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celestie0 · 5 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.2 terms and conditions

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 4.5k

a/n. if you see any typos, no you don't.

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

“And yeah, that’s basically what I’ll ask from him in return,” you say through a mouthful of your cereal in the morning after summarizing the conversation you had with your school’s star soccer player on Instagram last night.

Mina scrolled through the messages as she took another bite of her apple and gave you a questioning look as she set your phone down. “I’m still shocked at the fact that Gojo Satoru, the Gojo Satoru, sent you a message. Also, why does he want to help his horny friend this badly?”

“I don’t know. But will you do it?” You ask her with pleading eyes. “Just one weekend, that’s all it seems like he’s asking for. And then I’ll get what I want from him. You just have to pretend to be interested in his friend for a little bit.”

Mina leans back on the bar stool at the little raised counter in the kitchen. You liked it because it was a little bar space that opened up to the living room, being partially the reason why you convinced her to sign this lease with you. She swallowed before speaking. “I mean, the only reason I didn’t really like his friend that much was because he kept asking me out to a house party instead of an actual date.”

“Yeah, I know, I figured,” you say.

“Also, an 8AM English class is the absolute worst time to hit on someone.” She smiles at you. “But his friend isn’t bad looking. Not exactly my type, maybe a bit too beefy and masculine for me? I don’t know.” She pauses to take another bite of her apple, this time talking through her chewing. “I would say Gojo is more my type.”

He’s probably everyone’s type, you think to yourself.

“Anyways, yeah, I’ll do it,” she easily agrees.

“You will?” You gleam at her, your hands clapping together in happiness.

“Yeah, I will. If you think it’ll help you get what you want from him, then I’ll do it,” she smiles at you.

You run over to her, arms curling around her from behind as you say thank you, thank you, thank you and she pats at your forearm for you to ease up on your excessive gratefulness.

-------

The weekend rolls around surprisingly fast and the hour that the party’s doors open is steadily approaching. Mina just came home from her work shift and was in the bathroom taking a shower while you sifted through your closet to figure out what to wear. You couldn’t believe you were actually going to an SAE house party. You’ve been to other college parties before, mostly in your first year, but never a fraternity’s, let alone the biggest one on your college campus. Was there some sort of waiting list? Some sort of etiquette that you didn’t know of? Your stomach flips at the prospect.

Your hands pull out a simple black dress that was tucked all the way to the right of your closet. It was a tiny bit wrinkled but it would do. Slipping on the dress, you turned to glance at yourself in the mirror. It had long, skin tight sleeves with a sweetheart neckline and the hem fell to the middle of your thighs, the material soft and silky. You suddenly felt a bit self conscious and ended up taking it off in favor of some ripped blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt instead.

Mina opened the door of the bathroom and stepped into your shared room, wrapped in a towel with her hair clipped up on her head. “Cute fit,” she compliments you as she also makes her way to her closet. “Ugh, I just want to go to bed. Why am I doing this again?”

“Because you love me,” you say.

“Yes, that’s why,” she sighs. She puts on a purple body-con dress that had beautiful sparkles on it, probably more fitting for the club than a house party, but who knows, maybe that ends up being the vibe of the place.

You both sit on the floor in front of the mirror to do makeup, you finishing first since you wore a little less than her, and you help her draw the wings of her eyeliner. This sort of ritual was always the best before you went out with friends. The getting ready part was almost more fun than the actual going out part.

A small fight took place between the two of you in terms of who would be designated driver, and Mina finally relents to allowing you to drive. You argued with her that she was doing you a favor, and that if Mina decides she needed some drinks during the night to take the edge off of having to talk to this Gojo Satoru friend, then she should be allowed to do that. Mina grabbed her purse and you grabbed your cross-body fanny pack as well as keys, and you were headed out the door.

As you drove down the street approaching the address, you both noticed a lot of the houses looked very similar with decorative sports flags, gaudy front-lawn decorations, and outside furniture. This was most likely the fraternity house strip of SAE where most of the guys lived and hosted parties. There were living places on campus for the members too, but those were usually for the people that organized the fraternity’s events. Loud approaching bass-boosted music filled the air and it suddenly became challenging navigating through all of the parked cars on the street as the GPS informed you that you were less than 500 feet from your location on the left. You luckily found a spot to park at the cul de sac a little further ahead and then you two were making your way to the house.

