#self-indulgent oc moment once more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoseoksluna · 7 days

Text

ROSÉ | jjk

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x wine!oc

genre: smut

word count: 5.7k

summary: on your first dinner date, your boyfriend brings you a small gift—too bad you're too horny to appreciate it.

pinterest board: wine

warnings: a bit of drunkenness, a mention of inner child healing, oc teases jungkook and oc is horny as fuck, dom/sub dynamics, wine!jk, provider jk..., daddy issues, punishment, spanking, food used during intercourse, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), dirty talk, a mention of a sex toy & a mention of a plushie in a sexual context, raw sex, brattiness, jk and oc smoke together

note: OH GOD—IT'S FINALLY HERE. SLFJSLDFJS. A REQUESTED DRABBLE about wine!oc and jungkook. this was so fucking fun to write and i was so hot and bothered from this that i had to take a break............ yeah uhm anyways, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. ENJOY READING AND LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ANONYMOUSLY IN MY INBOX. I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS. PLS AND THANK YOU. ₊˚⊹♡

side note: jk in the first pic made me fucking die. and other things....

The rosy pink nectar has, undeniably, gone to your head.

Your empty wine glass is illuminated by the setting sunlight spilling past your shoulder, reaching its yellow, warm fingers to the tips of your boyfriend’s that rest lazily on the white cloth of the table. You’re woozy, in a lighthearted mood—so much that even the world has lost its heft and all you can sense is the sluggish process of your absorption. You’re engrossed in the way the spring coalesces with the beginning of summer—in the warm evening wind ruffling your curls, tickling your bare shoulders, in the darkening hues of the sky, pinks and violets, in the gray smoke of Jungkook’s cigarette interlacing with the slightly sultry air. You can see it in his eyes, the unfolding of it all. And perhaps you’re tipsy or perhaps you’re just brazenly and foolishly falling in love, because you’re aware that if the man weren’t sitting in front of you, none of these things wouldn’t have caught your attention in such a devastatingly profound way.

He has made you feel so safe. By simply and beautifully laying his feelings bare. To you and for you. Created a haven for you to dwell in, for you to grow in and explore all the dark and light corners of you that have merely seldom seen the face of the sun. How could you not indulge in a little bit of alcohol, when you’re protected in that place of security? Let your girlishness swim a little, refresh herself, enjoy herself?

You’re glowing. You always had been, but your shimmers have gained a new intensity to their twinkles, keeping Jungkook’s liquid stars warm and taken care of inside of you. Their blunt points have carved you into someone else entirely, too. Joyous, cool-headed and absolutely and irrevocably self-assured. Fearless. And his hands have reached deep within and caressed the head of your inner child, healing her and washing her clean, giving her everything she ever lacked. Love, attention, care and validation. Whenever you remember that you never wanted him to get a glimpse of your soul, bile rises in your throat and your stomach hurts.

He saved you. Healed you. Through and through. Gave you his control.

It stirs your never-ending awe that he has managed to do this in a month, and you want to celebrate it. You think now is quite the perfect occasion for it as it’s your first dinner date since you’ve become exclusive. Having spent most of your time at each other’s places fucking, partying and fucking some more, it’s nice to be out, alone with him, that is—and it’s nice as fuck to be out with your boyfriend. The sex has become so different with the label and the rawness of his feelings. And the thing about Jungkook that gets you the most, that strengthens the realm he invented for you, is that once his emotions overflow, the stream of its wine doesn’t stop pouring. The moment he confessed his love for you, ever since then you sense it expressed in everything he does—in the way he greets you in the day, in his tight, burning embrace, in the tenderness with which he holds your hand or kisses it, the relentless, great thought and consideration he puts in the choices he makes for you on the daily. Whether it’s the fatuous things he buys you that mean the world to you, the way he never neglects bunny and incorporates her in everything you do together or… the sex.

Fuck, the sex alone has taken over your life so vividly and drastically that it consumes your brain. There, in that environment, is where the wine of his emotions is the raciest. He’s not ashamed to cry, letting those liquid pearls trickle down your collarbones, quenching the thirst of his liquid stars as he fucks you dumb and enjoys every second of it. He’s not afraid to be loud either. To talk you through your orgasm with even more care and detail than you were accustomed to in the past.

He’s become boundless. And it’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

God, you’d be crazy not to let yourself fall for him—

“I got you dessert,” Jungkook husks, digging his fingers into the pocket of his pants while his other digits draw close to his mouth. He takes a drag of his cigarette, crinkling his eyes so the smoke wouldn’t get into them and you beam at him with a fire that’s more scorching than the sun’s ever been in centuries, heart doing somersaults at the thought of him thinking of you and spending money on you again. And, also, at how hot he looks while he smokes.

Your love language must be gift-giving. You don’t know what else to connect it to, the joy that envelops your entire being whenever he gives you something. It doesn’t even have to be expensive, nor does he have to pay for it at all. Drawings have become your favorite keepsakes—drawings of his Miffy bunny, drawings of flowers, of you. You’ve hidden them away in a box along with everything he’s ever brought you, except the white bunny ring because you wear it daily and one small, particular drawing that you’ve put inside your glittery phone case.

A cutesy marker sketch of him and you. His arm around your shoulders. Bunny sitting on your laps in the middle, as if she were your own child. Cheeks big and bubbly, pink and twinkling. Your curls the way you wear them; his mullet. A perfect depiction of the pair of you. You gaze at it every single day—prefer to now put your phone face down because of it.

You’re tracing it now with the pad of your finger as you wait for him to reveal your mystery gift to you. The bulby heads, the cheeks, Miffy’s ears. Jungkook puts out his cigarette, puffing out the smoke, away from you, and once he’s done, he taps the back of your hand. Turns it over and spreads out your fingers, inserting, at a snail's pace, something round but slender at the same time, smiling adoringly at you.

What a sight to behold. It steals, fleetingly, your attention away from his hand.

Slicked back mullet, twinkles taking laps in his soft eyes, blushed cheekbones and stretched, pouty mouth, shiny with his liquid love. Long neck that you’d like to devour now, the broadness of his shoulders and chest that could come second as a plain, dark beige shirt accentuates his hard work at the gym.

Oh, fuck. Your nipples pebble against your carmine tube top.

Jungkook withdraws his hand and with blurry eyes, you look at the thing he placed in your palm.

Chupa Chups. Strawberry and cream.

Your mouth parts and it’s a concoction of a gasp and a sound of endearment when the realization that he got you a lollipop sinks in. Your heart flips and does a head stand. Lips round into a pout, drunk eyes softening, its twinkles growing in size and light. It’s like he gave you something golden, when in fact it costs a few wons, but to you it’s exactly that. Something so precious.

You give him an air kiss, bouncing in your seat in joy, fingers already destroying the wrapper. “Thank you so…”

Your brows furrow as the wrapper remains intact. You do a bad, bad job of picking at the tape around the slender stick, your long manicured hands absolutely useless—and the cause of your frustration. You puff out an angry gust of breath, trying harder to get to the sweet delight and it’s at that moment that your boyfriend takes it from your hands with a deep chuckle.

“You silly boo, this is how you do it.” Jungkook pinches the wrapper around the stick and he merely, in a few swift motions, twists the ball until it lets go. He scrunches it in his fists and throws it away in the ashtray. Smirks smugly, leans his elbows on the table, draws close to you. You mirror his position, get to him almost nose to nose, and his smirk deepens, tongue darting out to lick across his lips. You do the same, eyeing the round pinkness in his hand, the sexual attraction and its tension soaring high between you.

Without your hands, you could put it in your mouth, mimic the way you do it on his own tip and make him lose his mind a little bit. It’s right here, an inch away and you dip your head towards it, a magnetic pulling drawing you naturally to it. Sense his gaze on you, sense his delight, sense the flashback glimmering across the wholeness of him. But before you could wrap your lips around it, he moves it out of your reach.

“No,” Jungkook murmurs, breath slightly ragged, holds it up in front of your face, watches as you go cross-eyed a little bit. Hums at the sight, quietly enough for only you to hear. “If you want it, ask for it nicely.”

His puffy lips being so close to you, you desire to kiss him—cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, his oh-so-loved dominance fucking with your drunkenness and your brain, body altogether. You tip your head to the side, flutter your lashes, make your eyes big and smile at him as sweetly as you can.

He coos, validating you, and it is a force that makes you feel safe enough to submit to him like a small animal to its father. Safe enough to want to get under the table and make him feel really, really good, too.

“Can I have the lollipop, please?”

He groans, still quietly, and your panties drench immediately. You widen your eyes at him, feeling your slick, pursing your lips to scold him silently. He just laughs, amused by it all, and the sound of his joy fills you with elation.

One that darkens, when he asks, “Where?”

You lick your lips, taking in the question, struck by it. Letting your mind wander, the places where you want it, except your mouth, is on your nipples and your clit. Nicely sweet and sticky—for him to clean up, for him to enjoy. Your dewiness soaks the material of your panties and your body begins to yearn for any kind of friction. You’re not sure whether you’re able to stick around in your chair, acting as if nothing’s wrong—acting as if you’re not stupendously horny.

“In my mouth.”

Jungkook makes a noise of appreciation and you’re so frustrated by all those sounds he makes that you want to dig your nails in his arms and make him pay for it. Even more so, when he plunges the lollipop into his mouth and his lips pucker around it, inciting the butterflies in your tummy to go absolutely fucking berserk. You place your hand on his bicep, nails ready to attack, but then he pulls out the treat with a pop, angling it at your mouth.

“Open.”

You thought he stole it from you, but he did no such thing. He wetted it for you, like a father for its child. You’re stupefied to the point that you don't even realize that you’re leaving a mark on the linen material of your seat.

You do open your mouth for him, however.

He twists the ball on your tongue, expecting you to close your mouth around the stick, but you don’t. No, you swirl that muscle around the candy, deepening your gaze, smirking. Jungkook stills, clenches his strong jaw. Darkness flicks across his eyes and he narrows them. First warning.

You pretend you don’t see it.

Closing your mouth and encasing your hand around his, you move the lollipop to the side of your cheek, acting as if it were his dick. And when you bob your head once, Jungkook tugs on the stick, wanting to pull it out, but you don’t let him, keeping it caged between your teeth. It only drives you to bob your head again.

“Stop,” he says, voice calm, deep and serious—terribly deadly. Withdraws his hand and leans back, watching you with a predatory gaze, one that makes you even wetter. “Or we’re going home.”

That’s exactly what you want. Instructions clear.

You open your mouth and do a show of swirling your tongue around the ball, only this time you flick the muscle against it. Jungkook grips the table, knuckles white, and you laugh, which you soon realize was a grave mistake.

“You think it’s funny?” he questions you, staring you down with a look that should frighten you, but it merely turns you on. You suck on the lollipop, the dulciness of strawberries suffusing your senses. “I’ll bend you over this fucking table, lift up that slutty little skirt and spank you in front of everyone.”

You pull out the candy with an exaggerated pop. Scowl at him. As though his words didn’t affect you the way that they did—as though you’re not squeezing your thighs together, trying to gain that friction you so desperately need. “Why are you so angry?”

He looks away for a moment, laughing silently. Nods his head at your wine glass. “You finished with your wine, baby?”

It’s this pleasantness that you hear in this voice that spreads goosebumps across your skin. Feigned sugariness—the sunlight right before the clouds come in and thunder strikes; the calm before the storm.

Good thing you’re dressed for the rain and ready to sing in it.

You nod your head and Jungkook clicks his tongue, grabs you by your hand whilst he pulls out his wallet. You accompany him as he walks over to the bar, black card ready between his fingers. Waits to be noticed. Gives you a look over and fixes your skirt, pulling the hem down.

Pays for you. Smiles down at you as he pockets his wallet.

And then, he drags you to his car.

Perhaps it’s the fresh air, perhaps it’s the briskness in his walk and the tight hold around your hand, but all intoxication evaporates from your body, leaving only your stained elation and neediness. You can’t help your smile. Think it must be sewn in at this point. By his own diligent fingers.

A wind blows in, pulling your hair to your front and Jungkook pins you against his car. Tits squished against the passenger side, elbows pressed together. Eyes wide, you check your surroundings and find no one in sight. Only swaying trees, buildings of apartments, lamps illuminating the dark street. You relax right away, trusting Jungkook that he’s on the lookout and knows what he’s doing.

He grinds his hips against your backside and you moan at the feeling of his hard length. With his free hand, he brushes your hair to one side and begins to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck, nuzzling his face in. Hovers his lips above your ear when he says, “You feel how hard you made me with your little show?” You nod, quickly, wanting more of him, wanting him inside of you. Push your hips back; twirl them in slow circles. Jungkook hisses. “I guess you really do want that spanking. Where’s your lollipop?” You show him your hand, where your treat remains uneaten and dry. He takes it from you and you turn your head in time to see him sink it into his mouth, placing it on the side of his mouth like you did. “Get inside the car.”

Jungkook opens the door for you and forces you in, closing it with a harsh thud. As he rounds the vehicle, he makes eye contact with you and your tummy flips in response.

Fuck.

Nothing happens in a millisecond once he’s seated, but then he grabs your cheeks, squishing them in the way he likes, and kisses you hard, lollipop in hand. Moving his mouth against yours, his tongue only briefly greets you before he pulls away. “Naughty fucking girl. You’re lucky that I love you because otherwise…” He doesn’t finish his sentence with words, but with another kiss, breathing against you, grunting when it’s you this time that slips the tongue inside, playing with him the same way you played with the dessert he got you. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me. I’m gonna put you in your fucking place, make you remember how to behave in public. You’ve forgotten, haven't you?”

You don’t have time to react, you merely bite your lip so hard that it aches. Jungkook pushes you back and yanks your leg between his, lifting your skirt. Then, he hovers his palm above your ass, the other forearm resting on the top of the seat, lollipop dangling near your head. He hides his smirk behind his effort to flatten his lips.

And when he spanks you, you don’t roll your eyes back and rasp like your body naturally wants you to. No, you hold the eye contact and you take the pain, letting it course through your body, reveling in it. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps going, alternating between slapping your now reddened cheeks and the back of your thigh. Doesn’t even stroke the skin to alleviate the burn. He solely bores his gaze into yours, his cock rock hard against your leg. Another set of words are exchanged, silently, deeply, teaching you your lesson in tandem with the hits, burying it to a great depth inside you.

And then he finishes with a nasty kiss, but his hand resumes causing you pain. You’ve lost count of how many spanks you’ve taken.

It’s like you’ve woken up from a trance. It reverberates throughout your entire body and it’s now that you allow your body to vocally react. You whine, rounding your mouth in a pout, so different from the one on the dinner date. And you remember your manners—perceive how wrong it was to tease him, even though a good half of you still takes delight in it.

“It hurts,” you whisper, nudging your lips against him and he gives you your last spank—the hardest of them all. The infliction makes you flutter your eyes shut and Jungkook brings them back to him by caressing his knuckles down your flushed cheek.

“Good, you remember how to behave now?” he asks, halting his movement, such piercing intensity in his irises that drive you to nod your head. “That’s my good little girl.” Taps the side of your thigh. “Let Daddy make it better now.”

You open your legs for him and Jungkook pushes your soaked panties to the side, revealing your little bedewed seashell. He hums at the sight of her, pops the lollipop back inside his mouth. Collects your arousal by swirling the pads of his middle and ring finger around your hole, eyes flicking from your pussy to your own, groaning when he comes into contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles. You whimper, bucking your hips, needing him to go faster, needing to come.

Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. “You take what I give you or I’ll stop.” Lifts his hand to express the gravity of his threat and you help, wrapping both hands around his and putting it back on your bundle of nerves. He chuckles at your desperation, giving you the same circles, though now firmer.

Waves the lollipop near your lips. You open your mouth, instinctively, and he plunges it into your mouth for a mere second before he pulls away, growling at the sound that comes out. He does it again, fucking you with it in a way, just to hear that pop and he’s so pleased with it that he sinks those two fingers inside your heat, fully, in one ego. Keeps them there. Teases you. Hovers the lollipop out of your reach and you decide to fuck with him back. Darting out your tongue, you whirl it around the flat side and he swears, moaning, giving to you at last.

He latches his mouth onto your neck, starting the drill of his fingers. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

He picks up the speed so rapidly that you scream, squeezing your eyes shut, the pleasure permeating your body so vastly that you quiver all over. Grab a hold of his hair, pulling on it and then—

Then, he withdraws his fingers. Ruins your orgasm.

You pant, trying to catch your breath. “Please, Jungkook, please—”

He nudges his nose against yours. “What, baby?”

“I need to come, please.”

Jungkook tuts, kissing you once. “I thought we could play.” Plunges the lollipop into your mouth to wet it. Shows it to you, just to see you go cross-eyed again. Moans. “Where do you want it, hm?”

Ever the angel that makes your fantasies come to life. You wrap your fingers around his hand, butterflies swarming in your tummy. Lead him towards your still clothed breasts. “Here.” Take him to your drooling pussy. “And here.”

Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Descends his fingers a little lower, to your other hole, circles it. “What about here?”

You giggle, but you shake your head. The idea may be intoxicating, however reality is much different. There’s a risk to putting any sweetened food inside, one you don’t want to deal with.

Jungkook smiles at you, pushes your seat back and slides it in the same direction. Crawls over you and you feel so feminine, so sexy underneath him. Nipples perked under your top, breasts full and spilling. You arch your back towards him and Jungkook drags his thumb from your bottom lip, to your chin, neck, the dip of your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your Tom and he tugs it down so harshly that you can’t contain your very own concoction of a gasp and moan.

Lollipop in mouth, one hand propped by your head, the other squeezes your breast hard, nearing it, fingers pinching your nipple. Makes the flesh as red as your ass. You can tell he likes the view by the way he coos, but then he wipes all your thoughts away, when he sucks hard on the candy and swirls it around your stiffened nub, gaze flicked to yours to watch your reaction.

The pleasure is so vivid, so dizzying—and for him, you let it paint your face in all its colors. Brows scrunched, bedroom eyes, mouth parted, puffing out desperate breaths. Jungkook sucks it again and smears his saliva around your other nipple, taking his time, slapping the ball once against it, making you hiss.

“It feels so good,” you murmur, sinking your fingers into the longer length on the back of his hair, bringing his mouth to yours. You kiss him with a verve that causes him to groan. You swallow that sound, satisfied.

He grins at you. “I bet.”

Dips his head and envelops that sugar-coated nub with his warm lips, sucking it hard. His groan spreads there, deepens there and you arch your back even more, pulling his head to your other nipple so he can do the same thing. Join your other hand to his hair and do whatever you please—turn his head side to side, from one nub to the other—and he lets you, giving you, momentarily, his control. You feel your essence soaking the seat beneath you and you thank the heavens that the fabric is one of leather. You lift his head and try to push it down, but he won’t budge. Stares you down instead, lustfully.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, a wrinkle between brows. “Be a good girl and tell me.” Pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

You sigh, kissing him once on the side of his neck, using your tongue. Make sure you’re looking at him as you reply, “On my clit.”

He moans, eyes woozy, finger on the stick as he sucks the candy, clefts of dimples on either side of his cheeks. You palm his length, your own digits rounding across his tight balls and he whisks his irises back, grinding into your hand. “You want a lickie?”

“Yes, so bad, please.”

He hums and kneels before you, kissing your clit once in greeting. Then, he flattens his tongue and licks a fat stripe across your whole femininity—from your slit, to your swollenness. Hands on your hips, index curled around the lollipop, he holds you steady, prevents you from meeting him, as he stimulates you like this. Up and down, tongue rolling, eyes fixed on you, devouring you. And when he stops to suck your clit, he taps your mouth once with the ball of the lollipop. The act of sucking on something while you’re getting pleasured like this almost throws you over the edge, your body coated in a layer of sweat, but Jungkook withdraws in time. Presses the delight in the middle and rubs small circles, just to prepare you for the big thing. You become so whiny, so loud that his eyes grow in size, watching you in awe.

To reward you for such beauty, he rapidly strums it from side to side, causing you to nearly levitate, but he pins you down. Wetting it and placing it back down, grunting at the aftertaste of you mixed with the sweetness.

And he can’t resist. Can’t hold back. The wrinkle between his brows deepens when he tastes you, licking you all over, tongue stopping occasionally its feast to flick at your clit before he swallows you whole. Grunts, sucks, licks. Eyes closed to savor the taste. The pressure in your core heightens, even more so when he lifts your legs, greedy for the side dish in the form of your other hole. You’re so close that you might burst.

“You taste so fucking good, baby. So sweet. Come on my tongue, please, I want more of you.”

He wants more of your taste.

You come so hard that your orgasm takes you to an open sea, your body floating on calm waves, to and fro, eyes rolled to the sky—to the sunroof—seeing nothing but the elegance of the twinkling stars and deep purple clouds.

“That’s it, baby, so good. That’s my little girl.” He slaps the side of your thigh, bringing you back to him. “Listening so well, learning her lesson, coming so hard. I’m proud.”

His words alone could make you come again, but you’re distracted.

Jungkook unbuttons his pants and pulls out his manhood. Stroking himself, he lines his tip at your mouth. He doesn’t even have to tell you to open up—you do it yourself. Holding it at the base, he stuffs your throat right away, a guttural chuckle emitting out of his mouth when you gag. He pulls out to where you’re comfortable having him and you begin to bob your head, like you did with the lollipop.

“Yes, suck it like that, my love. Daddy loves it when you do that.”

His precum on your tongue, the way he’s holding himself, the position and his words—you moan around him, so out of your mind, so fucked out. And when he fucks your mouth, it turns you on so much that you go cross-eyed.

Jungkook pulls out quickly, as if the sight of it alone was about to make him come. A string of your saliva from his tip drips onto your chest and he slides into your mouth again just to poke your cheek, just to mimic what you did with the lollipop. You whine, liking it so much, to the point that he drills this tender place of yours until he can’t take it enough.

“Turn around.” You try to, but your legs are jelly. He manhandles you to the position he wants—on your knees, tits against the leather, arms around the headrest, the formerly abused cheek against it. “Hold onto it. Too bad we left bunny at home, huh?”

Jungkook runs his cock across your pussy and you grind against it, needing the friction after the way he used you. You whimper for him. “She’s probably wondering where we are right now and why we’re taking so long.”

“I’ll make it up to her.” He presses his length against your clit, encouraging you to use him back. “Rub your pussy like that on me, fuck.” He moves so it’s his tip that stimulates you. You ride him harder, moaning loudly against the leather. “You can make it up to her, too. Can ride her like I know you can. With a vibrator between your legs and hers, hm? How you like the sound of that?”

You’re so close you could come in a second, but you don’t want it like this. You need him inside of you. “Shut up, I’m literally gonna come like this. Fuck me.”

He fists your hair. Pain shoots up your scalp and he ruts into your heat. Fully. Until his pelvis collides with your ass. You scream.

Lips by your ear. “Is this how you talk to your Daddy?” He begins to pump into your little tight hole. Mercilessly. The leather squeaks, a horrible, rapid sound that you can only faintly hear because all that your senses can focus on is his cock. “Your Daddy that loves you so much?”

You come, pathetically. Sea and waves, palm trees that sway. Your legs tremble, but he keeps going, mouthing the shape of your ear.

He tsks. “I’m gonna tell bunny on you. Maybe I’ll be the one who gets to fuck her while you watch.” He gives you a hard stroke, one that is followed by rapid thrusts that scramble your brain. “She’ll be so disappointed to hear how bad you’ve been, but I’ll make sure to tell her how hard I fucked it out of you.”

Lifting you from the leather, he kneads your breasts, placing the lollipop in between and holding it up by squishing them.

“Come on, get your lollipop.” He bounces your tits in his hands, signalizing you that he wants you to do it with your mouth.

But you can’t do it. You come, majestically, your senses leaving you and wafting in the stuffed air of the car. Boneless, you sag in his arms.

Jungkook coos. “You come so well around me that I’ll be good to you. You’re just a cockslut, aren’t you, baby? You just can’t help it, hm?” He puts the lollipop inside your mouth, chasing his so-needed release.

It doesn’t take long for him to find the footsteps into that bliss that you left in your wake. He holds you like this, against him, tits spilling over his forearms as he jackhammers into you so hard that your whole body bounces, shakes and reacts to each grunt, to each whimper, to each kiss he presses onto your skin.

With the little of the brain you have left, you decide to talk him through it—because he fucks you so good.

“Come for me, Daddy, yes, please, fuck. Fill me up with your cum. I want it so bad, I want to feel you—” His cock twitches in you, but he continues, sloppily. “Yes, so good. That’s it. Come for your little girl, Jungkook.” A loud groan. A tight hold. A spurt of his cum inside your walls. You whimper and he fucks it deeper into you, giving you more of his liquid stars. “Jungkook, oh fuck, Jungkook, oh yes.”

And it’s that never-ending litany of his name that helps him chase his high to the fullest. He kisses your neck hard in gratitude for helping him come, marking you, marking this memory.

You stay like this for a little while. Sweaty, sticky, spent, breathing hard—lungs synced.

A warm announcement sneaks to your heart, one that screams it into the drowsy skies once Jungkook pulls out of you, turns you around and, stealing your candy, kisses you.

An announcement that you’re deeply and irrevocably in love with him.

“You sounded just like me.” He finishes your lollipop for you, chewing the small bulby head as he dresses you and his cum spills onto your panties.

Your smile is dopey, satisfied and you’re ready for sleep to take you, but Jungkook gets out of the car for a smoke. You think you need one, too, after what you’ve experienced together, and so you follow him out into the night on wobbly legs.

He leans against his car, a cigarette in his mouth, one hand cupping the fire as he flicks his lighter to life. You wait until he puffs out the smoke into the air before you fold into the side of his body, stealing his cigarette and inhaling it, giving it back to him.

Jungkook pats your head, rubbing your scalp, chin propped on it. “I didn’t mean what I said. You were perfect. I’m not telling shit to bunny, I promise.”

You smile, fondly. Didn’t take his words seriously, not at all, but you’re grateful for the reassurement regardless. It’s just role-play, nothing else.

“I know, baby,” you say, softly, massaging his stomach, going as far as under his shirt to feel his bare skin—ever so innocently.

“I wanted to fuck you the moment you sat down. You’re just my little helper and because of that I’m glad we’re going home with my cum in your panties,” he whispers, placing the cigarette on your lips, so you can take a drag. “You deserve every drop.”

You feel that familiar ache rooting in your core again, but you don’t think you can take another round. Jungkook lifts your chin, making you look at him. Twinkles, bigger than the ones of the stars up above, living in his soft eyes. That cute nose. Those pouty lips. His silky, dreamy heart that looks out for you and puts you first.

The three words that you’ve never told him before rise up your body and you think now is the perfect occasion to say them.

“I love you.”

Wetness coats his eyes and the twinkles broaden, saturating them with an unfathomable, fulging light. He flicks his cigarette away, presses you closer to him and with his now free hand, he cups your face. Kisses you. For a long, long time.

“I love you.”

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#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

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suashii · 5 months

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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒦𝒜𝒯𝒮𝒰𝒦𝐼 & 𝒞𝒪.

𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈

info ⭑ bakugo katsuki x reader. 1.8k wc. sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ dad!bakugo ﾉ oc kids (a son, keisuke, and a daughter, akane)

note ⭑ self indulgent + repost from an old blog!

bakugo hates coming home to a dark house. his homecomings are meant to be much more lively; akane is supposed to bombard him the moment he walks through the door, squealing about some event that happened at school. keisuke would follow not far behind, stars in his eyes as he enthusiastically asks about his father’s day. and, like clockwork, you would shoo the kids away, telling them to give their dad a couple of minutes to get settled in. before you join them in the living room, you’d steal a quick kiss and mutter a gentle “welcome home.” the quiet he’s met with instead is strange and, frankly, unwelcome. but, this outcome was bound to happen tonight since he had worked overtime and then some.

morning shifts are katsuki’s go-to since he prefers spending nights at home with his family, but today an unusual amount of paperwork kept him at work for longer than he wanted to stay. the moment he was finished and everything was in order at the agency, he was rushing out to meet you and the kids—well, you for sure considering the little ones were likely already asleep.

he leaves his shoes behind at the front door before venturing down the hallway to meet you in the bedroom. the door is slightly ajar—he only has to nudge it open a bit more to enter. the sight out of the corner of your eye causes you to look up from the article you’re reading on your phone. you half-expect it to be one of the kids wandering in from their room to ask if they could sleep in the “big bed.” seeing katsuki instead is a surprise, but one you’re more than okay with.

you’re used to seeing the green and orange accents of his hero costume whenever he returns home, but he must have found a little time at the office to change his clothes. the costume is traded in for a hoodie and a pair of jeans—an even more rare sight that you would have laughed about if you weren’t so eager to greet him.

“look who’s home.” you keep your voice low so as to not wake the kids.

“hey.”

you can hear the exhaustion lacing his voice as he approaches where you sit. a large hand smooths over your head before he leans down to press his lips against yours. he pulls away too soon, seemingly heading toward the bathroom.

“leaving again so soon?” you thought he’d be joining you in bed to call it a night. your fingers are itching to trace circles on his back until his breathing evens out and he falls asleep. it’s the least you could do for him after a long day.

“gotta take a shower, i smell disgusting.”

he keeps the door open. it’s a little gesture but katsuki knows that even a closed door is a barrier between the two of you that neither of you care for. you scroll aimlessly on your phone while listening to the mostly steady stream of water hitting the bottom of the shower, the rhythmic flow only ever interrupted when he sticks his hair under the shower head or wrings out the loofah. it isn’t long before the water stops running and steam fills the bathroom as bakugo opens the glass door and steps out of the shower.

you glance up from the device in your hand just as he finishes up tying a neat bow at the waist of his sweatpants, hands moving up to his head so that he can dry his uncharacteristically fluffy blonde hair. he flicks the light switch off, engulfing the ensuite in darkness, and joins you back in the bedroom, taking a seat at the foot of the bed.

you toss your phone aside and prop yourself up on your knees, shuffling across the mattress until you’re situated behind katsuki. he smells of the woody cypress body wash you’d got him hooked on.

“did you have a good day at work?” your fingers dance inward along his shoulders. once they reach his neck, your thumbs press firmly into his back, working at the familiar tight knots that seemed to continuously find their way back with each passing day. he groans in pleasure at the movement that he’d grown to expect every night.

“would have been better if i could have left on time,” he answers. the towel he’d been using on his head is quickly thrown into the hamper in the corner of the room. you didn’t have the energy to badger him about actually putting effort into making sure his hair wasn’t wet before bed.

“you are the boss. who says you couldn’t have left earlier?” it’s selfish—wishing that he would be selfish and delegate menial tasks like paperwork to someone lower on the pyramid—you know that, but you blame him for instilling this neediness in you. even before the kids came along he made a habit of taking on the early morning shifts so he could spend as much time with you as he could at home. you wrap up the massage you’d been giving him, opting to fold your arms around his midsection instead. you press a lingering kiss to the top of his shoulder. “we missed you here—i missed you.”

“oh yeah?” there’s a teasing lilt in his voice that you would have caught if you weren’t relishing in the warmth that suddenly encased your forearms as bakugo’s hands wrapped around you. you hum in confirmation, too busy pressing light kisses to his bare skin to realize that he was slipping out of your loose hold.

before you can tell what was happening, you’re on your back and katsuki is hovering over you, his legs straddling you on either side of your thighs. there’s a smirk pulling at his lips and a dangerous glint in his carnelian eyes. his expression screams trouble and you know exactly what he was up to.

“do not,” you warn, holding your hands out to defend yourself.

“what?” he almost laughs, taking your wrists in one of his hands and holding them above your head. the fingers of his free hands wander along your abdomen, brushing against the skin that was exposed by your shirt riding up. your lips press together in a thin line but your strategy of intimidation is lost on your husband as he stares at you from above. “don’t do this?”

the tips of his fingers don’t let up on their mission to stimulate every sensitive nerve on your belly. no matter how hard you try to contain your hysterics, you can't—uncontrollable giggles bubble up in your throat and your feet kick senselessly in the air as katsuki continues his playful assault. he’d long forgotten his attempt at keeping you restrained, both of his hands frantically caressing your skin.

“ka-katsuki, stop!” tears begin to slip from the corners of your eyes as you fight to catch your breath. the grasp you have on your husband’s wrists do nothing to deter him from tickling you.

“hey!” bakugo’s fingers still at the little yet demanding voice. still resting on his knees, he turns the upper half of his body to find a short figure standing in the doorway. behind him, you sit up and clear your throat of any straggling laughter. akane’s eyes land on you. “you said you’d tell me when daddy got back.”

on late nights when katsuki wasn’t home at his usual time, the girl always insisted on staying up until he walked through the door so they could tell each other good night. the only way you could convince her to go to bed was pinky promising that you’d let her know when her dad arrived. you were fully expecting that she’d be asleep by then—and would sleep through the entire night. the commotion from your room must have been loud enough to wake her. if the pout on her face tells you anything, it’s that she was far from happy that you had broken your promise.

“i know, baby, but you were sleeping.” a kid could only look so intimidating with tiny arms crossed against their chest and wearing dinosaur-print pajamas, but the copy of vermilion eyes you’d grown familiar with over the years boring into you shouldn’t have made you feel so uneasy.

if looks could kill.

“come here, akane.” bakugo holds his open arms out for the girl and she wastes no time padding across the floor and step into them. he lifts her effortlessly, tapping his nose against hers before obnoxiously kissing her cheek.

“hey, munchkin.”

“hi.” you imagine she’d be a lot more excitable if she hadn’t just woken up.

“aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” katsuki gently pinches her cheek.

you can tell the sleep is catching up to her as she slowly blinks, a yawn escaping with her lazy head nod.

“well let’s get you there.” katsuki stands up and adjusts akane so that she sits comfortably on his hip. he only makes it a few steps before the girl is whining in disagreement.

“i wanna stay here.” despite her previous issue with you going back on your word, akane’s arms untangle from around bakugo’s neck and reach out for you. he turns to face you, sending you a questioning glance.

you remember how restless and grumpy she had been only an hour ago. even with you lying in the tiny bed beside her, stroking her hair in an attempt to soothe her to sleep, the girl wriggled around in your hold asking when her dad would be home. now that he’s finally here, you can’t find it in your heart to turn down her request to spend the night in your room.

you nod, patting the mattress in a silent gesture for the two of them to come. bakugo easily reroutes, taking his spot in the space next to you. he gingerly sets akane down in the middle and tucks them both beneath the comforter.

akane crosses the short space between the two of you, her chubby hands finding their way up to your cheeks. you take it as a sign to lean down. your noses are nearly touching when she tips her face up to give you a kiss on the forehead. she flops on her side to repeat the action with bakugo.

“goodnight, you.” he taps her nose with his index finger.

“g’night,” she mumbles, rolling onto her back. you rarely ever hear her voice so soft. a smile graces your face as you lightly stroke the girl’s cheek, happy that she had gotten to utter the words at last.

a moment of blissful silence passes before you speak.

“i hope we didn’t wake kei,” you whisper.

“i doubt it. that kid sleeps like fuckin’ rock.” your gaze shoots up to glare at the man for his language, but his eyes have already drifted shut.

you snuggle into the two bodies beside you, careful not to squeeze akane too tightly between you and katsuki. one final sentence slips past your lips before the fatigue of the day overwhelms you. “watch your mouth.”

hihi~ sua here :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: my hero academia #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x you #mha x you #bakugo drabble #mha drabbles #bakugo fluff #mha fluff #bakugo imagine #mha imagines #bakugo scenarios #mha scenarios

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etherealising · 5 months

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chapter nine | don’t say baby! [part one]

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣

pairing(s): carmen berzatto x fem!reader | male!oc x fem!reader

summary: the day of nat and pete’s baby shower has finally arrived.

wc: 6.2k

skin tones used in mood boards do not represent “baby” imagine her however your heart desires!

You sat criss-cross applesauce atop your island, a cup of iced lavender crème earl gray tea grasped in your hands as you took in the lively decorations scattered around your house. You’d been at it since eight this morning, the clock above your stove now read 11 a.m. It probably wouldn’t have taken as long if you asked the extra set of hands still asleep in your guest room for help. But after waking up this morning, you realized you just wanted to set up alone while in the comfort of your own home, before inviting everyone into your space. From your vantage point where you sat everything was perfect, exactly how you imagined it; only the best for Natalie and Pete.

You weren’t sure what to do with yourself now, all the decorations had been set up and now you were just waiting for the last of the desserts to finish up. While Pete had taken Nat out for her first day off in a while she’d mentioned to him a slew of deserts your mom used to make for you all growing up that she’d been craving, and what kind of friend would be if you didn’t indulge her pregnancy cravings.

Pete was instructed to show up with Nat at one, your group chat invitation asked for everyone else to arrive anytime before then to ensure everyone arrived on time. As you glanced at the balloon arch in your foyer and the boxes spelling out the word ‘baby’ you were nervous you had gone overboard, that Nat and Pete would think it was all too much. But with Pete telling you about Nat’s ideas you couldn’t help but go a bit overboard.

You glanced around your house one more time, a small laugh escaping you at the theme you’d chosen. It would’ve been a missed opportunity if you did anything other than a bear theme, you hoped everyone else got a laugh out of it the way you did. The more you looked at each decoration the more you forced yourself to not entertain the dozens of “what if” scenarios bouncing around your head. Those thoughts would bring nothing but negativity and as easy as it was to feed into the jagged wound of what once was, what could’ve been; you weren’t sure you had the energy to juggle both past and present today.

“Could’ve asked me for help.” You flinched at the sudden gruff morning voice traveling down your hallway.

Feet padding against the hardwood floor now alerting you of their towering presence next to you. You felt your nose scrunch as the rough scrape of a mustache caressed your temple along with cold lips.

You watched as Hayden walked around you, maneuvering around your kitchen like it was second nature, wearing his now wrinkled clothes from the previous night as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

He stood across from you on the opposite side of the island, forearms leaning against it, eyes darting to the many decorations behind you.

“I gotta run to the office, finalize some things for the gala,” he paused, raising the mug to his lips and taking a long sip. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

You nodded eyes unfocused as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes shot up as Hayden reached out thumb gently sliding your lip from its prison.

“You nervous or something? I remember you doing that before big exams.” You watched as he let his thumb linger in a soft caress.

“Something like that.” You muttered as he reluctantly pulled his hand away, eyes lingering a moment longer.

After the oddly intimate moment initiated by Hayden, the two of you sat in silence as the man drained his cup of coffee before moving to round up his belongings. It felt odd having Hayden in your house and you couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. You weren’t sure if it was because of the incident from the night before or if it was because deep down you were hoping another man would be the first to spend the night under the same roof as you.

Hayden approached from the hallway briefcase in hand, a small smile on his face as you got up to walk him to the door, neither of you saying a word as he slipped his shoes on before turning to look at you. “Uh…I guess I’ll see you later?”

You sent him a small smile nodding your head as you opened the door for him. You watched as his hand came up to cup the side of your cheek, thumb gently caressing the corner of your lips before he began leaning in. You froze, the moment reminiscent of the previous night.

His lips were hovering so close over yours that you could feel the tidy hairs of his mustache tickling your upper lip as he took your silence as an answer.

“No! hell no!” You flinched in Hayden’s hold as the loud Chicagoan accent rang from the steps of your porch through your ajar door. Hayden quickly removed himself from your space and straightened up like he’d just been caught doing something highly illegal.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was, that boisterous voice was a staple in your life for longer than you could remember. You felt flustered as Richie’s back came into view, his tall stature stepping through the door and between you and Hayden blocking you from each other’s view.

“I uh was just leaving?” The questioning tone of his voice proved he wasn’t sure who he was hoping to convince. “Good to see you Mr. Jerimovich.” A small chuckle left your lips at how uneasy Richie made Hayden.

You watched as Richie turned, handing you the dish he was holding before his free hand came down to cover the doorknob and wrench the door open even more, making it clear that Hayden had overstayed his welcome.

“Yeah mhm-hmm you too Hilary.” If the wrong name wasn’t enough, the tone of Richie’s voice sure was and it told you he did not share the same sentiment as Hayden.

Hayden furiously nodded his head taking a step over the threshold before searching for your eyes and sending you a strained smile. “Baby I’ll ca-,”

“Pack it up, Heather.” Richie’s last words were punctuated by the sound of your front door slamming in Hayden’s face. His tall figure could be seen through the mosaic window on your door, showing he was still standing on your porch in shock.

You watched as Richie quickly locked your door before moving past you to your kitchen, a small sigh left your lips as you could physically feel Richie’s ire radiating off of him.

“Good morning to you too Richie.” The sarcasm dripped from your voice as you took a seat at the barstool at your island, and set the dish down as Richie set your oven to preheat for the dish he brought.

He turned to you, arms crossed tightly against his chest, the disappointed frown on his face telling you all you needed to know as you prepared yourself for the lecture he was about to lay on you.

“You know Baby, I was okay with Carmen, not my favorite choice for you but I got over it. But that jagoff with his slicked back hair and carpet on his upper lip is where I draw the line.” It was taking every bit of control you had not to visibly roll your eyes.

“Richie I appreciate the concern, but need I remind you I am a grown woman capable of making my own decisions.” You shrugged, while you appreciated the love and care Richie had for you, this was not a topic you wanted to discuss on a day such as this one.

Richie’s lips rolled in as he nodded his head, a humorless laugh escaped him. “Are you though?” You frowned as he shrugged, holding his hands out in a placating manner. “I’m just sayin’ I learned you were a recovering addict 5 business days ago.”

“Says the 40-year-old divorcee still hung up on his ex-wife.” It was silent in the kitchen as the two of you just stared at each other. Richie’s jaw clenched in annoyance while you raised your eyebrow daring the older man to challenge you.

The stare-off was broken by the beeping of your oven, signifying it was ready. You watched as Richie took the tin foil off the top of the tray mumbling under his breath as he moved to place the tray in your oven.

Richie turned back around when he was done, eyes not meeting yours as he stood with his hands behind his back for a moment. “You’re really fucking mean sometimes you know that?” The pitch of his voice rose a bit as though he was whining.

A soft laugh rose in your throat before being dispelled into your kitchen at Richie’s childish antics, the noise causing Richie to laugh as well before the two of you settled on sharing matching grins. The moment was lost as you watched Richie’s eyebrows pinch together, his teeth beginning to worry his bottom lip as he leaned across the island, a position similar to the one Hayden was in not too long ago.

“Listen, Baby, I just don’t want you letting the emotions of today guide your judgment,” you listened intently as Richie held eye contact with you. “I mean I know I ain’t the best person to be taking advice from, but channeling your grief and feelings for Carmy into whatever the hell you’re doing with Hailey ain’t good for anybody.”

A small smile graced your lips at Richie’s innate need to constantly misname Hayden, but you knew there was some truth in his words. Honestly, you weren’t sure what the hell was going on between you and Hayden, in actuality, nothing was going on between the two of you until 24 hours ago. The small moment you shared was abruptly initiated by the man, and though the two of you worked together and rekindled your friendship, you weren’t sure it was a good idea for the two of you to try and relive your college years.

You let Richie’s words sink in a bit more as you realized how right he was. Hayden didn’t deserve to be used as another man’s replacement, and you didn’t deserve to fill the void his divorce left. And while there might always be some underlying lust between the two of you, you’d rather not lose a friendship you were just getting back and cherished more than the intimate times you shared.

“God we’re such losers Richie,” the man raised his eyebrows confused by your train of thought. “You’re still in love with your ex-wife, and I’m in love with a man I’ve never even been in a relationship with.”

Realization dawned on Richie’s face, head nodding up and down as he agreed with you. “How’s the Loveless Loser’s Club sound? I know a guy who can get us a deal on some shirts.”

The serious look on Richie’s face caused the both of you to laugh, coming to terms with how sad your lives were at the moment.

