. The stage lights are no longer a hindrance to him anymore. In fact, they cast a glow on him that makes him look like he descended down from the heavens itself. Perhaps it’s a little dramatic to say, but it feels like time has stopped for the both of you. Like you and him are in a different world together.

And why did he look so ethereal?

Jeno has always been handsome, but today feels strange. Your stomach has tied itself into a big knot, and your heart is stuck in your throat. You feel heat on your face and a buzzing in your ears. What the hell is happening to you? This is Jeno, sweet and adorable Jeno, you’re ogling. Sure, Jeno is perfect boyfriend material but the kind that only exists in movies. Not something tangible, especially for you.

This is bad, you think, this is very bad.

“So maybe, maybe we were always meant to meet. Like this was somehow destiny...”

Your mind is telling you one thing, but your heart is feeling another thing. It’s never like this in the movies. Falling for someone is supposed to be a dazzling experience, with rose petals everywhere and church bells ringing—not a confused, jumbled mess that’s tearing you apart from the inside.

Oh God, did you just admit to have fallen for Jeno?

“All I know is that I feel it, like it's the realest thing, I mean it.”

With one last strum of his guitar, the song ends. Everyone else around you claps with vigor, Jeno having easily garnered the loudest applause during the entire night (and well deserved, of course). You sit there numbly, the loud clapping and shouts of praise being merely white noise for you. How are you going to face him now, having managed to develop a massive crush on him within the span of a three-minute song? How shallow is that? Jeno deserves so much better.

Subconsciously, your hand finds the area right over your heart as you feel it racing against your chest. No matter how hard you try to even out your breathing, it doesn’t slow. In fact, it quickens as you keep your gaze on Jeno.

He’s rejoined his friends at their table, a nervous smile on his face. They’re all congratulating him and giving him more slaps on the ass, but he’s not really paying attention. He turns, meeting your eyes for just a second, before he gets bombarded by a horde of people. They’re speaking excitedly to him, most likely impressed (and wooed in some cases) by his song. Both males and females in the crowd are eyeing Jeno suggestively, and it makes you feel strangely possessive of him.

The feeling is short-lived, however, since you quickly pull yourself together and slip into the back to finish washing the dishes.

Tonight has just been weird, and everything will be normal again tomorrow, you tell yourself.

Or at least you hope.

You don’t really remember anything else you did after you finished washing the dishes, having been in a daze the entire time, but you somehow find yourself outside and locking up the café. You’d like to think your muscle memory didn’t fail you and that you did everything you needed to do, since your brain has been on the fritz.

Looking up at the night sky, you wonder if there’s a full moon tonight and that’s why you’ve been acting so strange. You’re surprised to see that there’s almost no moon, or rather, a new moon.

“Y/N?”

“Fuck!” you yelp so loudly that it makes the other person cry out in surprise as well.

Jeno stumbles backwards, nearly falling onto his ass. His eyes are wide as he stares at you in half fear and half surprise. He’s wearing a cute colorblock hoodie with ripped black jeans and his guitar case strapped to his back. His black hair is slightly tousled from the wind, which makes him look ten times more attractive for some reason.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you gasp, giving him a light shove.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, “I just wanted to walk you to the bus station since it’s dark and stuff. Unless you don’t want me to, of course! Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“That’s very nice of you, Jeno,” you reply, your annoyance immediately dissolving. “You didn’t have to wait though. I do this every night.”

“I know. I just...wanted to.”

You smile and nod at him, beginning to walk. He matches your pace but maintains a safe distance between your bodies. “Sorry, I didn’t get to talk to you before you went on.”

“No worries. You looked pretty busy,” he says. “Did you even notice me?”

“No,” you admit sheepishly, “not until they said your name.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I figured.”

“You did really great though,” you grin, bridging the gap between the two of you and nudging him with your elbow. “Don’t tell anyone else I said this, but you were by far the best one out of all of the performances.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” he says softly, smiling wistfully at you.

“You know, you have quite the stage presence,” you blurt out, suddenly feeling flustered. “When you were singing and looking at me, I felt like I was the only person in the room. Like you were singing the song just for me. Not everyone can do that. I think you’re going to land a record deal in no time and become a total heartthrob. Just remember me when you’re famous though! I’m technically the one who got you your first ever gig.”