“4100, right?” Mina called after you as she shuffled a bit in her heels to catch up, arms crossing over her chest to warm herself up in the cold. You slowed down a bit for her.

“Yeah, this one I guess,” you point up ahead where you spot a group of people approaching the entrance where a guy seemed to be collecting payments. You notice him turn some people away from the door, confirming that there was some sort of screening process for entry, and you’re suddenly a bit anxious.

“Alright, y’all are good to go inside,” the guy at the door chirps to what’s left of the group that lined up before you two. He makes eye contact with you and Mina, straightening himself up a bit. “Ladies! Looking very gorgeous. I like the sort of casual tomboy with the bombshell friend pairing. Can’t say I’ve seen you two around here. Ever been to an SAE party before?”

“Nah, first time,” Mina says as she shivers from the cold.

“Aight, cool, you’ll definitely enjoy it. Ladies enter for free, so go on ahead,” he says, comically gesturing towards the door with both of his arms before he crosses them again and puffs out his chest. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He has a little name tag that says Itadori Yuuji on it, which you’re almost certain no one even asked him to wear.

As you two make your way inside, you’re instantly reminded of why you hated places like this. Loud music reverberates throughout the entire room as people bustle around everywhere, some people dancing, some people standing, some people walking over to other areas, and a lot of people shamelessly making out. There was a lot more lighting than you were expecting, that sort of warm and dull suburban house lighting that reminds you of your childhood for some reason, but there were flashing lights across the ceiling that gave it more of a party feel. The house was two stories, and the staircase was visible from the entrance, leading up to a hallway at the top with a railing that oversaw the downstairs expanse before stretching out further into unseen territory where you assumed the bedrooms were. Your eyes instantly began scanning the room for any familiar faces, or for one Gojo Satoru.

“Damn, just the smell of the alcohol alone has me about ready to throw up,” Mina says next to you as she takes a few steps further into the house. You follow behind her as she makes her way into what looks like the kitchen where there’s less people other than those refilling their drinks. She’s quick to pour some vodka into a plastic red solo cup before nonchalantly opening the fridge and pouring some orange juice into it as well. She glances up at you. “Don’t judge me.” You stifle a laugh.

“Oh shit, sorry man,” a masculine voice behind you says and when you turn around, you’re face to face with quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life.

In all his glory, Gojo Satoru was standing in front of you. Just as the prophecy foretold, he was tall, at least an entire head above you, and irritatingly gorgeous. He was wearing gray sweatpants, untied drawstrings loosely hanging, with a black short-sleeved shirt that was tight around his biceps and lazily tucked into his waistband just at the front. He was holding two drinks in his hands, one clearly with some spillage as droplets fell from the base of it onto the tile of the kitchen, and his piercing blue eyes behind his tacky HO-HO party glasses widened at the sight of you. The guy behind him, who you assumed was the one he was apologizing to just a second ago, gave him a solid slap on the back and muttered a you’re good, dude before turning the corner back into the core of the party, leaving the three of you alone in the kitchen.

You heard Mina cough a little behind you and you watched as Gojo’s eyes quickly darted to her.

“No way,” you hear Gojo mutter under his breath as he walks past you and makes his way around the kitchen island, setting the drinks in his hand down on the counter. “You’re Mina, right? I’m Gojo Satoru,” he says as if not everyone on campus knows who he is, and sticks his hand out for her to shake and she hesitantly shakes it. “Thanks for coming.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Mina said, shooting you a glance.

He then turns around and makes his way to you again, hand outstretched for you to shake, and you hesitantly do so as well. You immediately notice how the tips of his fingers feel calloused. “Hey, I’m Gojo Satoru. You’re y/n, right?”

You nodded, for some reason unable to find your voice, and he peers over the ‘O’s on his glasses to look at you. His eyes were like the sparkling ocean under the sun, a tantalizing shade that sailors probably yearned for during long nights out at sea before they went overboard, chasing after sirens, and eventually drowning. Yikes, that got dark for some reason. But there was something dark about his eyes, too. “Yeah.”