“You uh know Carmen’s coming today right?” Richie scratched the back of his head not sure where things were with you and the Berzatto boy.

You sighed nodding, grateful for Richie’s concern for you, “Would you believe it if I told you I invited him myself?”

“Is that why the kids been walking around the restaurant smiling like a fucking whack job?” Richie questioned eyebrows raising to his hairline like you’d just told him the juiciest piece of gossip ever. “No… wait a fucking minute, you were on the other line when I barged in on him on FaceTime in the walk-in!” If you didn’t know the context of this conversation you would’ve sworn Richie just cracked the biggest mystery of the century with how giddy he was.

“Little shit wouldn’t tell me who he was talking to, he was all smiles like he fuckin won the lottery or some shit!” You laughed at Richie's observations. “So the two of you cool again or somethin?”

You shrugged unsure as to how to explain the relative peace between you and Carmy at the moment. You couldn’t help the small smile itching to show itself as your mind went back to the myriad of text and phone calls the two you were exchanging since your confession. Half of the time the conversations the two of you shared were pointless.

“Or somethin'…we talked about the overdose but I wasn’t completely honest with him about certain things.” Your words became quieter towards the end of your sentence.

“You’ll tell him though.” It wasn’t a question and it wasn’t a demand either, just a simple statement of fact. “Baby I uh…it wasn’t my place to tell you to keep this from Carmy, and I’m sorry I made that decision for you. But I’ll be there by your side when you decide to tell him…I’ll support you through it.”

You nodded appreciating Richie’s words but feeling nauseous at the thought of telling Carmy such a horrible truth about yourself. “You didn’t make that decision for me Richie. As much as I hate to admit it, I…I think my mind was already made up.” Your shoulders raised in a slight shrug as the two of you shared sad smiles.

When the time was right you would be honest with Carmen, because if anyone deserved to know the truth it was him.

Hopping off the stool you walked around the island to wrap Richie in a hug, his tall frame embracing you in a hug you never knew you needed but always appreciated when given. You stood in each other’s arms for a moment longer letting the reality of life settle into you before stepping out of his embrace.

“Wanna help me frost the cupcakes?” You smiled as Richie rolled his eyes at your question before nodding his head, the both of you knew he wouldn’t turn you down.

Richie watched as you maneuvered to grab the cooling rack on the opposite counter. “I was serious about those losers' club shirts.”

A small huff of laughter escaped you as you shook your head back and forth at Richie’s antics before handing him a piping bag. The two of you engaged in quiet conversation as you worked around each other, a sense of ease falling over the kitchen as the pair of you worked like a well-oiled machine.

Richie shooed you out of the kitchen to go get ready after the two of you plated the various desserts you made. The man mocking you at times when you complained he hadn’t placed the sweets at the perfect angle, mumbling under his breath that you were no better than Carmy.

You finished getting ready a while ago letting Richie know you’d be in the backyard if he needed anything. And that’s exactly where you were now tucked into some lawn chair that’d been in the garage when you first bought the house. Your cardigan tucked tightly around you as your eyes focused on the small garden you’d started after moving in.

The pretty blue flowers that you’d grown to love had your sole attention as you watched the spring breeze blow through them. The solitude felt much needed before you prepared yourself to be a gracious host. Part of you wished you never agreed to throw this shower, the grief you never allowed yourself to feel, now painting your insides with resentment. Another part of you was grateful to have made it this far, to even have a chance to celebrate these milestones with the people you loved.

The longer you sat there staring at the flowers, the lonelier you felt. It felt a bit hypocritical, for you to have some sort of misguided resentment towards Natalie and Pete when you couldn’t even work up the courage to show Carmen all your cards, couldn’t let him in on a truth he deserved to know the moment you knew.

Blue flowers stared back at you mocking the emotional turmoil you were putting yourself through. You could be angry with no one but yourself, you were now reaping the consequences of the choices you made in the previous year. It was no one’s fault but your own.

A heavy hand resting upon your shoulder caused you to flinch, the gentle squeeze pressed into the fabric of your cardigan letting you know the person behind you wasn’t a threat, and the signature scent of the off-brand laundry detergent they used led to the conclusion that it was Richie.

He was so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of him onto your neck, you felt his hand begin to knead your shoulder, the soft touch easing the tension your body had been building up throughout the weeks of preparation.

“People are gonna start to arrivin’ soon Babes.” You nodded absentmindedly as your eyes stayed glued to the blue bulbs, forcing yourself to face the reality of the life you were leading; reminding you of what a shitty person you were for keeping this secret from Carmen. “I could say you’re not feelin’ hot let you waste away in that big ass fucking bed of yours.”

You let out a quiet hollow laugh at Richie’s words, wishing the world would swallow you whole at that moment. “We both know Nat wouldn’t buy that.” Richie made a hum of agreement before walking around to stand in front of you, a familiar cartridge in the hand he held out to you eyebrows raised in question.

Your eyes landed on the packet of cigarettes contemplating just how overwhelmed you were in that moment before your eyes flashed back to the flowers. You let out a small sigh before standing up, dusting the nonexistent dirt off your outfit, you gave Richie a small nod before walking around him following the path that led to the gate that separated your backyard from the front. At the lack of footsteps echoing behind you, you stopped before turning to look at Richie. “Not in front of the flowers.”

The confused expression once marring his features dissipated into understanding as he took the steps to follow you out of the gate. It was stupid really, they were just flowers, and depending on which way the wind blew they’d still feel the stinging caress of the nicotine you were about to indulge in.

But you couldn’t stand another second staring at those vibrantly sad flowers.

Carmen wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the sight of you with a cigarette between your lips. His eyes traced you and Richie standing at the side of your house, the older man talking animatedly as you nodded along to whatever outrageous story he was telling. He sat there for a moment just staring at the two of you wondering how privy Richie was to the past year of your life, the sound of the car turning off not pulling him out of his analysis of you and Richie. He was almost positive Richie knew about your overdose and definitely was privy to whatever sickness you’d contracted upon returning to Chicago. It just made Carmy wonder if Richie knew about the tumultuous year you had, why didn’t he ever mention anything to him; why didn’t Nat?

“Carm?” He blinked eyes moving from the window to the wide green eyes staring at him from the driver's seat. “Lost you there for a minute, you okay?” Carmy watched as Claire’s brow furrowed in concern, eyes blinking rapidly as he nodded, sending a small awkward smile to the woman. “Well c’mon then Bear.” She laughed as she said his nickname sending a bright smile his way before she began exiting from the car.

A small huff of laughter escaped him as he followed suit, eyes catching yours as you watched the two of them move to the trunk of the car, face unreadable before you took one more drag of your cigarette before stomping it out, eyes leaving Carmy’s to dart back and forth between him and Claire obviously trying to piece that puzzle together.

Carmy reached into the trunk to grab his respective present and the dish he’d brought, patiently waiting for Claire to grab her share before he shut the trunk. The two of them made their way up the drive, Claire practically buzzing in excitement next to him.

“You know those things kill right?” Claire’s words echoed around the group as the two of you shared a hug.

“Not fast enough apparently.” Claire laughed at your statement as the two of you pulled away, Carmen gave you a blank stare finding your words less than amusing, as Richie raised his hand to swat the back of your head.

Claire and Carmy watched as you turned to glare at Richie, the man returning his own irritated gaze upon you. It was silent as the newcomers stood awkwardly watching you and Richie have some sort of unspoken conversation as the two of you stared each other down. The clearing of Claire’s throat pulled the two out of your moment but not before you sent your elbow into Richie’s rib cage and he flicked the tip of your ear.

“Claire Bear! It’s so great to see you, not sure why you came with this loser,” Richie offhandedly gestured to Carmy who stood there like a deer in headlights staring at you. “But nonetheless, welcome, let's get this inside.” Richie reached out to take the dish from Claire’s hand before gesturing for her to follow him.

Carmen watched as Claire and Richie fell into comfortable conversation, not letting himself turn his attention to you until the door shut firmly behind them. The small cough you let out finally drew his blue eyes back to your figure.

“So…” his eyes met yours a feeling of awkwardness floating between the two of you, while you may have been falling back into old habits through text and phone conversations being face to face like this reminded Carmy of when he was 16 and trying to force himself to ask you out.

“You and Claire look great together.” Your words caught Carmy by surprise considering to no fault of her own Claire was the exact reason the two of you fell out all those weeks ago.

Carmy nodded, eyes searching yours for anything other than the forced act he could tell you were putting on. “We’re uh not together, n-not like that. I mean we are together like we arrived together, b-but we aren’t…” Carmy found himself trailing off as you let out a soft laugh, eyes seeming to light up at his fumbling.

“Carm, you don’t have to explain anything to me,” he nodded watching as your eyes darted between his eyes before moving your focus somewhere past him. “If you’re happy I’m happy Carmen.” The smile on your face almost made it believable, but he knew you.

He knew that since your move back to Chicago this was the second time you lied directly to his face.

Carmy stood around pretending to listen to a debate between Marcus and Fak about something he didn’t have the mental capacity to care about. For the past 20 minutes, his eyes were focused on you, watching as you greeted the remaining guests which was mostly just the crew from work. The word subtle was not in Carmen’s vocabulary as he’d been caught by you too many times to make his starring a coincidence but apparently not enough times to shame him into stopping.

He found himself thankful that Claire was too preoccupied in her conversation with Syd and Tina to notice the way he’d been studying you since entering your house. He couldn’t help but wince as he thought of Claire, he wasn’t lying to you, the two of them weren’t together at least he didn’t think he was giving off those signs. It wasn’t like he knew how relationships worked, the only experience he had was 48 hours with you, and look how that ended.

Carmy wasn’t exactly sure what was transpiring between him and Claire. To him, it was just two old friends reconnecting, but sometimes he found himself noticing the way Claire’s fingers would ghost across his arm or the slight way she’d lean her head against his shoulder. All things he’d done with you and found comfort in, but with Claire, it felt like more than a friendly gesture. Not that he had much to say in that department considering he lost his virginity to his best friend a year ago, but he knew he didn’t want more with Claire in the way he wanted more with you; he just wasn’t sure Claire knew that.

Carmen watched as you answered the door, a small smile gracing your lips as you opened the door wider to let the guest in. He eyed the two of you, obviously, some type of familiarity between both of you as he wrapped you in his arms hugging you for longer than Carmy thought necessary. He felt his eyebrows crease as the man leaned down placing a delicate kiss into your hair before placing another one on your cheek. You stepped out of his embrace smiling up at him before removing the gift bag in his hands and gesturing him into the room.

Carmy couldn’t help but feel like he knew the man who seemed to walk into the room and gather attention, Carmy assessed the man feeling inadequate as he took in the fancy slacks and button-up he was wearing. The shirt almost looked purposely small accentuating the muscles through the sleeves, two buttons undone as though wearing the shirt properly would suffocate him.

The two men locked eyes, Carmy doing his best to appear neutral as the man made his way towards him smiling like he knew a secret Carmy didn’t.

“Carmen Berzatto man, it's been a long time.” Carmy watched the man laugh, clapping a solid hand onto his shoulder pearly whites almost blinding the chef.

Carmy nodded trying to place how this man knew his name, he didn’t want to be pretentious and assume it was through his culinary work or accolades, and even though the voice sounded familiar he couldn’t quite place the face.

The man laughed, dropping his hand from Carmy’s shoulder “Don’t hurt yourself. Hayden Ivanovski, from high school?”

It took every bit of control Carmy had not to outright frown in the man’s face, of course, Hayden fucking Ivanovski was standing in front of him. It was bad enough he was standing in his own way when it came to his chances with you, now he had to deal with his high school competition.

“Oh yeah, yeah, guess the stache threw me off.” Carmy forced a laugh

Hayden nodded as he made his way to the kitchen, something compelling Carmy to follow as the taller of the two produced two beers from your fridge handing one off to Carmy giving him no time to wonder why the beverage was in your fridge in the place.

“It threw Baby off too,” Carmy couldn’t help but bristle at Hayden’s use of your nickname, the two-syllable word didn’t sound right coming from his lips. “How’s the restaurant coming along?”

Carmy followed the bottle to Hayden’s lips, eyebrows furrowed as he watched the man take a swig, “Good yeah uh great…coming along great.” The underlying question in his words was obvious, confusion coursing through him at Hayden’s question.

“Don’t worry,” Hayden’s hands raised in a mock surrender. “Not stalking you or anything, I just okayed Baby’s article on the project.” Carmen’s confusion only worsened not following what Hayden was saying. “We work together at the Tribune.” Hayden shrugged like it was no big deal.

Because it was no big deal, at least to him. But Carmy felt his stomach sink at the information, the fact that Hayden had access to your attention far more than Carmy did to settle the bubble of irritation in his stomach.

It was quiet between the two men after that revelation was uncovered, neither of them eager to continue the conversation in any way. Carmy watched as Hayden finished the contents of his bottle before moving to place it in the recycling bin and making his way back to Carmy’s side.

“I actually wanted to thank you, man.” Hayden stood in front of Carmy arms crossed so tightly against his chest Carmy was sure his biceps would rip the sleeves of his shirt.

Carmy nodded unsure as to what he was being thanked for, his body’s fight or flight mode in overdrive as he offered Hayden one last curt nod before placing his unopened beer bottle down on the island prepared to leave the awkward confines of this conversation.

“Keep fuckin with Baby’s emotions the way you do and I won’t have to do much work to convince her I’m the better option.” Hayden’s words caused Carmy to stop in his tracks, the blank expression on his face finding the smug one painting Hayden’s.

“You see Carmen,” Hayden moved forward, stepping into Carmy’s space. “You keep pushing her away, and the more you push her away, the more I get to console her, dry her tears, make her feel better in ways you could only imagine.” Carmy felt his face flush at what the man in front of him was implying.

“Look at her,” Carmy reluctantly turned his head, your laugh jingling in his ears as he watched you converse with Tina. “You wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with a woman like that if she came with an instruction manual. Listen all I’m sayin' Boss, just quit while you’re ahead, let someone else give her the life she deserves.” Hayden shrugged, eyeing you from his spot next to Carmy hand moving in a small wave as you looked in their direction.

Carmy stiffened as Hayden gripped his hand pulling him into a hug and slapping his back harder than necessary. He tried to remove himself from the embrace as Hayden tightened his arms around the shorter man. “I don’t usually kiss and tell but…” Carmy could feel his blood boiling the longer he stood there locked in this conversation. “You wouldn’t believe how dirty she gets behind closed doors.”

Carmy stood frozen as Hayden finally let him go, what was a five-minute conversation felt like an eternity for him. He couldn’t help but feel like throwing up, the words Hayden had spoken with such confidence made him sick to his stomach. As disgusted as Hayden’s words made Carmen feel, he was sure there was some truth to them.

He wouldn’t give merit to the statements regarding whatever intimacy there was between you and Hayden, but he knew if he didn’t get his shit together you weren’t going to keep waiting around for him. A part of him knew the man was just trying to get under his skin, it was only a couple of nights ago when you asked for his friendship and he couldn’t let whatever misogynistic bullshit Hayden was trying to pull get to him.

As Carmy stood in your kitchen watching Hayden connect to you like a leech, he couldn’t help the images Hayden had procured from bouncing around in his head. Carmen didn’t think he was a jealous man, he didn’t seem to ever have anything in life to be jealous about; envious sure, but never jealous.

But as he let Hayden’s words play on repeat in his head, he couldn’t help but feed the little green monster growing inside him the longer he looked at you and Hayden. The tall man caught his eye from across the room as he smirked before leaning down to plant a kiss on your head before turning to greet Tina.

Carmy watched the moment with a blank stare trying to disregard the sour feeling settling in his stomach. His eyes glazed over the longer he focused on your small group and he couldn’t deny the fact that you and Hayden looked like the picture-perfect couple tucked next to each other. Carmy was broken out of his trance by the light touch to his bicep, eyes blinking rapidly as he found Claire now standing in his line of sight.

“Carm, hey,” He watched as Claire chuckled hand gently massaging his arm. “I’ve been trying to get your attention you know.”

He nodded distractedly eyes finding yours over Claire’s shoulder as you watched the two of them from your own corner of the room. Carmy held your gaze for a minute, neither of you daring to look away from the other, the emotions in your eyes conveying something Carmy couldn’t quite understand as he drank in the undivided attention you gave him. You broke the stare first, eyes trailing to Claire’s hand still latched onto him, he felt his heart clench watching as you sent him a small smile before turning to leave your conversation.

Carmen turned his attention back to Claire who sent another squeeze to his arm, eyebrow raised as she waited for an explanation. “My bad I uh I just zoned out.” He forced a small smile allowing her to take his hand and lead him towards the front door. She stopped them at a small table set up with various colorful pens, markers and stickers sprawled across it for anyone to use.

His eyes caught on a familiar Polaroid Camera that not only held memories for the two of you but printed out some of his favorite photos of you. He watched as Claire grasped it before handing it to him.

“It's to make scrapbook pages,” He nodded fingers clutching the camera like it held the secrets of the universe. “Baby’s gonna bind the pages we make here and gift them to Pete and Nat. Take my picture?”

Carmen’s head shot to Claire at the question, her smiling face encouraging him to do as she asked before he stared at the relic of a camera in his hands. He hesitated before nodding motioning Claire to pose as he stood in front of the balloon arch taking up most of your entryway. Carmy gave her a small nod before raising the camera to his eye readying himself to take the picture.

The gesture sent his mind reeling to the last time he’d used this camera the context of those memories sending a blush up his neck. He cleared his throat moving the camera to rest against his torso, “I uh…I think it needs more film.” His words went unanswered as Richie was distracting Claire with whatever he deemed necessary to bore her with.

Carmen felt a bit bad for lying to Claire about the camera needing film, but he just couldn’t get himself to snap a picture of another woman using the same camera the two of you used after such a vulnerable moment shared between you both.

Wandering away from the balloon arch, Carmen found himself looking at the camera in his hands mind racing with thoughts of you. The two of you didn’t have much time to converse since he’d arrived and for all the back and forth the two of you were doing over the phone, he was hoping for a warmer welcome in person. It would be naive of him to believe the two of you would fall back into your friendship from all those years and two things proved this to him.

The first was his ever-growing and constant feelings for you.

And the second; how easy it was for you to lie to his face.

a/n: suuurpriseeee! this update is so out of left field so please do not get your hopes up. if anything i hope this update can give you a silly goofy fic to indulge in for a bit 🤍

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #the bear fic #the bear x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy the bear x reader #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

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wri0thesley · 6 months

Text

protection - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (5.3k)

halloween has always been your favourite holiday. with your captor, though . . . perhaps not so much.

a/n: if i cannot be self-indulgent and write a fic about my cannibal murderer yandere oc for halloween when he is such a horror pastiche of a man, when can i? if you would like a primer on lucas, reading this is probably the best thing to do!

cw: yandere, cannibalism, kidnapped reader, descriptions of gore, non-explicit mentions of past dub-con/non-con.

Lucas has one of those perpetual calendars upon his mantelpiece.

You’ve never had much cause to look at it before. It’s another of those mix-and-match décor pieces that are so prevalent in the cabin; a boring block of wood and blocky white font that you suppose someone might describe as ‘minimalist’. It’s certainly not something you’d choose for yourself – and from what you’ve seen of Lucas’s own choices, his clothing, the items he gravitates towards in his little slice of home, it’s not something he’d have chosen either. Had it not, perhaps, been chosen by someone else.

You ignore the way your gorge rises when you consider that it’s one more piece of somebody who must be long dead by now. Lucas’s cabin is full of those reminders; embroidered tablecloths (your own hands are not so steady), handmade blankets (the wool used makes you itchy), clothes in the wardrobe three sizes too small and two sizes too big. A bookshelf of tattered paperbacks; crime novels and romance novels and horror novels, an eclectic mix you can’t imagine belonging to the same person.

That’s not important.

What is important is the morning after breakfast, when Lucas and you have gone out to collect eggs already and he’s held onto your waist while you carefully fried them along with the something-that-might-be-bacon that you’re growing more and more accustomed to cooking.

(It doesn’t even make you throw up any more).

He’s casual as he walks over to it; you’ve never really paid much attention to it before. It’s simply one of those rituals that he does; he likes the domesticity of a daily routine, and though you’ve always been rather more spontaneous . . . You’re hardly in a position to argue about it.

He moves the cube around and you glance vaguely towards it and you see the month and date, clear and bright as if illuminated by a shaft of sunlight.

The thirtieth of October.

You stop breathing, just for a moment. It’s been three months, then – time had lost meaning for you somewhat, after you’d realised you had no choice but to play along if you wanted to keep yourself away from the sharp end of an axe. But . . . three months. Three months of smiling nicely and forcing your mouth around the name ‘darling’ and letting his weapon-calloused hands curl about your waist, slide over bare skin. Three months of making yourself smile, of showering with a stranger in the bathroom (three months and he is still a stranger, though you suppose you know him intimately; three months, though, and you still do not know his surname), of sleeping beside him at night--

“I love Halloween.”

You don’t realise you’ve said it until it comes out of your mouth like the dry squeak of a frightened mouse.

Lucas looks up in surprise. You don’t often volunteer information readily; you answer his questions, but otherwise you’re a quiet obedient little home-maker for him, the way you think he likes you. That’s not to say you think he’d mind, but . . . you still keep some of yourself held close to your chest. You share hearth and home and body with Lucas; you think you’ve earnt the right to not have to share everything.

“S’that so?” He rumbles, after a moment. He doesn’t smile, the way he does when you tell him that you like the present he’s brought you back from town or when you let slip once that the western film he’d been watching on VHS reminded you of your childhood. “I’ve never been all too fond of it myself.”

His green gaze stays steady on you. He lets the moment stretch, waiting for your answer. You are walking a tightrope, as always; there is a right answer, you think, and a wrong answer. Which one are you supposed to pick? You’ve seen Lucas angry – that smouldering, teeth-grit explosion when he’d caught you, early on, trying to open a window.

(You’d sobbed and promised, sworn on everything you loved, that you just wanted some fresh air – that the August air was stuffy and pressing. Enough tears, and Lucas had repented, finally, drawn back his blistering anger. Calloused thumb wiping your tears away and a gruff apology, followed by; “Aww, darlin’, don’t cry like that. C’mon now.”

Followed by kissing your eyelids. Followed by the press of his body upon yours. Followed by hands on your hips, thumbs digging into your thighs to part them. Followed by him murmuring for you to cry for a different reason.

He likes the tears. It’s a good lesson to learn so early on in your life with him).

You shrug helplessly.

“I like the atmosphere?” You give him, your voice quavering at the end. “All of those kids in cute costumes, jack-o’-lanterns, cuddling up warm and cosy on the couch with a scary film on--”

His shoulders relax minutely, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah,” he says to you. “I s’pose those things ain’t so bad. I’m not a scary movie guy – there’re enough things to be frightened of out there in the real world, y’know?” He walks towards you, joins you on the couch. His arm wraps around your shoulder and you let yourself be drawn into his embrace, because you risk upsetting the balance again if you shy away. With a sigh of pleasure, he drops a kiss onto the top of your head. “Gets real busy up here around this time. Trespassers. I prob’ly won’t even be around mosta the night; gotta patrol the area. Think we can rustle you up a pumpkin and a coupla’ videos though, huh?”

You swallow. You know what he means by ‘patrol the area’ – you think of teenagers in local towns, daring each other to spend the night in the woods. You think about twenty-somethings with their tents and their camping and coolers full of beer, telling spooky stories about huge cannibals who live in the woods--

You think of Lucas’s weapons, the axe shining bright mounted on the wall, and the sound it had made as it had thwacked into the ground beside your head as Lucas had realised you were trembling and whimpering and sobbing and merely lost, not some ne’er-do-well out here for any other reason.

How much fuller will his freezer be, come the first of November?

He’s true to his word, as he so often is. Despite everything, he looks at you hopefully when he presents to you the things he brings back from his little foray into town; his head cocked, an echo of the earnest young man he might once have been beneath the scars and the greying.

He presents to you: one large pumpkin, three VHS tapes of movies you haven’t heard of that look like schlocky 90s B-movies, a multi-pack of sweet treats obviously intended to be poured into a bowl for trick or treaters, and a bean-filled plush of a fat black cat.

“I thought we could carve the pumpkin together,” he says, which you think is just an excuse not to leave you unsupervised with sharp implements. He trusts you to cook, now – but he still likes to be in the room, even if he’s not guiding your hand with his fingers entwined around your own over the knife.

“That would be nice,” you cautiously reply, and he smiles at you all soft and gooey-eyed. Your spine still feels like a rod has been shoved in it; being around Lucas can so often seem like a balancing act, and normally he does not come back from town in anything resembling a good mood. But giving you presents and the pleasure that had sparked in your eyes and the truth tinging your thanks have clearly set him well for the evening; he’s whistling as he rattles around in the kitchen to find the implements.

“C’mon here then, angel,” he calls, and you tuck the fat little black cat into the corner of the couch - it will be nice, you suppose, to have something to hold when you are alone later. You doubt the movies will provide much in the way of stone-cold terror, but the knowledge that Lucas is out there stalking the night and it would not take all that much for him to turn his rage on you certainly does.

It will be nice, too, to have something to hold that is yours and is not haunted by the echo of ghosts of Lucas’s past. Once, you had been uncomfortable in bed, rolling and writhing and whimpering through a nightmare – and Lucas had gently shaken you awake and placed a bear into your arms you had never seen before.

You might not have ever seen the bear before, but it had clearly once been loved; visible stitches re-attaching an ear, the velvet flocking rubbed off on its nose, the fur compacted from many nights of cuddling.

You try not to think about someone else, after you, having the little cat placed delicately in their arms.

When you enter the kitchen, you see that Lucas has spread newspaper out all over the floor, placing the pumpkin carefully in the middle with an array of carving implements and pens laid out for you. There’s a waiting candle and a box of matches on the table, waiting for the final touch.

The newspapers are all nearly twenty years old. The matches have packaging you’ve never seen before, the kind of retro artwork you’d see hipsters hang ironically on their apartment walls.

You crouch to get onto the paper he’s laid out, but Lucas clicks his tongue in annoyance at you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, and he pats his knee where he’s knelt with them spread apart. “Come sit between my legs and let’s do it together.”

It takes you a moment to gather the courage to do it – touching him voluntarily is always harder than when he makes the first move – but you see that shimmer of frustration in the air, the imperceptible twitch of his jaw, and you clumsily climb over to situate yourself between them. You feel him let out a satisfied exhale as one of his arms wraps around your waist possessively.

“There,” he murmurs, directly into your ear. “Ain’t that better? More . . . cosy?”

You can feel every hair on the back of your neck, the thrum of your heartbeat, as Lucas’s hand fastens over yours and works at removing the top of the pumpkin. His chest is solid behind you, a barrel of muscle and scar – and when he shifts, and his crotch in his fatigues snugly presses against the curve of your spine, it takes all of your grace not to whimper at the feel of him hot and wanting.

Domesticity always seems to stoke something in him – and you suppose this would, under other circumstances, be a perfectly lovely Halloween evening. If Lucas were somebody you loved, and not a madman who kidnapped you from the middle of the woods. If that were so, Lucas’s breath against your ear wouldn’t make your head pound – his calloused fingers over yours wouldn’t make you wonder how he got all of those scars. The sight of a sharp instrument in his hand wouldn’t make you wonder how many have met their maker at Lucas’s behest.

There is none of the joy you would normally find in this activity, doing it with Lucas’s arm around you and his body bearing down over yours. There’s instead, the knowledge that he could break your bones if he wanted to – and a desire beating at your ribcage to get this over with as quickly as possible without alerting him to how much you hate it. Lucas hums softly under his breath as he helps you scoop out the insides of the pumpkin--

You feel your gorge rise at the sight of his hands scooping out the insides alongside your own, at the sensation of the stringy sticky pulp and seeds as they coat your fingers. The viscera of the pumpkin, laid out on the newspaper, as if some grisly crime has occurred right here in Lucas’s cosy cabin kitchen.

(He doesn’t like a mess inside the house. You know about the storeroom that you’re not allowed in, having peeked in it once when he’d left the door ajar to go and pick some meat up for breakfast whilst you stood in the kitchen with the chickens pecking around your feet. When he’d come out and seen you there, you’d stammered something about Dolly the silkie having wandered off – and though there’d been mistrust in his gaze, you’d kept your eyes wide and hidden trembling hands behind your back and eventually he seemed to have believed you).

The flash of a sharp knife in his hand makes you start against your will, your back pressing against him, your rear pushing into him. He lets out a noise that’s half a strangled huff and half a breathy chuckle.

“What’re you scared of, angel?” He murmurs, and you are stiff and frozen as he gently, gently, presses the flat of the blade against the palm of your other hand. “I won’t ever hurt you. Not less you give me a reason to. And you aren’t gonna, are you?” You’re glad he can’t see the deer-in-headlights look on your face, even as you give him a jerky shake of your head, and to your immense relief returns the knife to carving. “Good. Hurts my feelings thinkin’ you’re afraid of me.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

“I—I’m not?” You guess, stammering it out, trying to weigh out all of the options in your mind. If he was threatening you – one of those late night murmurs of “I’d break you into pieces if you ever tried to leave me, darlin’,” - then perhaps you wouldn’t have said it. But right now, he is pretending the two of you are a perfectly ordinary couple doing a perfectly ordinary thing, and so--

He laughs again, good-naturedly pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The pumpkin has taken shape now; a classic jack-o’-lantern face, jagged triangular eyes and teeth.

“You’re so cute,” he says into your hair. “Here. Look at that. Ain’t that adorable?”

Shakily, you nod. It’s not your best work – in your own kitchen, at home, you’d mastered the art of silhouetting elaborate scenes in your pumpkins. You’d used your favourite horror stills as inspiration (you force yourself not to think of last year’s pumpkin, of spending so much time carefully carving that iconic scene from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre into the orange flesh, Leatherface holding his chainsaw aloft – it’s better not to dwell too much on fictional monsters when there’s a very real one sitting behind you, holding you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek and resting his chin on your shoulder as he admires your handiwork).

This pumpkin is a little lop-sided; one eye bigger than the other, the cuts jagged and messy. But Lucas is smiling at it, and you force yourself to smile too.

“Where shall we put it?” He asks you, as he pulls himself up and offers you a hand to help you too. He’s a little too rough with it; pulling you against him with a throaty chuckle as you stumble, off-balance. Little reminders of your own fragility, your clumsiness and all of the things you struggle with always seem to put him in a good mood. “Windowsill?”

You swallow.

“C-can we put it outside?” You whisper, softly. “I know we won’t get any trick-or-treaters, or anything, but . . .”

You trail off; he’s looking at you again, the green in his gaze impossible to understand. He might be thinking about exploding into anger, he might be thinking about kissing you – but as you feel your knees threaten to knock together, he smiles instead.

It’s another smile that, on someone else, you would read as utter infatuation. Love, in all of its gooey, saccharine sweetness. On Lucas, though--

“Of course, darlin’,” he says. “Come put it out with me.”

You reach for the box of matches, but Lucas’s palm comes down over your hand before you can get a hold on them.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he says, as he picks it up himself, and strikes a match against the striker strip. You flinch at the sudden light, and Lucas makes a soft noise of satisfaction. “You'daa just hurt yourself. Leave this kinda thing to me, sweetheart.”

He lights the candle and places it in the lantern himself, before he turns to you and gives you an indulgent smile again.

“D’you think you can carry it?” He asks you, voice soaked in honey. “Don’t drop it, now.”

You nod shyly as you take it, hating yourself for playing along with him. If he wants a sweet, naive little thing who can barely take care of themselves and needs the big strong hunter in the woods to do it for them . . . well, you suppose your dignity isn’t so bad a price to pay for staying alive.

You are allowed out of the cabin, supervised. You’d earnt that right by being sweet and soft and obedient, by doing what Lucas asks and doing it the way he likes. You go out to collect eggs in the morning and you’re allowed to help him in the garden, planting vegetables and tending to those he already has. But still, every time you open the front door it feels like a treat – a thrill running through you at the reminder that there is a world beyond the four walls of home that have become your prison.

Lucas takes in a hissing sigh through clenched teeth as he opens the door.

“It’s getting’ later than I thought,” he says, to himself more than you. “I’m gonna have to get goin’ soon, sweetheart.”

You nod, and carefully place the pumpkin by the front door, where the candle inside flickers and wavers in the light breeze. You find yourself wishing that it would somehow escape its own cell of pumpkin flesh and set the cabin afire – wondering if it would really be so bad, to perish like that.

(How many more Halloweens will you spend with Lucas? Is it worse if the number is small or large?)

“Do you have to go?” You ask him, voice tremulous.

You don’t know if you want him to go. You don’t want to be with him; he terrifies you, leaves you feeling rattled and confused and conquered all at once, his presence looming over everything you do. But at the same time – you can’t in good conscience want him to go out there, to cut down Halloween revellers who merely thought the woods would be a good place for a spooky experience. Are you far enough away from wherever he might go that you won’t hear the screams?

You wouldn’t be able to pretend even if you don’t hear them. You’ll meet them later on, at the end of your fork.

“Awww darlin’,” Lucas simpers at you, grasping your chin in a hold like iron. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, I told you. I ain’t gonna let a single thing near this cabin; you ain’t gonna be in a jot of danger. I promise.”

Your face must betray your anxiety, because Lucas tugs almost painfully on it.

“Don’t you trust me, angel?”

Sickly sweet and bladed like ice, you mutely twitch your head in a meek nod.

“Of course I do . . .” You whisper, and Lucas smiles in satisfaction.

“Stay here at the door for a bit while I get ready, okay? Fresh air’ll make you feel better.”

Unspoken goes the ‘don’t you dare try and run’. You can’t see yourself doing it tonight of all nights, either – though Lucas has been sweet throughout the pumpkin carving, you can already see that as he considers the blanket of night out beyond the cabin he is shifting into a predator. So you stand there, breathing in deep, slow, controlled breaths. Trying to think about how pretty the stars are and the candy that Lucas has brought you to eat in front of his crackling old television. Trying not to hear the thud of Lucas’s boots and the sound of him getting down the axe from the wall, the swish of the displacement of air as he gives it a few practise swings.

“There we go,” Lucas says, as he comes back. His axe is slung over one shoulder, and he’s smiling at you. He hasn’t made a single allowance for the cold; he wears the same shirt in a shade of forest green, straining tight over his shoulders and biceps. The silvery skin of his scars shine in the moonlight. “Don’t stay up for me, okay? Get yourself to bed. I’ll try not to wake you up.”

(Will you wake up, hearing him drag a corpse into the store-room? It doesn’t matter – you know you won’t get much sleep tonight).

He stands there in front of you for a long moment. Anxiety sends a bead of sweat rolling down the nape of your neck. He’s waiting for something – he wants something, and you don’t know what it is, and he’s going to be angry at you for being a bad beloved and he’s going to lodge that axe in your skull--

“Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?”

His tone is teasing, but laced with simmering anger. Grateful he has thrown you a lifeline, you practically trip over your tongue as you reply in the affirmative.

One slow, lingering kiss – possessive. You’re shivering as he pulls away, and he smiles as he wipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth with something that might be fondness and might be triumph, like a hunter who has his prey cornered.

“See you later,” he says. “Don’t scare yourself silly, now.”

You stand at the door-frame, waiting for Lucas’s hulking figure to disappear into the darkness of the trees. His axe is swung over his broad shoulders. The jack-o’-lantern beside you flickers and gutters in the breeze, your only companion out here. Lucas turns and waves one hand at you, and then makes a very firm ‘shoo’ gesture that you interpret to mean ‘that’s enough, now. Get back in the house before I make you’.

You close the door behind you and turn the key as he disappears fully from your view. You’ve always felt awkward being alone in the cabin – about three weeks after your arrival here, he had given you heavy warnings and set out to the nearest town for the kind of supplies he couldn’t make himself – but tonight, it feels all the worse.

You jump at shadows and feel like you hear screams with every footstep, your brain already playing out thoughts of Lucas in the woods surrounded by corpses, bloodied and grinning and feral-bright. You have to try twice to get the video into the player, and your hands are trembling as you attempt to open a packet of M&Ms and spill them all over the sofa. You pull the curtains closed for full immersion and almost give yourself a heart attack when you see light flickering outside, until you remember the jack-o’-lantern.

Eventually, though, you do relax into the movie.

It helps that it’s a movie about a werewolf stalking a suburban town; you don’t know if your nerves would hold out if Lucas had brought you some kind of killer in the woods movie. Even he, though, seems to have realised that – a quick glance at the other movies show you that one is about giant bugs attacking and the other is set in a hospital.

It’s not a good movie. In a different lifetime, you’d watch this with friends and laugh and joke over the cheesy special effects and the over-acting. On your own, though, you at least feel somewhat comforted by the familiarity of the horror recipe. The coquettish blonde in the hot pink outfit will die first; the outcast girl in her too-big denim jacket will survive to the denouement and will perhaps kill the werewolf herself.

There’s a sound from outside.

You’re half-asleep in front of the sagging middle act of the movie, but the crunch of leaves under feet has you bolt upright. Lucas can’t be home already, can he?

Time stands still. There’s a muffled giggle, and then a low voice murmuring something. You slowly, slowly, pull yourself up from the couch. You’re grateful to have pulled the curtains closed. At least they can’t tell you’re in here.

A hundred scenarios run through your head, none of them ending well. You think of every home invasion movie in a holiday home in the middle of nowhere you’ve ever seen. You could laugh at the absurdity of dying like that, when you’re literally the prisoner of some cannibal psychopath already . . . all of that, and some other horror trope catches up with you instead?

Three knocks on the door, and a voice jokingly calls;

“Trick or Treat!”

Oh, saying all of that stuff to Lucas about trick or treating was so stupid. Wanting a pumpkin out there so you could pretend to have one little bit of normalcy left in your life.

A rumble of conversation floats through the walls; something about a dead phone battery, needing to find somewhere with a landline, a map that didn’t seem to have any of the landmarks they’d seen marked on it.

(You can sympathise with that; the map you’d been using, once upon a time, hadn’t made a single lick of sense after you’d gotten into the heart of the woods, like some nature spirit was messing with you).

But that could just be a way to make your defenses fall, you think. You’ve seen that in movies time and time again – I need the bathroom, I need to use your phone, I’m sorry I fell over and I’m injured can I rest here--

One of them has the nerve to try the door; the key jingles traitorously in the lock.

You’re shaking as you approach. You can hear conversation now; a male voice and a female voice, arguing. They sound about your age.

“There’s a fucking jack-o’-lantern burning, and there’s a key in the front door, of course someone’s in--”

“Look, this is some horror movie bullshit, I don’t like it--”

“Do you think anyone keeping fuckin’ . . . those fluffy-ass chickens is gonna be a murderer? C’mon. It’s probably some old couple with their hearing going. I’m gonna knock again--”

Three raps on the door and you find yourself collapsed against the cabin wall, your knees trembling. You know you should answer the door and you should tell them what’s going on here. You should beg them to run and take you with them.

But now you’re faced with it, you don’t know what to do.

“Hello?” The girl’s voice is louder now. “Is anyone home?”

Oh, she shouldn’t be shouting. Lucas can hear when you drop a fork doing the washing up from halfway across the yard, and always comes hurrying to make sure you haven’t hurt yourself.

“Look,” the boy, “We just need to use your phone, we’re lost—”

Another voice cuts across the squabbling – one deeper and darker and grittier. A thick Southern accent.

“You sure as hell are,” it says, and there’s outright hate in it. “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ on my property?”

The girl screams. You can’t blame her; at six foot four and bound in scars and muscle, Lucas is a frightening prospect at the best of times. But when he’s appeared from nowhere, holding his axe, like a horror movie villain . . .

“Shit!” The boy is swearing. “Look, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

You do not see the axe come down – how could you, from the hallway, behind the door? But you hear two screams, this time – both his and hers – and you hear the wet sound of something sharp meeting something soft. Blade striking bone – the slick noise of an axe blade being pulled out of a body and then swung back in. The sound of someone choking on blood, of someone sobbing--

You don’t know how long it goes on for. Your knees give out long before the girl gives up on screaming, as you sink onto the floor and hug yourself tight and squeeze your eyes shut against the noises.

It could last forever. You try and think of something else; somewhere happier. What would you be doing right now, if you were at home? How different would your October have been?

But the slosh of blood and the hacking noise of blade and flesh worm into your consciousness, the very real massacre going on outside the front door seeping into every memory you try and recall. Your pumpkins smashed to pieces, accusing staring eyes of the corpses of your friends at last year’s Halloween party as a man with an axe mows them down in your living room--

The noises have stopped. There’s not even heavy breathing, now.

“Darlin’?” Lucas calls out, from behind the door. “C’mon. I know you’re there. You can open the door now. You’re safe.”

You can’t disobey him, you remember, as you shakily climb back to your feet, using the wall as leverage. If you don’t do as he says, then you will also meet the business end of his weapon – and he’s already said, in those jealousy-fuelled threats that he whispers into your hair at the most intimate of moments, that for your betrayal, he’d make it hurt.

You turn the key with a trembling hand, and have to force your fingers to close around the door handle. Slowly, slowly, you pull it open--

The front porch is a mess of blood and flesh and organs and other things you carefully do not look at. These people have been butchered for more than just meat – but you look up at Lucas’s eyes instead and ignore them. You can’t think too hard on it.

There are splashes of blood all over his face, flecks of red in his stubble. His clothes are ruined.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, and he steps forward and the tang of blood invades your mouth and your nostrils and gets on your clothes as he pulls you into a tight embrace. “Don’t worry. I told ya’, I won’t let nothin’ happen to you. Not tonight, not ever.”

He says it like this poor lost couple were a threat, and not just unfortunates who happened upon the wrong woods at the wrong time. The wrong house.

(If you hadn’t put that pumpkin out, they wouldn’t have thought that there was anyone here. It’s your fault.)

His grip around you is tight. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in his chest for a moment, and try to pretend nothing has happened.

It can’t last. Lucas pulls back, takes hold of your shoulders.

“Well?” He says – and bile rises in your throat as you realise you have to say it. You have to do it. If you want to stay on his good side--

“Thank you,” you breathe out, hating yourself for every syllable. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

And as you stretch onto your tiptoes and Lucas bends down to meet your lips for a thank you kiss, you pretend that there aren’t two corpses outside of the front door.

You carved a pumpkin. You ate candy. You watched a shitty horror movie. It’s like every Halloween before it--

He pulls back; a hand ruffling through your hair, a smile on his face.

“Happy Halloween, darlin’. You get back inside while I clean this up, okay? Night ain’t over yet.”

#yandere oc #writing #ocs.txt #oc posting #yandere for ts #cannibalism for ts #dub con for ts

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just-antithings · 15 days

Note

This happened a long time ago but I'm still bitter about it so I wrote this

In the peak of covid I started writing fanfic it was really cringe worthy self-indulgent oc×character 10k fic on ao3 that got like 10 kudos but it was my baby Anyways everything was going well until some anti read it and decided to criticize my work , and wow were they creative there "criticism" was absolutely something

1- the anti took issue with my oc being a black masculine woman saying that I was potraying racist stereotypes of black woman

*I am a masculine black woman btw I guess my existence it now a bad stereotype now*

2- oc's father the abuser showed signs of schizophrenia so I was demonizing people with mental illness

*this character was inspired by my abusive father , funny enough my dad wasn't diagnosed yet when I made the fic so I guess this random anti successfully diagnosed my dad before he even went to a therapist

3 I was fetishazing lesbian relationships

*to this day I don't know what the anti ment by that it wasn't even smut the oc and the character only kissed once and I'm a fucking lesbian*

After that they found my tumblr made a callout post and let my inbox be flooded by death threats by other antis until I deleted the fic I lived a whole year thinking the police will knock on my door because I dared to write a fanfic (wich it funny now but terrifying for a 15 year old)

*My biggest problem with the whole thing is the Anti was fucking straight white girl in her 20s like wtf*

that's why I take issue whenever when an anti cries racism about fanfiction , I don't trust them to know the difference between racism and not liking a specific charictistic (or they know just but know people will be more likely to send threats to someone if they used racism as a shield)

Like moments ago I stumbled apon a post calling z fandom racist for making a black character top because that inforces bad stereotypes of black men being aggressive to then stumble apon another post calling fandom y racist for making the black character bottom because black people shouldn't submit to white men (like wtf)

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #posted without comment

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icarustypicalfall · 1 month

Text

Commander's last love

masterlist ★ fic masterlist ★ part 3

Phillip Graves x fem reader

Summary He wasn't well-loved, and many would pay a fortune to have his head.