You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore, but you can’t seem to stop. Jeno has fallen quiet, listening to you blab while maintaining a neutral expression on his face as he politely waits for you to shut up. You eventually do, wishing you could sew your mouth shut. There’s a stretch of silence that feels much longer than it actually is before he clears his throat.

“Y/N.”

“Mhm?” You decide to respond only with a sound, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I—I wasn’t going to tell you this, like ever. But I think the universe is truly giving my lame existence an opportunity,” Jeno starts, taking a small step closer. There’s still a couple of inches between you and him, but it’s the closest you’ve ever been to each other.

You really hope that your bewildered face is pretty because you have no idea what he’s trying to say right now.

“I like you, Y/N. I’ve liked you since the beginning of the semester, when you first introduced yourself to me. The song that I sang tonight is written about you, and I am completely aware of how creepy that probably sounds, but I feel like you should know. And I know that you don’t like me back or anything; I’m not trying to pressure you or burden you, just keep treating me like you always have. I just wanted to be brave for once,” Jeno confesses, exhaling in both relief and disbelief when he finishes.

Your heart swells at his words, and you realize that you’ve liked him all this time too. You had just never allowed yourself to acknowledge it, tucking it away in the deepest corner of your heart in fear of him being out of your league. Unbeknownst to you, the song was his first confession and your heart had already responded.

“And what if I do?” you whisper.

“Do—do what?”

“Like you back?”

Jeno doesn’t say anything. You can see the gears turning in his head as he registers what you just said. It makes you wish you had realized your feelings sooner when you see how his eyes light up with happiness. He smiles that divine eye smile before wetting his lips, taking another step closer to you and placing a hand on your waist as he pulls you closer.

“Then, could I kiss you?” he asks, his other hand coming up to run his fingers through your hair as he cradles your cheek.

You don’t answer, instead smiling and rising on your tip-toes to meet his lips. The kiss is sweet, and he tastes like a vanilla latte. Your senses are being overwhelmed by his taste, his scent, and the way his arms are wound tightly around you. It’s a dizzying and intoxicating mix, but you don’t ever want it to stop.

When Jeno finally pulls away, your disappointment is slightly curved when you suddenly remember something you’ve always wanted to ask him.

“Weird question, but could I borrow one of your hoodies sometime?”

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #ncitynetwork #neocaratnet #nct imagines #nct scenarios #jeno fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagines #jeno #nct #choerrypuffs

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ceruleanskies · 4 years

Text

what happens in mykonos... (j.jh)- preview

details: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers!au, holidaymakers!au, a song fic based on ‘summer 127′ by nct 127!

genre: romance, fluff, (very slight) angst, an instalment of a collab hosted by @neo-cult-ure

pairing: nct’s jaehyun x fem!reader

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, smut (fingering, oral, heaps of dirty talk, heavy making out, protected sex (don’t be a fool, cover your tool) ), mentions of infidelity.

“Have you ever seen a sunrise, Y/N?” Jaehyun asked you, the sound of his voice making you look in his direction. He was bathed in the golden light of the sunrise that cast a warm glow over his flawless face. It was an effort to tear your eyes away from him and focus your gaze on the rising sun. You shook your head truthfully; the location of your flat back home meant that you would never see the sunrise because the buildings obstructed your view of it.

“It’s always been on my bucket list, though,” You replied. A smile appeared on Jaehyun’s face.

“I’m glad I was able to help with that.”

You smiled in response to his comment. You rested your head on his shoulder and took in his scent. The delicate fragrance of the cologne he was wearing wafted up your nostrils and was a perfect fit for him.

“It’s beautiful,” You breathed, watching as the night sky faded into the oranges and yellows that the sun brought along with it. Jaehyun gave a hum in response, absentmindedly tracing circles onto the back of your hand. The pair of you stayed on the beach like that until your eyelids became droopy and you had to fight to keep your eyes open.

“C’mon sleepyhead. We should get back to the hotel.”

a/n: here’s the teaser! this is very different to what my usual works are like but i hope you all still enjoy it! i’m still writing it as this is being uploaded but i’m really excited to share this!

projected word count: 12-15k

upload date: cerca 7th august

want to be added to the tag-list? send me an ask or reply to this post!