He leans down closer to you, his mouth near your ear, and the fragrance of freshly-washed laundry consumes you. “Thanks, I owe you one. Find me later, ‘kay?” he whispers and you can feel his breath on your neck. The movement has your cheeks embarrassingly burning before he’s pulling away from you. He turns to Mina again. “You’ve met my friend Todo, right? He’s about sixty ounces deep into an insane round of beer pong, you wanna watch?” Gojo asks her with a weirdly wholesome smile on his face.

“How charming…” Mina says as she reluctantly walks over to him, giving you a darting look, and then he’s leading her out into the living room. You stand there in the kitchen, leaning against the island, finally noticing how fast your heart was beating.

I mean, you knew he would be handsome. You saw all his Instagram pictures, and all the school advertising for the soccer team with his face all over it plastered practically around every corner on campus, but this was your first time seeing him in person and you hated how breathtaking he was. Like, how can people just casually be in his presence? You figured the only way was that they eventually get used to the way he just commands a room when he walks in. You wonder if you’ll ever feel relaxed in his vicinity. Part of you wishes you didn’t fight Mina so hard to be designated driver because now you were itching for a drink to calm your nerves.

As a group of girls make their way into the kitchen, giggling about something some guy had said to one of them, you suddenly feel a little alone and make your way out into the living room as well. Your hands play with the strap of the fanny pack slung across your chest and just people-watch for a bit. Spotting the game of beer pong over in the corner, you see Mina watching with a bored expression and you let out a small laugh. The man at the end of the table had a ping pong ball in his hand, and you immediately identified him as this Todo guy. Mina’s description was pretty spot on, definitely beefy and masculine, and he was the only one in that corner that had his shirt off for some reason.

He aimed for the opposing side’s remaining two cups of beer, the ball looking comically tiny in his large hand, and when he threw it the ball landed right in one of the cups. A look of excitement flashed across his face before a bunch of the guys started smacking his chest, yelling something like “has to be a bounce shot, dude” and he suddenly looked agitated all over again. A small smile makes its way on Mina’s face and you’re surprised to see it.

Standing next to her was Gojo, tall and his presence imposing, as he silently watched the rowdy game with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and back leaned against the wall. There was a curious expression on his face and you tilted your head to the side, enjoying the moment to just study him for a little bit.

“I like your fanny pack,” you hear a voice say from behind you that has you twirling around. You look up and find yourself staring at yet another handsome man. This one had dark black hair that was tied up into a man bun with some short tendrils of hair falling onto one side of his forehead.

“Oh, thanks,” you say awkwardly.

“Where are my manners? I’m Geto Suguru, nice to meet you,” he says as he stretches the hand that was not occupied by his drink out to you.

You shook his hand, noticing calluses on his fingers too. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m y/n. What’s with everyone here and shaking hands? I feel like I’m at a job interview.”

The man in front of you chuckles. “You’re funny,” he says. “Haven’t seen you around here. Which sorority are you in?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not in one. I live with my friend Mina about 20 minutes from campus,” you awkwardly say.

A slightly surprised expression flashes across his face as he nods slowly and you can see it in his face that he’s searching his brain for a follow-up question when someone behind him taps his shoulder.

“Hey, Suguru, do you know what time practice is tomorrow? Itadori-kun swears it’s at three, but I have a meeting at that time, so if that’s true then I’m screwed,” the guy behind Geto says. Sigh. Once again handsome. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and cleanly styled blonde hair with a sharp jaw that made him look like he just stepped out of a James Bond movie.

“Pretty sure it’s at six. I’d check with Satoru, though,” he jutted his chin over in the direction of the beer pong table. “Oh, this is y/n by the way. She’s not in a sorority, but she lives 10 minutes away from campus.” Geto steps to the side a little and the blonde stranger steps into his space.

“20 minutes,” you correct him and this time, you’re the one to stretch your hand out. The man in front of you shakes it, and once again you notice calluses. This must have to do with soccer, then. His handshake was firm, short, and intentional, and you could tell he was probably studying a respectable major.

“I’m Nanami Kento, but just call me Kento,” he says in a smooth voice. “Excuse me,” he says and he’s making his way past you over to the beer pong table.

Geto’s glance falls on you again, but suddenly feeling awkward you excuse yourself from him to go use the restroom. You haven’t had this much social interaction in a long time and you needed to get away from the noise for a second. As you make your way past the kitchen into a narrow hallway, you realize you have no idea where the restroom is. One of the door handles has a sock on it, gross, so you ignore it all together. You finally reach a door that could potentially be a restroom, and you’re overjoyed that you don’t hear any voices inside when you knock on it. You allow yourself inside and close the door behind you.