Warnings New oc, self-sabotage, military inaccuracies, highly based on mw2 and 3

note i had this draft for now 4 days, couldn't spare time to post it. Ramadhan Karim to my folks ily 🤍

tag list 🤍: @unicorngirly1

★

"And I am the idiot with the [tainted] face in the corner taking up space"

Mission [A2626]

Location: [CLASSIFIED]

Time: 11:03:15 - 10/10/2022

Phillip hurriedly exited the room. He couldn't help but unleash a string of curses under his breath, venting his frustrations from the past few hours. His ire was focused on Luke his brother, life choices that led him into crashing his butt for more than two hours on an uncomfortable chair, general Shepard and his stupid narcissistic self, the odd moments you chose to mock his stratigies, you and that pathetic of a person he ignored the existence till today morning.

Ever since your encounter in the archive room, Phil had been intrigued and hoped to sit beside you during today's meeting. He knew he had an advantage because, technically, he was your commander. He could sit wherever he pleased, and with Farah's stern gaze fixed upon you, there was no room for disobedience.

As Phillip chanted over some clever lines to impress you. He didn't know what made him interested, or persuasive, he was just following the flicker of light that perked from the wall.

However, his joy was quickly extinguished when he spotted you with another man. Anger welled up within him as he silently judged the fella who seemed careless, lifting you up and spinning you around. Tall, tanned, and muscular, he was the embodiment of strength.

The man eventually set you down, and Phillip averted his gaze. He hadn't realized that you had someone in your life. It wasn't jealousy that consumed him, but rather a profound envy that defied explanation. A fire burned inside him, igniting a desire to burn everything down in that room. But he chose to remain silent.

Phillip entertained the thought of praying for peace, even though he rarely indulged in such practice due to time and effort. Instead, he found himself praying for the slow death of the poor young man who had been yapping for the past five minutes about god knows what while holding your hand.

As everyone gathered around the table, Colonel Farah gestured towards the man, who once again had his hands draped around you. Phillip couldn't help but wish he could just bomb the entire room and be done with it.

"This is Sky, our former subordinate who will be assisting us in Mission A2626," Colonel Farah announced.

Phillip couldn't suppress a laugh. Well, at least he could compete with this guy when it came to having a cool name. Seriously, Sky? How pathetic. Under normal circumstances, Phillip might have been able to tolerate it, but with you clinging to him like a darned jacket? Absolutely not.

He looked up at Sky, shaking his hand with unnecessary force, a display of dominance reminiscent of the old days. "Nice to meet ya, Commander Graves, CEO of Shadow Company," Phillip introduced himself.

Sky didn't seem fazed in the slightest. He smiled, and Phillip couldn't help but think the guy should have been a model, although he would never admit it. Sky replied, "Sky Diver, Sergeant and right-hand of my little Ash.”

You snickered, playfully pushing Sky's shoulder before sitting away from Phil (how dare you).

Phillip could swear he saw a faint blush on your covered cheeks. He wished his words could bring a genuine smile to your face. Instead, all he ever received from you were cold glares and disgusted looks whenever he attempted to tell you one of his uncle Jo's lame jokes from Thanksgiving family gatherings.

In some strange way, it felt like he was back in high school, competing against the jock for the attention of the pretty girl. It was a peculiar and almost animalistic sensation, but to Phillip, it felt like a matter of life and death. He had only known you for three days, whereas it seemed like Ash had known you since you were in your mom's womb.

Phillip could have drowned his sorrows in any bar, downing the entire stock of rum and calling it a night. Or perhaps he could use that bazooka passed down from his great-great-great grandfather to blow up Ash's charming smile and his impressively large, tanned biceps.

He could certainly use a glass of rum.

But Phillip wasn't one to give up easily. No, he had never learnt a healthy way to handle pain or rejection. Instead, he pushed forward and tried even harder, even if it hurt him in the process. He needed to feel alive again, to experience something beyond the constant turmoil that surrounded him. He didn't know when the Reaper would come knocking on his door for another visit that would undoubtedly take his breath away (literally).

In the life of Commander Phillip Graves, the line between life and death was as thin as a coin. Fate had often saved him from falling into the abyss, but he knew that one day he would stumble and never find his way back. He had his own methods of finding enjoyment, whether it was going out, having a drink, or simply doing nothing at all.

He had avoided relationships like the plague. Firstly, he had never witnessed a healthy and successful relationship, growing up in a household that constantly portrayed them as dysfunctional (thanks to his excuse of a father). Secondly, he had never been in a relationship that lasted longer than a couple of months. He isn't exactly a bad person, he tries his best. Sometimes, it's not enough. He isn't a dog, he doesn't know why he bites.

But, as he looked at you, he found himself contemplating the idea of being with someone for the first time in years. Bless his old man heart that had beaten solely for the sake of survival and his ears that yearned to hear a genuine compliment that wasn't aimed at getting into his bed or emptying his pockets.

He knew you would never entertain the idea of being with him. You were young, probably in your early twenties, judging by the lack of information in your file. You were beautiful, intelligent, strong, respected, and above all, loved by everyone. Phillip, on the other hand, was an old dog, a soul scarred by war and battles. He may possess a certain handsomeness, but he despised the scars and every reminder of the pain etched onto his body. He wasn't well-loved, and many would pay a fortune to have his head.

You were out of his reach; he could never have you. Phillip could only watch from a distance, giving commands and irritating you. Perhaps, on the rare occasion, you might warm up to him and laugh at one of his jokes, but it would be as rare as a blue moon. However, one thing he was certain of: you would never be his.

After the meeting, where sitting for such extended period had left him with a square butt (a common side effect of being in the army or any job that involves prolonged sitting), he followed you and Sky discreetly. You were headed to the Mass hall?

Excellent.

He would be there, lurking behind your table, eavesdropping.

Wait, what? What do you mean he was spying?

How dare you make such an accusation! He was simply ensuring he had all eyes and ears focused on that parachute (seriously, Sky Diver? He thought Soap was outrageous). Secretly, he hoped Sky would turn out to be a hopeless hero who would volunteer to dive without a parachute when there were enough to go around (a dyslexic problem, no offense intended).

You and Sky spent the day inseparable, while Phillip trailed behind feeling disheartened. You seemed happy, and he didn't want to ruin that. He returned to his room, where he plopped down on his bed for a solid two-hour crash, hearing General Shepard vent about his weak joints and veteran issues. Phillip wished for death once again. He cursed the old fart's ancestors and every choice he had made in life. All he wanted was to be rich. Why did he have to endure all of this?

Later, Phillip found solace in his bed, relishing the peace after a day of being the sidekick in everything. He believed his soldiers weren't grown men; they were more like children in primary school fighting over toys and blabbering family secrets, all of which embarrassed him.

"I once saw the commander sleeping with a blanket he had since he was a baby," Martin claimed, earning a smack and an embarrassed glare from Phillip.

Phillip sighed, pulling out the blanket in question and wrapping himself in it like a cocoon. He sat down and inspected your file for the seventh time today (heaven forbid a man has a hobby). As he held the picture, it slipped from his grasp, and he noticed that Sky was in it too. Seriously, this man was everywhere. He might as well find him in the pattern of his boxers or in the posters of his old favorite bands.

Now, Phillip recognized most of the people in the picture: Colonel Farah, Alex, two soldiers making silly faces. Sky, with his arm draped over another guy, winking, and a female soldier he had only just noticed in the background, smiling. Who were these people? Who was the photographer? And why was this picture in the archive room?

Phillip sighed, feeling more lost than ever. He could hear your laughter through the thin wall, probably another funny story from Sky, who apparently resided in the next room.

Great.

Phillip let out another sigh, lazily lying on the floor, staring at the dark ceiling until he fell into a deep slumber.

His soft snores drowned out the faint cries that emanated from the neighboring room, disrupting the peace of the night.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #philip graves #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves x you #phillip graves x female reader #𓆩♡𓆪 faith writes #cod modern warfare #call of duty mwii

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blurredcolour · 3 months

Text

Take These Broken Wings

Dick Winters x Enlisted!Unnamed Female OC/Reader

Trapped behind his desk, Dick finds out the unthinkable has happened to the woman he cares about. Now he has to deal with the consequences; first as her commanding officer and then as the man who loves her.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied Sexual Assault, Descriptions of OC/Reader Injuries, Discussion of Retaliatory Violence, Gentleman's Agreement Not To Prosecute, Period Specific Ideas about Honor and Protection of Women, PTSD, Weapons, Language, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Because of the sensitive nature of this fic, I chose to write it in the third person but only a nickname is used so it can be read as a reader fic. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within, particularly the Red Devils in this case!

Special Note: Dearest tag list, I have chosen not to tag any of you because this is so wildly different than my usual fics, I just wasn't sure who would want to read it.

Word Count: 4148

-------------------------

October 17, 1944 – Schoonderlogt, Holland

It had never been his intention to fall in love with her. With any of the female paratroopers in the 506th, for that matter. But like the slow erosion of a river carving a new path through bare rock, she had ever so gradually hollowed out a place for herself in his heart until all at once he realized he could not live without her. Of course, if one were to ask her, she fell in love with Dick Winters the first day they met in Toccoa, Georgia, sun scorching their skin, blazing his hair copper – or so she liked to remind him often.

His realization had not come until he’d found her halfway up a tree in Normandy, tangled in the lines of her parachute, desperately trying to slice herself free before she was discovered by enemy troops. The sheer panic he had felt as his mind flooded with all the possible ways he could have lost her that night had only served to drive home how deeply he cared for Peaches. Dick didn’t often use the nickname that Nix had bestowed on her; a nickname born of some sordid adventure involving cans of peaches that he’d decided he’d rather not know about. But he did love the way it made her nose crinkle when he slipped it into their stolen moments together. Moments that were becoming harder and harder to find now that he had been placed in charge of 2nd Battalion.

Several pages being laid on his desk by Zielinski tore Dick out of his inner musings and he lifted his pen to add his signature to the line where his Orderly pointed expectantly. Sink had assured him the paperwork would be ‘nothing to sweat’ but Dick was certainly sweating it now. The call of Nixon’s voice as he came up the stairs was a welcome reprieve from the rapidly multiplying stacks of paper on his desk, something that his friend seemed only too happy to point out.

Dick could only feel envy, mixed with trepidation and a certain amount of helplessness, as Heyliger informed him Operation Pegasus was preparing to launch in a matter of hours and he remained trapped in his combination office and bedroom in the attic. As the pair of them made their way down the stairs and out of the requisitioned farmhouse, Dick looked up from his typewriter once more as he heard Nixon’s bright greeting.

“Hey there Peaches, you’ve got something on your face.”

“Very funny Captain. Lieutenant.” He heard her voice reply and did his best not to grin.

“Zielenski, could you go grab a new box of pencils from the storeroom? It’s going to be a long night.” Dick swallowed, doing his best to come up with an excuse for two minutes alone with her, five if he was lucky.

“Yes, sir.” There was a note of confusion in the man’s voice but thankfully he complied, hustling down the stairs.

There was a moment of silence before he heard the door shut followed by the sound of her jump boots scuffing up the worn wooden steps, grinning as she was startled to find him waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

“And here I was thinking I’d surprise you…Who was that?” She glanced back towards the door, and he sighed, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, how’re you feeling about this thing?” He asked softly, taking her hands in his.

“Should be fine, Moose picked mostly people who can swim, the Canadians are nice. That Colonel Dobie sure is handsome.” She teased lightly, lacing her fingers with his.

Despite her teasing tone, Dick still felt a little annoyed at the comment, particularly given the fact that the man was free to swim the river in reconnaissance and join the operation that night while he was a glorified paper pusher.

“Too bad for him I like ‘em tall as a stalk of corn and copper as a penny.” She leaned in to press her lips to his and Dick felt his eyes fall shut, tension that he’d been carrying for hours slowly ebbing from his body.

She pulled back with a soft smile before frowning apologetically. “Sorry my love I got grease paint on you.” She licked her thumb and swiped at his cheek like he was a grubby toddler, and he could not help the broad grin that stretched his features even as he felt his cheeks heat up at the term of endearment she’d only recently begun to use.

“I’ll get it in a moment, Peaches.” He muttered, glancing around to ensure they were still alone before sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close, kissing her soundly. “Be safe out there…don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

“Oh, like run across a field toward two companies of SS by myself?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he pressed his lips together, still able to hear every word of her displeasure at being left behind for the agonizing seconds it took for the red smoke signal to appear.

“Especially that.” He muttered, clearing his throat and taking a step back as he heard the door open at the bottom of the stairs.

She quickly grabbed her handkerchief and soaked it with water from her canteen, passing it to him so he could scrub at his face, hopefully removing all evidence of their interlude.

“Pencils sir.” Zielenski held out the box proudly and she raised an eyebrow, introducing herself warmly to the Orderly.

“That’ll be all, Sergeant, good luck out there.”

“Thank you sir, appreciate your time.” She replied smoothly, looking completely unaffected while Dick was very aware of the residual heat in his face.

Dick took his time opening the box, watching her back as she slowly descended out of sight until the door closed shut behind her. Sinking into his chair he submitted himself to another few hours of pointing and signing with his Orderly before sending the boy to bed, peering out his window hopefully when a great ruckus arose from one of the barns out back.

Glancing at his watch to confirm it was nearly 0200, he smiled a little to himself as everything seemed to have gone off alright. Rain drops began to sporadically strike the windowpane before the clouds opened into a steady, driving rain. Dick dropped the curtain with a sigh, the room filled with the rhythmic sound of water striking the roof and rolling off the eaves. It was dangerously tempting to lay his head down on his desk and give in to the heaviness in his eyelids, to allow himself to be lulled to sleep. Shaking himself physically, he turned back to yet another report and began striking the keys of his typewriter with a vengeance, hoping to keep himself awake with the racket.

Dick was just spooling a fresh page into place when Nixon was suddenly hurrying up the stairs, followed by Colonel Dobie himself. Both men were wet as drowned rats, but it was the seriousness of their faces that pulled Dick to his feet immediately, securing the pencil from between his teeth into his fist.

“Dick, you remember Colonel Dobie.”

“Yeah…yeah I do…” He replied slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of a sword dangling over their heads as he waited for them to tell him what was going on.

“Terribly sorry to barge in at such a late hour but I wanted to inform you of this incident personally. Well, incidents more precisely. It appears that one of our men, a Holman from Yorkshire, has been severely beaten by a couple of your men from Easy in retaliation for his attack on one of your female soldiers.”

Dick nodded once as he processed the news, heartrate picking up immediately. There were a total of twenty-seven women in 2nd Battalion, but given that it had been only Easy involved in Pegasus, that narrowed it down to a possible nine, of which just a handful had been chosen for the operation. Dick merely had to glance at Nixon to confirm his worst fear. Peaches.

He didn’t realize how tight his grip on the pencil in his hand had grown until the wooden object snapped in two.

“I am willing to consider the matter settled and in need of no further action. The man in question will be returned to England and assigned to some menial duty once he recovers from his injuries.” Dobie continued.

“That will take some time?” Dick asked calmly, despite the searing rage he felt rushing through him.

“Your men were thorough, Captain.” The Colonel replied, grimly.

Dick stood there a moment, eyeing an ink stain that had seeped into the wooden desk top while he was refilling his pen, considering. A beating and unpleasant assignment as punishment for heaven knows what the man had inflicted on her. But to demand more formal proceedings would immediately require testimonies and punishments for the men who had taken it upon themselves to defend her honor. He closed his eyes a moment, vision immediately flooded with her smiling face on one of the blissful outings they had enjoyed during their furlough in England. Forcefully setting the image aside, despite the way it wrenched at his heart to do so, he nodded again. If only to save her further pain.

“Agreed.” Dick offered his hand, Colonel Dobie sealing their agreement with a firm handshake.

Dobie turned to shake Nixon’s hand as well before seeing himself out, Dick waiting until he heard the door close before he spoke again. Two questions on the tip of his tongue, two men inside him, warring for dominance. To his dismay, he had to allow the Battalion’s commanding officer to speak first.

“Who are our vigilantes?”

“Martin and Randleman.” Nixon replied, sitting on one of the folding chairs at the small table in the corner with a heavy sigh. “Moose has them downstairs if you want to talk to them.”

“Yeah. Show them up.”

Nixon leveraged himself out of the chair and was halfway across the attic before he suddenly turned back. “She put that can of peaches in Parkes’ footlocker.”

Dick eyed his friend in confusion, the information seeming utterly irrelevant to their current situation until he suddenly remembered one of Sobel’s impromptu barracks inspections back in Toccoa.

“That dumb bastard wouldn’t leave the women in her squad alone, so she planted it there to get him in trouble – never expected him to get thrown out entirely.” Nixon sighed heavily.

“Where is she?” Dick asked quickly, the words almost melding together in his haste to get them out of his mouth.

“Johnny thinks she’s holed up in the supply barn, I’ll find out.” Nixon replied with a frown and Dick nodded silently, muscles of his jaw clenching almost painfully as he clung to the last vestiges of his focus.

He tossed the broken halves of the pencil onto the desk, frowning at the mess of lead on his palm and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket, frown deepening at the smudges of grease paint there from her face. He clenched the fabric between his fingers as Moose entered the office followed by a hard-faced Martin and a typically laidback Randleman.

“What happened?” He asked plainly, eyeing them expectantly.

Moose stood off to the side, watching Martin and Randleman exchange a look.

“Don’t all talk at once…” Dick prodded calmly, and Martin turned back to him.

“Bull and I were on our way out of the celebration, wanted to beat the rain and get back to our quarters – didn’t work out. Ran into Peaches as we got around the corner of the building. She looked like hell, roughed up, wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“She just ran, not like her at all, sir.” Randleman chimed in.

“And then that bastard from the Devils, or whatever they call themselves, came around the corner looking all pleased with himself. Adjusting his pants.”

“Knuckles busted up.” Came Randleman’s addition once more.

“Anyway,” Martin continued after a sharp nod of agreement, “it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

Dick exhaled a slow, measured breath. “I can appreciate why you both did what you did. Next time, and we can only hope we never have to have this conversation again, bring him to Moose, to me. We have systems in place, alright?”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All that said…well done.” Dick said with quiet emphasis, letting his pride and gratitude burn brightly in his gaze. “And you’re both on latrine duty for the next two weeks.” He tacked on because he really had no choice but to punish them.

A pair of smirking salutes was the only response before Moose ushered them out. Dick waited until the count of twenty before sliding the suspenders of his OD pants onto his shoulders, shrugging into his jacket and clapping on his helmet. Grabbing his M1 and flashlight, he quickly made his way down the stairs and out into the persistent deluge toward the supply barn, nearly slamming into Nixon on the way.

“Follow me.” His friend nodded and continued to lead the way, nodding to Liebgott who was standing guard at the door, soaked to the skin.

“Joe.” Dick greeted him, noting the way he had his collar turned up obscuring half his face. The way his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

It easily could have been in an attempt to protect himself against the elements, but Dick also knew Liebgott was the sort of man to never let anything go unanswered and if he was standing out here in the rain, he was surely more involved than anyone was letting on.

“Peaches is in there, sir. Doc Roe tried to help her, she wouldn’t let him touch her. Thought I’d make sure no one bothered her until she was ready.”

“Good thinking.” Dick swallowed.

He ought to press further, ferret out the truth of Liebgott’s involvement, but standing just outside where she was hiding, the other half of him was very much in charge now – wanting nothing more than to throw the door open and charge in. But by the sounds of it, that approach would be quite unwelcome.

“Why don’t you go warm up for a bit, we’ll take a turn.” Nixon said to Liebgott who looked between the pair of them before nodding in return.

“Thanks, sir.” He agreed, glancing back toward the barn once before jogging off into the night.

Dick waited until they were well and truly alone before slowly opening the door, stepping into the dim space, sliding his helmet from his head. The sound of footsteps retreating into the far corner behind crates of supplies drew his attention and he took a slow breath, calling her name softly.

“It’s me. Dick. I’m here to check on you.”

There was a soft, smothered sound and he clenched his fists, keeping his progress gradual and measured, trying not to make any sudden movements or noises to startle her. As he reached the rear of the barn, he rounded a stack of crates and his heart clenched painfully as his eyes fell on her wedged between a few bundles of blankets and sacks of something it was too dark to read the labels of. Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest, M1 tucked into the crook of her elbow as she eyed him warily in the dark.

Her normally tidy hair was in disarray, and the side of her face that he could see sported a gash across her eyebrow. He took another step closer, the air shuddering from his lungs as she flinched away, pressing tightly into the wall behind her, revealing her split lower lip, the swelling along her left cheekbone, the barely-dried tear tracks on her face.

Dick had never seen her shy away from anything since the day they’d met – not the obstacle course, the rifle range, Currahee, or jumping out of a C-47. For his proximity to garner such a reaction from her felt very much as though she had torn his heart from his breast and stomped it beneath her heel.

Sinking slowly into a crouch, he swallowed before speaking just above a whisper. “Peaches…”

The look of disgust, whether it was at the nickname or at herself – perhaps both, mixed with horror that crossed her face had Dick seriously considering if he had enough time to find Holman before his trip back to England and land a few blows himself. He gently corrected it with her name, teeth grinding together audibly in his skull as she turned her head to the side revealing small knicks at her throat. He’d held her at knife point.

“They’ve already found him. Some of the boys took justice into their own hands, but his superiors know now too.” He tried to reassure her, let her know he was no longer out there, no longer a threat to her.

Dick’s eyes dropped to follow the movement of her fingers as she picked at the torn ends of her nails, several cuts visible on her hands as well. Knowing her she’d probably put up a hell of a fight.

“P–” He stopped himself before he accidentally used the offensive nickname again. “…please you’re hurt. Can I clean you up?” He asked, voice trembling with the emotions he was desperately trying to keep at bay for her sake as he shifted forward onto his knees.

She shook her head violently in response, hugging her limbs tighter to her body, which hadn’t even seemed a possibility until it was done. Dick swallowed painfully, carefully laying his rifle and helmet down on the wooden floor beside him, sitting back on his heels.

“I love you.” He blinked rapidly at the gathering dampness in his eyelashes. “No matter what’s happened, I will always love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

She eyed him skeptically, no words passing between them for a long while. The sound of the persistent rain outside pounding against the roof filled the barn, drowning out the sound of their breathing, until she opened her mouth to speak at last.

“I froze.” She whispered, tone thick with self-loathing as she released her grip on her M1, laying it down beside his before sealing her palm over her mouth.

She began to shake with sobs so ferocious that no sound passed her throat, rendering the smothering effect of her hand unnecessary. Dick felt his heart shatter as he automatically reached for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and soothe some of her pain. Her repeated aversion to his touch, however, came flooding back and he froze, arms outstretched and aching to hold her, but wanting to respect her wishes.

The feeling of her body colliding with his chest as she launched herself into his arms punched the air from his lungs for several reasons, nearly sending him toppling over backwards with the force of it. Dick’s arms quickly gathered her onto his lap, one hand rubbing along her spine as her strangled sobs soaked his jacket, her hands clutching at him in return.

“You survived, my love.” He whispered against her hair, deciding he really ought to call her that in kind. It was only fitting for it was exactly how he felt. “You did what you had to do to survive in that moment. Please forgive yourself.”

He felt her shift against his sternum, the shudders wracking her body gradually slowing as she took deeper and deeper breaths, sniffling and wiping at her face carefully.

“Who did you have to yell at?” She murmured wetly, peering up at him cautiously.

“Martin and Randleman. Fairly certain Liebgott is somehow involved as well.” Dick replied softly, fighting back the urge to stroke her face. One step at a time – being allowed to hold her would more than suffice for now.

She sniffed. “Johnny must have figured it out first. I couldn’t even come up with a plausible lie I just…ran away from him outside the party…” Her eyes lowered in shame before she sat up slowly, Dick biting back a frown at the barely concealed wince that crossed her features.

“Nix is outside keeping watch. Can I take you back to CP? Get you cleaned up?” He swallowed, really wanting her to allow Roe to look her over but doubting that would be an option.

She looked to him, eyes suddenly wide with the terror of realization. “Oh god Dick, what if I catch something or…wind up pregnant…oh fuck…” Her face began to crumple, and Dick swallowed, quickly cupping her uninjured cheek hoping to startle her out of that train of thought.

As she jumped and looked to him sharply, he apologized gently. “My love, we don’t know if any of those things will happen. Hopefully they won’t, but no matter what comes next, we’re going to face it together.”

“But Dick I’m–”

“Don’t go and say something melodramatic, now. You’re the woman I love and something horrible has been done to you. It doesn’t change who you are to me.” He replied firmly, swallowing as she stared at him startled for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Now I’m taking you to CP and we’re getting you cleaned up, ok?”

“Should I salute you, Captain?” She raised an eyebrow before wincing and restoring her face to a neutral expression.

He felt his cheeks redden, a sure sign that things would some day return back to normal. That the woman he loved was still with him, she just needed a lot of care right now and he was more than happy to provide it. “That won’t be necessary, Sergeant.” He replied and tried not to smirk as she scoffed slightly in surprise before shifting to her feet slowly.

Dick passed her rifle to her before grabbing his own, rising to his feet and sliding his helmet on his head. He offered his hand to her, swallowing back his sigh of relief as she laced her battered fingers through his and followed him out through the maze of supplies to where Nixon was still waiting in the rain.

“Christ, Peaches…” He breathed when she came into view and Dick shot him a sharp look, trying, too late, to stop him using the nickname.

“Son-of-a-bitch ruined the nickname, Nix. I trust you to come up with a new one.” She sighed, sounding positively exhausted, and Nixon nodded quickly in reply.

“Noted. You sure you’re alright?” He asked softly and she shook her head.

“No. But someday, maybe.” She replied honestly and Nixon nodded empathetically as Dick squeezed her hand gently.

“Let’s get out of this rain.” He led the three of them back into the farmhouse, taking her straight to the washroom where he filled the basin with water. “Help or no?”

She paused a moment, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror left behind by the home’s original owners and Dick waited patiently until she turned back to him. “I can do it.” She replied softly and he nodded, closing the door to wait in the hall.

Nixon shuffled by carrying his pillow and Dick raised an eyebrow. “Give her my bed, I’ll take your crappy little cot.” He muttered, making his way to the attic before he even had the chance to reply.

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall, thoroughly spent by the events of the day, knowing he’d have to be up in just a few hours to face the rest of the paperwork on his desk.

“Dick?” Her soft voice startled him, making him realize he’d actually fallen asleep standing up, for just a moment.

Her lips twitched slightly with a hint of amusement, and he smiled slightly in return, nodding as she looked more herself despite the still-fresh injuries.

“This way.” He offered his hand and led her towards Nixon’s room, gesturing at the bed. “Gift from Lew.”

Her face softened, eyes glistening suddenly, reminding Dick just how fragile she still was. “Where is he sleeping?”

“Attic.”

“Then you need a bed too…” She replied as she crawled onto the mattress, sighing at the softness of the bedding.

“Oh, the floor is fine I…”

“Please hold me.” Her voice was small, her request simple and one that he did not need to hear twice to honor.

He unlaced his boots and removed his outer layers before crawling in with her, letting her curl up against him before sliding his arm around her carefully. “Comfortable?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“Very.” She replied sleepily and he allowed himself to drift, listening to the rise and fall of her breath, letting sleep nibble at the edges of his consciousness.

“Dick?” She whispered and he snuffled awake quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Does it smell like pee in here?”

-------------------------

Band of Brothers Masterlist

#dick winters x reader #dick winters x oc #dick winters imagines #dick winters imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #tw sa implied #tw assault #tw sa

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arikihalloween · 4 months

Text

Pantheon AU

✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️

Aka, Welcome to me making up deity designs because why the hell not

✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️

It started with this drawing I made of a Julie that I call Moon Deity

And people on twitter have been eating that up so I've felt some motivation to continue working on it

Today I'm sharing the 4 first deities I've finished

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Julie Joyful

Deity of the moon and oceans. Do not be fooled by her elegant and beautiful appearance, for she's an energic goddess that will bend bodies of water to her emotional will.

The moon is often associated to calmness, feminity, such things, but I decided to go with an other approach. The moon is small and fast. She turns around the earth every day of the year, and is responsible for the tides. The closer she is, the bigger the tide ! That doesn't sound that much calm to me. In this AU Julie appears calm only because Sally insist that she has to dress "regal" for their very important deity jobs. Isn't that silly ?

Julie will have alternate outfits depending on the activity she wants to do at any given moment, switching from pants to dress !

✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️

Sally Starlet

Deity of the Sun, stars and fire, she is the calm one, most of the time. Warm, but also a little stuck up sometimes, Sally likes when things are in order and go her way. She sees their deity roles as important ! The fiery goddess also gives her blessings in the arts, especially theater art which she favors

The sun doesn't move as much as the moon, but it is big and powerful and at the center of our solar system. I like the idea of reversing roles a little, having the sun being the calm one for once

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Home

The deity of death is a kind and compassionate fellow. He doesn't talk much, but listens very well, and will help souls pass to their afterlife with all the compassion in the world. He is also the patron of living spaces, as he wants to make sure beings live well, safe, sound and happy, before he comes to take them away.

I like it when death deities aren't cruel but instead very kind and comforting. Home will have a lot of little helpers ! Although, note that Home is the deity of death as in he's the reaper. There is other deities ruling over the concept of death ! Home is more of a psychopomp in this AU ( psychopomps are the "reaper" deities. It includes Valkyries, Ankous, Shinigamis, Grim Reaper, etc)

❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️❇️✳️

Wally Darling

The deity of life ! He creates and gives in abondance, whenever he can. He may not be particularly smart, or doesn't pay that much attention to his creations past their conception and first breath, but he means well and is still learning. He's a fairly new deity, replacing the previous one. Home is there to kindly help guide him to his new duties, along with Barnaby.

He's just a silly trying his best with great powers. Life is pretty mysterious, and not easy. The path is long and full of hardships, after all... but I don't think what gives the first breath of life is cruel for it. Life is still beautiful and should be cherished

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Bonus Appleblossom sketch because this is my self indulgent au so I will put in my ocs, headcanons and fav ships !

#welcome home #welcomehome #welcome home art #julie joyful #julie welcome home #welcome home au #wally darling #wally welcome home #fanart #pantheon au #home welcome home #sally welcome home #sally starlet #wally x julie #julie x wally #wally au #julie au #I'm actually pretty fond of this au #i like making up pretty designs #feel free to insert your oc in there !#i only ask that you don't take major powers/elements like wind/earth/sky/night/dreams/knowledge cause those are taken by the other cast hah #the aesthetic is mainly art nouveau !#or something close to it ig #i make shit up and am inspired from way to many things so don't try to extrapolate symbolism from other mythologies just ask questions #otherwise we'll all be lost #yes Nyxie will be in this au too btw #as well as three other ocs #because I finally have an excuse to use my creativity goddess #she's so back

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

Text

{2} - Written in the Stars - Yandere!Idol!Yeosang X Tall!Chubby!Reader

Soft Yandere AU & Idol AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor, Slow Burn

Pairing: Yeosang X Reader (ft. platonic Ateez ensemble)

Words: 16,875

Warnings: Slow burn. This story is going to be very self indulgent on my part, so please bear with the first few chapters. Mentions of Jonghyun. Fatshaming, name-calling (not done by any male idols), Wendy and Irene of RV are bitches towards OC, OC is a bit of a 'pick-me' girl but oh well. I think that's all. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Shamelessly, this part is probably even more self indulgent that the first lmaooo I apologize in advance for that. Still, I do hope you enjoy it, as I had a really fun time writing this chapter out. I actually had to split it, as originally I was going to make all of chapter two both the rehearsal day and actual performance of the award's show.

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Disclaimer: The first little portion of this chapter when the OC is speaking is implied that the OC is speaking in English. It is not until OC arrives at the venue where the following takes effect:

"This represents a line spoken in Korean."

"Bolded represents a line spoken in English."

"Bolded and italics represents a line spoken in Japanese."

Mini Masterlist - Part One

“Hello, everyone!” Your smiling face stares back at you from the screen of your phone as you go live on instagram. “I’m just on my way to rehearsal right now.”

The low voice of your publisher in the front seat reaches your ears, telling you not to talk so loudly while in the car.

“Oops, my bad,” you chuckle, turning back to face the camera. “Anyways, I wanted to do a brief live like this since I’ll be busy for the rest of today and tomorrow. I won’t be able to have my biweekly live on Friday night tomorrow cause of my event.”

Your eyes scan the comments, a small quirk to your lips.

“What event you say?” Your eyes gleam with mischievousness. “Well, as a few of you may or may not know, I’m in South Korea right now. I’ve been asked to perform an original piece of writing at the award’s show tomorrow night.”

A giddy smile stretches across your features.

“I know! I’m so excited!” You cheer. “It’s such a high honour to have been asked to create and perform a piece of written work for the show.”

A comment catches your attention briefly.

“I mean, I’m not sure if I’ll be hanging around any idols, but we’re all there to do a job, so I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone if that’s the case.” You reply, eyes briefly looking out of the window at the passing scenery. “As to if Mark Lee will be there or not, I’m not sure. If NCT is set to perform, then probably. I only know of a few select artists that will be there.”

A flood of ‘who’s and ‘omg really’s appear in your comments, a few popping up in different languages such as Korean and Japanese. You remain speaking English for now, but the other comments still make you smile. You’d just rather surprise everyone that watches tomorrow with your language skills.

“Why, whoever’s on the website listings, of course!” You wink playfully, shoulders shaking in laughter. “Nah, even if I did know, I’m not at liberty to say.”

That grin never leaves your lips as you scan the comments once more.

“Let’s see…” your eyes flit back and forth as you pick a question to answer. There seems to be one popping up repeatedly, more so than the rest. “Is it true you were on the same flight as Ateez heading to Korea?”

Your eyebrows raise slightly, amusement dancing on your features.

“Was I?” You hum, the familiar sight of those heads peeking over their seats filling your vision for the briefest of moments. “I don’t recall.”

Though, with the wink you send the camera, your comments are flooded once again.

“Nah, I’m just playing.” A knowing grin stretches across your features. “They’re all really nice people. Friendly, too. They are people after all, which I feel like a lot of others tend to forget about their idols. I don’t know why it’s so hard in general to treat others with basic dignity and respect.”

Immediately, your defence squad rolls in, asking if you’re okay and if something happened.

“I’m fine, everyone! Really!” You smile at how enthusiastic they are in protecting you. “It was more of a general comment than anything.”

Of course you don’t really want to divulge the small incidents you’ve already incurred while being in the country. You know that South Korea has a very lookism centric society, but even when you’re prepared for it, you still cannot help the way certain interactions make you feel. The looks you receive from the older crowd, many of them muttering under their breaths while shaking their heads, sometimes do not go unnoticed.

You may be a popular author, but not everyone knows who you are. Nor is everyone willing to accept the way you look, unfortunately.

Then again, it would probably hurt less if you didn’t understand what some of them were saying. Though, you will never forget when you were in a café the other day, and two taller women came up to you who didn’t necessarily fit into those typical Korean beauty standards. They were a little thicker than those around them, and goodness, were they gorgeous. The fact that both of them were your fans, and thanked you for giving them more confidence with your writing, and just who you are in general, really made your day. You could never forget them, even if you tried.

Thinking back on it now, a small smile pulls at your features.

“What am I thinking about?” You hum, noticing a few comments, only for your eyes to go wide. “My Ateez bias?” You laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “I mean…” you tilt your head, teasing smile pulling at your lips. “Well, if you know, you know.” A wink. “But nah, I’m thinking of a really lovely interaction I had the other day with two women at a café. Saeyoung, Haesoo, if you’re watching, thank you for making my day!”

The two weeks leading up to this point in time have been fairly hectic for you. Between settling into your new apartment, getting used to the time difference, and writing for your new novel, you’ve barely had time to relax. Not to mention the hours you’ve spent practicing your performance for tomorrow. You’ve barely had time to visit your friends, yet.

On the other hand, you’ve been messaging quite a few people quite often lately.

The first few days after exchanging contact information with Ateez were a little silent, but you just chalked that up to busy schedules on all of your parts. However, you weren’t expecting Hongjoong to message you in the middle of the night complaining about a song he just couldn’t get right.

Needless to say, he wasn’t expecting you to respond so quickly. In fact, he had been surprised that you had still been up at three in the morning. Only, when you explained the jet lag, and the fact that you had also been working on your writing, he understood. You’ve both sort of become night owl buddies now, messaging each other when you’re working on projects until the early hours of the morning. A hilarious fact, especially when you both start chastising the other for not getting enough sleep.

Then came the group chat.

You woke up one day to at least seventy-five Kaotalk messages from a new chat. Thinking it had been an emergency of some sort, your heart rate had skyrocketed. Only, you soon found out that it was just the guys speculating what you could be doing since you weren’t responding to any of them at two in the afternoon.

The moment you sent them a meme of a tired cat waking up with squinting eyes, and a message that only said, ‘wtf’, the real chaos began.

Wooyoung is convinced that he’s your Ateez bias, immediately rubbing it in the other’s faces. At that, you promptly received selfies from Seonghwa, Mingi, and Yunho just ‘casually’ wanting your opinion on them before they posted them to their instagram and twitter accounts. You also received photos of what each of the guys were doing from Hongjoong, telling you that this was the chaos you incited by finally responding.

Yeosang would comment one liners here and there that would absolutely knock the shit right out of you. The way this man had near perfect timing still amazes you, laughing to yourself every time you think back on his responses.

Both Jongho and Wooyoung are the most talkative in the group chat, but Jongho tends to message you a lot outside of it, anyways. More so than Hongjoong now, considering his main thing was that he didn’t want to bother you at first with his thousand and one questions about your writing.

You found out later it was both Hongjoong and Yeosang keeping him in line.

Mingi and you share anime recommendations when you can, and you’ve even started planning a day where you’ll binge some of your favourite shows together. You heard that San may or may not tag along, but that’s yet to be decided.

Speaking of San, he’s one of the most quiet in the group chat. You assume it’s probably because out of all of them, he’s the one you spent the least amount of time talking to. You cannot fault him for that; you both hardly know each other.

Yunho likes to crack jokes every now and then, along with Seonghwa, but they’re both really level headed guys from what you’ve gathered so far. They like to flirt, but not nearly as much as Wooyoung does. Besides, with the two older members, you can tell it’s just friendly, so you have no problem teasing them back. Wooyoung, on the other hand, you can’t be too sure. Though, if it truly bothered you, you’d get him to stop.

“Anyways, we’re getting closer to the venue, so I’m sadly going to have to say goodbye for now.” A dramatic pout pulls at your lips. “I know! I promise to do another live soon, and I’ll answer some questions about my newest novel and upcoming works then.”

The way the chat immediately starts flooding with happy messages and people saying they’re looking forward to it makes your heart swell in your chest.

“Alright, lovelies,” you smile just as the car pulls into the parking lot. “Thanks for tuning in. See you next time!”

With a final wave at the camera, you’re ending the live.

Letting out a low sigh, you tuck your phone back into your side pocket. Grabbing your purse, you notice that you’ve pulled up to the side entrance of the venue. Both you and your publisher step out of the vehicle, thanking the driver all the while.

Immediately, you’re greeted by security who escorts you inside and to the backstage area. Your publisher talks lowly with the head of staff, ensuring all of the requirements are met and getting all of the details you may need for now. They’re really only here to drop you off and then head back out for the day. Besides, the event organizer and stage manager will look after you if need be.

You follow quietly behind, taking in the space of the venue as more staff mill about. A few recognize you as you walk passed, their eyes lighting up as you shoot them a polite smile in return. Some of them must be on break currently, for you can see snacks and drinks scattered around a few the deeper into the arena you get.

Finally, you reach backstage.

“So, all of the groups are currently occupying the green rooms, or milling about. That means, unfortunately, you won’t be getting one to yourself.” The head stage manager turns to you once you reach them, speaking in English for the moment. “You’re more than welcome to observe the soundcheck from the floor, or from the seats instead of staying back here the whole time, as well.”

“Please, don’t feel like you have to speak in English for my sake.” You say, noticing how you catch all of the staff off guard with your Korean. “I can speak and understand Korean. So please, let’s all speak comfortably. Thank you for hosting me and including me in such a monumental show.” You bow politely in their direction. “The room situation most certainly will not be a problem. I don’t mind at all. Just tell me where to go, and when, and I will do my best to stay out of everyone’s way.”

You can hear the familiar boom of music from the stage area reaching your ears, though it’s more of a background noise right now.

The stage manager nods approvingly in your direction, a smile pulling at their features. “I understand. Thank you for being so accommodating. I cannot stay and talk long, for I’m needed elsewhere, but help yourself to drinks and refreshments. If you need any help, Riley will be more than happy to assist you. She’s been assigned to be your personal assistant today.”

At their words, a girl with long, chestnut hair steps forward. A giddy smile rests on her features, and you can see her visibly shaking in excitement.

“Hello,” she bows, addressing you formally. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, too, Riley,” you smile, telling her to just call you by your first name to make things easier.

“Alright, well, I’ll be off. Itzy is supposed to be having soundcheck right now, but we’re a bit behind.” The stage manager rushes off after that, speaking quickly into their headset.

“You’re not scheduled until the very end, so you have plenty of time to lounge around and do whatever you’d like.” Riley informs you with a smile.

“Oh, sweet,” you grin back. “Thank you for taking care of me today.”

“Really, it’s no problem at all!” She’s quick to answer. “To be quite honest, I’m a big fan so I jumped at the opportunity to be able to assist you in any way I could.”

“That’s very sweet of you! I really appreciate it.” You nod, moving to stand off to the side so that you’re out of the way.

“Your books are incredible, and reading them gave my boyfriend so much confidence.” She comments, a faint blush beginning to dust her cheeks.

“Ah, really?” Your eyes light up. “That makes me so glad to hear! I’m so happy for the both of you.”

“I can’t wait to tell him that you can speak Korean!” She says, grabbing a water bottle off of the table closest to you and handing it to you. “As long as you’re okay I share that with him, of course.”

“Of course!” You confirm. “By tomorrow night, most people will know, anyways.”

“Oh, are you performing your written piece in Korean, then?” She asks, eyes sparkling as you thank her lowly for the water.

“It’ll be a little bit of a mix,” you tell her, a small smile pulling at your features. “Korean, and English. Though, I contemplated adding Japanese to the speech. I opted out at the last minute.”

“You can speak all three?” Her eyebrows raise, voice incredulous.

“Yes, I can.” You confirm with a nod. “I’m working to learn Mandarin next.”

“That’s incredible!” She praises, and you avert your gaze somewhat bashfully. “I’ve been learning Japanese, but I have a hard time practicing it. Lack of conversation partners, and all that with the way my schedule is.”

“Well, if you’d like to practice with me, I’d be more than happy to help!” You say. “I may not be the best for correcting your pronunciation, but I can most certainly help with conversation practice.”

“Really?” Her eyes flash with excitement. “That would be wonderful, thank you!”

“Would you like to start now, or hold off until later?” The way you ask her this in Japanese catches her slightly off guard.

A blink, and she’s setting her expression into one of determination. “Now would be a good start.”

“Wonderful!” You smile. “So, then, Riley, tell me about your favourite animal.”