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #neocaratnet #kwritersworldnet #nct smut #nct x reader #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct x you #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenario #jeno fanfic #nct jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x you

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holdhyuckshand · 4 years

Text

[10:20 p.m.]

You wish you could say you didn’t know how you ended up like this, a foot of space the only thing separating you and Mark, a man you know only well enough to know he’s no match for you in this regard. He seems too sweet, naive even, with his pink cheeks and earnest expression. Still, you lean closer, and ignore the collective intake of breath from the circle surrounding you. Watching you.

Normally, you’d hate an audience, want something private, intimate, but this isn’t romance. This is a game. As bad as you feel for the boy who thinks he can win, you aren’t about to back down.

What’s a reputation worth if you can’t follow it through?

Maybe Donghyuck suggested the game as a way to test you, see if the competitive spirit you were known for around the friends group had any truth to it. Maybe the tilt to his brow and annoyance in his eyes is because he’d rather it be him instead of Mark. Or maybe him instead of you.

Slowly, your heavy gaze slides back to the boy steadily pressing closer, to the nervous jump of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, and the way his breath shakes a little bit, and how he remains resolutely focused on your lips no matter how you try to catch his eye.

You can’t tell if it’s desire or distress caught between the darker flecks in his iris.

All the same, you tilt his chin lower, feel his warm breath against your lips.

“Mark,” you begin, trailing your vision over the sharp contours of his cheekbones, how his brows sweep upwards like he’s eternally surprised, counting every long eyelash with envy, and continue, “I don’t want to kiss you unless you want me to, but I’m not going to back down. Step away if you don’t want this.”

Mark squeaks something unintelligible, earning some laughter from the friends waiting with bated breath to see the victor, and you grin barely. It really does seem unfair that they pitted him, of all people, against you.

“Alright, then,” you murmur, and close your lips over his chapped ones. You find it cute, how he closes his eyes at the contact. Be it muscle memory or otherwise, something about it makes you want to giggle. You don’t.

It happens exactly as you expected, so you don’t know why you’re disappointed when he doesn’t kiss you back. His lips are soft, though, pleasant and malleable when you suck lightly on his pout. You don’t pull away, but you take it slowly, lest you cross a line with a boy too stubborn to admit he’s bound to fail.

Fifteen seconds pass, and you grow bored with what little challenge he poses. “You’re out of your depth, dude. No one will fault you for backing off,” you mutter quietly, still close enough for him to feel every word.

Having yet to close your eyes, you look down at the breathspan between your mouths, something familiar tingling down your spine at the sight of the sheen you left on his lips, glossy and pretty. By the time your gaze makes it back to his, there’s a blush high on his cheeks so red you ponder for a second whether he’s breathing, but the unsteady rise of his chest beneath your hand answers that.

Then you note his eyes.

They’ve hardened with something just on the heady side of determination, and he waits just long enough for surprise to reach your own expression before his hands find a home on your cheeks, and he presses back into you.

Before you’ve had the chance to find your bearings, his tongue pushes easily past your lips, soft and gentle as he invites himself inside of your mouth. There’s too much passion in the kiss for a stranger, and suddenly you’re rocking back on your heels, eyes slipping shut when he gathers himself enough to put up a fight.

Maybe he doesn’t know how to kiss any other way than with his whole body, and that’s why he moves one hand from your cheek to guide you closer with a hand at your back, why he wraps his arms loosely around your waist and all but dives into you. The thought melts something in your chest, something you didn’t know was tough and resistant in the first place until it was nothing more than goo sliding between Mark’s fingers.

It’s almost enough for you to forget where you are and what you’re doing, to remember anything other than the intensity of Mark’s kiss when his tongue massages yours, and when it flicks over the sensitive ridges of your palate.

Luckily enough, that nifty little reputation you’ve got isn’t for show, and you’ll be damned if you let a puppy like Mark be the one to take the crown from you.