“Well, I absolutely adore sharks. I just think they’re really neat, and it’s so sad that some of them get hunted for sport.” She begins, taking a moment to think of her next words carefully. “Half of the time, they’re hunted after attacking a human, but they don’t know any better. I watched a documentary once where it explained that because of their poor…” her brow furrows slightly, “Oh shoot, I can’t remember the word.”

“Eyesight?”You supply, to which she nods, eyes lighting up in recognition.

“Yes, eyesight!” She replies enthusiastically. “Because of their poor eyesight, humans on top of surfboards look similar to dolphins and other aquatic mammals from below.”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re talking about!” You nod along with her. “I literally could not agree more. It’s sad that they get hunted just for following their instincts. I understand some of the reasoning behind it, but at the end of the day, you’re right. Sharks are just living and hunting in the wild like they always do.”

“Yes, exactly!” Riley turns to grab another water bottle off of the table for herself. “I just wish more people would understand that.”

“Me too, honestly.” You agree.

“Anyways, enough about me.” She chuckles, somewhat bashfully. “What about you? What is your favourite animal?”

“Oh, that’s easy, it’s-“ the words get stuck in your throat as your own brow furrows this time. You blink, thinking hard. A slight chuckle escapes you, “Now I can’t remember the word.”

“Maybe I know it?” She offers, but at the way she shakes her head once you say the animal, you know she doesn’t know the term.

Luckily for you, someone just so happens to be walking passed you for the moment, and without thinking, you stop them.

“Excuse me, but what’s the word for turtle in Japanese?” You meet the male’s gaze, noticing how stunned he seems to be for the moment.

Blinking, he tells you the word.

Recognition flashes behind your eyes as you turn back to Riley. “Right! Turtles are my favourite animals. I just think they’re so cute.” In the next second, you turn back to the male. “Thank you so much! I couldn’t remember for the life of me.”

“No problem,” he nods, somewhat in shock, before walking away.

Only, when you turn back to Riley, she wears an expression of mild awe on her features.

“I can’t believe you just asked the Yuta of NCT that question so casually.” Her jaw drops, a giggle falling from her lips as you shrug sheepishly.

“He was the closest person around.” You laugh along with her. “Though, I feel like he was expecting me to start freaking out about who he was when I stopped him.”

“Yeah, sometimes the extra staff we hire to help out don’t always act professional around the artists.” Riley explains, a sort of grimace to her features.

“Really? I would have thought there’d be a screening process for that.” You comment, brow mildly furrowed.

“There is, but sometimes they still slip through.” She comments. “That, and some people say they’ll act one way, but then when it comes down to it, act another.”

“Oh, believe me,” you hum in acknowledgement. “That I do know.”

Around you, you can hear some whispers beginning to float around about your arrival. A fact which you find a bit odd, considering you’ve already been at the venue for at least a half hour or so. Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice some more idols beginning to linger about as well.

Just as you go to continue the conversation with Riley, you hear a shout in the background of someone’s name. You watch as her eyes go wide just as you feel a weight jump onto your back.

“Zhong Chenle, you get back here right now!” Whoever it is, they sound mad.

“You’re real! Holy shit!” A voice right by your ear sounds, and you blink in shock, hands naturally coming to support the body now clinging onto your back. “Mark hasn’t been making you up this whole time in some elaborate fever dream!”

“Zhong Chenle!” The angry voice finally caches up to you, and you turn to see Kun from NCT frowning at the younger male clinging like a koala to your back. His gaze softens as he meets your own. “I am so sorry for him. Once Yuta came back to say you had arrived, he darted out of the room to come see for himself.”

“It’s no problem, really,” you laugh, and you notice your response catches them both off guard. “Yes, I can speak Korean.”

Beside you, Riley giggles.

The sound of feet hitting the ground reaches your ears, and you see some more males rushing over to you.

“Way to go, Chenle,” Renjun deadpans. “Way to make a great first impression on Mark’s author friend.”

Softly, you set Chenle back onto his own two feet. A second later, and Kun is reaching over to drag the younger male over to him by his ear. Renjun shakes his head disapprovingly all the while.

“Ow! Kun, stop it! That hurts!” The younger complains, batting the elder’s hand away.

“Once again, I am so sorry for him.” Kun apologizes, and you notice the faintest hue of pink dusting his cheeks.

“Really, it’s no problem,” you assure him, noticing too many pairs of eyes on you now.

You shuffle in your spot, beginning to rub a hand over the side of your one arm nervously.

“If he bothers you again, just come find me and I’ll deal with him.” Kun replies, sending a small smile your way.

You nod. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Wordlessly, Kun begins dragging off Chenle, Renjun in tow.

A few more people step forward.

“Not even a ‘hello’ for your biggest fan?” Mark quirks a brow, walking up to you with both Johnny and Taeyong on either side of him.

Teasingly, you begin to look around the space. “Why? Did you see Jongho from Ateez around?”

Mark looks truly scandalized by your words, his eyebrows raising significantly as his voice almost cracks. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, hi, Mark.” You reply casually, hearing Johnny snort at the intonation you use.

“No, no, I see how it is,” an overdramatic pout pulls at his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Spent all of three months convincing half the guys to read your books and this is the thanks I get once we meet.”

You lowly hear him muttering about how he is your biggest fan, not Jongho from Ateez.

“I don’t know, he was pretty excited when I met him on the plane.”You hum.

“So, you did meet Ateez on the plane ride over here.”Johnny observes, amusement dancing in his gaze.

“I did,” you nod in confirmation. “They’re all very nice.”

You notice Taeyong following along with the conversation, brow furrowed slightly as the music stops for the moment. “I think they just finished soundcheck. They should be back soon.”

“Then I’ll say ‘hello’ to them soon,” you reply, noticing the slight surprise that graces Taeyong’s features at your response. “If I happen to see them.”

“Anyways, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”Mark smiles, and you notice Johnny grinning smugly while nudging him not so subtly with his elbow. “Shut up!”

“What?” Your brow quirks, amusement dancing in your eyes.

“Well, are you going to ask her, or not?”Johnny teases the younger male beside him.

“I’m getting there!” Mark pushes the elder male back slightly.

“What can I do for you, Mark Lee of NCT?” The grin that pulls onto your features says it all.

“I- uh… um…” he stutters over his words, palms nervously rubbing over the thighs of his jeans for the moment.

“Where’s that confidence now, Markie boy?”Johnny laughs before turning to you, completely ignoring the glare the younger sends his way. “Mark wanted to know if you would be willing to give him a hug when you finally met.”

Mark looks about read to strangle Johnny, a bright red lighting up his features.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so!” You chuckle, extending your arms out to him. “Hugs are one my favourite things! As long as you ask first, or I’m offering, I usually don’t mind at all. Besides, I think Chenle technically already beat you to it.”

Mark immediately sinks into your embrace, wrapping his own arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You can feel the chuckle he lets out against your chest as he responds. “Yeah, sorry about that. Again.”

“Really, it’s no worries.” You tell him as he pulls away, holding you at arms length.

“Impromptu piggybacks are kind of his thing when he gets excited.” Taeyong sighs, shaking his head.

“No fair, I want a piggyback ride, too!” A loud voice draws your attention from the side.

Looking over, you see Wooyoung happily skipping over to you, the other members of Ateez in tow. It seems as if they’ve just finished their soundcheck.

“I’m sure it wasn’t a case of her offering,” Yunho chuckles, and you see the red-headed male pout.

“Hello boys, it’s nice to see you again.” You smile, tilting your head politely in acknowledgement.

“How come Hongjoong was the only one to know that you’d be in attendance today and tomorrow?” Jongho crosses his arms over his chest, a pout tugging at his features.

“You didn’t tell people?” Mark turns to you.

“I was told not to,” you shrug. “Privacy, and all.”

“Really? Cause Mark was more than happy to literally shout it out at practice when you told him.” Johnny blinks, a teasing grin pulling at his features.

“Which now makes sense why Chenle practically bulldozed me fifteen minutes ago.” You nod, turning your amused gaze towards the male standing beside you.

“You told Mark, but not us?” Mingi pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“To be fair, I’ve been chatting with Mark a lot longer than I’ve personally known all of you guys.” You say, a casual shrug to your shoulder. “Not my fault Hongjoong didn’t tell you.”

“Wait, but how come Hongjoong knew?” San’s brow furrows, turning to look at the aforementioned male.

“He’s not the only idol that should have been informed.” A slight frown tugs at your brow. “Speaking of, Riley, when’s the briefing meeting supposed to be?”

The woman, who had been silently standing to the side all this time observing the interactions straightens in her spot. “You’re set to meet with the idols you’ve requested to join you for your presentation just before we break for lunch. The rehearsal for your speech won’t be until the very end, though.”

“Requested?” Yeosang’s brow furrows.

“I’ve seen a few of them around, but I’ve yet to speak to the majority of them.” You comment.

“I’m still mad that you didn’t ask me to do it.” Mark crosses his arms over his chest. “Some friend you’re suppose to be.”

“I’m sorry!” You raise your hands in your defence, a hint of exasperation to your voice. “The organizers told me I could only ask so many people on such short notice. I only thought of the idea less than two weeks ago. I’m lucky to get even eight of them to agree!”

“As long as you haven’t forgotten about our bet.” He huffs, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“I most certainly have not forgotten about our bet.” You meet his gaze, eyes wide in exasperation. “You’re about to owe me ten meals, Mister. Anything that I want, too.”

“I sure hope you don’t mean him cooking for you.” Johnny snorts.

“Oh, god no.” You huff out a laugh. “Not after I saw the ‘egg incident’ of Resonance era.”

“Not the egg incident!” Johnny cackles right along with you, and you notice Taeyong grimacing as he remembers it as well.

Mark’s eyes are wide, a tight smile on his face showing just how exasperated he is. He almost looks as if he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Bet?” This time, it’s Hongjoong that quirks a brow.

“Oh, you haven’t been told? She bet him that she could learn-“

Johnny gets cut off by Mark’s nervous laugh.

“Mark Lee, you told me that you didn’t tell anyone about our bet.” Slowly, you turn your head to look at him, a tense smile on your face.

“Oh, the ‘Seventh Sense’ bet?” Taeyong tilts his head slightly in inquiry. “The whole of our group knows of it. We all want to watch you, what’s the phrase? Wipe the floor with him.”

“Mark Lee!” Your jaw drops. “I told you how I feel about dancing in front of other people! Especially when they’re idols! Not to mention the original performers of the song!”

“I’m sorry! You still said you’d do it!” He replies, lifting his hands in front of himself in his own defence. “I just got too excited!”

“More like carried away,” Johnny chuckles.

Casually, Yunho leans into Johnny’s side. “What’s this bet they have going on?”

“Oh, they were talking about some of her favourite NCT dances one time, and she commented on how one of them was, ‘The Seventh Sense’.” Johnny explains. “She admitted to always wanting to learn it just to say she knew it, but never actually got that far, yet. Mark decided it would be a good idea to discourage her from learning it since it is pretty difficult, and she doesn’t usually dance like we do. Hence, a bet was made that she would prove him wrong.”

“Listen,” you sigh. “I may not be a dancer, but don’t tell me what I can or can’t do. I will prove you wrong. I just wasn’t expecting to have a crowd when doing it. I don’t really like dancing in front of other people all that much anymore.”

“Why not?” Yeosang’s brow furrows, a slight downturn to his lips.

You curl your arms over yourself, holding your elbows delicately in you hands. A small grimace crosses your features as you seemingly curl in on yourself. “Personal reasons.”

A hushed understanding settles over all of them. That is, until Mark is breaking it.

“Is this about Kite?”

“Don’t-“

“Isn’t Kite your significant other?” It’s Riley that asks, and you notice all eyes on you.

“My ex, yes.” You sigh.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you weren’t together anymore.” She’s quick to bow to you, but you wave her off.

“It’s alright,” your expression falls, a grimace crossing your features. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Yeosang take a half step towards you. Only, you don’t chalk it up to much, as so do Mark, Jongho, and Yunho. “I just don’t like talking about him anymore.”

“Sorry for bringing him up,” Mark pats you comfortingly on your arm. “Anyways, Ten says he has to watch you dance for the bet.”

“Not Ten!” The instant mortification is clear on our features. “Anybody but Ten.”

“And Doyoung, and Jaehyun.” Taeyong nods.

“It could be worse. It could be worse.” You begin to mumble to yourself, blinking at the ground a few times.

“Well, if you want to owe me ten meals, you can always back out.” Mark comments casually, a hum to his tone.

“No way in hell.” Your eyes narrow. “I have to prove you wrong.”

“Now, this I can’t wait to see.” Johnny chuckles, eyes crinkling as he smiles.

Just then, a voice from across the way draws your attention.

“Holy shit, is that who I think it is?”

Looking across the backstage area reveals Vernon from Seventeen staring at you with wide eyes. Though, you notice that you’re not the only one who’s now staring at him in response.

Quickly, he bows, apologizing lowly before making his way across the backstage area. You note Mingyu, Seungcheol, Seokmin, and Jihoon all following behind him silently.

The crowd around you slowly begins to get bigger, and you notice some other idols lingering around the edges of the room, waiting to catch a glimpse of you. A fact of which that has a heat rising to your cheeks, shuffling once more in your spot.

Vernon stops on the edge of the circle you’re now apart of, smiling at you politely.

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” He inclines his head towards you in greeting, introducing himself and his group mates in succession. “It’s so nice to meet you. We’re all pretty big fans of your work.”

“Thank you so much,” you bow back to him politely. “It still boggles my mind knowing the idol groups I enjoy listening to know who I am. Not to mention read my writing.”

“You’re a fan?” Seungcheol blinks at you in shock.

“You can speak Korean?” Seokmin is equally as shocked, though there’s a hint of pleasantness to his tone.

“Yes, to both.” You chuckle, noticing how Jihoon shoots you a polite nod in acknowledgement. You smile back, leaning into Mark in the next second, “looks like Jihoon knows how to keep a secret.”

“Hey!” He whines, and you notice how most of the males around you look at the aforementioned one in confusion.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he smiles.

“You as well,” you return the look. “Thank you for agreeing to be a part of my presentation on such short notice.”

“Wait, is that why you nearly collapsed at practice during break about two weeks ago after looking at your phone?” Mingyu’s brow furrows, turning to look at the shorter male beside him. The height difference in person nearly makes you chuckle.

The way the shorter male elbows the taller one in the side is all the answer you need.

“That’s nothing,” another voice draws your attention from the side. “You should have seen the panic Hyunjin went into when we got the call.”

Wordlessly, the members of Stray Kids now begin to crowd around you, and you notice a few giddy smiles sent your way. Though, what makes you laugh is seeing Hyunjin’s exasperated look that he sends towards Bang Chan after the words escape the elder’s mouth. The way you see some of the members greeting Ateez excitedly has your heart warming in your chest. To be able to see all of the friendly interactions between the different groups makes you extremely happy for the moment.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding when you said she was tall.” A voice from your left draws your attention, and you notice Changbin staring at you with an awe filled expression while standing beside Wooyoung.

“I told you.” Wooyoung replies, a smug grin tugging at his features.

“Speaking of height, Jaehyun and Jungwoo owe me twenty bucks.” Johnny hums, walking off back towards the green rooms with Taeyong in tow.

You turn to Mark, a questioning look on your features.

“They didn’t actually think you’d be taller than me.” Mark grumbles, averting his gaze.

“I take it you didn’t, either.” You chuckle, noticing how a few males shift closer in order to see just how tall you are compared to them.

“To be quite honest, I didn’t,” he chuckles, and at the way you quirk a brow, he’s quick to continue, “not that it’s a bad thing! I think you being tall is really cool!”

“Thank you!” You grin. “I do, too!”

“By the way, since Chan is too much of a scaredy cat to ask,”the deep voice of Felix draws your attention to the side, “would you mind taking some pictures with us later? We think the fans would love it.”

“First of all, your voice should come with a warning.” You notice him grin at your words, and you return the smile, eyes crinkling at the sides. “And sure! I’d love to.”

“Us, too!” Vernon is quick to jump in.

“Listen, if anyone is getting a photo first, it’s me!” Mark voices loudly.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice quite a few female idols looking your way. Some of them look on at you in awe, while others cannot hide their distaste seeing you surrounded by so many males. Even some other male idols begin whispering about your appearance quite openly, but you ignore them for now.

“Yeah, yeah,” you huff out a laugh, “and I’m pretty sure you mentioned how Yangyang wants to do karaoke at some point?”

“He just wants you to perform WAP with him.” Mark sigs, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Your eyes widen in amusement, a subtle heat rising once more to your cheeks. “Does he?”

“Oh, karaoke sounds fun!” Vernon nods enthusiastically.

You jaw parts in mild shock, pure mirth dancing in your gaze. “Did the Vernon of Seventeen just invite himself along to karaoke with me?”

Lowly, you register Hongjoong and Chan whispering to their groups in Korean.

“I’m coming, too!” Jongho nearly shouts, drawing almost all of the attention of everyone backstage.

“Right, you still need to serenade her,” Yunho nods, and instantly he’s running for his life as Jongho chases him with murderous intent around the backstage area.

You turn to Mingi, “you still up for shouting anime openings at the top of our lungs at some point?”

At this, the remaining members of Ateez turn to look at Mingi.

“Of course!” He grins widely, nodding enthusiastically.

“Sweet.” You mirror his grin, noticing a few other idols commenting on wanting to join in on the fun.

“No, I’m telling you Shotaro, she can speak Japanese.” A voice coming from off to your right says.

“Just because she asked you what one word is, doesn’t mean she can speak it.” Another voice replies, getting closer with each passing second.

“She immediately jumped right back into conversation with Riley about animals afterwards.” Yuta rounds the corner, Shotaro right beside him.

At the way both males see the group you’re currently surrounded by, they immediately freeze in their spots. Briefly, each male nods their head in acknowledgement, eyes flashing in recognition as they see Mark standing a little ways away from them.

“Mark, tell Shotaro that your author friend can speak Japanese.” Yuta meets the male’s gaze, stepping in closer with Shotaro in tow.

“Hi, Mark’s author friend here.” You lean forward slightly, waving a bit so you catch their attention. “I can speak Japanese.”

The way Shotaro stubs his toe on the table against the side wall in shock nearly has you laughing in response.

“See! I told you!” Yuta crosses his arms, turning to glare pointedly at Shotaro.

“You can speak Japanese?” Another voice from in front of you catches your attention, and you see Momo, Mina, and Sana from Twice making their way over towards you.

“That’s incredible!” Mina comments, her eyes wide as they join your little circle of idols.

“Thank you!” You smile widely at the three of them.

“By the way, these guys aren’t bugging you, are they?” Sana shoots you a knowing look. “You seem a little crowded.”

“No, no, not at all.” You shake your head. “I appreciate you checking in on me, though. That’s very kind of you.”

“We’re all really big fans of your work.” Mina adds, a light blush dusting her cheeks. “We overheard Riley saying how you gave her boyfriend confidence through your writing, and you’ve done that with a few of our members, too.”

“You’re really beautiful in person.” Momo compliments, a soft smile painting her features.

The way your hand comes up to cover your mouth is so natural, a vibrant heat rising to your cheeks.

“Thank you so much,” you cannot keep the awe from your voice. “I think you’re all very beautiful, too. Not to mention talented. I always have fun singing and dancing along with your songs, especially when I need a pick me up.”

All three of their eyes light up, excitement coursing through their veins as they grip each other giddily.

“You like our music?” Mina cannot keep the joy off of her features.

“Of course I do! I listen to a lot of the groups currently around me.” You admit. “I find a lot of inspiration from them.”

“Who’s your favourite?” Shotaro cuts in, noticing how both he and Yuta casually lean against the side table now.

You smile at him knowingly, a gleam to your eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The way he blinks back at you has you laughing lightly. Though, before you can say much more, the familiar music that begins to play from the stage area has you freezing in your spot.

“Mark Lee,” you turn to him with wide eyes, “how dare you not tell me.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re rushing towards the seating area to get a better view of the stage, quite a few of the idols blinking at you in shock. Riley seems to catch on quickly, following behind you as a few of the other idols do as well.

Pushing through the door, you step out onto the floor before the stage. You completely bypass the steps leading to the seats in favour of walking out onto the empty standing area where you can see some staff milling around. Some other idols seem to be watching the soundcheck, too.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice another familiar idol shoot a friendly smile your way before she turns her head back to watch the four males on stage.

A small squeal of excitement escapes your lips as you watch SHINee do their soundcheck on stage. Each male even gets a portion during their set to perform a part of one of their solos, and you vaguely hear a staff member commenting on how there will be a SHINee special this year. Which explains why they’re getting the longest stage time out of all of the groups set to perform.

The moment SHINee finishes their soundcheck, you find yourself leaning back against the little guardrail leading up into the stands. You can feel your heart racing in your chest, and you blink, finally coming back to the reality around you.

“Surprise?” Mark chuckles from beside you.

“‘Surprise’ my ass!” You smack him lightly on the side of his arm. “You want to complain about being friends for so long, and you can’t even tell me my favourite group is performing at the award’s show I’m attending!”

A few chuckles are heard from around you from passing staff, as well as a few of the idols who followed you out.

“So, I guess it’s true that SHINee is your ult group, huh?” Vernon comments, a small quirk to his brow.

“Oh, most definitely.”You nod. “At least, one half of them.”

“Who’s the other half?” Felix asks, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“Oh, that’s easy,” you notice quite a few of them hanging on to your every word, “VIXX.”

“Damn, two tough groups to beat.”Vernon whistles lowly.

“By the way, you keep mentioning this performance you’re going to be having, but who did you all ask to be in it?” It’s Seonghwa who asks, looking between you and some of the idols around you.

“Well, it was short notice, so my publisher only managed to contact a few groups that we knew were going to be here,” you reply, a slight quirk to your lips upwards. “And a few that we did not, just in case.”

“I think you asked me first before our manager did,” Hongjoong laughs, arms crossed casually over his chest.

“Since my performance is going to be on the different forms of art, I wanted to showcase different idols who matched different art forms.” You explain, noticing how you draw in a few more people’s attention with every word. “I wasn’t expecting so many to agree to help.”

“Okay, so we know Joong is one. Jihoon, and Hyunjin are two others,” Mingi comments. “Who are the rest?”

“Well, I asked all of SHINee to be in it, and a few EXO members, but I never heard back from SM. Same with Seulgi of Red Velvet. The only confirmation I got that Ten, Renjun, and Taeyong all agreed to help, was from Mark, cause he wouldn’t stop complaining that I didn’t ask him to join. Twice’s Momo and Dahyun both agreed. Bang Chan, too.” You say, listing all of the idols off on your fingers. “I tried to have at least two per category, but it didn’t always work out that way. Plus, multiple could definitely fit in more than one.”

“Categories?” Yeosang asks, blinking at you curiously.

“Dancer, vocalist, rapper, fashion, visual art, composer, actor,” you list off. “Art takes many forms, and I wanted to emphasize that with their help.”

“We were told our respective categories when we got the call,” Hyunjin voices from above you, casually leaning over the railing of the stands and watching everyone with sharp eyes. “I don’t know about you guys, but I was asked if my art could be included in a video slide show thing to go along with it.”

“Oh, mine was, too!” A feminine voice cuts in from off to the side.

Turning your head, you see Seulgi join your little circle of idols. You smile at her, noticing how she nods her head politely at you just as she did during SHINee’s soundcheck.

“It’s so lovely to meet you, I’m a big fan of your books!” She leans in to grasp your hands lightly in her own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “As are Joy and Yeri, but they’re backstage for the moment. They’re going to be so jealous I’m meeting you right now.”

“I didn’t know you were going to be joining the presentation.” An awed look crosses your features, and you can feel your hands trembling slightly in her hold. She squeezes them once more. “Thank you so much for agreeing, I’m a huge fan of yours, too.”

“Then, I’m glad we could meet like this.” She replies. “I overheard that SHINee is set to join us for the briefing soon, too. Same with some of the EXO members.”

“Really?” You cannot prevent the way your eyes shine with excitement.

“So, then, who’s in which category?” Yeosang’s voice cuts through the crowd, his arms crossed over his chest. Though he leans against the side of the stands casually, he looks a bit tense.

Just as you go to answer, a call for you and your presentation team goes out for everyone to gather in front of the stage for the designated meeting. Lunch is called for everyone else, for now.

“Good luck,” Mark pats you on the side of the arm before heading out with some of the other idols in tow.

“Thanks, Mark.” At the intonation you use, you notice Vernon’s shoulders shaking in laughter this time as he walks backstage with some of the others.

Heading over to the stage area, you situate yourself right by where you see the stage director and event organizer appear. Seulgi, Chan, Hongjoong, Hyunjin, and Jihoon all follow you over, standing around you as the other idols that have agreed to help you gather.

A few minutes later, and you are surrounded by all of them. You notice that the artists practically group themselves by company.

“We’ll let you lead.” The stage manager says.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Says the event organizer.

Across from you stands Jihoon, Hongjoong, Ten, Taeyong, Renjun, Bang Chan, Hyunjin, Seulgi, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo, Minho, Key, Onew, Taemin, Momo, and Dahyun. They all arrange themselves in about three lines facing you.

“Thank you.” You nod once to them before turning to face all of the idols before you. Quickly, you introduce yourself, a sense of professionalism taking over quite quickly. “I understand that this was asked of all of you on short notice, and I would like to take the time now to thank each and every one of you for agreeing to aid me in my presentation. That being said, I was uninformed that some of you would actually be joining me for my speech until a short while ago, so I will have to adjust a few things.”

Nods of understanding are seen from most of them.

“You all should have been asked a few questions when you received the offer, confirming that it is okay for my video editor to either use clips from your music shows, dramas, behind the scenes footage, livestreams, songs, events, and, or, any type of artwork you have created.” You scan the small group of idols before you. “I want to confirm now that I have your express permission to do so. Otherwise, my editor and I will adjust the video clips to be shown along with the presentation.”

Nods greet you all around, a few in mild shock that you would ask them such a thing again.

“Good.” You smile. “Now, I believe you should have all received a copy of my speech, and instructions along with it as to which categories I would like you to be sorted under. Again, if you have any issues, let me know and I will adjust accordingly.”

At the silence that greets you, a few of them sending reassuring smiles your way, you feel a tension beginning to release from your shoulders.

“I understand that these categories might not be what you usually get sorted under. That being said, I want to focus on different aspects of art using familiar faces to the public that were already attending these ceremonies.” You explain. “The lines I would like a few of you to read are meant to showcase art as collaboration, as expression, and as our passions. Again, if you have any issues, let me know, and I can rearrange some things.”

The way they all wait for you to continue warms your heart.

“I want to thank all of you for helping to bring my vision to life.” You smile. “If you have any questions or concerns, please, do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Are we allowed to see the video before it’s finalized?” Dahyun asks, her eyes wide as she blinks excitedly at you.

“Of course!” You return her smile. “The finalized version will be edited and submitted tonight, along with the script. You’ll all receive a copy of that as well. There’s simply one more thing I need to confirm before then.”

“What is it you still need to confirm?” Kyungsoo asks you, meeting your gaze.

“Well, making sure I had all of your consent to use your own forms of art was one of them.” You say. “The other, I would like to speak with all four members of SHINee about. Privately, if that’s alright?”

All four members turn their attention to you, both Minho and Onew smiling kindly as they nod their heads. You notice Taemin blink a few times, caught off guard by the sudden request, while Key’s expression remains neutral.

“If you’ll all follow me for a moment.” You step off to the side a little ways away from everybody, even the stage manager and event organizer.

Luckily, all four members follow you quickly, and you notice the other idols beginning to chat amongst themselves to give you some more privacy.

Once you’re far enough away, you’re turning to all four of them. Nervously, your hand begins to fiddle with the strap of your purse still slung over your shoulder.

“There is an additional piece I would like to add to the end of my speech, but I wanted to discuss it with all of you first.” You begin, swallowing somewhat thickly. “As you may or may not know, I have always been a big fan of your group as a whole, and have found inspiration from all of you. The reason I am pulling you all aside to ask you this, is because I respect all of you, and I would never want to do something to offend you, or disgrace his memory.”

You notice Key’s one eyebrow twitch upwards slightly.

“I would like to end my speech both making reference to, and quoting Jonghyun and his artistic views. If you would like to read what I have penned for it, I have copies ready for you if you believe that will help influence your decision. If even one of you disagrees, or is uncomfortable with such a thing, I will not do so, and leave my speech the way it is now.” You tell them, feeling your heart about to beat right out of your chest as you take the time to meet each of their gazes. “I only felt it right to ask permission from you before doing so, as again, I do not wish to tarnish or disrespect any of you, or his name.”

A beat of silence passes over all of you as they consider your words. What makes it even more nerve wracking is how you cannot read any of their expressions.

The four of them briefly share a look before Jinki is turning towards you.

“May we see what you have written?” His voice is soft as he meets your gaze once more.

“Of course.” You nod, quickly opening your purse and pulling out a few slips of folded paper.

Gently, you soften the creases, separating the two sheets with the same ending portion of your speech on them. A moment later, and you hand one piece to Key while Minho takes the other.

The silence that stretches on around you as Taemin leans into Minho’s side to read, and Jinki into Key’s, is deafening. Sweat begins to form on your hands, which continue to nervously fiddle with the strap of your purse. You even go so far as to start rocking on your feet to dispel your energy, your eyes darting every which way as they read your writing over for themselves.

You notice a single tear begin to trail down the side of Minho’s cheek.

The four males share a brief look with one another before Jinki looks up in your direction. You notice that he blinks away tears of his own.

“We appreciate the consideration you have extended to both us and him,” he begins, voice catching in his throat. “Thank you for asking before wanting to honour his memory like this.”

You blink at him, breath catching in your throat as his words wash over you. Perhaps you heard him wrong, but is he saying what you think he’s saying?

Again, they all share a look, Minho straightening himself while wiping at his cheek.

“Please keep this as the ending to your speech.” He says. “It makes a great addition to what you already have.”

The familiar burn of happy tears begins to make itself apparent behind your eyes.

“I know we don’t know each other, but the fact that you went out of your way to ask us permission before doing this shows just what kind of person you are.” Key adds, a gentle smile being sent your way. “Thank you for considering our feelings on this matter.”

“I think we are all in agreement that we would like you to use this ending to your speech.” Taemin confirms, a soft nod to his head.

“Really?” You cannot hide the way your eyes shine, heart swelling in your chest.

At the four nods you receive from all of them, a large smile breaks out onto your face.

“Thank you so much.” You bow deeply to all of them, eyes fluttering shut as you do so.

“Thank you for asking.” Jinki smiles kindly at you once more.

“Of course,” you right yourself. “It was only the natural thing to do.”

“We appreciate it.” Minho smiles your way as you all begin to make your way back over to where the other idols are.

Seeing you approach with SHINee in tow catches all of their attention, hushed whispers dying out to a silence once more.

“Alright, so the way I’ve grouped you all off means there should be at least two of you per category,” you address them all. “I know I’m probably repeating myself here, but I want to focus on how we all have different outlets for our art. You’ve all been told the category you’ll be under, so if you can all just stand with your ‘buddies’ for the moment it would help me explain the next part.”

Again, nods greet you in understanding.

“Great!” Your eyes crinkle as you smile. “If I could get the composers over here.”

You point to your immediate left, seeing Bang Chan, and Jihoon both move to their new spot.

“Visual artists here,” you point beside the first group, a little ways to their right.

Hyunjin, Renjun, and Seulgi all stand together.

“Men of fashion, next.”

Both Hongjoong and Baekhyun stand side by side.

“Dancers, if you please.”

Ten, Taemin, and Momo form a small group.

“Then, the actors beside them.”

Kyungsoo and Minho stand together, nodding politely at each other in acknowledgment.

“The rappers.”

Both Taeyong and Dahyun move to the side, smiling at each other politely.

“And finally, the vocalists.”

Lastly, Key and Onew shuffle off to your right, completing the semi-circle around you.

“I will represent the author aspect to my speech, but I think that one is pretty self explanatory.” You chuckle, nothing how a few of them smile along with you. “Now, each of you were given a specific line to go along with your category. You may decide amongst yourselves who says it, or if you all wish to speak it in unison. However, for effect, it would be best if we all came to a decision on whether the lines will be spoken in unison by the groups, or individually. I really want to emphasize the collaboration between all of us artists with these lines.”

You notice each of the groups briefly talking amongst themselves before a few are nodding. A minute later, and you have all of their attention on you.

“Unison, or individual?” You quirk a brow.

“Individual might work best.” You see Baekhyun nod in your direction as he responds, the rest muttering their agreements.

“Great!” You smile, shifting to pull a small spiral bound notebook and a pen out of your purse. “Let me just write down who you’ve all agreed to speak each line between you all for reference. It also makes the technicians jobs a bit easier.”

A few minutes later, and you’ve written down the respective idols that will be saying each designated line.

“While each of you are speaking your lines, the category you represent will appear on the screen behind us along with visual aids showcasing you performing, demonstrating, or working on said topic.” You explain, and you see some of their eyes light up in awe. “There will be a strong emphasis on timing, especially on my part. A lot of what I say will be synced to the video behind me, as well as serve as audio cues for both you and the lighting techs.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” Key observes, clearly impressed.

“Well, I went to an arts high school, and I was also a theatre kid.” You cap your pen, smiling widely. “I do also have a flare for dramatics at times.”

“What type of arts high school?” Chan asks, tilting his head mildly in curiosity.

“It had quite a few different disciplines, but I was in for vocals.” You tell them.

“Not drama?” Minho’s eyebrows quirk, clearly surprised.

“No, but that would have been my second choice.” You close your notebook.

“Wait, you sing?” Momo’s lips part, an eager gleam to her eyes.

“I was trained operatically for over seven years.” Your words have clear shock pulling at all of their faces. “Don’t know how good I am now, it’s been quite a while since I last had a lesson.”

“I can’t wait to tell Jongho, he’s going to lose his shit.” Hongjoong mumbles.

“Wait until Seungmin hears this,” Hyunjin huffs out a laugh.

“Would you ever sing for us, sometime?” Seulgi asks, her whole face lighting up as she looks at you eagerly.

Your eyes nearly bulge right out of your head, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

“Uh,” you blink, attempting to wrap your head around the situation fully. One of your favourite female Korean singers has essentially just asked you to sing for her sometime.

“She’s already agreed to karaoke with some of us,” Hongjoong hums, a chuckle falling from his lips.

“Oh, I want to come, too!” Dahyun chimes in, smile wide as she meets your gaze.

“Is there a karaoke space big enough for everyone?” You put your notebook back into your purse, motioning to all of them that you’re done for now. “That’s all for now, by the way. Thank you again for agreeing to help on such short notice. We’ll practice the timing during the actual rehearsal portion designated for us at the end of the day.”

You notice the members of EXO and SHINee all nod their heads, heading off for lunch with one another after bowing to you politely in leave. You bow back, smiling faintly as they head off.

“I’m sure we can find one,” Jihoon says as the rest of you begin to head backstage as well.

“Damn, I’m gonna get to hear you sing and dance today?” Ten grins, stepping right up beside you for the moment. “I must be extra lucky.”

“What do you mean ‘dance’?” Seulgi tilts her head curiously.

“Oh, the ‘Seventh Sense’ bet she has with Mark.” Taeyong mentions casually.

“Oh!” Seulgi’s eyes widen, nodding in understanding. “That!”

“Does everybody at SM know of that bet?” You exhale an exaggerated puff of air.

“Only the people Mark told,” Renjun chimes in. “So, naturally, everybody knows. Man has a loud mouth at times.”

“At times?” Taeyong laughs.

“Do you know any other dances?” Momo asks, Dahyun nodding along with her as they walk side by side. “You mentioned that you enjoy singing and dancing to our songs earlier.”

“I know a few, but I usually don’t like dancing around other people.” You reply.

“How much is ‘a few’?” Ten quirks a grin, eyes tinkling mischievously.

“I have a few mixes my one friend made for me that I’ve learned.” You shrug. “Kind of like my own personalized random dance plays.”

“That’s pretty cool!” Dahyun comments, quite enthusiastically.

“Wait, how come you don’t like dancing around other people?” Renjun’s brow furrows, turning to look at you briefly.

By now, you’ve all made it backstage once more, and you notice many of the staff and other idols have dispersed for lunch. Only a few familiar faces linger around the space from earlier.

Again, it’s like you shrink into yourself. “Personal reasons.”

“Then, how are you going to win the bet you have with Mark?” Ten tilts his head curiously at you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a few more Twice members, such as Jihyo, Jeongyeon, Mina, and Sana all join your group. Even some more NCT members are present, and you see Mark come to stand right beside you for the moment.

“You see, my need to prove him wrong is much stronger than anything else.” You reply, noticing how you see Yeosang watching you from the corner that the rest of the Ateez members are currently lingering around.

“Name the time and place.” He grins, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, who knows when we’ll get another chance to do this,” you say, quirking a brow knowingly. “It’s going to have to be today, is it not?”

“Now would be an opportune time since the stage area is clear of most people,” Taeyong suggests. “Riley can help with the soundboard and play the song through the speakers. Everyone would probably think it’s just us getting in another round of practice again. Sometimes we do that before shows.”

“I’ll go get Doyoung and Jaehyun!” Ten rushes off before a word of protest can escape you.

“Would dancing with someone else make you feel better?” Momo offers.

You think about it for a moment before nodding. “Perhaps it might.”

“Oh my goodness, come dance with us, then!” Sana grabs your wrist, pulling you back out towards the stage area with some of the others in tow. “Now, where’s Riley?”

You notice the aforementioned female appear from down the hallway.

“Riley, soundboard for us for a bit!” Mina begins pushing the somewhat stunned female along with all of you and back to the stage.

“What?” Riley blinks. “Oh, okay!”

“I would love to dance with you!” Jihyo grins, walking alongside you as Sana continues to pull you along. “The other girls are eating lunch, but I hope us six will do!”

“You’re more than enough.” Comes your instant reply, a firm nod of your head. “Though, I warn you, I’m probably going to be the ‘standing guy’ emoji when the music starts.”

Jeongyeon lets out a boisterous laugh from your opposite side. “It’s okay, we’ve got you!”

“I’m about to dance with pretty girls,” you mumble, causing all of the girls around you to smile. “Someone pinch me, I must be dreaming.”

Instead, you receive teasing pokes to your upper back from Dahyun who currently stands behind you.

“What song would you like to start with?” Momo asks, the members all flanking you on stage as Riley sets up the soundboard from the middle of the floor.

“Uh…” your brain refuses to function for a moment as you process her words.

“Wait, you said you had some mixes your friend made you.” Dahyun recalls. “This might be presumptuous of me, but do you have any Twice mixes?”

You blink. “I do, actually.”

“Great! Why don’t we do that, and we’ll support you!” Sana grins, shaking your arm gently in excitement.

“You all really want to dance with me?” You ask, voice meek as your eyes shine with your emotions for the moment.

“Of course!” Jeongyeon’s reply is immediate. “Not only would we be getting a chance to dance with our favourite author, but we’ve got to show those guys how it’s done.”

The wink she sends your way makes your heart leap for joy in your chest. You cannot help the way a bashful smile pulls at your lips as you pull out your phone.

“If you want, we could even do our best to follow another of your mixes.” Mina offers. “It would be like a random dance play for us. Plus, I’m sure more people would join! It’s whatever makes you most comfortable.”

“We can start with the Twice mix, and go from there?” Even though you sound a bit unsure of yourself, you notice the girls all eagerly nodding around you.

Already, a small crowd of both idols and staff members begin to form around the stage. Some stand in the wings, while others look up from the ground around the stage. There’s a good mix of eager looks and curious ones, but the smiling faces of the six girls around you manage to distract you from the less than savoury ones right now.

“Alright,” you say, walking to the edge of the stage with your phone in hand. Crouching down, you hand it to Mark. “Mark Lee, I will personally shave your head, and dye all of your white shirts bright red if you fuck around with my phone. I will also never gift you spoilers to my books, or watermelon taffy again.”

The wide-eyed nod he gives you says it all, and with the added way he swallows thickly, you giggle lightly.

“It’s mix three,” you say, handing him your phone.

Again, all you receive is a nod from him in response before he’s walking over to Riley and passing her your phone. A moment later, and she hooks it up to the soundboard, looking up at you in preparation to hit play. After doing a few light stretches with the girls, you straighten your back, cracking your neck all the while.

“The first song is ‘Fancy’, which leads into ‘Talk That Talk, and then ‘I Can’t Stop Me’ after that.” You tell them, seeing them all nod excitedly at you.

“Do you usually dance a specific part, or is it all just chorus stuff?” Momo asks, standing beside you to your right.

“When I learn a full song, I usually learn either my bias, my wrecker, or whoever ends up being easiest to follow. For the mixes, it’s mainly just chorus stuff, though.” The way you see them all nod along at your words has your heart warming in your chest. “There’s a small intro, and then the pre-chorus to ‘Fancy’, though, so you have time to get into position.”

“We’ll follow your lead!” Jihyo grins, a firm nod to her head.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Sana smiles at you.

Meeting gazes with Riley across the way, you smile, shooting her a small thumbs up. Immediately, the music starts blasting through the speakers, and you can feel the adrenaline beginning to pump through your veins.

“You know, if you would have told me I’d be dancing on a stage with Twice today, I would have never believed you.” You comment, a light chuckle to your voice as you get into position.

“Well, believe it, girly!” Mina laughs, lightly going over the pre-chorus part of the dance as you all get into position. “Cause guess what?”

The only thing you have time to do is blink at her in response as all six of them shout out a loud ‘We’ as the chorus hits.

A large smile breaks out onto your face, whole body heating as you begin to dance along with the six girls around you. Lowly, you all sing along to the lyrics, losing yourself to the music as it surrounds you. The way their eyes light up as they watch you dance along with them sets your heart racing even more so than usual, absolutely revelling in this euphoric feeling.

Cheers erupt from some of the staff and other idols standing around the area, and you can hear Mark exclaim a loud ‘holy shit’ from beside the soundboard.

“Damn girl!” Dahyun bumps hips with you playfully as the song switches. “You can really dance!”

“Really?” Your eyes shine as you meet her gaze, noticing the other five members encouraging you all the while. At the nods you receive, you smile bashfully, tears threatening to gather in the corners of your eyes. “Thank you.”

From the crowd, you hear Ten beginning to shout in Mark’s direction. “Damn, Mark, you didn’t tell us your author friend could dance!”

At the way Mark shakes his head, blinking in shock, you can just tell he calls back an ‘I didn’t know’ lowly in response.

“You are so going to lose that bet.” Doyoung laughs loud enough for both you and Mark to hear.

“Hey, Chan, do you think she knows any Stray Kids dances?” Changbin calls over to their leader as a few more of the members join the crowd.

“Back off, Bin! She’s dancing to Ateez, next!” Wooyoung shouts at his friend, and you notice Jongho standing there with his mouth hanging open beside him.

The moment you hit the drop with your leg extended in ‘I Can’t Stop Me’, more cheers erupt from the crowd, even more staff and idols coming to see what all the commotion is about. The way you can see some people’s jaws drop in awe makes you grin, getting more and more into the moves the more time passes. It makes it even better when Johnny and Ten start hooting and hollering encouraging things your way as you dance. Even Wooyoung and Changbin get in on the action, Felix cheering along with them.

The moment the mix ends, the six girls are crowding you, talking excitedly about how much fun that was, and that you should all do that again some time.

“Thank you so much for dancing with me,” you meet each of their gazes, noticing how they all look at you fondly.

“It was our pleasure,” Jihyo smiles widely at you, squeezing your arm gently.

“If there’s ever any dances you want to learn, let us know!” Dahyun grins, giggling all the while.

“Yeah! We’d be more than happy to teach you.” Momo nods enthusiastically.