Your hands fist in his hair and you find yourself backing him up, taking control as much as you can when he has your mouth at his every whim. As good as his tongue is, he’s sloppy with his teeth, and they clack against yours every few steps until the backs of his knees hit the couch. You leverage your weight onto your hands and push, swallowing his surprised sound when he finds himself sat below your thighs. The thought of coaxing sounds from him, as easy as that seems to be from something as simple as kissing, is not lost on you. The opposite, actually. It rattles in your head so much that for a second you lose yourself to the desire to chase it.

The vantage point you’ve gotten allows you to take control back over the kiss, tilt his chin up with hands just below his jaw, stroke your thumb over the vein in his neck. However, straddling his thighs may have been a mistake, as you find yourself more than slightly distracted by how they flex underneath you.

Not to be outdone, and with a grit you’re both impressed and irritated by, Mark spreads his knees so that you’re forced lower, tangles a hand in your hair and pulls until you have to crane your neck back. He sets upon your neck with abandon, determination now accompanied by lust, and you can’t tell if it's for you, or the win, or both.

The others in the room have fallen completely silent, and at this point you’ve all but forgotten they are there.

Admittedly, begrudging as it may be, Mark’s good. He’s good with his hands, with how he forces you to settle on his legs so that you’re flush against him, with his lips and with his tongue and, fuck, you’re more affected than you intended to be.

But you won’t lose. You won’t.

Your excitement doesn’t go unnoticed, as Mark has his lips poised directly over your pulse, intoxicated by it’s steadily increasing pace, and how beautiful you look above him. You’re just as inebriated as him, both of you close to your limit, panting slightly from the depth of his kisses.

But you have one last trick up your sleeve, one you’ve never had to use before.

He follows willingly when you guide him to one of your favorite sweet spots. The new angle has your nose pressed to his temple, and your breath stutters when he laves his tongue over heated skin.

A little embarrassment joins your lust, enough to leave you a bit flustered despite it being your idea in the first place, when you moan. Skin against skin, you know he can feel it resonate in your chest, the ghost of it fluttering the hair over his ear. The tips of which instantly turn a heavy crimson, and Mark’s hands squeeze hard over your hips before he pulls back as if he’s been burned.

“I give up!” he yelps, an amusing, endearing mix of squeaky and gravelly that has you laughing above him, body shaking with the force of your giggles. You slide off him quickly, not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable than he already must be, his face in his hands and his inhales few and far between.

“Chicken,” you gloat, before softening more than you’re used to. You reach to fix his hair, ignoring the rowdy shrieks and shouts of your friends. “For what it’s worth, you put up a better challenge than most,” you offer the praise gently, testing to see if he’s okay.

The ruckus is lost on Mark too, as you remain his sole focus. The look of his eyes once he lowers his hands catches you off guard, steals your breath in the best way.

A few hours later, once everyone else has wound down for the night, Mark backs you against the kitchen counter after you’d gone for a late night snack. You accept his proposal of a rematch gleefully, enticed by the idea of a second victory, and the memory of how he felt on your skin, tasted on your lips.

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starjeno · 4 years

Text

destined | l.mh | 3

genre: fluff | soulmate!au, genderswap!au pairing: student!mark x female!reader warnings: bad words? word count: 1973 summary: it’s a fact of life that soulmates swap bodies. when mark wakes up in a bed that isn’t his, he’s delighted. you, on the other hand, absolutely despise it. a/n: filler chapter, sorry! and i know it’s been a while since i’ve posted. also, i gave the roommate a name finally.

the sunset filtering through your curtains fills the room with hazy light. it’s soft and golden and comforting, but it does little to placate your roommate. her arms remain crossed over her chest as you pace by the mini-fridge nervously, waiting for this interrogation to end.

“okay, but what did yuta say?” she’s already somehow familiarized herself with the names of the people involved, and while it took some time for her to get used to your new appearance, she currently seems to have grown accustomed to it. you groan, “i told you, yuta likes this whole thing. he just ignored me and then said that i should take mark into consideration.”

“why can’t mark take you into consideration instead?” she retorts. you huff, “i told you this too! mark also thinks i like this whole thing!”

“well? do you?”

you can’t help the hesitation that bubbles up in your throat when you think about the events of earlier. the rapid beating of your heart and the heat in the tips of your ears and the strange familiarity that accompanied each of mark’s words — he felt like a missing puzzle piece, like someone you loved in a past life, and you didn’t like how you unconsciously gravitated towards him as he spoke.

then again, you only saw him for a few hours, so maybe you’re overexaggerating. you shake your head firmly, “i don’t! you know that! i don’t want any of this!”

she gives you an unplaceable look, her eyes filled with contemplation, before groaning and sitting up, “let’s go out to eat. you’ve had a rough day.”

“you’ll pay?”

“yeah,” she sighs, running a hand through her hair, “i don’t want you to confuse the cashier with your credit card info. let’s get out of here.”

it’s a blessing that your roommate has kun. she’s accumulated enough of his clothing that your new body has a decent selection to choose from. though the clothes all fit loosely, you figure tucking your dress shirt into your pants and looping a belt tightly through should make sure your outfit is secure. she stands in the doorway as she watches you change, blushing feverishly when she associates your initial meeting with yuta with the boxers that now hug you snugly.

“where do you feel like eating?”

you hum in thought as you grab a cap, “honestly? kun’s place. he makes such good food.”

she rolls her eyes before dialing her boyfriend’s number on the phone. it rings for a few seconds until the line clicks and you hear a deep voice fill the speaker, “what’s up? you only call at this time when you’re hungry. or horny. or both. please don’t be both.”

“uh, just hungry. also, ____ and i have something we should tell you,” she mumbles, “i’ll be over in five.”

she hangs up before looking over to me and sighing, "i'll do your hair."

as you sit down in front of a mirror and watch your roommate squeeze out a frightening amount of gel onto her palm, you can't help but think about mark again. it's hard not to since his face is the reflection and it shines with a bright optimism that you currently lack. you attempt a half-hearted smile to make his features seem pleasant; it feels wrong when his face frowns.

meanwhile, the girl behind the chair slicks your hair in a neat quiff, sparing a few strands to fall onto your forehead casually. you look handsome, and you're somewhat pleased that kun's first impression of your soulmate will be great on terms of looks.

not that you cared particularly. you don't. you aren't even sure you know what a mark is, much less feel as if others should approve of him.

"there, let's go," she hums, wiping her hands off with a towel and spritzing some floral scent on the two of you before walking out. you follow reluctantly.

kun's apartment is cute and filled with small plants that are groomed to perfection. little canvases with a dramatic ink strokes line the walls above the television and couches, and pens are littered in the corners of every room. there's even a pen tucked into the pocket of the man himself, who is still in the ironed dress shirt he went to work in.

his smile radiates as the two of you walk into the hall, but you can sense the air tension rise, “mina and . . . a friend?”

“ha ha, very funny, kun. you won’t believe who this is,” your roommate grins as you two sit down. kun pauses for a bit before backing into his kitchen, grabbing a spare pan to add on top of the stove, thinking, “uh, a cousin? your long-lost brother? i thought ____ was coming over.”

“exactly,” she huffs before motioning over to you, “meet mark, or better known as ____ in mark’s body.”

kun gasps and points the pan at you accusingly, laughter lacing his voice, “oh my god, you fucking swapped?”

you grin and place a hand to drag the pot down, “i know, it’s crazy.”

“at least he’s cute,” the dimpled boy chuckles, sighing in disbelief. he definitely knew you well.

“agreed,” you smile a bit and your roommate shoots you a short-lived glare before looking at kun, “so we came here to destress from such a horrific event by eating your food.”

“that sounds like a plan . . . ,” he muses, a small smile growing on his face as he takes out cooking oil, “you guys can just chill, and i’ll have something cooked up in ten.”

as soon as you pull your phone out, a notification slides onto a screen. you bite your lip as the social messaging app displays the message of a new follower, and when you hold down for more details, you instantly recognize the handle.

mark. he must've searched you up, and if he's managed to follow you on here, he's probably found all your socials by now. as if on cue, you see three more notifs slide gracefully on your phone, beaming with a new friend request. you aren’t sure if you’re happy or annoyed, or a bit of both, but you hold down and open the app to find a new direct message awaiting your approval.

mark1ee (online): hi! sorry if this is creepy but i figured we’re friends now, so...

good lord. you bite your lips to keep from laughing at his shyness, finding it adorable, and avert your eyes from your phone. mina glares at you quizzically, raising a brow as if to ask what you’re amused at, but you simply shake your head emphatically and begin to type back.

you: how’d you know my last name? there’s probably more than one ____ out there. mark1ee is typing . . .