“You kept up with us really well,” Sana adds. “Most trainees can’t even do that.”

“I may not be a dancer, but I do put a lot of effort in to everything I do.” You avert your gaze to the floor bashfully, tapping the tip of you foot lightly against the floor of the stage.

“It shows.” Mina reaches over to squeeze your arm this time, smiling kindly at you.

Slowly, a chant begins to build from the surrounding crowd.

“Seventh Sense. Seventh Sense. Seventh Sense.”

“I think you’re being asked for an encore.” Jeongyeon winks at you, and you chuckle along with her.

“After you’re done proving him wrong, we should do one of your mixes!” Dahyun eagerly says, excitement shining in her eyes. “I wanna see how many songs we can get.”

“Plus, like I said earlier, more people might join that way!” Mina repeats, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“We’ll give you space now.” Jihyo says, beginning to usher the other girls away from you. “As long as you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.” You nod once firmly in confirmation.

“Good luck!” Momo cheers, shooting you an encouraging thumbs up as they make their way to the side of the stage.

Stepping towards the front of the stage, you get into position. Lifting your head, you make eye contact with Mark who still stands beside Riley, looking completely stunned for the moment.

“Be prepared to lose the bet, Markie Boy.”You grin, flicking your gaze towards Riley for the moment. “Hit it.”

An awed hush settles over the crowd as you wait for the music to start. Not even a moment later, the opening beats of “The Seventh Sense” can be heard through the speakers.

Your body instantly begins to move, the dance having been ingrained into you with how often you practiced it since making this bet with Mark. Even your expression moulds to fit the theme of the song, and as soon at the lyrics begin, the crowd erupts into cheers.

You hit every beat, noticing how both Doyoung and Jaehyun wear expressions of complete and utter shock on their faces. Even Mark cannot keep his mouth from falling open as he watches you incredulously.

About halfway through the routine, you notice Taeyong hoist himself up onto the stage, joining in to dance with you for the remainder of the song. The way you sing along softly to the lyrics only becomes apparent when he gets closer, his eyes widening ever so slightly as his lips part in awe.

During Mark’s iconic line, you purposely look his way, shouting it at the top of your lungs with a wink sent in his direction. You notice he still wears that same expression of shock on his features, and even you can tell how red his face has gotten from your position on the stage.

The way you can keep up with Taeyong has even more cheers erupting from the crowd. Ten practically begins shaking Doyoung beside him, screaming about how you’re dancing his part right now, a giddy smile on his features. Hell, even half of Stray Kids and Ateez look about ready to fall over, their wide eyed stares encouraging you to continue.

The moment the song comes to an end, a roar erupts from the staff and idols around you. You hear some shouts from certain groups asking you to dance their songs next, and it makes you smile. Your chest heaves with every breath you take, and you turn to face Taeyong just as he turns to face you.

“You proved him wrong.” He smiles, extending his hand out to you for a high five. “You’re an incredible dancer.”

A large smile stretches across your features as you meet his hand halfway in the air. “Thank you so much!”

“Really, do you know any more dances?” His eyes are wide as he looks at you, an eager gleam shining within.

“From start to finish?” You tilt your head slightly.

“Yeah, or just in general.” He nods.

“Well, from start to finish, I know Red Velvet’s Psycho and Bad Boy, EXO’s Monster, BTS’ Fire, and GOT7’s If You Do.” You list off. “There’s a few more I know larger portions of, but the rest I just know from the mixes. I, uh, do also know a few duet dances, cause I used to dance them with my ex.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice both Hyunjin and Wooyoung chatting with Riley, of whom looks a bit reluctant to be apart of the conversation.

“I owe you ten meals.”Mark comments, stepping up onto the stage. “You really did prove me wrong.”

“I told you I would!” You stick your tongue out at him playfully, wiping at the sweat forming at your brow.

“You’ve also really drawn a crowd.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I don’t think anybody was expecting you to be able to dance like that.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Jaehyun approaching you.

“You can really dance.” He comments, blinking at you a few times as his dimple appears.

“Thank you.”You incline your head in his direction, a warmth blooming on your cheeks.

“You mentioned knowing duet dances?” Taeyong inquires. “Which ones do you know?”

Your eyes widen slightly, noticing Wooyoung, Hyunjin, and Changbin now all making their way onto the stage towards you.

“Uh…” you chuckle nervously. “Well, I do know Baby Don’t Stop, Seulrene’s Monster, and, uh…” your voice drops into a mumble, “Troublemaker.”

“You know Troublemaker?” Changbin’s voice is full of awe. “Okay, we’re dancing that.”

“Get your own dance partner, Bin, I’m dancing Troublemaker with her first!” Wooyoung crosses his arms over his chest, huffing all the while.

“Oh, you all think I know Hyuna’s part, don’t you?” You glance at him with amusement dancing in your eyes.

Taeyong’s brow furrows. “You don’t?”

“Oh, I know some of it, but the only Hyuna dance I really know is Lip and Hip. I learned Hyunseung’s part.” You chuckle. “My best friend learned her part.”

“You dance often, then.” Hyunjin observes, calculating gaze fixed on you for the moment.

“I mean, I used to.” You shrug. “I’ve always enjoyed it, even though I’m not a dancer. It used to be my ex’s and my thing.”

“Is that why you don’t like performing in front of other people?” Changbin’s brow furrows.

“Kind of,” you mutter. “But that’s not a can of worms to get into today.”

“Okay, well, we need to plan a day where we have a dance party, clearly.” Wooyoung comments, slinging his arm around your waist as he pushes Mark out of the way.

“Dance another mix for us!” You hear Mina call out from the side where you see all of the other Twice members now standing.

At the way you hesitate, the crowd starts chanting for you to dance more.

“We tried convincing Riley to play another one anyways,” Hyunjin shrugs casually. “She wouldn’t budge unless you were comfortable with it.”

You chew on the skin of your bottom lip. “Well, I guess one more wouldn’t hurt.”

Wooyoung shakes you lightly in excitement as he laughs giddily. “Yay!”

“If you join, and I see any of you mocking girl groups, I will punt you off of this stage.” You threaten, pointing your finger threateningly at the males around you.

At the way they raise their hands mildly in their own defence, you know you have them.

“Alright, hang on,” you say, quickly hopping down the stairs at the side of the stage to make your way towards the soundboard where Riley is.

Along the way, some staff members and idols send compliments your way. A few of them are backhanded, but you brush those off for now. Besides, you feel as if nothing could bring you down.

Reaching Riley, you’re quick to unlock your phone for her once more.

“We’re gonna do another mix, but I figured my phone had shut off by now.” You chuckle, and you see her nod enthusiastically. “When I give the signal, play mix four.”

“Roger that!” She mock salutes you, and you giggle along with her.

Making your way back to the stage, you notice quite a few more idols having gathered around. Some eagerly talk amongst themselves, while more have moved to the front of the stage in order to get a better view of the dancing about to take place.

“Alright, you guys ready?” You quirk a brow as you stand back into position.

“Oh, hell yes!” Both Wooyoung and Changbin cheer.

“As a curtesy, the first song is The Eve.”You tell them. “This is my longest mix, so I might not do all of it.”

“Understandable.” Taeyong nods your way.

“Whatever makes you most comfortable.” You notice Momo has come back to join you, nodding all the while.

With a smile pulling at your lips, you send a nod Riley’s way. A moment later, and the familiar sound of music is playing through the speakers.

The more you dance, the more you notice that even some of the backup dancers join in on the fun. You cannot keep the joy from radiating off of you, a brilliant smile on your face as you move around the stage with the people around you. The way even Seulgi comes to join you for some of the Red Velvet songs that you have in the mix makes your heart swell, laughing along with the others gleefully.

The whole time, you can feel eyes on you. Whether they’re judgmental, or in awe, you no longer care, for you get lost in the way dancing like this makes you feel. You haven’t had this much fun in a while, and you’re not about to give it up now.

Once the mix has finished, another cheer rises up from the crowd. A few of the dancers even come up to you and start up a conversation about where you learned to move your body like that. A fact which makes you all the more bashful.

An intense feeling of eyes focussed on your back has you turning to face the crowd. Only, when you look in the direction you felt such a gaze coming from, all you see is Yeosang staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Mingi seems to be talking his ear off excitedly at the moment, the shorter male nodding along quite firmly to whatever is being said. However, you’re not even sure if he’s listening to what his group mate is saying, or not.

Smiling softly his way, you notice him blink suddenly, as if to clear his vision.

Mark catching your attention from beside you has you turning away from Yeosang for the moment. Only, you fail to see the way the male’s eyebrow twitches slightly, the corner of his lips tugging downwards.

A short while later, and you’ve cleared the stage area so rehearsals can continue as scheduled. Riley makes her way back over towards you with your phone in hand, passing it to you with awe still clear in her eyes.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that!” She exclaims, visibly shaking in her spot. “You’re incredible!”

You chuckle at her enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

Now, as you settle back into the backstage area, you notice quite a few more idols and staff around. The way their gazes dart over to you is obvious, whispers reaching your ears.

“Have you eaten, by the way?”It’s Mark that asks, handing you a fresh bottle of water as you lean against the wall.

“I ate a big breakfast before I came, so I’m not really hungry right now.”You reply. “But thanks for checking in.”

“He was just hoping to get a head start on those ten meals he owes you,” Johnny chuckles, joining your little circle.

You notice Hongjoong, Jongho, Yeosang, Wooyoung, and Changbin all join you as well.

“So, when are you coming over to learn more Stray Kids dances?” Changbin asks casually.

“Um, after she learns some Ateez dances, obviously.” Wooyoung answers for you, a roll to his eyes. A second later, and a smug grin is pulling at his features as he stands proud. “Her bias is gonna teach her everything he knows.”

“Wait, you’re her Ateez bias?” Changbin’s eyes nearly pop out of his head before turning to look at you. “Please tell me you have better taste in men than this idiot over here.”

“Hey!” Wooyoung whines.

“I never said Wooyoung was my Ateez bias,” you chuckle, and you notice how said male’s pout only deepens.

“Then, who is?” Hongjoong quirks a brow, a teasing smirk pulling at his lip.

Again, a knowing smile pulls at your features.

“You mean, you won’t tell them?” Mark frowns. “You had no probably telling me that Ten was your NCT bias.”

Johnny looks absolutely scandalized by Mark’s words, placing a hand over his heart as his jaw drops in shock. “And here I was thinking what we had was special.”

“I met you today, John.” You deadpan, blinking once.

Laughter erupts around you.

“Wait, Ten is your NCT bias?” Jongho looks at you, somewhat incredulously. “I would have thought it was Jaehyun with how often you reference him in your writing.”

You shrug casually. “Some things are the same, others are not. I mean, Ten’s not my only NCT bias.”

“You have more than one?” It’s Yeosang who asks this time, his brow quirked and gaze unreadable.

“Of course I have more than one, there’s over twenty-one members in counting, and multiple sub-units.” You reply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve got a bias per unit.”

“Yet, none of them are me.” Mark pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“When I was first getting into NCT you were.” You remind him.

“It’s not the same.” He whines, shaking his head.

“So, you’ll tell him your biases when he asks, but not us?” Hongjoong quirks a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. Though, at the way his jaw twitches, you can tell he’s slightly exasperated by this fact.

“Again, I’ve talked with him for much longer than I’ve personally known you.” You chuckle. “Plus, you’re not as persistent about it as some people.”

The way you shoot a playfully pointed look at Mark says it all.

“Oh, okay,” Wooyoung nods, a maniacal grin tugging at his features. “We’ve just got to annoy it out of you.”

“That’s one way to ensure I never tell you.” You huff out a laugh, a smirk dancing on your lips. “Though, I don’t know why you guys are so obsessed with knowing who my bias is. Really, you should be asking about my wreckers. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase that a person’s bias is most like them, but their wrecker is their ideal type?”

Without waiting for a response, you walk over to join Mina, Sana, Jihyo, and Jeongyeon, leaving all of the males stunned for the moment.

“Mark, who’s her NCT wrecker?” Johnny immediately turns to the aforementioned male, noticing the others do the same.

“I- uh…” he swallows thickly. “I don’t know.”

Your shoulders shake in laughter as you begin conversing with the girls. A few hours later, Joy from Red Velvet joins in on your little circle of friends, her introducing herself and expressing how big of a fan she is of your writing. Easily, she falls into conversation with all of you, and she even brings up the fact that she and the other members saw you dancing with Seulgi earlier.

Again, you feel eyes on your back, watching your every move closely. When you spare a quick glance over your shoulder, you see Yeosang watching you with a neutral expression on his face. His arms are crossed over his chest as he leans back against the wall, one leg propped up behind him so that his knee is bent slightly.

Unfortunately, you don’t have time to dwell on it for too long, for the girls are all asking to exchange contact information with you. Of course, you readily agree, the Twice members even going so far as to create a group chat with you and the few other members that danced with you earlier.

Loud whispering draws your attention to the right where you see Irene, Wendy, and Yeri all standing to the side. You send a polite smile their way, but the only one who somewhat smiles back is Yeri. On the other hand, both Irene and Wendy could not look more disinterested by you. In fact, you’d say they almost look annoyed that you looked their way.

The moment you see Seulgi hop over to them quite excitedly, overhearing your name being mentioned, scowls pull onto Wendy’s and Irene’s faces.

Pointedly, Wendy leans into Irene, whispering quite loudly as you turn back around.

“Can you believe they invited such filth to perform at these awards?” Wendy’s voice reaches your ears, and you cannot help the way your shoulders tense. “I hope they wash the stage after she’s been rolling around on it. I can’t believe we even have to breathe the same air as that thing.”

From the muffled laughter you can hear behind you, you know it’s not just Irene that finds these comments funny.

“Wendy, stop it, you’re being extremely rude.” Seulgi chastises, an immediate frown tugging at her features. “And I can’t believe you two would laugh along with her! She’s been nothing but kind to everyone this whole time.”

“Did you see her dancing earlier?” Irene snorts out a laugh. “You know we stopped doing charity events, right, Seulg?”

“You call that dancing?” Wendy cackles. “More like flailing. She looked like a fish out of water.” A pause. “Wait, let me describe it more accurately: a beached whale.”

Again, more laughter can be heard from around the room, the loudest emanating from that specific corner where they reside. Though, the sneers and smug looks from some of the idols and staff that you’ve felt judging you all throughout the day no longer can be ignored. You have a feeling that they’re all finally getting the vindication of hearing their negative thoughts and feelings towards you finally be said out loud.

Jeongyeon places a comforting hand onto your back, noticing how you visibly deflate at the harsh words being thrown your way. Jihyo, Mina, and Sana all look about ready to cut a bitch, and Joy just looks embarrassed, her eyes widening in shock.

“People like her make me sick.” Irene comments, somewhat casually.

“Watch. I’m gonna go over there and compliment her in English, and it’s going to make her day.” Wendy laughs, already moving to push herself off of the wall.

“Wendy,” Seulgi warns, grabbing the aforementioned female’s wrist and holding her in place. “You’re making a fool of yourself, disgracing our group, and embarrassing the rest of us. You know she can understand you, right?”

You hear Wendy scoff, “I doubt that.”

Tugging her wrist harshly out of Seulgi’s grip, Wendy continues to make her way over to you. The ominous presence you can sense that is her approaching makes you tense, your hands nervously wringing themselves together.

Just then, a squeal is heard from behind you.

“Oh my gosh! Aren’t you that really famous author? I love your work!” Wendy’s voice reaches your ears, causing you to turn around to face her.

The expression she wears is one of awe, but it doesn’t take an expert to know that it’s not genuine. You can see how her gaze not so subtly trails over your body, a brief look of disgust pulling at her features as her lips twitch downwards. Though, in the blink of an eye, that expression of ire disappears, replaced by that overtly friendly one she attempts to wear.

You don’t even have to say anything, for Mina, Sana, Jihyo, and Jeongyeon all step in front of you, shooting harsh looks her way. Even Joy shakes her head disapprovingly, crossing her arms over her chest at her group mate.

Wendy looks clearly taken aback, blinking a few times at the silence that stretches on around you.

“What’s that look for?”She chuckles, somewhat nervously. “I just wanted to come over and say that I saw you dancing earlier and it looked like so much fun!” She nearly chokes on her own words, blinking as if she cannot believe what she’s about to say. “You’re a really good dance-“

“Are you sure it wasn’t more like a fish out of water?” You meet her gaze, a blank look in your eyes as you tilt your head slightly to the side.

You can just tell that your words catch her completely off guard.

“What are you talking about? I only came over here to tell you how pretty I think you are.” Wendy blinks at you in shock.

“Do you expect me to thank you for insulting me not even two minutes ago?” You continue. “The only thing I hate more than dishonest people, is someone who thinks they can get away with being two-faced just because of who they are.”

“How dare you!” Wendy inhales sharply, anger pulling at her brow. “You bitch-“

“Did you eat a stone, Wendy?” Jihyo’s gaze is nothing short of furious as she stares the elder down.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Jeongyeon spits, brow furrowed in distaste. “You of all people, judging another person based solely on their looks.”

“Why are you defending her? Can she not speak for herself?” Wendy replies, incredulously. “And Joy, why are you wasting you time with filth like her?”

“Unlike you, I don’t judge a book by its cover.” Joy deadpans, blinking at the girl before her blankly.

“Are you that unhappy with you life that you have to bring down mine?” You ask her, tilting your head slightly to the side.

Wendy rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Stop acting all high and mighty. You’re nothing, anyways.”

“I’m not the one that went out of their way to insult the other.” You reply, holding your elbows in your hands once more as your arms cross over your body for support.

You can see her getting more angry with every lack of reaction you give her.

“Yeah, well, you’re writing is mediocre, and you’re just a fat, ugly pig.” She spits, and it goes so silent that you can hear a pin drop around you. “No wonder your ex cheated on a bitch like you.”

Gasps are heard all around.

You wish you could prevent the way you inhale sharply from her words, but you do. What makes it worse is the way she grins after hearing you do so.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Mark needing to be held back by Johnny.

You blink, swallowing thickly and doing your best to maintain your composure. The familiar sting of tears burns behind your eyes, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Taking a deep breath, you school your expression.

“Wow, Wendy, not many people know that fact. I only ever talked about it once or twice during my lives.” You comment. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re obsessed with me.”

A loud scoff leaves her lips as she turns away from you, rolling her eyes all the while.

“Whatever,” she mumbles, beginning to walk away. “You’re not worth my time.”

Your eyes widen significantly, appalled by her comment for the moment considering she was the one that approached you. Luckily, though, you don’t have time to dwell on it, for the girls surrounding you are immediately turning back to face you, asking if you’re okay.

“Yeah, yeah,” you shoot them all a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine.”

“I am so sorry about her,” Joy looks the most distressed, her cheeks red in embarrassment. Instantly, she bows to you. “I know it’s no excuse, but I hope you will accept my apology for her instead.”

“It’s not your fault, Joy,” you say, stepping out of the circle of girls for the moment.

“Where are you going?” Mina asks lightly, concern clear on her features.

“I just need some fresh air. I promise I’ll be right back.” Again, another tense smile is sent their way that doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

Not even giving them time to respond, you’re quickly making your way back down the hallway that you first arrived in. Pushing open the side door, you make sure you can get back inside first before letting it fall shut. Luckily for you, no one stops you, nor bothers you for the time being. Doing a quick scan of the area, you ensure that you’re alone.

It takes a moment for you to be sliding down the side of the wall. Another for the movement to become synonymous with the first of your tears escaping your eyes.

You don’t care that Wendy insulted your writing. You recognize and understand that it’s not for everyone, nor is everyone going to like it. If people telling you they didn’t like your writing, or that you were a shitty writer stopped you from pursuing your passion, you wouldn’t be where you are today. Hell, you don’t even care that she insulted you. You’ve had people insult your appearance your entire life, so that’s nothing new.

No, what hurts you the most is the fact that she would use such a traumatic incident against you. How she even knew about it confuses you, for you only ever disclosed the information publicly once, and not even all of the details. The memories are still just too painful for you, even if they happened over six months ago.

You crouch against the wall for a good few minutes, your muffled sobs being your only accompaniment. That is, until you hear the side door creak open.

Quickly, you’re wiping away your tears and standing back to your feet. You figure it’s probably some staff members either needing some air themselves, or going for a smoke break.

You’d rather not have anyone see you cry right now.

What you don’t expect, however, is to see Yeosang peeking out at you from the small opening. He says nothing as he meets your gaze, and you don’t know whether to thank him for that, or not. What he does offer you, though, is a tissue, wordlessly extending a small packet out to you with the top already open.

Silently, you take one from him, nodding your thanks. The smile you send him is small, and tense, but it’s something.

“Riley said that your rehearsal for your speech is on deck.” He says lowly. “I came to get you.”

“Oh, okay,” you swallow your remaining emotions for the moment. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

A nod is all you receive in response as you dab at your eyes while turning away from him for the moment. Scrunching your nose, you sniffle.

“Are you okay?” His tone is soft, and you notice how concerned his eyes look as you turn back to face him.

“I’ll be fine,” you nod assuringly at him, but he doesn’t look all that reassured. So, you divert the topic as you head back inside. “You said it’s time for my rehearsal?”

“Riley’s gathering the other idols with Joong as we speak.” Yeosang replies casually, clutching that little package of tissues in his hands still.

“I see.” You hum, bringing the back of your hand up to rub at the side of your cheek.

Wordlessly, he offers you another tissue.

“Thanks.” You say, grabbing another from him.

He nods, which is the only response from him that you get.

“Hey, do you mind watching my purse while I rehearse?” You spare a glance at him just as you breach the backstage area, ignoring the few other worried looks sent your way by familiar faces.

“Not Mark?” He quirks a brow, the corner of his lips twitching upwards faintly.

“I don’t trust him not to go snooping through my bag to search for spoilers to my next book.” You chuckle lowly. “Besides, I know Jongho won’t be able to convince you to let him sneak a peek, either.”

Yeosang cracks a small grin. “You’d be correct.”

“I may not have the best judge of character, but I can tell that you’re a decent guy, Yeosang.” You say, and you watch a faint blush begin to creep onto his cheeks. “Thank you for not prying.”

Sliding the strap of your purse off of your shoulder, you hand it to him. Not even a moment later, he grabs it from you, slinging the strap over his own.

“It’s not my place.” He replies, blinking lightly up at you.

A call of your name from the stage manager draws your attention to the front.

“Good luck.” He nods, to which you nod back, leaving him without another word.

Yeosang smiles faintly, still feeling the warmth that continues to dissipate from his cheeks as he looks down at his feet. Shifting the strap against his shoulder, he slides the pack of tissues into the side of your purse, just in case.

Stepping into the wings of the stage, he watches on as you practice your speech for tomorrow, going over the stage directions and lighting cues with the staff. What he truly cannot understand though, is why, when every time he looks at you, he can feel his heart now racing inside of his chest.

#yandere ateez #yandere yeosang #yeosang scenarios #ateez scenario #ateez imagines #yandere kpop #yandere au #kpop au #kpop scenario #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x you

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rreskk · 6 months

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Im a huge fan of all your writings, your page is my all time favourite on Tumblr and I jus noticed you’ve taken requests and was wondering if you can write some smut of Trevor x his Therapist or Doctor

I fucking love this idea! Sorry it took long, I've been having a brain-rotting phase about my OC :)

Summary: Your favourite client has become more... Of a "friend."

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Therapist Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 1265

AUGUST, 26TH – 1985

You’ll see grieved people hover in and out of your office with a suicidal tendencies, more likely than never. You’d also have people who’ve been through wars, people who have slept with family members, confessed murderers, suicidal drug-addicts, sociopathic teenagers, depressed elderly ladies, wealthy white men, menopausal women, schizophrenics, sexually confused religious men, teenage dirtbags; the list going on and on and on and on. Your folders only stack up with every unstable being paying brain-surgeon bucks to talk about how crappy life is. Some stories you wept alongside them, some you had to give them the cold-shoulder, some you had to refuse service. All in which was based in the memo when you began working within the professionality.

However, there was this one man with mountains of issues and emotional depth, some criminal, some traumatic, some petty; but he interested you greatly. A so-called trainee pilot for the Airforce. Personal record was fresh, great skill in flying, physically active, single, citizen of Canada. However, he was referred after his team had identified slight dangers in his emotional intelligence and anger management. He was once called “a fucking pyscho” by his referral, which had caused some mishap of violence. Nonetheless, the front page had suggested he was aggressive when “provoked”.

The first session was tricky, as predicted from his difficulties on concealing emotional bondage. But as the sessions became a regular occurrence, he slowly loosened up. Only recently had he talked about his childhood. Through painful cries and many times of walking out of the office eruptively, in which he returns hours later to continue, believing you are “the only person who cares” – his words exactly when you question his behaviour.

Unconsciously, you both grew close. After a good few weeks of working along side him, Trevor had named every person in his life; mother, father, brother, past lovers, past friends, etc… He trusted you with this information, and when he spoke freely about them, his eyes would stare into yours with tensity. He self-indulged in the eye-contact. You understood that it was his way of seeing your internal reactions and thoughts. Trevor’s constantly assessing you like you are with him, and whether it was meant to happen, it fell into this hole of deep relation. He relied on you. Extremely clingy. His sessions would extend from an hour to 3 or 4. It had gotten to the point where you with drawled other patience, just so you could invite him in again. Your managers assumed he needed more focus, so they allowed. But was it about focus?

No.

It was something more personal than that. A transference. Therapist and patient romance. Forbidden touches of his hands against your thighs turned into extreme penetration in your office. From the desk to the sofa, from the floor to your bathroom. At some point, he had been everywhere with you. Trying to overcome this situation was flawed, and every-time you tried to give him this professional support, it turned into a lustful beg of his fingers and filthy tongue.

“Fuck – “ You panted when he crawled over you on the sofa-bed, his penis frantically searching for the entrance as he used his tongue to leave trails of his saliva against your jawline. Whereas the moments prior to this, he was talking about the lack of love given from his mother, and he instead admitted that the maternal need had been transferred onto you. Trevor struggled to explain his insane attraction to how “caring” you are, forgetting that it was your profession. But the way you’d reassure and rub his back – it always gave him a reason to go home and relieve that naughty arousal. And every session, he’s excited for this specific reason.

“I tried to book a session last week,” He murmured darkly as his cock injected into your pussy, “The prick downstairs told me you were busy – with what?” His voice crackled a bit at the pleasure of having your warmth surrounding his erection.

Holding onto his shoulders, you breathed out a shaky moan, his name staining the tip of your tongue. The question went ignored until you found the capacity to give him the deserved answer.

“I had training.” You could barely say.

Trevor huffed in jealousy, his hips finding a steady pace as he gripped your hips to line up the act of penetration. Despite the angry frown plastered on his face, you knew he was enjoying himself. The way his tongue curled up between his lips, the concentration dilating his pupils. You had analysed his behaviour from day 1, so it became an easy job to predict his overall mood.

“I’m more important…” He breathed softly and ushered you to wrap your legs around his hips.

“I know…”

“I fucking love how loose you are,” Trevor desperately kissed your quivering lips before breaking away to increase the speed and groaning your name. “Oh… Oh, fuck. Yes. Mmm…”

The clock was ticking and when he was occupying your cunt, eyes began to fall upon the ticks and the toks. You’ve mentioned before this that a patient was planned to arrive within the next hour, so the nerves were beginning to boil your blood. The last thing you’d want is to be caught; especially with one of your most dangerous clients who’s supposed to have “professional” support.

“Look at me.” He soon begged when noticing your lack of attention. His hands fell onto your breasts and gave them a loving squeeze, continuing the thrusting.

“I ought to…” It was hard to be vocal, so you tried a little harder, “I ought to prepare for the next – “

Trevor whimpered angrily and fucked you harder than before. His hands gripped onto your breasts, teeth grinding. He repetitively shook his head and silenced you from saying anything more.

“No, no, no!” He pled. His temper starting to spark.

You grasped his wrists, moaning out of pure bliss. This encouraged him to thrust a little faster, his shaggy mullet falling into different directions and flows. For a young pilot, he was especially rugged and quite ill-looking, but it made this more exciting. You were fucking an ill client… That was such an exciting experience, but why? The psychology was hard to work out, even for you. So his witchery could be blameful, the way his mouth casted spells on you.

“Please – “ You moaned and closed your eyes.

“Look at me!” Trevor whined again, his hands cradling your face as you both came close. He winced. The sluggish rock of his hips slapped against yours for the last time before he pulled out, cock ejaculating white fluids upon your stomach. “Oooohhh… Fuck!” Your patient ecstatically exaggerated.

You too had came. To refrain noise, it became a squeal of pure lust. When his warm semen painted your stomach, your fingers instantly rummaged through your clit, feeling how much cum he made you squirt. And with a moan, you felt him take charge of the inspection and licked up the white strands with his tongue. Trevor brushed your pussy and slurped up your taste with a puppy glimpse in his eyes. He looked at you when licking, begging to be praised.

“Fuck… Yes – “ Then the door knocked.

With quick motion, you threw on your shirt and zipped up your skirt as he groaned. Trevor wiped his mouth and gave your cheek a last kiss before throwing on a shirt and walking out. You noticed on the way out, he had gave your next client the meanest look to man-kind.

And the next week; that client had never returned.

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greenandsorrow · 4 months

Text

What once was.

the secret history fanfic

"One likes to think there's something in it, that old platitude amor vincit omnia. But if I've learned one thing in my short sad life, it is that that particular platitude is a lie. Love doesn't conquer everything. And whoever thinks it does is a fool."

I'm a fool. Richard was right. Love has the power to conquer many things, it makes the shy brave and the brave shy, but it cannot conquer death. I used to think Henry could not be conquered by neither love or death. I such was a fool.

Notes;

This story will be very self indulgent and maybe not for everyone🤭 I am aware that the characters of the book aren't meant to be romanticised and I'm also aware of all the elitist stuff and pretense that's portrayed in the book, but I still love it.🏛️🍂☕

No Bacchanal will take place in my story. The characters will still be messed up, but not guilty of murder. Richard will not be the narrator. Another mention, this is Henry centred🥹

Just read it for what it is I guess!

The title is basically "What once was" by Her's.

The secret history hit different for me when I read it -I've read it three times so far- because 1) I'm greek, live in Greece and speak greek 2) during high school I was basically studying ancient greek and latin non-stop 3) I am silly. I hope you'll like this attempt to insert a new character and change the plot. Obviously, this isn't even trying to compare to Donna Tart's exquisite talent, it's just fanfiction.

Next chapter will come out during summertime. That's just an introduction. I'm a bit insecure about writing something I aspire to be a bit more "serious", especially when it comes to my use of the English language, but it's fine I guess.

My OC, Rita, is definitely my shameless self insert. I didn't want to make her flawless. I also wanted to explore the contradiction between a real, almost bohemian in a way person to Henry's perfectionistic and almost non human at times personality. Rita is genuine, she is simple but in a complicated way. She shares the same passion of the ancient world with her classmates, but not in their flamboyant manner. In a way, it's her heritage, Plato and Homer and the twelve Gods of Olympus, but she embraces the fact in a grounded way, not in an obsessive one.

Just like the title is inspired by a song, so is Henry and Rita's backstory. The childhood I'll be referring to is inspired by Taylor Swift's song "seven". Childhood friends that get separated for years is the theme here.

Warnings; possibility of smut/nsfw content, mentions of childhood trauma, triggering themes in general, mentions of abandonment, physical injuries, mental issues, homophobic people from the 80s, some very cute moments that might be out of character for the gang, stereotypes that I don't resign with but are part of the plot, dark themes that might have to do with death etc.

the masterpost

my masterlist

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ahundredtimesover · 2 years

Text

June - August 2022 Reads

Hi, everyone! These are my reblogs of JK (and a few other member) fics (x f. reader/OC). Put 3 months’ worth of readings is one post! Please note the angst, fluff, and smut descriptions. And a little note: please, please reblog and comment on stories you like, and interact with authors if you can! A nice little message goes a long way for anybody and it’s deeply appreciated. 💜❤️‍🔥

(My thoughts are all over the place but I hope the notes could give a bit of insight about the story!)

JJK

Spin (ft. KSJ) by @hamsterclaw (a, f, s) - idol/popstar au (amazing characters, fun banter, and great smut)

In love with love with you by @pantoneyoongi (f) - friends au, workmates au (my happy pill series; absolutely adorable MCs and entertaining ensemble)

Covert affairs by @sunshinerainbowsbts (a, s) - spy au (action-packed, emotional, and bittersweet movie-like story; great chemistry and hurts so good, absolutely love this)

Spring, once more by @seokth (a, f) - royalty au, arranged marriage au (short read about moving on and healing, caring and loyal jk)

Nose-riding by @here2bbtstrash (s) - friends au (super duper hot smut with yoongi watching; a fic to turn you on)

Just a little by @soft4gguk (s) - best friends au (smutty, well-written piece; sexy yet soft and MCs are so adorable)

Four-seven-eight by @jiminrings (a, f, s) - husband jk (amazingly-written angst that hurts so, so good)

Disaster management by @jimilter (humor, s) - workmates au, ceo jk (my favorite pair; so much banter and sexual tension and fondness and amazing amazing sexy smut)

Together (JJK & KNJ) by @sunshinerainbowsbts (s) - friends au (follow up to No Regrets that’s so self-indulgent, naughty and sexy, and so so good)

Left on read by @muniimyg (a, humor) - workmates au, medical au, doctor jk, smau (a gem! Entertaining and hilarious, sexual tension between emotionally constipated but lovable individuals)

Divine feminine by @gimmethatagustd (s) - fwb au (short sexy piece with tease and gentle JK)

New year, new you by @sunshinerainbowsbts (s) - fwb au (quick read that’s tense-filled, exhilarating, and rly sexy)

Inked by @taleasnewastime (s) - tattoo artist jk (confident yet shy jk; super good tension and buildup to great smut)

Bookstores and safe havens by @jinkookspencil (f) - boyfriend au (short, feel-good piece of soft and best boyfriend jk)

But, first, the reckoning by @atozfic (a) - werewolf au, best friends au (amazingly-written and heartbreakingly good)

Please love me Bonus (05): Camping by me (f, s)

Shiver by @hansolmates (a, s) - childhood friends au, badboy jk (really good, tense-filled moments, relatable themes; badboy but softie jk)

Never not by @amethystwritesbts (a, s) - boxer jk (angst that hurts so good and written so well)

Something in the heir by @hisunshiine (s) - historical, palace au, knight jk (love the mutual pining; also features knight BTS)

Have a nice day by @lookingforluna (s) - doctor jk (rly good smut with the cheekiness and that twist ending)

That’s my baby by @gimmethatagustd (f) - boyfriend au (realistic, sad yet tender piece)

The one where he has horrible timing + drabble by @whoreternal (s) - fwb au (fun mix of angst and smut written so well and hurts so good)

Strong enough by @jimilter (s) - boyfriend au (smut against a wall that’s written so well; tough biker jk who’s whipped for OC)

The boob tattoo chronicles by @whoreternal (s) - boyfriend au (a little possessive jk who’s so whipped; amazingly written drabbles)

The fuckbuddy code of conduct by @yoongiphoria - fwb au (jk and thigh-riding - rly hot and good smut)

Can I borrow some clothes? By @bangtancloud (humor) - strangers au (half naked jk asking for OC’s help - cute and fun interactions between MCs)

Calling it now by @reliablemittenmain (a, f, s) - best friends au (so so so good; fuckboy/escort jk but sweet and caring behind all that; rly fun and heartwarming dynamic; perfect mix of everything)

The prettiest sound by @sunshinerainbowsbts (s) - roommates au (a 500-word piece that will turn you on)

KSJ

Both sides by @stellalunatmblr (f) - friends au (wholesome, sweet, and soft, interview-type of story; the cutest thing)

Real by @jiminrings (f) - single dad au, ceo jin (hilarious, entertaining, amazing ensemble and wholesome characters)

Will you be gone? by @herherteartear (a, f) - ceo jin, single mom OC, smau (hilarious and lovable cast, makes you laugh and feel giddy)

If you’ll have me by @alpacaparkaseok (f) - boyfriend au (ABSOLUTE CUTENESS; love love love this story, it made me cry out of joy)

The light of dead stars by me (a, f, s) - arranged marriage, workmates/boss au, fake romance, ceo jin

Strawberry roses by @peekaboongi (a, f, s) - fantasy au, cupid au (perfect-looking Cupid Jin helping OC fall in love; comforting and fun character dynamic)

Playground promises by @jimlingss (f) - arranged marriage au (short read that’s so soft and tender and made me feel so giddy)

Chip and dip series by @demonhoseok (s) - fwb au, college au (absolutely adore this series - hilarious and charming characters, entertaining dynamic, refreshing and feel-good, great smut)

Lazy morning by @lilsunflowersworld (f, s) - boyfriend au (soft, short read; cabin feels and comfort with Jin)

MYG

Welcome home by @kth1 (f, s) - husband, dad au (fluffy-haired airport YG, adorable dad moments and super hot smut)

Above board by @missbickerbocker (s) - idol verse (fluffy-haired airport YG; a favorite bc YG is so sexy and OC is hilarious; endearing and funny moments)

Proof by @illneverrecover - strangers au (quick read of sexy, liquor-holding, flirty YG in a bar)

Calling the shots series by @rapline-heaux (f) - college au, jock yg (shy yg attracted to spunky OC; super cute interactions and dynamic)

JHS

Hot rod by @kinktae (s) - strangers au (1950s greaser HS in leather jacket and slicked back hair who’s flirty and a romantic; sweet and really sexy piece)

Dinner and dessert by @xjoonchildx (s) - boyfriend au (short, hilarious piece of HS’s duality of sweetness and naughtiness)

Take care of me by @gimmethatagustd (f, s) - boyfriend au (great image of soft and sexy HS with great smut)

Benefits by @cutechim (f, s) - fwb au (sexy time with leather jacket-Jung Hoseok in a convertible; lust and desire and tenderness)

A piece of your sun by @holdinbacksecrets (f) - boyfriend au (a short piece of warmth and love; really comforting and well-written)

1:02AM + 11:39 PM by @likeastarstar (s) - neighbors au, fwb au (JITB Hoseok with fun dynamics with so much sexual tension; eventual smut is rly hot)

KNJ

Things left unsaid by @miscelunaaa (s) - husband au (fun and sexy, great character chemistry)

Somewhere between the lines by @caelesjjk (a, s) - exes au, husband/dad nj (joon is a whipped father, so much sexual tension and super sexy images of thicc NJ)

An art gallery on a rainy day by @jinkookspencil (f) - strangers au (short and feel-good read of shy, confident, and dreamy nj)

Working for it pt.1 + pt.1.5 by @reliablemitten (a, s) - workmates au, friends au (loved loved loved the tension, the pace, the conflict and resolution, the friendship and raw emotions and the tenderness; also thicc shirtless nj)

I love you by @ughseoks (f) - boyfriend au (snippets of tender moments with sweet boyfriend nj)

PJM

Marry me (again & again) by @gimmethatagustd (f) - friends au (something soft and cute; Jimin is a dream)

Adonis by @xjoonchildx (humor) - strangers au (a fun read; hilarious side characters and lovely, angely paramedic jimin is so charming)

Batteries by @amethystwritesbts (s) - roommates au (real conversations, rly gentle and sweet and encouraging and good Jimin)

KTH

The art of tenderness by @sahmfanficbts (f, s) - historical au (amazingly written piece with great details and emotions)

The 1 by @taegisms (a, f) - exes au, small town au (love love love this - so much hurt and love and pain and tenderness of the memories; great imagery and amazingly written piece with great, poetic lines)

BTS (THEMED)

Him and I, and these heavenly drops by @alteringrealities (f) - friend/boyfriend au (so much softness; wholesome and sweet, makes you giddy)

They told you to go and you did by @soraviii (a) - breakup au (breakup scenarios for each member that are so devastating but amazingly written, with lines that just hit and hurt you)

(monthly reads masterpost)

#jungkook fic #seokjin fic #yoongi fic #hoseok fic #namjoon fic #jimin fic #taehyung fic #jungkook x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #bts fic recs

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idv-sunsxin3 · 3 months

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-> Reverse: 1999 Masterlist

List of my writings for my faves…. OOC once in a while, written for fun, self-indulgence, sillies, giggles and kicking feet moment. If links ever don’t work, just use my tags/lh

Dating Headcanons

Back in the 40s with you

Your Hands

Dating Headcanons

His Birthday

3 AM Thoughts

Hubby Headcanons

Valentine's Day HCs

Car Ride

Dating Headcanons (coming soon)

Wife Material

X x Muffet (my moot’s oc) Headcanons

Dating Headcanons (coming soon)

Pavia, Horropedia, Diggers // Bites as Love Language

Pavia, Diggers // Car Ride

Horropedia, Diggers // Soulmate AU

Horropedia, Pavia, Diggers // "I Love You."

Pavia, Horropedia, Diggers // Turning into their Udimo

About my R:1999 OC, Philocalist

All the art stuff for my baby girl are in my main blog. <33

Horropedia x Philocalist Headcanons

How Horropedia and Philocalist met

Horrocalist // Stuck with You

#reverse: 1999 x reader #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 #r1999 #r1999 x reader #pins’ masterlist posts #horropedia x reader #pavia x reader #click x reader #diggers x reader #x x reader #medicine pocket x reader

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gabbasposts · 7 months

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>Luke Finding out you’re still alive and well, years later after he left Tatooine<

Star Wars: Luke Skywalker x fem Reader

Warnings: Angst, mild arguments, tragic past, reader has a sister who this is kind of centered around, but don’t worry, it isn’t an OC 💀 she can be whoever you want lol

(Not my gif)

A/n: this is a bit OoC, and maybe a little self indulgent. Reader has a sister who I don’t give a name because idk 💀 same with the parents. When I write for reader I don’t like using Y/n because I feel like Y/n in my mind after years of reading fanfics is their own individual character which is weird because technically they aren’t…

👁️👄👁️ at all… but yeah… anyways, if you like it, thanks!

He didn’t know what to think as you both stared at one another, in shock and mild dismay… mostly on your part.

It had been… well, for the better part of a few years since you had last seen one another.

He had left Tatooine before the news had reached you that the empire had raided his home and slaughtered both his uncle and aunt.

You remembered how you had rushed to his home immediately, asking anyone you knew Luke typically communicated with where he had gone and if he was hurt…

Your first regret… because what followed after multiple lonely nights of crying, and regretting the argument you had both gotten in which so happened to be the last time you saw him, you received news over the radio transmitter that none other than Luke Skywalker, had been awarded a medal for blowing up the Empire’s Death Star.

Of course, you had been thrilled then… relief had flooded your senses immediately once it became obvious that he hadn’t died with his uncle and aunt, despite the report only stating it was just the two of them who’s bodies had been found outside of the home… no one else’s.

Of course that didn’t mean you hadn’t mourned for the their losses just as you had for Luke before finding out he was alright… safe, and alive…

You blinked, turning your head as you adverted your gaze from him… you felt more than exposed right now. One he was standing in your home, your new home at that, which was the last place you’d ever want to see him again in… You hadn’t wanted to see him again, to be honest but it seemed your sister who stood starring at you with a wary, yet confident look in her eye, had other ideas.

You had already had a conversation about this… that you would not interfere in any decision that you two’s “parents” had made for her.

You were an adult now, and lived fairly close to them. Therefore you no longer had to abide by their rules… but because she was still young, and by law under their wing, you really didn’t have any say in the matter she kept trying to drag you in.

Which is why, even though your gaze wasn’t harsh as you stared back at her, you couldn’t help but to feel annoyed by her utter disregard for bringing not only a Jedi into your home when she knew your opinions on them, but one you had intimately known prior to you both coming to Naboo after the events that had taken place during your relationship with him… of course then, she had only been a baby.