"here, some cheesy ass lasagna. i put, like, five different kinds of cheese in there, or just whatever was in my fridge.” kun slides two plates to you and your roommate and grabs the nearest chair to sit. he looks at you as you tentatively poke at the stuffing, “i didn’t poison it, you know.”

“shut up, i’m critiquing it!” you laugh as you place a food-filled fork in your mouth, smiling at the instant flavor, “whoa, i forgot how good you are at this.”

he lowers his brows as he smiles, “you mean you forgot my job is in the culinary arts?”

you face downwards as kun strikes up a conversation with your roommate and glance at the notification on your phone. it doesn’t take a moment of hesitation for you to swipe and check mark’s message.

mark1ee (online): i checked the profile pictures. it would be a lot easier to make sure i’m contacting the right person if i had your number ;) you: how smooth. how do i know this is the mark i met earlier today? mark1ee (online): already asking for pics? damn. mark1ee sent a photo mark1ee (online): i forgot that it’s basically just a pic of you lmao :/ now pls send #

you snort and look up to find your roommate and kun staring at you intently. you wave your hand dismissively, "funny meme, sorry."

they give you a strange look before resuming the conversation, and you hide your phone under your leg before digging into the meal before you.

"so, what's going on?"

at the question, yuta sighs as mark walks in, his hand rubbing a towel through his wet hair, "winwin is coming back early. a week early."

"are you not excited?" mark quips. the older male tiredly grins, "i'm excited, believe me. but i'm worried that i won't pay enough attention to your switch."

mark frowns, the wrinkles ruining the feminine face, "i'll be fine. she just sent me her number!"

he takes a seat by yuta and faces the flatscreen in front, his glossy eyes reflecting the bright lights of the video game. yuta glances at his long lashes and soft brows for a moment before resuming the screen, "damn, good job. maybe you have enough game to survive without me."

"wha- fuck you! and you'll still be here!" mark laughs, picking up the other controller.

"i'm running away with winwin, by the way," yuta jokes. he lets mark join the round before pressing the buttons again, "now that you have her number, what are you going to do? ask her on a date?"

mark freezes. he hadn't even thought of what to do, and right now, yuta feels like a personal certified love guru. what a great fucking idea! before he could spend more time admiring yuta's genius, mark drops the controller and sends a new text to you, hoping for a stroke of luck.

he didn't really need luck though. he had literally found his soulmate that morning.

you: wanna go on a date? nctzn (online): how would i get clothes, doof? i'm wearing my roomie's bf's shit now :/ you: well, keep wearing them and i'll buy myself a dress? i don't care what you wear though, i'm not a great dresser.

mark is lying to his new form. he had always considered himself as someone with a good eye for outfits and color coordination. he sighs as the green dot by your profile that signifies your online presence fades away, and he figures he should probably find another way to pass the time while you’re offline. yuta waits expectantly, “well?”

“clothing’s an issue. and i don’t even know where i should take her,” mark grins, “it’s going to feel so weird, like going on a date with myself? trippy.”

“you’ll survive, it’s not like you’re ugly,” yuta sighs as he rolls his eyes with exasperation. mark doesn’t respond. he’s too preoccupied with the idea of you to even process yuta’s words. he’s never felt so giddy about a girl before — even his middle school crushes never got him feeling this jittery. conversation with you flowed so smoothly, and even mark knew how strange it was to feel this way after one conversation.

he’s glad you reciprocate his feelings. everything’s he heard about soulmates seems to be true: you fit him well. mark knows he should be a little more hesitant, but this is finally a dream come true. you’re a dream come true.

you: let’s go on a date tmrw then? nctzn (online): ok why not

mark glances up at the bright orange sky. the sun has only just started to set and the evening barely grazes the warm colors. are you just as happy as he is now? is your head filled with thoughts of him, the same way he can’t stop thinking about you?

mark’s pauses, not sure if he should dare to think his next question, but the idea floats in his head anyway and he turns pink with embarrassment.

yuta turns away, silent.

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