Unaware of you two’s relationship, nor the fact she had met him before, shortly after she was born… so you couldn’t truly bring yourself to be angered by her look of both refusal to allow you to sit on the sidelines, as well as confusion for your obvious annoyance towards none other than Luke Skywalker, the hero and Jedi Knight who helped end the reign of the Empire. The same empire who killed your actual parents…

However… you could be mad that she brought someone, who she assumed would be a stranger to you, no matter the weight of his name… into your home.

You watched as she frowned, her eyes glancing to Luke’s for a moment before coming back to look at you, now shrinking inward a bit under your obvious stony gaze on her. She knew you hated having visitors…

She cleared her throat, seemingly get ready to address the situation but before she could even get a word out, his voice came through in a steady tone. “It’s alright… can I speak with your sister for a moment while you wait outside with the others?”

While his tone didn’t seem to be deterred by your blatant rudeness, that didn’t stop you from turning to shoot him a warning look. You already didn’t want to see him at all, a fact you were sure he was well aware of.

“No. I’m not her guardian by law, I’m her sister. She can choose to do whatever she pleases, but because she isn’t my responsibility I can’t sign for that.”

You turned away, moving towards your kitchen area as your sister began to follow you, letting out an exasperated sigh as you walked towards the tea kettle which had began to whistle… your heart racing but not with unease or happiness. It was anger…

Anger you had thought you had buried after years of both therapy and trying to shove all your old feelings inside so that you could focus on moving on with your life, and leaving that painful chapter behind, had just been re-ignited.

“But… please, don’t be like this! I know your worried I’m going to get hurt and all, but I’ll be fine! This is Luke-” your sister tried to reason with you, but you interrupted her, a slight venom dripping from your tone at his name was suddenly used aloud.

You heard it all the time wether you wanted to or not… you had thought you would be able to not have the walls of your home, your new home you had worked hard to get, tainted with the sound of it.

“I know who is.” You bit out, turning to glance at your sister who’s eyes only narrowed at the sudden bite in your tone. Luke winced internally, his jaw clenching slightly as his gaze fell to the ground for a moment… it wasn’t that he felt uncomfortable by your reaction, but more so the fact that he knew why you were having this reaction… after all, he was the reason.

“But at the end of the day, I can’t give permission when you aren’t my legal responsibility.” You stated, turning your attention back in front of you, as opened one of your cabinets to pull out a mug. Your sister was only a baby when things had transpired between you and Luke, and as for the parents, they were in actuality, your grandparents.

You simply referred to them as your parents due to the fact the kids you had finished primary school with, had been wicked enough to try and poke fun at the fact that you and your sister were basically orphans… and you didn’t want your sister who was far more sensitive to you, to have to fall victim to that as well when she started.

So you told her to refer to them as that when speaking outside of their home you had grown up in… it was sad that you had to even consider that, but children sadly could be cruel.

Your parents died when the empire invaded Tatooine looking for those who were alive, and had possibly known Luke in person… the same Luke who stood in front of you now. Only he was no longer the slightly light blonde he had been all those years ago, and his demeanor… it was still the same, but he didn’t have the familiar air of need in it.

Any other time, if you were being as stubborn as you were now, even prior to you two’s friendship becoming something more, he’d be hounding you down, questioning why you were being this way, and not hearing anyone out. It seemed he had become more patient… no doubt the Jedi training.

You had fled with her… your sister, in your hands the moment your father got word that they were approaching… you didn’t even get to hug your mother who had been screaming at you to run as the travel crafts approached…

“I know that!” Your thoughts were broken by your sister and you turned to look at her, your gaze turning bitter at your sudden recollection of the now painful memories.

“But mom and dad aren’t going to let me go because they don’t think I should. They think I should stay here with you guys, and considering you had to basically beg them to let you go to university, I think they’d be more inclined to listening to you about this! Please, I want you to help us convince them.” She stated, walking beside you in an attempt to face you, but you kept your eyes on the cup in front of you.

The thing is, you didn’t convince them… after multiple arguments and them repeatedly saying no, you left to attend much to their annoyance. But they weren’t angry enough to not allow you to communicate with your sister, and come visit on vacations.

“Please, I’m not doing this. If you want to go, then go. Besides, don’t the Jedi take force sensitive children anyway?” There was a sudden shift in energy in the room.

It wasn’t a heavy one in the sense you suddenly felt like you were in danger, but it was one that made you feel like what you had said had been wrong which you couldn’t pinpoint why considering, it was a known fact.

“No. That was the old way, we don’t work like that anymore. I dont work like that.” Luke’s voice cut in, a frown on his face as he took a step forward towards the kitchens entryway. “The new Jedi order I’m creating isn’t one that takes or separates children from their homes, and families. I only take in those under my wing, and mentorship if they reach out through the force first, which is what your sister did.”

You didn’t know why, but his sudden defensive response was almost nostalgic. He wasn’t a confrontational person, however, he was someone who always tried to call out things he didn’t agree with no matter if it would escalate.

You simply chuckled, nodding a bit before your lips pursed as stared at him. Surprisingly, the twitch in his brow that usually followed when he felt like he wasn’t being taken seriously never came... “Well then, if that’s the case she wants to go. So take her.”

“No!” Your sisters voice cried out in alarm as she rushed in front of you. For a moment, your cocky steel faced facade slipped from your face as you took in her sudden watery gaze.

“Please, help me… I don’t want them to hate me! They didn’t talk about you for months after you left, even after they let you go and I didn’t hear from you for long after. I thought I’d never see you again, and I don’t want them or you to hate me…”

Her voice quivered as she looked up at you, and immediately, your instincts took over as you moved to place your hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her sudden shaking.

While you we’re confident she knew you meant it out of wanting her to do what she pleased, you couldn’t help but to feel a little upset with yourself, having upset her… and it had came from a place of wanting to elicit some emotion from him nonetheless.

You wanted him to react in anger so that you could bring up the fact your parents died trying to protect you and your sister… they died lying about not having a clue who Luke was despite the fact you had brought him to your home as much as you could when he had been free from chores, due to both your parents liking and accepting him enough to let you go out with him… you felt like through your actions of being with him, and loving him, you had damned your family… and you hadn’t even received an apology, or any sort of sympathy from him. Not for killing your parents of course… you knew he had no part in that, but it was the fact that the empire had been on the haunt for him since his feat having to do with the death star, and you were positive your parents hadn’t been the only one to die in the hands of the empire for merely knowing Luke at one point before he left…

And even now, as he adverted his gaze, you knew he knew…

“Hey now… stop that. I would never hate you for wanting to choose what you want to do in your life. I love you, and you know that.” You said, your tone softened naturally due to her frantic emotional response. You tilted her chin to look at you gently, not wanting her to recoil from you in anger and hoping she understood your words as you kneeled down to her level.

“Listen, if you feel me coming with you to tell mom and dad your leaving to become a Jedi is the right decision… I’ll do it.” Her eyes widened slightly before returning to that familiar frown you had grown accustomed to seeing… she was just as miserable living with your grandparents here on Naboo as you had been when you had lived under their roof.

And even though you were basically offering to help her despite not wanting to… you knew she didn’t want you to just do so because it’s what she wanted. She wanted you to genuinely think it a good idea, letting her go this. To support her as she always did you.

And again, even if you didn’t want to, because that meant you’d have to stand in front both her, and him as a shield to protect them from your grandparents possible wrath having to both see him, as well as give up another grandchild to let them lead their lives… you’d do anything for her.

“But…” your shoulders squared as you mentally formulated as best as you could, how to tell her you truly thought it’d be a bad idea trying to bring Luke with her, without specifically telling her she shouldn’t...

“I can tell you now, mom and dad aren’t going to say yes. Because despite telling you they gave me their blessing, they didn’t say yes to me. I left. Because I knew if I didn’t, I would be stuck living the same life you’re trying to escape now.” You frowned, hating to admit you did leave her even though it was in hopes of coming back with a career so that you could hopefully move her in with you… and while you did have it now, it seemed it was too late… she had already found a path she wanted to walk down.

She shook her head gently, her eyes still on you. “You really think they could forgive me for doing this? That I’ll be able to visit one day once my training is over, and they’ll be alright with the fact I just up and left?”

“Yes.” You steeled your voice, wanting to know you were being serious.

“I do. I’m not going to lie to you and tell you it’ll be immediate. Which is why I hope that this path you me choosing will pay off… because if it doesn’t, and you return without anything, they won’t let you live it down.” You were starting to hate how much you were recalling bitter memories now… when you had first visited them a few months after leaving for vacations, they repeatedly kept pointing out the fact you had no career, or solid work experience. As if a few months would’ve been enough to establish that…

“At least if you get the Jedi title you want so badly, they’ll be forced to keep quiet and admit they were wrong. But this has to be something you’re confident about.”

Luke nodded, agreeing with you as your sister turned to look at him. “Your sisters right. It’s important you’re confident that this is what you want… while I won’t ever deny you passage to leave if you ever would like to return home and stop your Jedi training, it’s best your sure you won’t have doubts in the future.”

You couldn’t help but to nod in agreement, even if felt uneasy with his words. If his new order truly was one that was different from the old, that meant his promise of allowing her to return safe and sound, was true… she knew Luke wouldn’t kill her if she decided to abandon his order, but the Jedi of the old would’ve thought otherwise… there weren’t many known Jedi who had been able to leave peacefully and tell the tale.

And if they were, they were most likely still in hiding despite the original order now lying doormat.

Your right hand moved to rest on the left side of her face, thumbing away the tears that were escaping before your other hand followed pursuit on her right… she wasn’t that old, yet she still had the same baby face you knew Luke recognized. And yet it seemed he wasn’t willing to tell her they had met before, just as much as you weren’t ready...

Timidly, she nodded. Her eyes moved to look down at the necklace hanging around your neck, a copy of the one that hung around her own.

While it was still evident that she was a worried, she physically calmed a bit at your touch. Something you felt happy about considering despite you two’s grandparents taking you under their wing, they very much like your parents, were traditional people. And emotional responses like hers were usually met with threats to either give them more to cry about, or to fix their faces and suck it up.

Another reason she had left her grandparents home, and sometimes felt a bit bitter about her parents despite missing them badly…

Ignoring the presence that stood across from them, watching the scene unfold, you looked down at your lap, your mind seemingly growing more tired by this interaction… “Listen. Go with Luke if your sure this is what you want to do… I’ll talk to mom and dad. They’re not going to listen, but I can assure you they won’t hate you.”

With a heavy sigh, your eyes met hers again, and you couldn’t help but to smile sadly at her. Part of you wanted to tell her no…

To stay with you, due to the fact that you were the only immediate family she had. Not to mention, she was so… young, innocent, and sometimes gullible.

And her overwhelming kindness was definitely an aspect she had adopted from you guy’s mother, whilst you seemed to have inherited your pessimistic and hardened personality from your father.

“Are you sure?” She frowned more, her eyes searching yours and even though you didn’t carry the force like she did, you could sense the sudden anxiousness rising from her. “I’m positive. They’ll riot the moment they see you walk in with him, and you know how they are… leave it to me.”

It was weird… when you had been apart, you had never been one to suddenly develop immediate anxiety, even when what happened between you and Luke, who still stood with his own expression of worry on his face, had transpired… of course you had been naturally worried for the only man you at the time, foolishly declared you loved… but you didn’t count that. He wasn’t family. Not anymore.

Yet, when you had been at your university, you’d sometimes get these sudden anxious feelings that would cause you to squirm in your skin… sometimes in the literal since that you’d shudder, or your breathing would become a bit ragged.

Almost immediately your thoughts would rush to your sister, and you wasted no time leaving either mid-lecture, or hangout with friends, to race back to your dormitory and call her… and sure enough, she’d either be just as anxious or upset about something.

Maybe it had to do with her seeking you out through the force when she developed these feelings. Maybe it was simply because you were sisters… either ways, it was like you could sense her emotions no matter where you were, or how close you two were to one another. And the aspect of her ever feeling nervous or upset while you most likely wouldn’t be able to go directly to her was a thought that filled you with dread… but you didn’t want to be another version of your grandparents.

And you did have confidence she’d become an amazing Jedi. After all, she was more experienced with the force than you

“What if they don’t… what if they don’t forgive me?” Her voice was a bit more steady, but still held that hint of anxiety she typically carried with her. You smiled sadly, before smirking and shaking your head. “Then you have me. And that’s all that matters, right?”

Her face slowly shifted from that sad worrisome gaze, to a small smile as she nodded steadily her eyes still glued to yours. “Yeah…”

You smiled leaning in to kiss her forehead before standing, straightening your posture as your face steeled itself to face Luke who had watched the display, a small smile of his own having overcame him even though your face had shifted to one of indifference as you looked at him. “I can tell you right now, you walk into our parents home and try to convince them, you might not walk out…Therefore, I’ll allow you train her.”

He stood still for a moment, his gaze on yours. That familiar softness emitting from them that years ago, you would’ve blushed at and wanted to push yourself into his embrace like the silly little teen girl you had been…

But your eyes… you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him with that same softness, and familiarity that would’ve been easy to stomach his sudden re-appearance back in your life… you had hated him for so long after you had left Tatooine… you hated him for never sending you a letter or messaging you to tell you he was alright… You hated him for never reaching out when your parents had been slaughtered by the empire, it didn’t matter that he had help put an end to... You hated yourself for giving yourself to him fully before he had left Tatooine, wanting and assuming that you’d be together through thick and thin afterwards, and most importantly, even if he had been in the right during you two’s argument… an argument that had started on your accord due to you thinking you were so in love with him, that maybe he’d consider marrying you and having a family instead, when you knew he wasn’t in a rush to do that and he wanted to do things before settling down… you had hated him for it…

He looked down, his hands behind his back as he began to approach the two of you. He reached out, resting a gentle hand on your sisters shoulder, and smiling at her as she did him at the sudden contact… you don’t know why, but your stomach twisted at her expression.

Maybe it was because she didn’t know it was because of him knowing their family so intimately, it was the reason that had gotten their parents killed… maybe it was because it was like looking into a mirror, and immediately making out the obvious blind trust and admiration that her sister held in her eyes for the man, that was now a galaxy renowned hero, and being reminded that she had once gazed up at him with the same adoration, trust, and love for him, at one point in their lives... Regardless, it made her suddenly want to yank her sister back, but she calmed herself, her harsh gaze turning to look back at him.

His smile fell into a steady expression as he regarded her. No doubt sensing her emotions for him now through the force. “I swear on my life, I’ll protect her and guide her in the path of light. I won’t ever put her, nor any of the children under my wing in immediate harms way. I can promise you that.”

“You better.” You replied. The sudden bite in her tone returning. “I’ll kill you if so much of a hair is harmed on her.” The sudden harshness in your tone didn’t go unnoticed by your sister, as her sudden frantic voice broke through, calling your name.

Your threat didn’t deter him however. He only nodded, a smile appearing on his face once more as he gazed at you again with that familiar smile you felt yourself beginning to hate even though, the tiniest part of you missed it…

“I promise. No harm will come her way.” You nodded, letting out a small sigh as you turned to look back at your sister. Your eyes naturally softening as you gazed down at her slight horrified gaze on you due to your hostility which was unknown to her… you had always attempted to shield her away whenever you were beginning to grow upset, not wanting to display that image of you to her no matter what the situation was.

But with him suddenly coming back… it’s like you couldn’t possess yourself to have an ounce of self control over your emotions.

“If anything happens, call me. I’ll be there in light speed before you can blink. And if anything happens, regarding him, give him hell.” You watched as she groaned, turning to look at Luke, muttering a small apology for your behavior but he only smiled telling her it was alright…

You two had hugged each other once more… you possibly doing so a little more tightly than anticipated but she didn’t comment on it.

When you had separated, you smiled kissing her forehead once more, before you two spoke your goodbyes and promises of meeting once again, before she joined Luke at the door.

“I love you, and I’ll call you everyday after training.” She promised, before exiting from the door after you had nodded.

Luke followed behind her, and while you weren’t happy to see her leave, you felt a small sense of relief watching him follow after her. Not just for the fact he was leaving your house, but… you trusted him oddly enough to hold his promise…

He stopped just before exiting fully, turning to spare you a glance, a sad expression appearing on his face as you two stared at one another for a moment in silence…

“… I can’t change the past. But… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I hope you can believe me.” He didn’t wait for your reply, a part of him not wanting to wait and see your reaction as he quickly exited your home, closing the door behind him.

You had been doing so well… so well, before he came back.

With the door closing behind him, your face finally fell, and you walked over to your couch, sitting down quickly before your legs could give out as you began to sob.

#star wars #star wars x reader #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker x you #luke skywalker #angst #gabbasdumbthoughts #this took longer than it should have

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taelme · 2 years

Text

treacherous

genre: regency!au (with some tweaks ofc), kind of secret romance, painter!johnny, marquess!johnny (mild angst, a lot of fluff im telling yall this was self-indulgent) pairing/s: Johnny / Reader (ft Jaehyun and oc (reader’s sister)) word count: 26k+ (love language strikes again) tw: brief mentions of a parent’s death, mentions of food, reader has a tense relationship with her mom? mentions of religious imagery summary: in your search for love in a material world, you find the acquaintance of a poor painter and discover what it means to feel safe to trust, to be vulnerable, to love—and everything in between a/n: very self indulgent!! (this technically can be read as a standalone but reading enchanted before this can help with context!) was definitely zoning out during my lessons thinking about this johnny.... can yall tell im in love? may have died many times writing this ... definitely was difficult to edit because i was giggling throughout as though i wasn’t the one who wrote it. themed on treacherous but i’d love to hear if you found any other tswift song easter eggs inside!! happy reading read on ao3

There were many rules any supposed self-respecting or ‘well-bred’ gentleman and lady had to abide by in the world you lived in—rules that ensured the protection of a culture, that shaped character, that cultivated virtue. You were very well-versed in such rules, having been fed every conduct manual your mother could get her hands on from the time you were able to read.

You would internalise all that you’d read, taking the words seriously and living by the advice given, moulding yourself into a daughter who was perfect as and when you were judged by the book. Perhaps that was what your mother hoped, that her daughter would agree to being mothered by conduct books.

Of course, that wasn’t quite the case. You read them, surely, but whether you lived by them was an entirely different matter.

The first thing to note, a lady like you was expected to wait to be introduced to a gentleman, and never introduce herself.

“Would you stop fidgeting? How impossible is it for you to just sit still for a moment?” your mother clicked her tongue in distaste, her voice soft enough only for you to hear, but her tone no less cutting.

You glanced at her blankly, shifting in your seat once again before turning your gaze back to the field before you, the crowd of people around you waiting for the races to start. Frankly, the appeal of a race for you lay in watching the horses, how gracefully and strongly they galloped, oblivious to the money being placed behind their speed.

But you knew why you were here, it was hard for you to forget.

“It’ll be nothing short of a miracle if anyone finds you desirable with your horrible manners to show for yourself,” she huffed, turning to your father who was sitting beside her for some sort of support, only growing more annoyed when she saw that he was otherwise unbothered by your fidgeting.

“Spare her, she’s still new to all of this,” he murmured.

“Her sister wasn’t like this when she first debuted,” your mother retorted, earning a sigh from your father.

Your sister, who was now away on her honeymoon with the viscount she married. As much as you were happy for her, you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss the support she gave you, especially during times like these where it seemed you would be caught in the crossfire of your mother and father’s disagreements.

“Are they not both ladies? You have to stop treating her like she’s still a child,” your mother murmured harshly, making you shift in your seat uncomfortably, “the sooner you do that, the easier this whole process will be for all of us.”

Now, you couldn’t hide behind the fact that you were young. You were out in society, expected to be looking for a marriage partner, but you still found yourself feeling intimidated by the number of people here knowing that they weren’t looking at you as anyone other than a lady to be married off.

Thankfully enough, you spotted a familiar face (or they spotted you), your gaze landing on a family friend, a bachelor named Taeyong under the tentage next to the spectator stand.

“I’m… going to say hello to Taeyong.”

Your mother hadn’t acknowledged you with anything but a huff, so you took that as a greenlight to leave, straightening your posture in an attempt to make it seem as though you weren’t completely intimidated by the crowd of men you were practically walking into.

Nodding your head at Taeyong in greeting when he met your gaze, he flashed you a smile.

“My lady,” he bowed with extra dramatics, earning a grimace from you, “it feels oddly refreshing to be seeing you in a place like this.”

“How so?” your eyebrows lifted, gaze flickering briefly to notice the man standing next to him, taller than Taeyong and much taller than you, giving him a small nod in acknowledgement.

You knew it was more socially acceptable for you to focus on conversing with Taeyong and not acknowledging the man, since it would have been an obvious fact that he and Taeyong were of different social standings. The man’s dressing was that of a typical man of the working class, compared to Taeyong’s more expensive fabrics, with special tailored tailcoats and frills in his shirt. In spite of this fact, you couldn’t help your gaze from wandering over to the man even as you spoke with Taeyong, something about the way he carried himself making him seem as though he was the one of power between the two of them.

It was a confidence and sureness that you weren’t used to seeing, different from the air with which the viscount Jung Jaehyun carried himself. For the viscount, there was always an air of tension in his slightly aloof demeanour. The man standing next to Taeyong now didn’t seem tense, instead, he possessed a calm confidence. You weren’t sure why it intimidated you more.

“I’m more accustomed to seeing you in your home,” Taeyong huffed, “I guess this means it’s your first season?”

You nodded, glancing again at the man next to Taeyong, who wore a curious expression on his face, observing you as you spoke with Taeyong.

“And my last, if I'm fortunate enough,” you joked, even if you didn’t mean it.

You glanced briefly again at the man standing next to Taeyong, averting your gaze when you met his confident stare, Taeyong’s huff of laughter distracting you just briefly.

“I’m sure the season will be forgiving to you, you’ve always had a rather sweet disposition,” he assured you, eyebrows lifting as he shifted his body just slightly to gesture to the man next to him.

“Oh, right. May I introduce you to a friend of mine who just moved into the town? He’s a painter, a very talented one at that. Miss Y/N this is Mr Suh. Mr Suh, this is my family friend, Miss Y/N.”

The man gave you a polite bow, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said with a polite smile.

Your head tilted in surprise, not having expected the lilting voice to have come from a man whose presence was anything but gentle.

Taeyong glanced between you and Mr Suh, momentarily distracted when he was approached by a man who had greeted him loudly, immediately rattling off into a discussion on the horse race.

Almost about to leave to find your way to the lemonade, you heard the lilting voice again.

“Who are you betting on?” he asked nonchalantly, and with the way he looked ahead as he talked, it would have seemed as though he wasn’t talking to you from the outside. You wondered whether it was intentional.

“Me?” you asked, turning to look up at the man’s face, seeing him tear his gaze away from the horses to look at you, a soft smile gracing his features as he did.

He nodded.

“Am I supposed to be betting on one?” you asked in spite of everything you knew and read from the conduct manuals. You didn’t need Mr Suh to tell you to know that you weren’t supposed to be betting on anything, regardless.

Mr Suh’s eyebrows lifted, taking his lower lip between his teeth before letting it go, “Well,” he began, “I suppose you shouldn’t. But the stakes are what make it more entertaining, aren’t they?”

You scrunch your nose up in disagreement, shaking your head.

“I would beg to differ. Sometimes things are best enjoyed without too many expectations.”

Mr Suh hummed, clasping his hands behind his back, the stance somehow making him seem even more confident, you could almost imagine him dressed in formal wear attending one of the balls your sister spoke of the previous season. A man like him would be hard to miss in a crowd.

“What makes you say that?”

You shrugged, your gaze flickering over the way the sunlight was shining on him through the little holes in the tent above the both of you, casting a pretty glow on where it touched his hair, his skin, his hazel eyes that held the mischief of a cheshire cat to them.

“I suppose when you leave less room for expectation, you also leave less room for disappointment,” you hummed, watching in borderline awe as he let out a huff of laughter.

“Not that I don’t agree with you, because trust me, I do. But humour me, pick one and we’ll see who wins,” he offered smoothly, with the same confidence that made you feel as though he were drawing you in, as if his simple proposition was enough to spark your desire for some excitement in what you otherwise assumed was going to be a boring day.

“And if you win? What happens then?” you asked, earning a thoughtful hum from Mr Suh, lips pursing in thought as if he hadn’t already thought of what he wanted.

Mr Suh’s lips parted, as if having reached a moment of realisation, “You’ll grant me the honour of getting you a glass of lemonade.”

“And if I win?”

Mr Suh grinned, “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

You hummed, “Alright then. I pick number two.”

And you watched, as the race began, as Mr Suh watched with a serious gaze as the horse you chose had run neck in neck with his, the way number two had begun to pick up speed halfway and you knew you would prevail as the winner by a landslide. Funnily enough, Mr Suh didn’t feel the slightest bit bitter about losing, curious as to what you had in mind for your reward.

It was amusing to you, to see the way the many people standing in the tent had either gushed out yells of excitement or frustration as the race ended, Mr Suh’s expression looking still as calm and confident as he turned to face you.

“Have you decided what you wanted?” he asked, “I’ll still get you a glass of lemonade, since it’s a hot day after all.”

You followed next to him as he walked towards where the staff were serving refreshments, paying for a single glass of lemonade and handing it to you, an expectant look on his face as he awaited your reply.

“You said you were a painter, is that correct?” you began, earning a tilt of the head from him, wondering where you were going with this.

“Yes, I am.”

“Could I pay a visit to your studio one day? You know, to see some of your paintings?”

If Mr Suh was surprised at your request (he was), he hadn’t shown it, simply looking at you with the same curiosity in his gaze, giving you a nod.

“You’re more than welcome to come by. I’m located near the flower shop by the market, the old space that used to belong to the… the wine merchant,” he told you, and with how much you frequented the market, you instantly knew the space he was referring to, already mapping out a route in your head that would allow you to visit his studio after you ran your errands on Monday.

Somehow, you couldn’t get used to the way he held your gaze, something about it making you feel as though you were frozen in your spot, unable to look elsewhere yet feeling as though you were too shy to return the same attention to him.

“I’d better be going now, wouldn’t want to worry my mother,” you fumbled out an excuse in your flustered state, giving him a nod before you’d left promptly, sipping on your lemonade in an attempt to cool the warmth in your face and neck.

===

Another thing worth noting, is that a lady like you is often placed in a very delicate situation. You may be distinguished by a kind of calculated attention to gain your affections, while it is impossible to know whether this attention will end in a serious declaration.

You didn’t manage to visit him once the week started, busy with your own errands that occupied your first few days of the week.

The next time you saw Mr Suh, it almost seemed like you were being guided towards each other. It was an odd moment on that Wednesday morning, something compelling you to look up from the yellow sunflowers you were talking to the old woman running the store about, turning your head to the right even though you weren’t quite looking for anything, your gaze coming to land on the man that you were almost hoping you would chance upon while in the area.

Seeing the way his eyebrows lifted in recognition, you gave him a small nod to signal that you were acquainted with him, a smile gracing his features as he stood before you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he remarked, earning a strangely shy smile from you, surprising yourself at the way you reacted towards him.

You hummed, “I’m here often, actually,” you admitted, your gaze flickering briefly to the sunflowers you were looking at before, your finger touching one of the soft petals absently.

“Is that so? Do you like flowers?”

You shrugged, “... the simple answer would be yes.”

Mr Suh surprised you with the way he’d gasped lightly, eyes widening with a hint of exaggerated dramatics, his hands in his pockets as he leaned over slightly, “Well, now that you’ve said it like that, you’ve gotten me curious about what the complex answer would be.”

You weren’t sure what came over you, or what was compelling you to go against your mother’s wishes of not entertaining men who weren’t those you danced with at balls.

Perhaps it was the way he conversed with you so smoothly, or the confident way he held himself, or even the way it seemed as though there was something inexplicable drawing you in through his gaze, telling you there was more to him than he was letting on. As if it would only continue to nag at your curiosity if you didn’t explore it.

“It is an answer I would easily offer to you if we were in a more conducive space,” you huffed in amusement, gesturing around to the various other market stalls, the grocers and the merchants yelling and ringing their bells as they bartered off their products.

Mr Suh felt it too, the strangest feeling in his gut that made him feel as though he were being prompted to get to know you more. As he looked at you now, in the silence of the flower shop with the old woman giving him a knowing look, he couldn’t deny that he was curious about your intentions, about what you could possibly be thinking by being so willing to acquaint yourself with a poor painter like him. It was oddly refreshing, and he could safely say you were the first lady to still treat him with such attention and respect after coming to know his social standing.

“Would you like to claim your reward now, then? I was just about to head back to my studio, we could have some tea before you head back?”

You frowned, knowing very well that as much as you would like that, you couldn’t very well do that now.

At the sight of your frown, Mr Suh sucked in a sharp breath, “Poor timing?”

Pressing your lips into a firm line, you nodded, “Unfortunately. I have to be at the church, I was supposed to get the new flower arrangements done for the altar and all…”

Mr Suh’s eyebrows lifted, nodding in understanding, it seemed there was even more he was curious about you now.

“Will you be playing the organ for the mass today too, dear?” the old woman asked, earning a hum from Mr Suh when you gave an affirmative nod.

“You know how to play?” he asked, earning an insistent hum from the old woman.

“ Very well , in fact,” she told him, and somehow you felt a strange sense of bashfulness under the praise of the old woman, though it wasn’t as if you were a stranger to hearing it from her.

Somehow, the fact that you were in the presence of Mr Suh as you heard it reminded you of the feeling you got when you were younger and your parents were entertaining guests, insisting that you play a piece for them. The feeling of all their eyes on you that filled you with the want to run off into your room, the only time you’d relaxed slightly was when you would centre your focus on the piano, the music being the distraction from their gazes on you.

The way Mr Suh looked at you, his curious gaze, somehow filled you with this sort of almost-panic, a panic that came with being so focused on, a sudden feeling of being exposed.

You didn’t have to worry about this with your family, knowing they were all focused on their own worries to pay such delicate attention to your affairs. Mr Suh, however, his gaze was intense, though it did not seem to possess the same intention to nit-pick like your mother, or the insistence of your father’s, or distraction of your sister’s. His could only be described as unadulterated curiosity .

“I’d love to hear it one day,” his lips curled into a small smile, “perhaps you could grant me the honour of hearing you play while I complete a commission at my studio.”

You huffed. Somehow the prospect of being able to be involved in the creation of art in such a way enticed you, and it left you feeling excited for the day to come.

“I would like that,” you told him, turning to the old woman and giving her a small nod to signal that you would like to take the flowers you ordered now.

“Would you like to take the ones for home now?” she asked, earning a shake of the head from you.

“No, thank you. I’ll come by later to collect those,” you told her with a smile, turning to Mr Suh and giving a small bow.

“I should be heading off now.”

Mr Suh huffed in amusement, “That sounds familiar,” there was a hint of mischief in his tone that made your lips part, a small scoff leaving you.

“Are you teasing me?” you couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped you, earning a smile from him.

“I mean no menace,” he continued, shaking his head, “I should be off as well…”

He let out a small sigh, the soft smile lingering on his features, “It was nice to see you here.”

You huffed, wanting to say more, but settling for a simple nod.

“When would be a good time for me to come by?” you decided to ask, earning a shrug from him.

“Whenever it suits you, I’m usually in the studio by the afternoon,” he spoke, earning a tilt of the head from you, prompting him to continue, “okay, how does Friday afternoon sound?”

You nodded, “Perfect.”

Bidding him goodbye, your breath hitched at the way his tone had lilted with the same calm confidence as he addressed you, your brain replayed the way he’d addressed you, wondering how his voice could make your name (something you figured you would have been so used to after all your years of living), sound as though it were being spoken to you for the first time.

You turned and left before you could tempt yourself to stay longer and forget about the flowers in your arms waiting to be displayed, though even the sunflowers seemed to twirl around to face him.

The giddiness fluttering within you remained as you sat by the stone bench preparing the flowers, the sound of the gentle flowing water of the fountain you were sitting beside somehow reminding you to still your heart, lest you get too carried away with the excitement you felt from your interactions with Mr Suh.

As you fixed the placement of one of the sunflowers, you let your gaze wander to the elderly woman who was a few benches away from you shaded underneath a large tree, looking at the arrangement of flowers you’d placed at the foot of one of the statues.

Observing her expression as she gazed at the flowers, you wondered what she was thinking about, what she was here for, perhaps even what she was praying for. You knew you weren’t a stranger to it even as you observed her, you had been here many times; out of desperation, out of boredom, out of joy, out of hopelessness.

You liked the freedom that came with being here, how you could essentially stay undisturbed due to the unspoken understanding that those who came here sought out that same solace and peace you did.

It was more of an escape at first, from the confines of your house and the myriad of books waiting to be read and re-read again. You weren’t sure when it started becoming a place you wished to return to willingly, like an escape you sought out because it became less of an escape and more of a shelter.

There was vulnerability and protection you found in being alone, in the thought that even if no one was being attentive to you, maybe a higher power was. This thought always pulled you into deeper reflection, it made you struggle with how comfortable and uncomfortable you were in this vulnerability. How perhaps you were comfortable with it because it wasn’t exactly tangible, yet how uncomfortable you felt with it because you knew that this desire for vulnerability, to be seen, known and loved in such a way was something that resonated deep within your soul, and perhaps it was never tangible to begin with.

Done with the main arrangement meant to be the centrepiece at the altar, you got up, dusting off your dress. Picking up the basket, you made your way down the aisle of the church till you were at the altar, placing the basket delicately onto the marbled floor before something compelled you to take a seat there on the floor of the aisle, looking up at nothing in particular.

“Do you recognise the painting?”

You turned your head in the direction of the sound, seeing the priest walking over to you from your left, earning a hum of confusion from you.

Gesturing above you to the direction you were staring in previously, he gave you a small smile, “You were staring at it, were you not?”

Turning your head to fix your gaze on the painting, you saw that it was a painting of a raging sea, a boat in the background with many people on it, but a man, and another who you assumed was the Lord on the water, the man looking desperate as he clung on to his saviour. Yet somehow, the way his saviour held him, you could sense the safety, the security present in his hold.

“Do you recall? That man, Peter, walked out onto the water when the Lord called him.”

You frowned, nothing about it made any logical sense, to put yourself in such a position of vulnerability, subject to drowning, subject to the harsh currents of the waves willingly .

“Why did he do that?” was all you could ask, reminded again of this vulnerability, and whether as you looked at this painting, you could see how there was protection in this vulnerability like you had felt before.

The priest could only huff in amusement, a deep sigh leaving him.

“Would you like the simple answer?” he asked, earning a sheepish smile from you.

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?”

Shaking his head, the priest turned his gaze back to the painting, “Love.”

He did it for love?

Perhaps the answer you wanted really wasn’t for something tangible to begin with, you figured, because you felt his words resonate in your heart.

How willing were you to be vulnerable? And what were you willing to be vulnerable for?

“That sounds more like the complex answer,” you huffed, your hands fiddling with the fabric of your dress, picking off leaves that had stuck onto your dress while you made the flower arrangements.

Your words had only earned a laugh from the priest, the elderly man giving you a shrug.

“I suppose simple doesn’t mean simplistic.”

Sighing, you nodded, knowing you would be left pondering his words for the next God knows how long . And it was true, even as you played the organ for the mass that day, as you left the church grounds to make your way back to the flower market.

Even as you were greeted by a bouquet of hibiscus flowers the old woman said Mr Suh had left for you, the thought continued to stir your heart. His simple bouquet, which sparked a far-from-simplistic longing in your heart.

Were you willing to be vulnerable for something like love?

Perhaps only time would tell.

===

The third rule, a lady like you was not to engage in any activity that could give rise to gossip. A young, unmarried lady like you was never to be alone in the company of a gentleman outside of family and close family friends. Other than during a walk to church or to a park in the morning, a lady like you was not to even so much as walk outside without an appropriate companion.

“Where are you off to so early, Miss?” Your lady’s maid had asked in a hushed whisper, passing you the little biscuits you asked for her to help you retrieve from the kitchen without your mother noticing.

“To church,” you smiled, earning a surprised hum from her.

“I suppose this is the message you would like for me to relay if anyone were to ask for your whereabouts?” her tone was knowing, a hint of a smile playing at her lips as she handed you the makeshift bag she made using the cloth used to wrap your biscuits.

You smiled, nodding at her as you let out an exaggerated wistful sigh, “I cannot express how thankful I am to have you here. You’re an absolute breath of fresh air in this house.”

She huffed in amusement, shaking her head at you, glancing around the kitchen before lowering her voice to a mere murmur, “Will you be back late?”

You shook your head.

“I’ll be back in time for tea, I’m going to visit a painter.”

She gasped, a deadpan tone to her joking as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, “Need I get the chemicals ready to soak your dress when you return?”

You rolled your eyes in good-nature, a giggle leaving you in your embarrassment.

“I won’t make a mess of myself this time, I promise,” touching her arm, you told her with as serious a look as you could muster, earning a deep sigh from her.

You supposed it was warranted, she’d known you since you were a baby, it was only right that she’d grown accustomed to your rather clumsy nature.

“I’d rather you not make promises you can’t keep, Miss.”

“I’ll be good, I promise ,” you grinned, fighting your laughter as you saw her expression dripping with scepticism.

“I do miss your sister dearly, she was never one to keep me on my toes like you do. I’m always fighting for breath these days when I talk to the madam,” she let out a wistful sigh.

You huffed, already beginning to walk out of the kitchen, “Don’t miss me too much when I’m gone,” you waved, practically brisk walking out of your house and beginning on the route you had planned in your head since the day of the races.

Saying you were going to church wasn’t a complete lie. And it was important to note this, because you weren’t a very good liar to begin with, so details like these helped.

Walking into the church grounds, you’d initially planned on just walking through it as a shortcut to the market, but you couldn’t deny the little anxiousness within your heart that came with your excitement. Frankly, you weren’t sure what you were expecting from your meeting with Mr Suh later, though you knew there was a need to maintain a level of secrecy about it.

Perhaps it was the guilt from this secrecy that compelled you to make a little detour, sitting on the same bench you saw the elderly woman sitting at the other day.

Only when you were sitting in the same position as she was, you realised how different it felt to be sitting right in front of the little grotto. It felt much more like you were up-front instead of still having the pseudo-security of being a little further from the little altar.

Somehow, you found yourself listing out in your head the various things you’d planned on doing today, imagining (and perhaps hoping as well) that while you went about these things, this higher power would be watching over you, protecting you as you went about your day. The thought served to comfort you, and you found yourself feeling a little less nervous about seeing Mr Suh.

You wouldn’t have known that Mr Suh was equally if not more nervous than you were, finding himself agonising over which flowers he wished to gift you when you were to arrive.

The way the old woman mending the store was looking at him wasn’t helping much either, with her knowing looks and watchful gaze as she observed the flowers he leaned towards.

“Are you planning on getting them for Miss Y/N?” the woman finally asked after she seemed to have enough of his indecision.

Mr Suh nodded, “I was wondering if you could advise me on the meanings of the flowers?” he asked, earning a smile from the woman.

“My dear, there are far too many flowers here for me to advise you on all of them now. Perhaps you could tell me what you wish to convey, and I could help you pick the right flowers accordingly?”

Mr Suh hummed thoughtfully. He didn’t want something too forward, or something that would make you wonder what the special occasion was. At this point, all that was coming to mind was the image of your smile that he wished to have the honour of witnessing again. She does have a lovely smile.

“Yellow tulips, then!” the woman offered gleefully, making Mr Suh’s eyes widen. He was glad Jaehyun wasn’t here, he didn’t think he would be able to recover from his slip-up so easily if that was the case.

And so yellow tulips were what you were greeted with when you’d arrived at the studio, barely shutting the door behind you before you were greeted by the bright yellow that you found eliciting a smile from you without even noticing.

“Are these for me?” you asked, the nod he gave you making you stretch your fingers in your gloves before you accepted the flowers from him, noticing the lack of gloves on his hands.

“They couldn’t possibly be for me, I don’t think my smile is worthy of being compared to sunshine.”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, feeling warmth travel to your face and neck as you averted your gaze.

“I’m… flattered to know you think mine is.”

That seemed to elicit a smile from him, rivalling his words from before with the way he was beaming at you, a little giggle leaving him.

“You can set them aside here in the meantime, I was just in the middle of working on a small piece,” he told you, taking the flowers from you to set them in a makeshift vase. A little cup with dried paint on its mouth and exterior filled with clear water.

“What of?” you glanced at the canvas on the easel in front of a tall stool, not being able to distinguish the markings on the canvas, seeming to be in its early stages of creation.

Waiting for his reply, you took the opportunity to look around the studio. It was cleaner than you expected it to be, with how it was left unoccupied by the previous landlord for as long as you could remember.

You noticed the carpets over various parts of the floor, the patterns resembling the ones you had at home. There were various tables around the room, used more for temporary storage than for display, housing various sketches on loose pieces of paper and card. Even so, the sketches were of various landscapes and nature.

There were no statues here, contrary to what you expected, mainly bowls of fruits and flowers that you assumed were for still-life paintings or sketches. It wasn’t furnished anything like you imagined a typical painter’s studio to look like. You’d expected more statues of human figures, more artwork of people or portraits. The most life you detected in the room other than him and the bowls of fruits and flowers was the piano sitting at the side of the room.

He stood in front of a tall easel that rested on a large cloth over the carpet to catch any mess that could ruin the rug. Next to the easel, there was a small table with his palette, and a little glass jar he used for water, a set of what you identified as watercolours next to the jar.

“Your expression is making me curious. Penny for your thoughts?”

You hummed, shaking your head when you decided against voicing out your thoughts. You wouldn’t want to risk offending him.

Mr Suh seemed undeterred, simply tilting his head at you curiously, “What seems to be stopping you from telling me?”

Daring yourself to glance at him in surprise at his forwardness, you shook your head, “No, no, I just… I don't want to speak out of turn.”

Expecting him to simply nod and move on to another topic, you were even more surprised when he huffed in amusement, dismissing your worries with his gentle gaze.

“I can assure you, I won’t expect you to bear the consequences for my feelings.”

Walking over to the tall easel where he stood, you pressed your lips together and mustered whatever courage you had to be honest with your thoughts. Something about his reassurance told you it was safe to allow yourself that much in this space.

“I was just thinking that… your studio doesn’t look like what I expected it to look like,” you began, earning a nod from him, prompting you to continue, “I expected… more… you know, life .”

Mr Suh’s expression remained calm and confident as always, as if he’d expected you to have pointed it out at one point.

“I understand why you may think that,” he huffed with a smile.

“Was it intentional?” you asked, “the focus on landscapes?”

He nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, the attentiveness he offered to you once again feeling foreign, yet somehow reassuring.

“I don’t do portraits. And I know it sounds foolish, considering they make more money than paintings of nature and whatnot. But it’s somewhat of a… personal philosophy , I suppose.”

Sensing your confusion, he huffed in amusement, continuing, “I find there is much more life to be found in nature that we overlook. When we’re not so concerned with… you know,” you met his gaze again, the same captivating feeling rendering your attention only fixed on him, “material things.”

You nodded, his words striking a chord with you, remembering the many conversations you had with your sister on your worries about your debut, about whether you would be accomplished enough, presentable enough, respectable enough. When the desire, that intangible desire that resonated within you remained; the want to be seen, known and loved for your soul, unaffected by money or status.

“It’s hard to be unconcerned with that in this society,” you huffed, earning a nod from him.

“I suppose a lady like you has no choice but to be concerned about it,” he murmured, earning a sigh from you.

“I wish I didn’t have to be.”

Mr Suh gave you a soft smile, “At least… you don’t have to be while you’re here.”

You hadn’t noticed you were smiling, something about his words making a wave of relief wash over you. Like a breath of fresh air, to hear that he wasn’t expecting you to be your mother’s daughter while you were here. The little invitation behind his words was enough to make you want to laugh. You were almost wondering why you’d felt so nervous to come here just a while ago.

Making your way to the piano, you took a seat in front of it, still failing to stifle your smile, turning to him with a nod.

“I… I’m afraid I like that offer a little too much.”

And so that was what the studio became for you, a place where you were free to be alone yet share in the company of another, to allow for the creation of art within the space that you came to realise held more life than you initially thought.

There was life found in the sound of the music that filled the walls, life found in the way Mr Suh’s brush would dance over the canvas, bringing colours alive with his fluid movements, life found in the little sparks of excitement and understanding when you would glance over at each other ever so often.

“I like that piece the most,” Mr Suh told you as you were preparing to leave, holding out the last honey biscuit to him for him to take. Pinching it between his fingers, he popped it into his mouth.

“You do?”

He nodded, swallowing the last of the biscuit in his mouth as he smiled, “It happens to be my favourite.”

Something about that knowledge made you see the piece in a different light, not having expected him to choose that of all the ones you played that day.

Something about it was almost ironic, the meaning of the piece being to cast away earthly pleasures for a greater, spiritual love. It made you think about whether the intangible desire in your heart resonated in his as well.

Unfortunately, that little moment was cut short when Mr Suh had taken out a small pouch that jingled in an all-too-familiar way, reminding you of your father’s study.

“What’s this?” he set the pouch in your free hands, taking the empty cloth used to hold your honey biscuits and folding it neatly for you.

Mr Suh hummed, “Take it as… pin money. I wouldn’t have been able to complete those paintings without the beautiful music you played.”

Before you could refuse, he shook his head, “I insist, really. If you won’t accept it for the music, accept it for the biscuits.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you huffed, taking the now neatly folded cloth back from him.

“You’re not going to take it back regardless, aren’t you?”

The grin he sent your way was enough to make your knees feel weak.

“You’re a quick learner, Miss Y/N,” he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

Again, the feeling akin to a gentle brushstroke on canvas, unassuming, yet permanent with the way the colour stood out against the white.

“Will I be seeing you again soon?” he dared to ask, and you found yourself almost breathless as you searched for an appropriate reply.

“Do you wish to?”

Mr Suh wasn’t sure what came over him either. It was akin to an inner knowing, a gut feeling, an unmistakable intuitive feeling that told him not to fight the fact that he was drawn to you, the fact that he wanted to know you more. So, he decided not to fight it, as risky as the decision felt to him.

“I do, if you are consenting.”

You huffed, amusement in the way the smile played at your lips, nodding at him. “Then you will see me again tomorrow.”

It became an unspoken agreement of sorts, for you to visit him in the mornings until it was time for you to return home for tea, blaming your happiness or giddiness on a particularly blessed time of prayer, or the time you took to get back home on the time you would ‘stay back’ in the church grounds on your own.

Though your father didn’t mind, always having excused you whenever it came to matters of religion, your mother didn’t like it. She wouldn’t hesitate to express how she felt it wasn’t necessary for you to be devoting so much of your time to going to church when you had better things to do, like brushing up on your piano playing, refining your needlework skills or reading and internalising more conduct books.

They wouldn’t know that the real reason behind your departure from home lay behind the (now many) flowers pressed between the pages of your many conduct books. Each one attached to a special memory of Mr Suh’s bouquets he gifted to you during your visits, the arrangements handpicked by him and unlike any you’d seen or made before.

Though it was no secret that Mr Suh enjoyed your company and conversation, there was always a little nagging in his head that would return every now and then. It was as if its purpose was to remind him of who you were in society. It would return whenever he heard gossip in the market the morning after a ball, or chatter from bachelors in a local bar. It served as a reminder that no matter how close the both of you were getting, you were still a lady, who could be subject to such gossip and chatter if you weren’t careful.

“You’re risking your virtue each time you come out here to see me, you are aware of that right?" He spoke, while you were engrossed in sifting through his various sketches, finding ones to display on the walls of his studio.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, holding up a sketch of a tall, sturdy-looking tree planted by the water.

"And what is virtue to you, the man who keeps inviting me here?" you hummed.

Mr Suh narrowed his eyes at you, albeit amused at your witty reply.

"I meant without a chaperone."

You sighed, almost instinctively assuming the disposition you would when you were being nagged by your mother.

“I think it’s a little belated for you to be telling me this,” you muttered, still distracted by his sketches, your hands reaching up over your head to see what it would look like higher up on the wall.

“Miss Y/N,” his tone was firmer than usual, insistent for you to pay attention.

“Hmm? How do you think this would look up here?” you thought out loud, not having noticed him getting up from his stool to walk over to you, his hand reaching out to pin the paper you were holding against the wall with apparent ease, making you come down from your tip-toes.

Turning around, you were shocked at how close he was, your eyes widening and taking a step back.

“Are you listening?”

In your surprise, you sputtered out whatever made sense to you in your head.

“Right, yes. Chaperoning.”

This had only managed to earn a quirked eyebrow from Mr Suh, “Yes… chaperoning …”

“You understand the need for it, don’t you?” he continued, insistence in his tone.

You huffed, “Don’t you think we’re past that by now? My parents are too caught up with whatever their latest worry is. If anything, they're relieved I'm finding something to occupy myself with. I’d only be a nuisance if I remained at home.”

Mr Suh relaxed his arm, grasping the sketch in his hand as he lowered his arm to his side.

“You’re avoiding the point. How can you be so sure that you trust me?” His eyebrows furrowed, seeming as if he were in disbelief that it was possible. You didn’t understand that.

You shook your head.

“I’m not,” you met his gaze, his eyes that shone a beautiful hazel in the sunlit space of his studio, “that is up to you to show me who you are, and up to me to be discerning about it.”

His gaze softened, making you feel prompted to continue.

“I am very aware of my stand in society, if that is what you are asking. But didn’t we agree? That this would be a place where that doesn’t matter?”

Mr Suh’s expression was pensive, his lips pressed into a firm line as he searched your gaze for something unknown to him, “Forgive me, I am simply concerned for you. It would do you no good to be seen with a man like me.”

You sighed, ducking down to take the sketch from his hand and glancing at it, the sketch of the tree planted beside the water.

You let out a huff of amusement, “Be kinder to yourself, Mr Suh. I’m not being forced to be here. Your company has been more enjoyable than any man I have come across.”

Sensing he was taken aback by your words, you decided to change the subject.

“You have many sketches of places I have never seen before. Were they all places you’ve visited?” you asked, using a simple glue to attach just the top of the sketch to the wall, not wanting to ruin it if you decided you wanted to take it down.

Mr Suh cleared his throat, “Yes, they were all from my travels, or some of the places I remember visiting.”

Humming, you picked up the other sketch you planned on displaying as well, amusing Mr Suh (and perhaps making his heart flutter) with how seriously you regarded his sketches, even if most of them were done on a whim.

“They seem like lovely places. What made you come here, then? I wouldn’t say this area is as lovely as what I've been seeing in your sketches.”

Huffing, Mr Suh’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips, a relaxed nature in the way he watched you go about your movements, “My father passed. This was uh… his birthplace.”

At that, you turned to face him, tilting your head at him as your gaze softened.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Letting out a huff of laughter that bordered on bitterness, he shook his head in dismissal, “There’s no need to be sorry. We were not that close.”

Frowning, you let out a small sound of disagreement.

“It’s not a crime, you know? There’s no rule that says you aren’t allowed to grieve simply because you weren’t close to him.”

Mr Suh felt a little wave of comfort reach him at your words, comfort that he didn’t realise he needed until the words left your lips and graced his ears. It left him feeling strangely grateful. Not just for your words, but for your heart which allowed you to feel so sensitively for others.

“Thank you,” was all he could muster, earning a soft smile from you.

“What was your relationship like? You know, to your father?” you dared yourself to ask, sensing that it would do him some good to talk about it.

“He was strict with me when I was growing up… actually, he was a rather quiet man, a contrast to my personality. I always found I was more similar to my mother, more… expressive,” there was a gentle smile on his features at the mention of his mother, something about it making you want to hear more.

“I was more comfortable talking to my mother, and naturally she was more involved in my activities and whatnot while I was growing up… it’s a bit strange now that I think of it. Even while she called me her own little nicknames and terms of endearment, it felt more comfortable for me to hear that as opposed to my own name, only my father called me that. But even though that was the case, it still felt awkward hearing it from him.”

You nodded, your attentiveness prompting him to continue.

“I don’t regret it, though. It wasn’t as though we had a bad relationship, it just felt… a bit more formal, less playful than the one I had with my mother.”

“That’s what matters, I suppose, that you have no regrets,” you shrugged.

Mr Suh nodded, “That’s what I thought, as well. My duty now is just to… carry on, I suppose.”

You nodded.

“Awfully wise of you,” you quipped, earning a smile from him.

“Of course, I thought you would’ve known that about me by now,” he teased, earning an eye roll from you, though there was no menace behind the gesture.

You huffed, “I can only imagine what you were like as a child,” you murmured, your imagination getting the better of you.

The look on his face made it seem as though he were recalling his childhood, huffing a small laugh as he shook his head, “I don’t think I’ve changed much, to be honest.”

The honesty of your next words surprised you.

“You must’ve been the loveliest little boy, then. I’m sure of it.”

The smile you received in return was new, tinted with bashfulness unlike the usual calm and confident exterior you were used to seeing. He averted his gaze, poorly stifling his smile before looking back at you and shaking his head.

“You’ve got a dangerous way with words, Miss Y/N,” he sighed, though his smile lingered on his features.

“Of course, I thought you would’ve known that about me by now,” you recalled his words, using them to tease him in the same lilting way that he did, though he was sure the effect you had on him was much worse, his laughter bubbling out of him without restraint, his hand reaching out to grab the table next to him in a poor attempt to steady himself.

You were growing to like it, this honesty that was growing in how the both of you were showing up to each other. Honesty that wasn’t hidden behind etiquette rules or social ‘do’s and ‘don’t’s. What you and him were experiencing with each other felt authentic, unfiltered.

Sure it may have been frowned upon, it may have been deemed risky or dangerous, but in moments like these where all you could focus on was his smile and the way it warmed your heart. Conduct books be damned, looking at him now, you couldn’t find it in you to care.

===

Another important thing for a lady like you to note, is that whatever your views are in marrying, you should take every possible precaution to prevent their being disappointed.

“How was yesterday’s ball?”

You grimaced, your playing slowing down, the melody taking a more melancholic turn, “I’d rather not talk about that.”

“Was it that terrible?” he laughed, busy with sorting aside his tools and paints. Today was more of an ‘inventory day’, it seemed.

You groaned, stopping your playing altogether, “Perhaps it would’ve been more bearable if you were there. Then at least I wouldn’t have to torture myself listening to countless men tell me how much they preferred a demure, quiet young lady with better birthing hips than I had.”

Mr Suh didn’t bother trying to hide his amusement, letting his laughter bubble out freely as you tried to make your glare firm, though the more he laughed, the more it helped you find some sort of amusement in the memory.

“I think your hips are fine,” he spoke, though the moment the words left him you could see him press his lips together firmly, a laugh threatening to spill out.

Scoffing, you couldn’t help but laugh as well, “My sister would perish if she heard you say that.”

“Perish because I’m right? Though, I’m not so sure I could say the same about you being demure or quiet, unfortunately,” he told you knowingly, making you scoff.

“I’d like to argue with you, but even I can’t argue with that,” you sighed, turning your body on the cushioned seat and closing the lid of the piano so you could lean against it.

“Has there really been nobody trying to… court you?” he asked, more out of curiosity than out of an actual want for you to say that there has been. God knows he didn’t want that.

You sighed, bringing one arm up to rest against the top of the piano, using your gloved hand to support your head as you looked at him busying himself with sorting out what he could keep and what needed to be disposed of.

“It’s… difficult to explain. I know eligibility is one thing, background, status, wealth, the lot ,” you huffed, gesturing with your free hand as you spoke, something you were sure your mother would’ve chided you for if she was here, “but it's awfully difficult to grow attached to any of these men… they seem to have an image of me in their minds that they aren’t willing to compromise.”

Mr Suh looked up from his paint, sensing your frustration that you were struggling to keep hidden, deciding to sit on the stool and show that he was listening, his hands finding their way to his pockets once again.

“It’s as though I’m not allowed to be anyone else other than the perfect wife they’ve conjured up in their heads… how can you expect me to want that? To… to want to feel lonely in a conversation? To want to just constantly feel underestimated and misinterpreted . When I think of marriage, of a life with someone…” you glanced at him, averting your gaze to the floor, “I think of offering them my heart, but I don’t think of doing that to be met with money and a loveless house in return.”

You turned your head, adjusting it so you could support your head more comfortably, holding Mr Suh’s gaze as he looked at you, an understanding shared in his silence that you never appreciated more.

You knew that within this unspoken understanding, you had to acknowledge that things were different here from how they were at the ball. Now, as you were in this space, under his gaze, you weren’t underestimated, you weren’t being ‘sheltered’ from anything deemed too much for you. Mr Suh let you be yourself here, receiving you graciously as you were, and you were starting to truly appreciate that.

“The marriage market is truly lonelier than it seems,” he sighed.

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing, just… from what you tell me. Am I mistaken?”

You huff, shaking your head, “Definitely not. I’d be better off having more stimulating conversations with a priest than any of the men I spoke to last night.”

Mr Suh couldn’t help the laughter that escaped him at the image you put in his head, “A priest? Not even me?”

You rolled your eyes, “That goes without saying, it’s obvious I much prefer talking to you.”

Mr Suh couldn’t help the way his heart felt like it slowed at your words, the way it felt like he was finally taking a deep breath after a while of not breathing. It was refreshing, seeing someone so honest and unashamed of their feelings and thoughts like you were. He found he had come to like that about you. Very much.

“Speaking of priests, do you really go to church in the mornings? Or is that just limited to an excuse you use to sneak off here,” he gave you a teasing smile, making you huff, shaking your head at him.

“I do, sometimes.”

“For the flower arrangements?” he asked, recalling the time you had met at the flower market.

Shaking your head, “Not just for that. But that wasn’t how it started.”

Mr Suh hummed, his eyebrows lifting as he prompted you to continue.

“It’s… well, it sounds a little funny but I used to wander around the neighbourhood as an excuse to leave the house… My parents never really noticed because they were busy with my sister’s debut and family business affairs at the time, but my father would always excuse me if I said it was to visit the church,” you huffed, “I liked it, actually. There was something so… peaceful, about the church grounds.”

“I suppose it didn’t feel like I was just wandering around whenever I went there, because I could see all sorts of things and people… people in their desperation, their hope, in their vulnerability… somewhat like I was when I was watching them,” you averted your gaze to the vase of white lilies that sat on top of the little round table he had near him, reminding you of your sister, “there was a period around last year, if I recall correctly. My sister was going through a difficult time, and I was worried sick about her… my role in the family was always to just occupy myself with my own whims and fancies, to be kept out of the loop because they were afraid I couldn’t handle the truth of things. But I knew what was happening.”

Mr Suh nodded, “Did something happen to her?”

You nodded, “The family was at risk of being in debt because of a man my mother was trying to marry her off to while she was in love with someone else, who we weren’t sure was ever going to return to town. Honestly, the situation didn’t seem very hopeful at the time, and I had to just keep pretending I didn’t know what was happening when I was in front of my parents.”

“It was scary, to see how she almost married into a lie.”

Glancing at Mr Suh, you were surprised to find his gaze still on you, attentive, patient, reassuring. You shifted in your seat, your hands in your lap as you fiddled with your fingers and your gloves.

“It grew difficult, obviously, to be always finding ways to feel useful and overcompensating at home because I felt so helpless, so I would go off to the church as a sort of escape, you know? A place where I didn’t have to be ‘doing’, a place where I could just… feel what I was feeling.”

Humming, Mr Suh nodded, “It was safe there,” he commented, earning a nod from you.

“I suppose my loitering grew obvious,” you huffed in amusement, “because one day the priest just came up to me and asked me if I was alright, you know, if there was anything I needed.”

“So, I told him how I was feeling—again, I’m not very sure what compelled me to do that, but it felt natural, I suppose, since I felt safe there—and I asked him what a person in my position could do. And he told me something really interesting… he said faith is nothing without trust, and … at the heart of trust is to be vulnerable. That was all I could do, to let myself be vulnerable and trust that what I was doing for my sister was enough, even if I didn’t feel like it was.”

Mr Suh nodded, your words seeming to resonate with him again, the similar desires within your hearts to be vulnerable and be protected and loved in this vulnerability that came with baring your heart and soul to another.

“I suppose that was how it started, because it made me realise that I wanted that. I was busy telling myself that I couldn’t because I would feel helpless, but I wanted to allow myself to be who I was, to feel all that I felt and be seen in all of that, and to know what it is like to be loved for that, to be supported in that. But… I suppose that is the dilemma I have found myself in,” you laughed, “searching for all of that in a place as ruthless as the marriage market when I couldn’t even seem to find it from my own parents.”

The questions continued to circle in your head as you looked at Mr Suh, wondering what he was thinking after hearing your tiring monologue. Your mother always told you you had far too many words, no man would be bothered to listen to you. But for some reason, you hoped that if anyone were to, Mr Suh would.

“Miss Y/N,” he began, the gentleness to his tone paralysing you again, as if grasping you by the shoulders and forcing you to look at him, “I cannot promise you much… but you make me want to promise you all that I have. Even if it is this modest space, I want to promise you that it is safe for you.”

Somehow, that was enough for you.

A warmth had flooded you, sending warmth to your eyes, a lump forming in your throat that made you feel as though you were dipping your fingers into the depths of this vulnerability you were entering with him.

You gave him a soft smile, your unspoken expression that it was enough.

Somehow, that was enough for him.

Straightening up in your seat, you let out a deep sigh, “But you are right, I can think of far much more excitement to be found elsewhere than debutante balls.”

Mr Suh quirked an eyebrow at you, not minding the fact that you changed the subject so abruptly judging from the amusement in his smirk, “Is that so? Enlighten me.”

“Perhaps I shall write a scandal sheet!” you exclaimed, even if you didn’t mean it.

Always quick to bounce off of your words, Mr Suh scoffed, “You don’t need an excuse to write about me.”

Not being able to help the laugh that bubbled out of you, you gasped, “How did you know? I already had an article prepared: ‘ Local painter is too flirtatious for his own good’ .”

Mr Suh laughed, getting up from his stool to make his way over to the little table sat against the wall, your curiosity getting the better of you as you made your way over to where he was, peering over curiously at the various bottles of things he had on the table.

“What are these for?”

Pointing at the little bottles he had, labelled in a scrawl you weren’t focused enough to decipher, he spoke, “These are bottles of pigments. I don’t have an assistant or an apprentice or anything like that, so I usually like to make my oil paints myself since I only need them in smaller quantities at a time. It’s quite therapeutic actually.”

“Is it difficult to make?”

Sensing your curiosity, Mr Suh smiled, a certain playfulness to his gaze, “Nothing you can’t handle. Do you want to try?”

Excited by the offer, you nodded, seeing him start to bring out the various things you would need, lifting a granite slab you were sure you would’ve had difficulty lifting onto a long table behind you, followed by another block of granite that was long and flat at the bottom, looking somewhat like a cone but without the sharp edge of it.

Taking out two small bottles the size of his palm, he made his way over to you, “This is what gives it the colour,” he pointed at one of the bottles, opening it to reveal an earthy brown colour.

“There’s others, but I wanted to make this one, so I suppose you could help me with that instead.”

You nodded, eager for him to get on with explaining the process to you, bubbling with excitement from how long it’d been since you got to do anything involving paint.

“I’ll help you add the oil, and then you can start to use the muller to work it into the pigment.”

“I’m sorry, the what?” you furrowed your eyebrows, earning giggles from Mr Suh.

“Perhaps I should just show you, I think that would be better. But before I do that,” he stopped himself, turning to his easel and picking up the apron that hung from its side, your eyes widening as he held it by the neck, “May I?”

You nodded, wordless as he draped the apron over you while facing you, his gaze intent and maybe even slightly amused at your expression as he let his hands find the strings at the sides, your breath hitching as he reached them around your waist to tie them in a loose knot behind your back, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. Trying to calm your nerves, you took off your gloves, setting them onto the table.

“There, you may proceed,” his tone was teasing as ever, letting you continue as you folded the oil into the paint using the little paint knife like how he had shown you before. His hands had moved with practised and controlled strength, unlike yours, who simply enjoyed the sensation and malleability of the paint.

“You can use the muller now,” he pointed at the block of granite that sat on top of the slab, sitting on the stool near you and watching you as you worked.

Under his gaze, it didn’t feel as though he were watching because he didn’t trust you with the pigment, but quite the opposite, as he watched you with a relaxed demeanour, a hint of a smile playing at his features.

You weren’t sure how long you were working the muller into the paint, but you were definitely developing a newfound respect for whoever did this as a job. Though you did see why it was therapeutic, you felt weak as you heaved the muller around, wanting to laugh as you imagined how you must look.

“What an honour it is, to have the diamond of the first water making oil paint for me,” Mr Suh lilted, making you huff, using your forearm to dab at the sweat that formed on your temple, continuing with the rhythmic movements you were growing used to.

“You’re awfully mistaken, I’m not the diamond.”

Expecting him to tell you he was joking, you should’ve known Mr Suh had an equally, if not more dangerous way with his words than you did.

“Is that so? The queen’s judgement is clearly not to be trusted, then… I know that much as I’m looking at you now.”

Your breath hitched, recovering quickly as you continued your movements, lifting the block to scrape the paint off the edges and collect it on the slab so you could continue to work it in.

“Are you teasing me?” you scoffed, laughing in spite of yourself.

Mr Suh, however, remained sincere, the slightest of smiles on his face, “Not in the slightest bit.”

You weren’t sure how to react, his words flustering you to no end, but you spoke your mind nonetheless.

“You’re funny, saying that to me while I’m performing an act like this. I can’t imagine how un-ladylike this must look,” you huffed, amused in a way that made Mr Suh smile without knowing.

“Not quite, something about the way you do it is very… graceful,” he hummed, “perhaps you would have to be in my position to understand what I mean.”

Turning to face him, your eyebrows lifted in scepticism, “Let us swap places, then. Though, I doubt it would be the same. You’re much more experienced than I am.”

Always agreeable to your little suggestions, Mr Suh stood up, making his way over to you as you padded over to the stool he sat on before, watching him pick up where you left off.

Your only thought was that he was right. He was right, he was absolutely right.

Watching him as he mulled the paint, you found yourself captivated once again, if he thought you were graceful, you wished you could show him what he looked like. There was a certain seriousness he tapped into the moment he stepped up to the table, the gravity with which he regarded his craft, the sincerity he put into it. It attracted you, quite simply.

Your gaze wandered over to his arms, his hands, the strength they held, making the block of granite look much smaller than when you held it, you figured. It was strength, in its most gentle, practised form. A strength that did not destroy, but that created.

Something about that thought added to the feelings you associated with the studio, that it was a space of safety, unlike the many debutante balls and soirées you attended. You were starting to wonder if it was the space that made you feel that way, or the presence of Mr Suh within it. After all, it was him that encouraged you to be honest, to be yourself, to try things because he believed you were capable.

In short, you felt seen.

“Are you alright?” you hadn’t realised you were staring, Mr Suh tilting his head at you curiously.

You shook your head, clearing your throat gently in an attempt to conceal your embarrassment, standing up from the stool and stretching your hand out to him.

“Can I try again?”

He smiled, already stepping aside to let you take your place at the table.

===

Other rules to help a lady like you squelch the possibilities of romantic passion included forbidding the use of Christian names, paying compliments, and any kind of intimate contact.

“What’s this?” you touched a leatherbound book, secured closed with a string around the middle that sat on the table where you’d placed a fresh vase of salmon coloured roses from Mr Suh.

Mr Suh turned around from where he was standing at his easel, setting the piece of charcoal in his hands down when he saw what you were looking at, quickly making his way over (borderline stumbling) as he took the book gently from your hands.

You had grown comfortable with each other, having no qualms about entering deeper conversation, about embarrassing yourselves with each other, revealing deeper parts of yourself to each other, so it was safe to say that his reaction confused you.

“Is it your diary?” you asked, eyes lighting up with a hint of mischief that Mr Suh found hard to remain firm against.

Giving you a huff, he held the book behind his back with one arm, “It might as well be.”

“So, it's not a diary? A notebook, then?” you asked, almost feeling like you were playing a game with how naturally your guesses were coming out, the childlike side of yourself resurfacing and making itself comfortable in Mr Suh’s presence.

He nodded, “it’s my sketchbook.”

You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, “... that I am not allowed to see?”

Swallowing thickly, Mr Suh huffed, a hint of embarrassment in the way he averted his gaze just briefly, looking back at you and shaking his head.

“What you ask of me… is not as simple as you make it seem,” he began, letting out a small sigh, “I would be baring my heart to you, quite plainly.”

You weren’t sure why the thought of that made you wonder just what was inside his sketchbook. He insisted himself that he did not do portraits, so just what sort of sketches could be within that book that made him so hesitant to show you? You wondered what sketches could possibly hold pieces of his heart so clearly that he felt the need to protect it in such a way.

“Is that such a horrifying thing?” You asked, genuinely curious, “you seem to have no problem flaunting it on your sleeve.”

At your words, Mr Suh let out a huff of amusement, his lips pressed together as his expression turned more serious, almost speechless as he shook his head.

“Not quite… you’ve been the only one able to see it thus far,” his words came out in a soft murmur, solidifying the thoughts that wavered in your heart.

It was almost like a declaration of intimacy, something stirring within you at the reminder that your relationship with Mr Suh was more than just acquaintances, solidified by friendship and understanding, but entering into much more.

You shook your head, “Only because you have dared to show it to me.”

The look on Mr Suh’s face was unreadable, as if he had a million thoughts circling his mind that prevented him from settling on one emotion. And there you stood, oblivious to the fact that he was experiencing that same paralysing feeling of not being able to focus on anything other than you.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I cannot show it to you yet,” he sighed, sounding more disappointed than you were. He should’ve known you weren’t one to dwell on it, though, respecting his wishes.

“I understand,” you assured him, “Well, if you won’t let me see your sketchbook, what will you let me see?”

Mr Suh’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, a soft smile gracing his features, humming in thought.

“I suppose I could draw something for you now?” he offered, earning a smile from you as what you supposed was a reckless (genius) idea came to mind.

“Could you draw it on me?”

Mr Suh’s lips parted, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him or whether you’d actually said what he thought you did.

“Hmm?”

You nodded, “I said I want you to draw it on me.”

Whether it was bold or reckless, you wouldn’t very well put a label on it at the moment. What you did know, however, was that this was definitely going against anything a ‘respectable lady like you’ should have been doing. It was different, you felt, from simply asking if he could draw you. It was like you said, a kind of vulnerability and trust you were willing to offer to him, for him to print his art onto your skin, something only the both of you would be able to see.

Mr Suh’s throat felt dry, looking at you blankly and keeping his volume lowered because he felt as though his voice would give, “Uh… where, where exactly would you want it?”

You debated on your options as you looked at him. You wanted it somewhere where you could keep it hidden, where your mother wouldn’t be able to see it as easily.

You knew that ruled out your hands and arms, since your mother’s gaze was always scanning you during mealtimes and when you played the piano, when your hands and arms weren’t hidden by your gloves.

Your only other thought was to have it on your ankle, since that would be somewhere only you or your lady's maid would ever see, your mother didn’t very well pay attention to little details like that when it came to you, as long as what was noticeable wasn’t out of line.

“Sorry, I realise I didn’t bother asking you if you were comfortable with it first,” you huffed, giving him a sheepish smile, feeling your heart stop at the smile he gave you.

“Believe me, Miss Y/N, if I were uncomfortable with it, I would have told you by now,” he huffed, amusement in his smile as he retrieved his inkstand and quill.

Only when he sat on the rug in front of you did you realise just what you had gotten yourself into, something about the proximity between the both of you was tempting. It felt close, yet in a way that made you desire to be even closer to him, both in the literal and figurative sense.

Swallowing, you shifted in your seat, glancing up at him with a nervousness that wasn’t quite present just moments before.

“Have you decided where, or what you would like me to draw?” he asked, crossing his legs as he leaned his palm against the floor to support his weight, the same calm confidence that made you feel shy under his gaze.

You nodded, “On my ankle.”

You watched the way he glanced at said ankle, covered by your stocking and your foot that was still covered by your shoe, blinking up at you before nodding.

“Somewhere… only I get to see.”

At that, Mr Suh smiled, “And is there anything in particular you would like me to draw?”

Now it was your turn to smile, already excited to see what he would come up with, what he would associate with you.

“I’ll let you decide that.”

His eyebrows lifted, the image coming to mind almost immediately.

Giving you a nod, he had barely registered what you were doing as you removed one of your shoes, averting his gaze and pretending to be busy with his ink as you started to remove one of your stockings, his gaze landing on the ribbon garter you had used to hold it up, tossing it aside as you worked on removing the silk stocking.

Mr Suh let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, looking at his fingernails and then at the ribbon again, at your face and then at the stocking you now tossed aside next to the ribbon, unsure where to place his gaze out of respect for you.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to your now uncovered leg peeking out from under the hem of your dress.

Nodding, he reached one of his hands out to grasp your ankle, the feeling of the warmth of his hands on your skin surprising you, your breath hitching just slightly and hoping he hadn’t noticed.

You lifted your foot off of the ground to help him, surprised when he’d set your ankle on one of his thighs, understanding that the angle would make it easier for him and more comfortable for you.

Mr Suh let out a small huff of amusement at the way you’d flinched when the quill had touched your skin.

“Sorry, it was a little ticklish,” you huffed, the unfamiliar sensation distracting you from your nervousness slightly.

You heard him sigh, his gaze still trained on whatever drawing he was working on.

“Miss Y/N,” he began, the tone with which he said your name making you soften, almost forgetting about your nervousness as you looked at him, humming in response, “I do hope you are not as willing to offer yourself to just any man in such a manner.”

Your lips parted in shock, bashfulness creeping up on you again as you huffed, trying to mask your embarrassment with your words, “Do you suppose I should only make such an offer to you?”

Mr Suh glanced up at you, detecting the little hint of challenge in your tone, his hand resting on where he was holding your ankle to keep it steady, his thumb smoothing over the skin unconsciously (or consciously, you wouldn’t have known).

“My honest answer?” he spoke, his gaze searching yours with that same calm confidence of his, “is yes.”

Your stare was blank, in spite of the many thoughts racing in your mind.

“You can rest assured, Mr Suh,” you murmured, suddenly feeling disappointed at the fact you did not know his first name, feeling as though addressing him so formally sounded off in a situation like this, “you are the only one I would trust with myself like this.” So intimately.

Mr Suh poorly stifled the smile on his face as he tilted his head down, continuing with his drawing as you tried to calm your heart.

“Actually, if you don’t mind me asking…” you murmured, swallowing as you mustered up your courage in spite of your shyness, “what is your first name?”

Mr Suh replied naturally, as if not giving it a second thought as you felt the ticklish feeling of the quill against the delicate skin of your ankle.

“Youngho,” he murmured.

You hummed, clenching your fist to prevent yourself from shifting from the ticklish feeling.

“Youngho,” you echoed, feeling the ticklish feeling stop almost instantly.

You felt his grip on your ankle tense before relaxing, looking up from your ankle and blinking at you slowly, his expression unreadable but rendering you speechless with how he was looking at you.

Letting out a shaky breath, it didn’t register to you why he was so taken aback, your mind racing to the conduct books, wondering if it was because addressing him by his name like this was too intimate, too personal. Only then did your mind recall the conversation you had about his father, figuring that must have been why he seemed so shocked.

“Sorry,” you blurted out, “I forgot about what you said about your father—”

“No, no,” Youngho shook his head, reassurance in his expression and his tone, “... I want you to call me that.”

Your eyebrows lifted, feeling as though something was being unlocked between the both of you, as if now it wasn’t just dipping your fingers into the depth of what you both desired, but stepping in, fully knowing what you were getting into with the action.

“Will you call me by my first name as well?”

Youngho nodded slowly, “Do you want me to?”

You nodded, not even being able to find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how quickly you responded.

“I do.”

Youngho hummed, “then I will, Y/N .”

Somehow, hearing it like that, spoken so delicately, spoken so intentionally by him, it was as if he were giving you more reason to fall in love with hearing your name again.

It felt like it had been ages ever since you had heard someone call you by your name, hearing it felt foreign, yet it felt right, as if it was the only way you wished to hear it. Like a declaration of love.

Letting go of your ankle, he gestured with a small (even slightly bashful) smile that you could take a look. With all the eagerness you’d been struggling to restrain, you pulled your leg closer to yourself, your smile growing when you spotted the delicate looking sunflower on your skin.

“I like it very much,” you murmured, appreciating the delicate look of it, yet how it held a meaning that was anything but.

Youngho simply smiled, “I’m pleased that you find it to your liking.”

This time, Youngho wasn’t sure why he couldn’t take his gaze away from you as you wore the stocking over your leg, watching as the little sunflower got covered by the silk fabric that was eventually smoothed over your leg to just over your knee, the way you picked up the pink ribbon garter, tying it around the hem of the stocking with practised, routine movements.

Youngho brought a hand up to the collar of his shirt, fixing his suspenders out of a need to fidget, to distract himself from his want to know what the silk ribbon would feel like in his hands, to distract himself from the feeling of the distance between the both of you. Yet not being able to feel as though it was a certain reverence that was keeping his gaze on you.

Once you were done, you smoothed your dress over, standing up with a small grunt, your legs feeling sore from sitting in the same position for so long. Youngho stood up as well, though he kept his gaze averted, knowing it was about time for you to return home for tea.

“I should be leaving now,” you spoke to fill the silence, drawing his gaze to you, not being able to smile at how flustered he looked, as much as he was trying to hide it.

Youngho nodded, “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Be safe on your way back.”

Seeming to have composed himself, Youngho brought a hand up to run his fingers through his hair, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

You nodded, taking your little purse and taking slow steps backwards, reluctant to leave even though you knew it would only be a short while before you got to see him again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, opening the door for you.

Turning to give him a smile, you nodded, “Goodbye, Youngho.”

That day when you’d returned home, a giddy smile on your face and your heart thumping wildly like a protagonist in one of your sister’s romance novels, you couldn’t help but replay your interactions with Youngho in your head.

A part of you wondered why you hadn’t asked him for his name sooner, because now it was all that made sense. The simple man you had come to know, who was genuine, observant, perceptive, sweet, honest. That was Youngho to you, that was what made sense to you.

Even as you lay in bed that night, thinking about the little sunflower resting on the skin of your ankle, you were sure anybody else would have thought you were going crazy, but it replayed over and over again in your head.

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho.

Your little mantra of love.

===

Another rule that was essential to remember, was that a gentleman might take the arm of a lady like yours through his, to support you while out walking. But he must never try to take your hand, even to shake it friendly-like. If he did, you must immediately withdraw it with a strong air of disapproval, whether you felt it or not.

Something you greatly appreciated about Youngho was that he was never one to be afraid of getting his hands dirty.

Surely you were the same, out in the garden digging up earthworms as you were a child even though your mother would yell at you that you were going to get your dress dirty. But overtime, as they clamped down stricter on their rules and as you grew more occupied with the various accomplishments they desired for you to build, you had to forego certain things that would get in the way of that.

Things like painting.

As much as it was a common accomplishment for a lady like you to have, your mother had always viewed it distastefully, saying that the way you went about it was far too messy. So you’d resorted to other means of creating art, like your flower arrangements. Those, she would excuse, since they were deemed ‘useful’ for the house, so you figured you had come to cling to it as a way for you to express that desire within you to create, to appreciate beauty in such a way.

When you had told Youngho this, you should have known it was only natural for him to have offered you the opportunity to paint again. He was quick to give you the space, laying out large cloth on the floor to protect the rug, even going to the extent of asking you if you would be more comfortable working on the piece on the easel or on the floor.

So that was how you ended up standing in front of the canvas, apron wrapped around you snugly as you let yourself enjoy the freedom of letting your body move without much thought.

“You’d put me out of business if you sold your paintings,” Youngho huffed in amusement, one of many praises he’d offered to you when he saw you painting.

“I doubt so,” you muttered distractedly, frowning slightly at your painting.

You huffed, turning slightly and picking up your fan from the little table that was next to your hip, making a last-ditch attempt at making the paint dry faster using the breeze you created with your fan.

Deciding you had other ideas, you set the fan down on the table, looking at your painting and trying to execute your idea.

For some reason though, it was growing frustrating as the paint didn’t seem to move like how you envisioned it would. Youngho seemed to sense your annoyance (though it was quite obvious through your frustrated huffs), turning his gaze away from his own canvas to face you with a hum.

“What’s wrong?” Youngho asked, already getting up to make his way over to you, peering over at your painting from behind you.

“I can’t seem to get it to fan out the way I want it to,” you sighed, “my brush isn’t big enough for it.”

Youngho’s gaze on your painting was intent, seeming to be thinking from his own perspective, shrugging as he turned to you.

“You’re free to use my hand as your brush,” he offered, his nonchalance making you pause to process his words.

“Are you sure?” you asked, earning a nod from him.

“Really, I’m sure,” he reassured, waiting patiently as you dared yourself to grasp his hand with both of yours.

Youngho almost wanted to laugh, thinking of the time he had let you mull the paint, how you insisted that your strength used to mull the paint was much less than his, yet he had never felt it so strongly till now, in the firm grip with which you grasped his hand.

An ever present strength in gentleness that he’d come to associate with you.

You could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body with how close he stood behind you, with how he let his arm rest against yours as you moved it with ease.

It was almost amusing to you, how when you used his hand to smear the paint, it looked exactly like how you had pictured it in your mind. It made you wonder if all along you’d grown used to observing him, how he paints, that it was natural for your mind to picture how he would make his mark on your creations.

“Perfect,” you murmured, gaze appreciating your painting, trying to ignore the tension within your body that came with being in such close proximity with Youngho.

Turning to face him, your hands still clasped around his palm and wrist, his soft skin a contrast to the sturdiness you felt as you held his hand, his soft features a contrast from the intensity of his gaze when it met yours.

It seemed your thoughts had a mind of their own, as you let your gaze wander from the hazel of his eyes, to the deep black of his hair, to the dusty pink of his lips.

Conduct books be damned, none of them warned you about him.

“For some reason…” you began, your voice barely a murmur as you shifted your gaze back to meet his, watching how his gaze had flickered to your lips briefly, as if trying to catch himself, “no matter how close you are to me…”

Youngho shook his head slightly, his lips parting to speak, “It never feels close enough.”

You nodded, unsure what other words could express your heart better in this moment, feeling him lean in, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips, feeling as though it was a ghost of his kiss that was being pressed against your lips.

You weren’t sure if you were breathing, the only thing on your mind being the little mantra of love you had for him beating in your heart, supplying you with courage, supplying you with even more affection for him.

Feeling his lips brush against yours ever so slightly, you clutched his hand tighter in your grip, hearing him huff, a smile gracing his features.

“Are you teasing me?” you whispered.

Youngho shook his head, watching as your eyes had fluttered shut so naturally, as his breath fanned over your cheek, “Not in the slightest bit.”

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against yours, softly, yet with insistence. Letting go of his hand, you let yourself make use of the courage coursing through your veins, bringing your hands up to cup his face and feeling the slight stubble under your palm, the action making him stumble forward slightly. Youngho’s hand reached out quickly to find purchase on something and ended up on your fan, the traces of colour from your painting now smeared against the once white and spotless accessory.

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it felt as though he did, with how he led the kiss, bringing his paint free hand up to touch the small of your back, pulling you gently towards him.

So, you let yourself follow, follow the way his lips moved against yours, follow his movements that brought you closer to him, follow the way your head tilted up at the touch of his hand.

You allowed him to spoil you, to fill your mind with only thoughts of him, with the little mantra that would repeat and that you wished to repeat for as long as your heart could feel for someone, for him.

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho.

You hadn’t realised how much you were leaning into him, with how secure it felt for him to be supporting your weight like this. It didn’t even cross your mind to feel embarrassed at your lack of experience in this area, he never let you feel any of that, not with how he kissed you with such intention as though you were the only one he’d ever loved and would ever love.

It was a strange feeling, solidified by his kiss, to feel desired and even more loved. It wasn’t one or the other that you sensed in the way he’d deepened the kiss, in the way his paint covered hands had grasped your hip to hold you close, because as much as there was desire, there was love you felt in the way he cradled your face, in the way he let you melt into him with the promise that you would be supported.

In that moment, you knew that regardless of his background, his wealth, his occupation, you were willing to give your heart to him. Only Youngho.

===

A lady like you should have considered this common sense, but you must never confess your feelings until absolutely convinced of a man’s intentions.

Youngho was finding it hard to keep his heart from fluttering as you led him behind the church grounds, your hand grasping his firmly as you walked before him, familiar with the route in a way that only came from experience.

It was interesting to him, he found, the feeling that stirred within his heart as he looked at your proud smile once the both of you had reached a little pond, its circumference marked out by big stones lined up against one another, and wildflowers decorating the grass. In this case, your actions definitely spoke louder than your words— a girl who couldn’t lie to save her life, willing to take such risks for him, someone only revealed to her as a poor painter.

He remembered what he told Jaehyun, when the viscount was persuading him to meet the sister of the girl he loved. He remembered telling Jaehyun that he didn’t think love was going to be in the cards for him, but looking at you now, he knew he was wrong. The girl he was looking at, pointing at the little frog that swam past you in the pond and tapping his arm to get his attention, was love in all he had come to discover it to be.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you drawled, gesturing around you at the empty open field, taking your seat next to the pond with Youngho following suit, the two empty glasses and bottle of wine in his hands clinking gently as he did so.

“It’s beautiful,” Youngho gushed with extra dramatics, earning a huff of laughter from you, “how did you discover this place?”

You shrugged, smoothing over your dress as you made yourself comfortable, “I told you, I spent a lot of time wandering around.”

“Well, it was time well spent, indeed,” he smiled, his nose scrunching as he let the glasses lean against his knee, removing his gloves and setting them aside before getting the bottle open.

“Where did you say that was from, again?” you asked, ever curious.

Youngho paused briefly, glancing at the bottle before pouring some into each of the glasses.

“Italy,” he said, “They import wine here, actually. The wine merchant? Do you recall? The one that was the previous landlord of my studio, he’s the owner of the winery that produces this wine.”

“Wow,” you huffed, “Wonder why I’ve never seen much of it before.”

At that, Youngho couldn’t help but laugh, looking at you sceptically, “You speak as though you’re an avid drinker.”

Embarrassed by his teasing, you scoffed, though the smile on your face lingered, “I suppose I could have come across it in my time at home, you know, snooping around in my father’s study.”

Youngho nodded, a patronising smile on his face, “Yeah, yeah, I suppose .”

Removing your gloves, you’d set it next to his on the grass, accepting the glass from him with a small murmur of thanks.

Sniffing the red liquid, you couldn’t help but glance up at him for some confirmation that it was supposed to smell like this, or what to anticipate its taste to be.

“Go ahead, try it,” he nodded reassuringly, bringing his own glass to his lips, sipping the wine in a way that made him seem all-too-accustomed to such tasting.

Taking a sip, you swallowed, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and a mustered smile, earning a bout of laughter from Youngho.

“I’m guessing it doesn’t suit your tastes?”

You shook your head in disagreement, “No, no, It’s just… interesting ,” you hummed, taking another sip and seeing his eyebrows lift as you did so, endearment written all over his features.

“I shall have to get used to it, I suppose.”

And get used to it, you did.

It was in this very pursuit of ‘getting used to it’ that you found yourself growing much more unfiltered (or at least, more than usual).

Your head had started to feel heavy, Youngho offering for you to rest your head on his lap, and you did so gladly, looking up at him and enjoying the feeling of his fingertips tracing your features lazily, as if committing them to memory, wondering if a sculpture would do you justice when it was made by his hands.

“Your eyes are really pretty in this light,” you murmured.

It’d been long since you stopped drinking, Youngho taking the liberty to finish your glass for you while you lay your head on his lap.

Youngho almost sputtered around his drink, setting the glass down onto the grass and turning to look at you with a teasing smile.

“If this is you ‘getting used’ to the wine, I find it hard to have any complaints,” he laughed, “you’re smiling at me more than usual, and that’s saying a lot.”

You brought your hands up to cover your mouth, though it didn’t do anything to conceal your smile, laughter bubbling out of you as you shook your head.

“This is unfamiliar to me, but I find I cannot help but smile at you. It’s as though my body is moving in its most honest manner.”

“It’s honest, that’s for sure,” he reassured, earning a hum from you.

Reaching a hand out towards one of his hands, the one closest to you in your eyeline, you watched him switch the hand that was holding his wine glass so he could let you have his hand, wondering what exactly you were going to do with it.

Frankly, you weren’t sure either, bringing his hand close to your face and daring yourself to press a gentle kiss to his palm, the smile that followed making Youngho’s eyebrows lift, his smile mirroring yours.

You let go of his hand, letting it rest on top of your face and shutting your eyes, though it was amusing to him, the way he could feel the outline of your smile against his palm.

You noticed that Youngho grew more serious after a few drinks, a certain sleepiness taking over his gaze as he looked at nothing in particular. The both of you enjoyed the silence, aside from the sound of nature, the sound of the both of you just existing in that place, it was a peace you couldn’t quite describe. You couldn’t deny that the silence gave room for your thoughts to wander, your excitement for your sister’s return bringing with it all your fears about what would proceed from her return as well.

“My sister is to return from her honeymoon soon,” you said, “I am sure she and her husband have plans to hold a private ball once they are here.”

Judging from the absence of a smile from your face now, Youngho hummed, moving his hand just slightly so it rested against the side of your face now, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your cheek, warmth radiating from him to you.

“You don’t sound very happy about that.”

You shook your head, “I suppose it’s because I’m not.”

Glancing up at him, you let one of your hands cover his, touching the skin of his hand in drowsy patterns, with no desire in mind but to feel him.

“I’m sure their search for a suitable husband for me will only intensify once she returns,” you sighed deeply, eyebrows furrowing as you frowned.

“Husband,” Youngho echoed, something akin to a mix of a sigh and a groan leaving him.

“Dear husband ,” you drawled, as though you were calling someone, grimacing as soon as the words left your lips, meeting Youngho’s amused gaze and feeling the smile grace your features again.

“You know, I never once heard my mother call my father anything other than his name before,” you recalled, shifting slightly where you lay so you could see Youngho better.

Youngho hummed, nodding, “Me neither. I suppose maybe I was too young to notice. Either that or perhaps they saved the terms of endearment for when they were alone.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape in realisation.

“You’re smart, I never considered that.”

Youngho could only laugh, his hand smoothing over your hair affectionately, “Do I get a reward, then?” he asked.

Youngho suddenly leaned over so he was close enough to you that it made you shut your eyes, opening them up again with a huff when you felt him press a kiss to your forehead instead, pulling back with giggles leaving him that made it hard for you to remain annoyed.

“How cruel of you,” you huffed, earning a dramatic gasp from him.

“Cruel? What an inappropriate descriptor of me,” he smiled. Perhaps he was right, that smile was anything but cruel.

“What would you call your wife?” you asked, practically thinking out loud at this point.

Your question surprised Youngho, but he was always sporting your various trains of thought or rambling, and it was no different this time.

“That depends… on her personality, how I feel towards her,” he glanced at you as he finished speaking, averting his gaze back to the field as you felt his thumb continue to caress your cheek.

“So, it would change from person to person?”

Youngho hummed, “I suppose it would.”

You were starting to realise the truth behind the phrase ‘liquid courage’, your gaze firm on Youngho with your next words.

“What if it was me, then? What would you call me?”

Youngho met your gaze, looking almost pensive for a moment as he felt the peace you described about the church grounds, the peace in his heart that came with your presence, and all the love you brought to him with you.

“Beloved,” he spoke, again, as though he was calling your name, and as if you were hearing it in the only way you wished to hear it, “I’d call you beloved.”

“My beloved,” he said with finality.

In that moment, in that little declaration of who you were to him, it was as though you were being reminded of what you seemed to have forgotten. In being declared his beloved, you were worthy of love, you were loved as you were, regarded dearly even in your fear of not being useful or helpful.

In short, you felt known.

It was true, Youngho was not cruel. What was cruel was the reminder that your mother would never approve of him, what was cruel was the fact that once your sister returned, you were going to be thrown into whoever’s arms your family deemed fit. What was cruel was that you knew whoever they were, they weren’t Youngho.

Your eyebrows furrowed, averting your gaze from his face.

Youngho was feeling the effect of his words, knowing very well for himself that he was in far too deep now. But even despite this knowledge, he didn’t want to come out. He wanted to bury himself in all that he was feeling, to solidify the fact that when he thought of a wife, only your face came to mind, only you made sense to take that place.

“Do you think it would have been different…” he glanced at you, searching your pensive gaze, “you know, if we had met under different circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” you hummed, attentive in a way that made Youngho feel even more certain about his words.

“As nobility.”

The seriousness of his tone would’ve made you laugh under any other circumstance, considering it was completely hypothetical. But perhaps it was your pensive mood that made you consider his words more seriously, wishing they were the reality you were in.

You frowned, shaking your head, “It’s never crossed my mind, but… I’m sure I would’ve been drawn to you the same.”

Turning to brace a hand on his thigh as you sat up, letting his hand fall back onto his lap as you met his gaze, mirroring his seriousness and sincerity as you spoke the truth of what you felt.

“I’m sure of it,” you repeated, as if hoping it was getting through to him, “nobility or not… you’re you .”

Taking his hand in his, you fiddled with his fingers, interlocking your fingers, moving them just enough so you could press the tips of your fingernails against the pads of his fingertips.

Glancing down at your hand in his, he let out a deep breath, looking back up at your face.

“Do you mean that?” he asked, needing to hear the confirmation from your own lips.

You shot him a look, a hint of a smile playing at your lips.

“You know I’m not a good liar,” you reminded, a certain shyness overcoming you as you struggled to hold his gaze, something about the intensity of the way he was looking at you flustering you to no end.

Youngho huffed, a hint of amusement in his features that let you know he was about to say something to tease you.

“And you know I would believe anything you say to me when you say it like that.”

You sighed, daring yourself to bring one of his hands up to your face, letting yourself lean into the warmth of his palm.

“Youngho,” you began, and Youngho was sure just in how you said his name, there was all the sincerity he searched for, all the vulnerability of yourself that you were showing to him.

“To be a lady and for me to be like this with you... I need you to understand what this means for me… I need you to understand all that I am risking, and know that I find it worth risking for you.”

As the words left you, you felt unbearably exposed under his gaze, Youngho’s silence making you want to reassure him, your hand that covered his on your face rubbing the back of his hand gently.

"Do you believe me?" you murmured.

Youngho didn’t know what to do with all the love he was feeling, so he did what felt natural to him.

He let his hand pull away from your face, pulling you close to him so he could wrap his arms around you, cradling your head in his hand, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“I believe you.”

In his arms, you felt the protection around your vulnerability, the intangible desire in your heart manifesting in the way you felt a sigh leave you, leaning into his embrace.

===

And importantly, a lady like you should have a sacred regard to truth, for lying is a mean and despicable vice.

Padding down the stairs on another morning, a few days after the night in the field with Youngho, you were going about what became your new routine, heading to the kitchen, ready to retrieve your share (and Youngho’s) of honey biscuits from your lady’s maid before you would head off to his studio.

Except, today was different.

You should have known something was off from the sympathetic looks you were getting from the staff since you came out of your room, not thinking much of it until you found your lady’s maid in the drawing room, seeing her slip a little pamphlet in your hands with an urgency that unsettled you, your gaze barely landing on the title before you heard your mother’s voice.

“You,” your head snapped around at the sound of her tone, knowing almost instantly that the sinking feeling in your gut was not unfounded, “I believe we need to have a talk.”

Your gaze landed on your father who stood behind her, stoic and almost apathetic-looking as he simply stood there.

With how angry your mother seemed, you were surprised she was even talking to you at all. But as for your father? You felt it was worse, to be constantly searching for his gaze and not being met with it, as he fixed his gaze elsewhere. Following your parents up the stairs, your heart began to pound harshly as they entered your room, feeling as though its pounding stopped entirely when you saw your painting lying on the floor.

“Is it true?” she asked, earning a frown from you.

You glanced at your father, who had taken his place behind her, simply looking blankly at the floor.

You frowned, “Is what true?” you dared to ask, watching warily as her jaw clenched.

“It aggravates me how you still have the ability to act nonchalant,” she bent over, grabbing the painting so harshly that it made you grimace, “have you been acquainting yourself indecently with that painter ?”

The way she spoke of his occupation was as though it was a crime, but that wasn’t your concern at this moment. You wondered how she knew, or how you should react, but like you said, you were never a good liar. Your expression alone was enough to give it away.

“I want you to stop this immediately. You will not ruin your prospects, your reputation, your virtue, for a man who is not worth considering,” there was spite in her tone, the way she spoke about Youngho unnerving you. Though it all still didn’t answer your question of how she came to know about him.

Your lips parted only to close again, unable to find the words you wished to express to her.

“He is a good man,” was all you could muster, the scoff you received in return making you cower, feeling warm tears prick at your eyes.

“Anyone can be a ‘good man’ ,” she told you, “being a ‘good man’ does not provide you financial security. Being a ‘good man ’ does not guarantee you a house. Being a ‘good man’ does not excuse recklessness.”

You half expected your father to step in, to tell her to go easy on you. Or to try to soothe her temper so her words would become less cutting. But none of that came, even as you looked desperately at him for some signal that he would step in to help you, you continued to be met with the image of your father looking as though he had better things to be done elsewhere, dissociated from whatever was happening.

You weren’t sure what hurt you more, the feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed you or the fear that it was only a prelude for what was to come. It felt as though you were being made to choose between disappointing your family or losing and disappointing the man you loved. Neither of which you wanted, but you knew you weren’t going to have much of a choice.

“I forbid you from seeing that man again. You will not leave this house if it is not for an event,” your mother spoke, tossing your painting onto the floor and leaving without another word, your father following silently behind her.

You didn’t realise you were crying until you felt your tears touch your lips, bringing your hand up to wipe your tears away and realising then that you were still holding the pamphlet your lady’s maid gave you.

Bypassing the mocking title, you continued to read.

It should have been obvious to you when you read your initial next to ‘Lady’, reading on in spite of yourself.

‘... seen with a local painter in a position that shall not be described… Considering her sister’s success in marriage that elevated her to a viscountess, it must come as a shock to anyone for her to have looked much lower for her own marriage partner… a fling like this is surely only good for temporary excitement…’

You stopped reading, setting the pamphlet aside and burying your face into your mattress.

How you missed your sister in a time like this, though you had no idea how you were going to explain this to her when she returned.

You would soon find that your mother would do all the explaining for you, filling your sister in on all the details she’d procured from the scandal sheet while you were simply too upset to do any explaining for yourself. Frankly, the only thought on your mind was that you hoped Youngho wasn’t worried, since it had been weeks since you had stopped visiting his studio.

Your sister’s husband, the viscount Jung Jaehyun, wasn’t helping either, insisting that he had a friend of his that he felt would be a suitable marriage partner for you. Your sister seemed to agree, casting sympathetic looks your way whenever the topic of marriage came up, but insisting in her own gentle way that perhaps it would be for the best to move forward.

It was difficult to hear about how much property he had as the owner of a winery, his wealth or even his penchant for the arts because the only thing on your mind was the man with little to his name, sitting in his studio waiting for you to arrive.

There was nothing left for you to do, not with how your mother wouldn’t speak to you or acknowledge you directly, not with how your father seemed to want to pretend nothing had ever happened to begin with, not with how you weren’t allowed to leave the house if it was not for social events now. It seemed the choice you were being handed on a platter was to be a good daughter, the product of all the conduct books you read; as helpless as it made you feel.

===

You figured this was a rule you should have regarded more seriously, but a lady like you should remember that infallibility is not the property of man, or you may entail disappointment on yourself, by expecting what is never to be found.

Perhaps the higher power that was watching over you decided that things weren’t quite over yet.

Because as you stood in the makeshift ballroom of your sister and her husband’s new house, the drawing room they had converted into a ballroom space for dancing and hosting, you couldn’t deny the way your stomach churned with anxiety at her husband’s excitement, insisting that his friend was to arrive soon.

You were sure you’d tuned out the noise at one point, finding it hard to ignore the way you were feeling giddy (and not in a very good way), wanting nothing more but to be at home away from any potential suitors that weren’t Youngho. So, it was safe to say you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you when you saw the man walking in with the viscount.

Dressed in clothes that looked even more elaborate and expensive than those you saw on Taeyong at the races, or even those the viscount adorned now, walking with the same air of calm confidence that you’d practically memorised by now.

The same black hair, hazel eyes, dusty pink lips that grew clearer to you the closer they came to where you stood with your sister.

None of it made sense, he shouldn’t even have been able to be here.

You weren’t sure you were breathing, face to face with the very man that hadn’t left your mind for what seemed like forever. Your little mantra of love began to repeat in your head, as though it were natural for your heart to respond in such a way, desperate to let him know that his presence was felt.

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho.

You barely noticed how Jaehyun had introduced him, drawn back to the present moment with your sister’s voice ringing in your ears.

“It is rather relieving to finally be able to put a face to the faceless Marquess,” she huffed in amusement, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Suh.”

Marquess?

You frowned, eyebrows furrowed and your gaze firmly fixed on Youngho’s. The marquess they had told you about for the past week, who had recently inherited all the property of his father who had passed, property including a winery.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what an arduous task it was to get Johnny to agree to attend today’s ball,” Jaehyun laughed, making your frown deepen, your sister being able to sense that this was more than just a displeasure that you felt towards the Marquess.

Youngho’s gaze was apologetic, which had only served to upset you even more. You were trying to process all that was happening, but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions you were feeling all at once.

Turning to you, your sister nudged you lightly, “Is something wrong?”

You managed to tear your gaze away from Youngho, turning to your sister and taking in a deep breath, though it didn’t feel like you were breathing at all, the air not seeming to satisfy your lungs and making you feel as though you had to try again.

“I need to get some air.”

You started walking, but you weren’t sure where exactly your destination was. All you knew was that you were hyper aware of the fact that Youngho was following you and you didn’t want to be caught with him alone outside the building, not wanting your mother to be even more upset at you.

It would’ve been amusing if the situation was different, feeling as though you were playing a game of cat and mouse as you tried to out-walk him in the confines of the drawing room. Youngho’s strides were always much bigger than yours, though, so you should have known that it was only a matter of time before he would have caught up with you.

“May I have the honour of a dance with you, Miss Y/N,” he spoke firmly, loud enough that the lady next to you had turned to you with an expectant look, wondering why you were taking so long to respond to him.

It was unfortunate, how in a situation like this, you couldn’t exactly go against the etiquette rules you loved to flout. You knew that for as long as you were in this room, you had to acknowledge the truth that as long as you were not spoken for, you had no choice but to accept his offer to dance.

You settled for a small nod, keeping your gaze low as you accepted his hand and let him lead you to where the other guests were dancing. You barely had time to adjust before you had to react quickly to the song, following the choreography with ease and perhaps even being slightly annoyed that Youngho was even better at it than you were.

“Please say something,” he pleaded, making you shake your head, still keeping your gaze on anything but his face, not knowing what your heart would make you do if you were to meet his attentive gaze in this space.

“No,” you muttered, “I’ve been too rude to a marquess all this time.”

Youngho was barely able to stop himself.

“Y/N, please.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name, tears welling up in your eyes as Youngho’s expression softened. You felt his grip on you tighten, steadying you, the same unspoken promise that you were supported even when you felt like your body would give at any moment.

It didn’t make sense to you in your head.

Someone like Youngho, who never underestimated you, who was always attentive to you, who read you like an open book and never held it against you. You didn’t think he would ever treat you like how your family did, hiding things from you, viewing you as a little child who was incapable of handling grown-up matters, confining her to her childish duties of pleasing others and arranging flowers. It was an awful feeling that came with the thought that Youngho, of all people, would ever subject you to such humiliation.

“Why did you lie?” you frowned, swallowing thickly though it did nothing to the lump you felt in your throat, “did you think I wouldn’t be able to handle it? Did you find some kind of pleasure in making me a fool?”

You scoffed, blinking harshly, “As if I haven’t had more than my fair share of that Young— Your Lordship .”

Youngho frowned, “Why are you calling me that?”

You sighed deeply, feeling breathless from both the choreography and your sheer emotion.

“Is it not your title?”

Youngho shook his head, more out of dismissal than denial, “What happened to ‘even if we met as nobility’? Did that mean nothing to you?”

Your lips parted, offence in your gaze as you scoffed.

“I’m upset, but do not think for even a second that I did not mean every word I said to you,” you told him, a firmness to your tone that made Youngho regret his words, “unfortunately, I cannot say the same for you.”

Youngho paused, a tense silence falling between the both of you that contrasted the cheerful music echoing around the room.

“It was not personal,” he murmured.

You frowned, still unable to place what you were feeling, unsure how to convey it to him in a way that would allow him to understand why you were reacting this way.

“It is always personal. How could you…” you averted your gaze, shaking your head, “how could you compromise me—”

“ Compromise you?” his tone was incredulous, eyes widening in shock, “I kissed you.”

Clenching your jaw, you huffed, “Forgive me, truly, for finding it hard to see things for what they are. Forgive me for allowing myself to expect .”

Your words made Youngho recall your meeting at the races, perhaps some things were best enjoyed without too many expectations . He begged to differ, though, he just wasn’t sure how to let you know that he was ready to give to you whatever you asked for, whatever you were expecting from him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, frustrated at the environment the both of you were in, at the lack of privacy he felt here, at the way it prevented him from showing you and telling you all that he truly wished to, having to settle for pathetic apologies and pointed looks.

You let out a sigh, “Just answer me one question.”

Youngho nodded quickly, humming to prompt you to continue.

“Were you ever planning on telling me the truth?” you asked, training your gaze up to meet his once again and trying to distract yourself from the way your heart still swelled with love for the one you gazed upon.

“The day after that night at the church. I was going to tell you then,” he answered, sincerity in his tone, in the way he looked at you, in the way he held you.

The day the scandal sheet was released.

You nodded, hearing the music come to an end as you let him go, feeling his hands slip from you reluctantly.

Turning your head, you met your mother’s gaze.

Youngho noticed the way you had tensed up and increased the distance between yourself and him, returning to the daughter raised by conduct books that your mother was pleased with. The ‘respectable lady’ that would continue to fight her urge to yearn for her love’s touch and search for his gaze in the crowd for the rest of the night.

===

When considering marriage, a lady like you needed to make sure that arrangements offered equitable compensation as it were, for all involved and no one, including the extended families, was being shorted in the exchange.

“How was the ball? Surely it wasn’t so bad after all, wasn’t it?” Jaehyun asked, earning a sigh from Johnny.

“No, it was the most horrendous torture ever imaginable,” he deadpanned, finding it hard to focus on the boxing match that was happening in front of him, wondering why Jaehyun decided to bring him here of all places. But he figured he wouldn’t have minded being her under any other circumstance.

Wincing at the fighter who had taken a particularly bad hit, Jaehyun folded his arms across his chest, “Shame, though, I thought you and Miss Y/N would’ve gotten along particularly well.”

Johnny frowned, “What makes you say that?”

Jaehyun shrugged, his gaze still following the fight, “You know, I heard from her sister that she was involved with another man… a painter, if I recall correctly. And her mother didn’t seem to approve because of his status or something along that line…” he trailed off distractedly, earning an expectant hum from Johnny.

“And?” he prompted, impatient now to know what was said about his and your relationship.

“Oh, right. Yes, so we figured that it would be better to present her with some other options, you know? We thought introducing her to you would help her move on from it, but she’s been off ever since the day of the ball. Her sister says she’s never seen her like that before, going from being so insistent to so… emotionally detached from it all.”

Johnny hummed, something in him feeling as though he needed to prepare himself to receive a piece of bad news, judging from the way Jaehyun sighed.

“But I suppose her mother has worn her out,” Jaehyun sighed, “she’s been recommending another man to Miss Y/N, one she claims is more reasonable… you know, dowry-wise and all.”

Johnny frowned, “Didn’t anyone try to dissuade her?”

Jaehyun frowned, “I suppose that’s the thing, she hasn’t protested to it herself… my suspicion is that she’s afraid of disappointing her mother.”

For some reason, Johnny couldn’t wrap his head around it, “And did you try to say anything?”

Jaehyun shot Johnny a knowing look, “Believe me, I’ve tried. Miss Y/N was the one that told me it was alright.”

“She did?” Johnny frowned, earning a huff from Jaehyun.

“Do you see that man over there, standing by the table?” Jaehyun nudged Johnny, gesturing to the direction of the table with a nod of his head, Johnny’s gaze landing on a man who looked twice your age, counting money from bets he’d won in his hands.

“That’s the man who is courting her,” Jaehyun told him pointedly, observing Johnny’s reaction carefully as the latter’s gaze stayed fixated on the man, a slight furrow to his eyebrows as he watched him.

Jaehyun continued, “His status is similar to theirs, so it does not require much of a dowry, which I suppose is what her mother’s so agreeable about. But… I think you can understand what I mean when I say I cannot seem to warm up to him.”

Johnny watched the way the man’s gaze had followed a woman who had walked past him to get to her seat in the spectators stand, something about the way he looked at her unnerving Johnny, growing uncomfortable at the thought of the man looking at you in such a predatory manner.

“And she has no complaints? About him courting her?” Johnny asked, still staring down the man as though he were trying to burn holes into the man.

Jaehyun was growing frustrated, wondering how long Johnny was going to deflect the issue at hand with his questions.

“Don’t you think you would be better off asking her yourself?”

Johnny tore his gaze away from the man, staring blankly at Jaehyun with his lips parted slightly.

“My time away did not make me a fool, Johnny. It was obvious the moment I saw how you reacted to each other at the ball,” Jaehyun rolled his eyes, “do you suppose there were any other painters in town named Youngho that didn’t work in their own homes?”

Johnny was at a loss for words, starting to understand why Jaehyun decided to bring him to a random boxing match at mid-day.

“How long more are you going to spend sitting here and pretending you’re okay with it?” Jaehyun hummed, “you helped me before, and honestly, I’d be more frustrated with myself if I let you carry on like this.”

Johnny’s gaze shifted to the fighters, then to the man, then back to Jaehyun, unsure what his course of action was going to be but knowing that he wanted nothing more than to go to you now.

“Her parents are here. I suggest you go now, I can buy you some time,” Jaehyun told him smoothly, and Johnny wondered if this was how he must have looked before when he was aiding Jaehyun with his own love troubles.

But there was no time for him to dwell on that now, already getting up and leaving as fast as he could to the address Jaehyun had told him.

“Miss Y/N, you have a caller,” your butler informed you as you were in the middle of playing a piano piece in your drawing room, stopping yourself in embarrassment when you realised it was the piece Youngho told you was his favourite.

Though you weren’t exactly sure why you were embarrassed, it wasn’t as if your butler knew that.

“Who is it?”

“Lord Suh, Miss,” your eyes widened as the words left him, standing up from the piano and adjusting your dress, your hand coming up to your face, making sure there was no sleep in your eyes as you nodded at your butler.

“Okay, you can send him in. Thank you.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when Youngho entered, though the scene had come to mind many times before.

You imagined him coming into the room with a dramatic profession of apologies, and another scenario where you imagined him to come to you with a sombre expression on his face, pleading with you to forgive him. You would be lying if you said you didn’t even imagine him simply coming to the room and kissing you, but of course, that was a little far fetched.

What you surely didn’t anticipate was for Youngho to enter the room, a determined look on his face as he met your gaze, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Are you thinking?” he asked.

Taken aback by his words, you tilted your head at him, confusion written all over your features. This definitely was not something you anticipated in your daydreams.

“What’s there for me to think so urgently about?” you asked, watching as Youngho brought a hand up to press it against his forehead, letting his hand drop to his side.

Shaking his head, he pressed his tongue in his cheek, a small huff leaving him, “Do you really want to wed that man? You cannot possibly be in love with him, you barely know him!”

His tone was insistent, bordering on desperate, a contrast to your still solemn expression, something you were falling back on in the hope that you would not start crying.

“My mother knows him well enough.”

Youngho sighed, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips, and you struggled not to let your gaze linger too long on his lips, shifting your gaze to look out of the window.

“It is your marriage, Y/N. Not your mother’s, nor your family’s,” he spoke, softer now, but with all the same insistence as before.

“Is it really?” you frowned, “aren’t all marriages these days purely business? When you marry someone, you’re marrying their family as well—weren’t you all too aware of this? Surely, this was why you chose not to tell me you were a marquess, was it not?”

Youngho frowned.

“That was not why I did not tell you. It was never about business to begin with,” he shook his head, pained to see your hurt being expressed in such a way, yet still unsure about how to voice out his thoughts.

“You may take me for a fool, Youngho, but I know for a fact that you are anything but,” you folded your arms across your chest, breathing in deeply though it didn’t seem to satisfy you again, breathlessness creeping up on you, “what makes you think I am any different? How can you be so sure that I will marry this man for love?”

Youngho’s expression turned even more serious at your words, holding a certain confidence to it that intimidated you, knowing you could never hide from him as much as you were attempting to do so now through your words.

“I don’t believe you’d marry without it,” he spoke firmly, more as a statement, a fact.

It made your mind go blank, knowing he was right.

You shook your head slowly, your gaze hardening in an attempt to remain firm, “Whether you believe me or not, that does not change the fact that he has made his intentions clear. He is offering money and stability. My family can afford the dowry. I am in no position to refuse.”

Perhaps you would be able to if he did something, you wanted to add. But somehow in that moment, you were afraid. The past few weeks have been a reminder to you of the helplessness you feared, the kind where you were unsupported, left to flail around for yourself not knowing what you were doing.

This hardening of your gaze, of your words, of your heart, they were your last-ditch attempt at protecting yourself from that feeling of helplessness you were starting to grow familiar with in the past few weeks. You did not want to grow familiar with it, not for the rest of your life.

“That man does not deserve you,” Youngho frowned, the way he looked at you with such sincerity making you avert your gaze, his attentiveness becoming too much, as if he was unlocking the part of you that yearned, telling you the things you needed to be reminded of.

“I did not choose him based on how much he deserves me,” you muttered.

“That’s because it wasn’t you choosing him at all,” Youngho shot back just as quickly, making you sigh.

“I know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a murmur as you felt your body yelling at you, telling you to take deeper breaths even though with each breath you took, it didn’t feel like enough.

You were starting to feel like the room was growing suffocating, frustration and longing and everything in between overwhelming you, “I do not have a choice—”

“No, but you do,” he insisted, “you do have a choice. You can reject him and no one would blame you.”

Your words were coming out faster than you could process now, only being able to focus on the boy in front of you and the way your heart felt like it was aching for that protection, that assurance, that Youngho allowed you to know.

“And then what? Disappoint my family by saying no to the one thing they let me do?” you huffed, exasperated, “lose my parents’ trust because I wasn’t honest with them for once in my life?”

Youngho sighed deeply, “What about love—”

“And what about honesty?” You said, trying to breathe deeply but the ache in your chest made it difficult to, your fists clenching around your clothes as if trying to lessen the way it felt like you were being crushed.

“Is that what you are ready to settle for, then?” Youngho’s tone was disbelieving, as if baffled that you were willing to sacrifice your needs and wants so easily, “mindless flattery from a man who is only honest about the fact that he sees you as a prize to be won?”

Youngho regretted his words the moment they left him, seeing how you were leaning on the piano for balance, shaky breaths leaving you as your eyes welled up with tears once again.

“I know!” You blurted, “... I know,” your hand came up to wipe your tears harshly, the other hand still gripping tightly onto your clothes, “It is not flattering to be desired… whilst not being loved.”

Youngho couldn’t help himself now, moving without hesitation as he rushed over to where you were, his hands coming to grip your shoulders, letting you lean on him as he pulled you into his arms, your hands letting go of your dress weakly and falling to your sides as you let yourself remember what it felt like to be enveloped in this protection, in this support.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand coming up to rub your back soothingly, his hold unwavering as he waited for you to calm down.

“Why are you doing this to me, Youngho?” Your voice was muffled through his clothing, your tears falling freely now as you cried, his hands still comforting you as he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry for upsetting you, I didn’t mean to.”

You frowned, daring yourself to pull away from where your head rested against his chest, looking up to meet his gaze, still wrapped in the security of his arms.

“I’m upset… yet I don’t quite think that’s the word I’m looking for. I’m… at a loss,” you told him, seeing him press his lips into a firm line as he nodded at you slowly, prompting you to continue.

“Having to listen to you tell me not to marry a man we both know I have no true desire to marry, that I have no affection for… it’s… Here I am, feeling chained to my guilt as a daughter yet not being able to find any part of me that is truly satisfied in making up for my guilt in this way, or fulfilling my ‘duty’ as a daughter through this obedience.”

You swallowed, averting your gaze to glance at Youngho’s collar before bringing your gaze back up to meet his eyes, the same hazel glow in them that made you feel as though he were the sun and you were simply a sunflower, gravitating towards him.

Youngho guided you over to the sofa near the piano, letting you sit down, one of his hands still placed protectively over your hand, something you very much appreciated, serving to ground you almost.

“I… I didn’t know what to think, you just stopped showing up and I hadn’t heard from you, I was… I was worried. And to suddenly hear that you were being courted by this man, I just couldn’t help myself,” Youngho admitted, though there wasn’t a trace of regret in his tone that he was here. He didn’t regret this.

You sighed, the memory feeling almost fresh in your mind as you recalled it.

“My mother wouldn’t speak to me for weeks after she found my painting, after she read what they said in the scandal sheet. Do you think I like having to be in this position? To desire to be loved by the both of you but to feel as though the two are mutually exclusive.”

At that moment, it felt as though you were laying your heart bare to Youngho, feeling as though you were the man in the painting you saw in the church, stepping out of the safety of your boat into the raging waters because you saw the one you loved, because you heard them call you to step out, and so you did. Willing yourself to be vulnerable for this love you felt for Youngho.

“I was upset because… well, how can you even think of asking me if this is what I want? How can you think that for a second I would want to trade you in for a man who cannot possibly compare to you?” you frowned, bewildered that he could ever think such a thing.

“How could you think for a second that I would want to settle for that man’s corrupt desire?” you murmured, searching his gaze that you saw was growing more insistent.

“Well, then, what if you had both? What if you had someone who both desired and loved you with their entire being?”

You shot him a pointed look.

You knew Youngho was one that enjoyed speaking hypothetically about things, but you didn’t think now was exactly a perfect time to be doing so.

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you huffed, “Youngho, discussing hypotheticals is not going to make this situation any less real.”

How could you explain this to him? It didn’t matter if it was someone who desired and loved you, you were only wishing that someone would be him.

Youngho shook his head, eyes wide as if he were sounding out a new idea to you for his art piece, making your eyebrows lift in curiosity.

“I know, but what if you already had someone who loved you? What if they were in front of you right now. Would that change your mind about proceeding with that man?”

You frowned, “Youngho, would you just speak plainly with me? What is it that you are trying to say?”

Youngho’s lips parted, huffing in amusement in spite of himself, gathering up the rest of his heart to present it to you.

“I don’t know how much plainer I can get than…”

Youngho’s eyebrows lifted slightly, an almost pleading look to his gaze as you felt his hand squeeze yours gently.

“Y/N, do you not see that I love you deeply?”

There it was, the grip that caught you before you could sink into the raging waters, the security and safety that enveloped your vulnerability.

Perhaps the question you were meant to ponder all this while wasn’t really ‘how willing were you to be vulnerable?’, but ‘how safe did you feel to be vulnerable?’.

The answer was simple to you now as you looked at him.

Simple, but far from simplistic.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you told him, watching how his expression softened, his hand over yours grasping onto you tighter.

“If it’s the money your mother is worried about… I don’t care about a dowry,” he blurted, thinking off the top of his head, the sudden mention of a dowry making you laugh at the absurdity of it.

“I know you don’t, you never had to,” you scoffed, still recovering from your amusement that he would think you cared about such a thing.

Youngho’s eyebrows lifted slightly in question, more curious than challenging.

“Does that fact upset you?”

You hummed, bringing one of your hands to cover his, running your thumb over the skin of his knuckles in a way that made Youngho melt.

“How do I explain this to you, Youngho?... You don’t care about a dowry? Quite frankly, neither do I,” you let out an amused huff, “I find myself unable to care about anything other than the fact that it was your hands, your eyes, your heart… that it was you who… let me know what it feels like to be immortalised.”

“It has ruined any chance of me considering anyone else, because if I am to be immortalised, if I am to be conveyed into art, if I am to be vulnerable, if I am to be held... I want it to happen by your hands,” your tone was firm, all the love that swelled in your heart finally making its way out of you and trying to reach his, “your hands and no one else’s, Youngho.”

“Even now with the knowledge that you are a marquess, that fact has no weight on my decision to love you because I did not fall in love with a marquess . I fell in love with you, your soul. "

Youngho didn’t think he was breathing. All he could focus on was your voice that rang in his head, sweeter than any melody you played on the piano, sweeter than any sound he had heard, laced with love and painting vivid colours on his heart.

“I only ever have the privilege of one answer for the suitors I’m presented with… but it was an answer I was only ever willing, or hoping , to offer to you,” a hint of a smile played at your lips, “so, forgive me, for not caring about the dowry either.”

Youngho’s lips parted, not finding himself thinking about his words carefully, simply letting his heart go before him in his words, his own love desperate to make its way into your heart and make a home there.

“I brought something for you,” he began, using his free hand (simply because he did not want to let go of your hand) to reach into his coat, pulling out the leatherbound sketchbook you recognised from before.

“Remember how I told you it was never about business to begin with?” he spoke, earning a nod from you, his fingers absently toying with the string of the worn sketchbook.

“It’s because… I’ve seen how fickle people are. How they change the moment they find out you are of a certain status or possess certain wealth. It made me cynical for a long time,” this time, you couldn’t find it in you to look away, his gaze that was searching yours was far too beautiful to miss, “I didn’t trust people’s intentions because most of the time they really were only interested in my money or my family.”

You nodded, prompting him to continue.

“It’s why I never liked doing portraits,” he admitted, “they always felt cold . It was… overwhelming to me; the idea of immortalising a creature so fickle, so tainted by power and money. You could never really see the person for who they were, only the things they wanted to show off.”

“So,” he let out a deep sigh, “I told myself that if I ever met someone who could see me as just a poor painter, with little to nothing to his name. Just me, with nothing but myself to show off, and love me in spite of that… then I’d consider. I know it doesn’t change the fact that I lied to you, but… I can’t say I regret it because you proved me wrong.”

You felt your heart ache, wishing you could express to him just how much love you had for him, how much love he had been missing out on all this while. You wished to hold him in it for as long as you could.

“You were the first,” he murmured, “to truly see me.”

He pushed the sketchbook towards you, lifting your hand slightly to let it rest on the leather.

You recalled his words, how showing you his sketchbook would be him baring his heart to you, and somehow the thought made a wave of emotion wash through you. This was his way of stepping out of the boat, rushing to you after your heart called out to him, willing himself to be vulnerable for love.

“This,” he gestured to the sketchbook, and perhaps implied much more, “is yours now.”

Letting out a deep breath, this time his confidence showing in the firmness of his tone, the surety of his gaze, “I’ve come to realise that… it was always yours.”

Letting go of your hands slowly, with all the reluctance in his being, he stood up, nodding resolutely more for himself than for you.

“I should be taking my leave now… I… hope I’ve made my intentions clear.”

And you let him leave without another word, watching as his figure disappeared out of your door, past the sunflowers in your garden that looked as though they too were reluctant for him to leave.

Directing your gaze back to his sketchbook, you fiddled with the string, almost hesitant to open it out of a sheer want to treat it delicately.

His sketchbook, his art, his heart that he declared was yours now, that was always yours. You saw it clearly once you undid the little knot that kept it closed.

You saw it in the drawing of your hands on the piano keys, in the drawing of the view of your back as you walked away from him at the flower market, sunflowers peeking over your shoulder to look at him, in the drawing of your hands clasped in front of your dress holding the bundle of cloth wrapped around the honey biscuits.

You continued to flip the pages.

The image of your side view, playing the piano in his studio, the image of you tending to the flowers that he gave you, the view of you mulling the paint from where he sat on his stool. The view of you holding his sketches above your head as you decorated his studio.

It was as though you were seeing yourself from his perspective, ridden with a certain affection and yearning that felt so intimate to be looking at in such a way, knowing it was his hands that had conveyed you into this… permanence. It was sureness found even in the strokes of graphite against paper.

You dared yourself to continue to flip the pages.

You noticed that there were even more drawings now, multiple drawings of the same memory, as if you were watching the moment happen before your eyes again.

An image of your stocking halfway up your calf, your hands grasping it firmly by the hem. Another image of your hands around the delicate pink silk ribbon garter, in the middle of untying the garter. An image of your leg with the little sunflower on your ankle, another image of just that same sunflower alone.

An image of you in the field with him that night, the mouth of the wine glass touching delicately against your lips, an image of the little smile you mustered after tasting the wine. An image of the smile that hardly left your face that night as you looked at him. Next to the image of your smile, a drawing of tulips. An image of his view of you as you lay your head on his lap, looking up at him, almost embarrassing you as you saw how much affection you could detect in your gaze even then.

An image of your hand clasped around his, almost being able to remember the feel of his fingertips under your nails as you pressed them gently against his skin. An image of your eyes shut, lips gently parted, wildflowers peeking out from the grass next to your shoulders and his thigh as you waited for the feel of his lips against yours.

The detail of your features in watercolour as you flipped the pages almost made you feel as though you were looking at a mirror. There was nothing cold about what you were looking at, but instead all the warmth that came with your soul and his, reflected on the paper.

The whole sketchbook was filled with you, and in it, him as well. All the love he had for you in every line, in every shade, even in the pressure of his pencil against paper, in the colours that made his sketches come alive. This was his heart, for your eyes only.

In short, you felt loved.

Perhaps, this was it. The intangible thing you sought, love, made tangible in Youngho.

===

Dancing was tricky business, as you knew. And a rule that you couldn’t help but call to mind now was that if a lady like you were to dance more than twice with the same man in the same night, or furthermore refuse to dance with any but him, you were basically announcing to the world that the both of you were engaged.

It was all that rang through your head as you stood with your sister as the viscount had just returned with drinks for the both of you, slipping off your gloves to accept the drink as you trained your gaze on where your mother was a little far off from you, seeming to be in an intense conversation with Youngho.

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” you whispered harshly to your sister, anxious as you watched from afar.

Her laugh caught you off guard, turning to her with wide-eyes.

“What else do you think they could be talking about? You don’t suppose they would be engaging in such a fervent conversation about paintings, do you?” her tone was sarcastic, laced with amusement as you frowned, huffing.

Sure, as you watched Youngho, he looked relaxed, radiating the same calm confidence as he spoke to your mother, even smiling while your mother’s expression remained almost surprised.

You figured that was a good sign, right? As opposed to if her expression was sour.

“I’m trying to read his lips,” Jaehyun murmured, “but I’m absolutely certain he just said ‘you have nothing to worry about’.”

Your eyebrows lifted. Of course it would be Youngho, saying that to your mother of all people. That was almost as good as pointing at a table and demanding for it to get up and walk.

Your mind was absolutely racing as you saw her nod, already making her way towards you, with Youngho following a few paces behind her.

Reaching you, you exchanged a look with your sister before turning your gaze towards your mother. Jaehyun stood beside her, looking on with evident amusement at the scene playing out before him.

Letting out a tired sigh, she lowered her voice to a murmur.

“I do not know what it is about you that has seemed to have caught his eye,” she looked as though she were in disbelief, “But the young man was so insistent on getting my approval for him to pursue a marriage with you. Judging by his demeanour, his background, I find no complaints.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, glancing at Youngho who stood behind her with a certain sense of pride that glowed within you. A pride that came with knowing that this was who he was— insistent, charming, sincere— and that did not change with his social status.

“He insists that he has already asked for your permission, is that correct?”

You tore your gaze away from Youngho, meeting your mother’s gaze with a firmness unlike Youngho has ever seen you show your mother, his own little pride glowing in his heart as he watched you.

“He has,” you told her, “and I have granted it to him.”

Your mother’s eyes widened just briefly, surprised at your tone, yet feeling as though she should have seen it coming at the same time.

She simply let out a breath through her nose, nodding.

“Then I expect you to see this through,” she told you, as though it were an instruction, “for a man with his status to be looking so favourably upon you, it is a miracle , if anything. Do not ruin this opportunity.”

You couldn’t help the smile that played at your lips, amused at the way your mother had no idea who Youngho was, and that she would continue to have no idea that he was the same Youngho she was forbidding you to see just weeks before. And you intended for it to stay that way, yours and Youngho’s little secret.

“Oh, don’t worry, mother. I definitely won’t.”

Turning to give him a sweet smile, Youngho felt his heart jump in his chest as he extended a hand towards you, asking you for a dance with such politeness that it almost made you laugh.

Following him onto the dance floor, you assumed your positions so naturally that it was a given that anyone who looked in from the outside would be able to tell that the two of you were well-acquainted.

And as you started to dance, somehow, it felt like Youngho was the only one you could focus on in the room.

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho.

Your little mantra of love began to echo once again with each beat of your heart, begging to reach his heart that you almost didn’t notice yourself saying his name.

Youngho smiled, a certain knowingness to his playful gaze.

“Yes, my beloved?”

Your lips parted, poorly hiding the way the words had sent warmth all through your body, the feeling of his hand pressing against yours as you waltzed, the intimacy of the choreography and the way he was looking at you making your head spin.

“Beloved?” you echoed, implication behind the word making you lean into him unconsciously, burying yourself in the security you felt in his hold.

Youngho let out an amused huff that turned into a giggle that bubbled out of him, “You sound surprised. It is no secret that I love you, Y/N.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“My head is spinning,” you admitted, earning a dramatic gasp from him, giving you a playful sheepish look.

“Sorry, perhaps I dressed too nicely today,” he drawled, the teasing lilt of his tone making your smile grow.

“Are you teasing me?” you scoffed, your smile removing any possible trace of menace.

Youngho pressed his lips together, the softest of smiles on his face.

“Not in the slightest bit.”

Feigning a glare at him, it didn’t last long the longer you held his gaze, the both of you poorly stifling your joy as little giggles threatened to escape you.

“I’m not going to impose on you,” he began, sounding breathless from barely having recovered from his bout of giggles.

“That’s questionable,” you took your chance to quip, earning a scoff from him.

“All I’ll say is, I’m going to ask you for a third dance. And what you choose to respond with is entirely up to you.”

Your tongue peeked out to wet your lips, the gesture making Youngho’s gaze shift briefly from your eyes to your lips, evidently having to force himself to bring his gaze back up to your eyes, looking at you with all the affection you wished you could immortalise in a painting.

Nodding at him, you let yourself enjoy the rest of the dance with him, smiling until your cheeks hurt. And you let it continue as he asked you for a third dance, the both of you not giving it a second thought as you continued to relish in each other’s presence, in each other’s touch, in each other’s love.

Oblivious to the murmurs and gossip that the both of you were inciting, you were only able to focus on him and him on you, protected and enveloped in the love you both shared no matter how exposed you felt in the room, just as how it should’ve always been.

Conduct books be damned, here you were, simply a lady in love.

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