The bathroom was surprisingly well-kept from what you expect of a frat house. There’s about three different toothbrushes in a round plastic tin on the counter of the sink, but you’re sure that there’s more than three guys that live here so there must be another bathroom upstairs too. Glancing at your reflection, you notice that some of your mascara has smudged a little so you use your finger to wipe the excess off and then you reapply a thin layer of lip balm over your lips. You contemplate actually taking a piss, but you realize you don’t really need to. With a few deep breaths, you’re out into the hallway and almost make it back into the kitchen before bumping into a certain white-haired man at the kitchen entrance.

“Oh, hey, fancy seeing you here again,” Gojo says with a grin and your eye twitches slightly. He was still wearing those HO-HO glasses (Christmas was literally over three months ago) and this time there were some sort of black painted lines underneath both of his eyes. He was extremely hot but definitely somewhat unserious about his appearance.

Gojo glances down at your empty hands and tips his head to the side a little. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Uhh, water?” You offer.

He lets out a laugh, his hand flying to his stomach, and you realize he thinks you're joking. When your expression doesn’t budge, his smile drops. “Seriously?”

“I’m DD for Mina,” you say as you walk around him and make it into the kitchen where you find a pitcher of water. Your heart still races a bit at the sight of Gojo, but you enjoy the peace and quiet that the kitchen provides you away from the party around the corner.

“So, y/n,” you hear Gojo say behind you. You’re not quite used to hearing your name casually roll off his tongue. He’s suddenly at your side, leaning back against the edge of the island and crossing his arms as he looks down at you to watch you pour your water. It takes everything in you to not glance over at how nice the muscles of his arms probably look across his chest. “What exactly are those terms and conditions you spoke of?”

Your face flushes slightly. You remind yourself that this is the man that you were Instagram DMing at two in the morning earlier this week. It feels weird, considering at the time he seemed more like a made-up character in your mind but now that you’ve actually met him, you realize that he is indeed a living, breathing, real person. When you take a sip of your water, you realize just how parched you really are.

“Okay, hold on a sec, there’s no way you’re just drinking water all night long. There’s some non-alcoholic punch in the other room. Be right back,” he says and he’s gone from your side. You miss the heat from his body.

He returns shortly after with a cup of punch in his hands and slides it to you across the counter. You grip onto it and stare into the deep red liquid.

“Okay, so,” he says as he leans back against the counter again, this time a bit closer so his arm was brushing against your shoulder. Your skin burns at the contact. “Your terms and conditions?”

You found it a bit odd that he was so adamant to satisfy these conditions of yours, considering he already won. You had successfully brought Mina to the party, and it seemed like she was getting along with his friend Todo. It shouldn’t really matter what you wanted from him anymore. You suppose that maybe he was just a man of his word.

You sigh, remaining facing the counter of the island as you glance at all the types of alcoholic bottles and cans laid out on it. “Well, my request is pretty simple.”

“Hmm,” you hear him hum inquisitively beside you.

You finally turn to face him and you instinctively put a hand over your heart as though to reprimand it to stop beating so fast in his presence. He notices the movement. “I want you to get me onto the soccer field at a few of your practices or games so I can take film photos of the players.”

Gojo takes his HO-HO glasses off and sets them down on the counter, a serious expression on his face. You notice how nice his eyelashes are.

“Your terms and conditions are…that you want me to help you take photos of a bunch of sweaty dudes?” he asks. “You’re kinda freaky.”

You roll your eyes and send him an annoyed look. “They’re not for me, they’re for one of my class assignments. I’m taking this film photography class, and my professor is obsessed with the school’s soccer team. Pretty much all of his lectures start with goal-by-goal breakdowns of your guys’ most recent game. If I submit some stellar-looking film photos of the action on the field, he’d give me a good grade and a good letter of recommendation.” You notice Gojo tense up slightly in front of you. “I’m trying to get into this one graduate program.”

You watch his chest rise and fall with a deep breath as he turns his head to look away from you and instead look straight ahead at the fridge. Long lashes flutter against the top of his cheeks every time he blinks. His arms that were crossed at his chest rise a little as he shrugs. “Yeah, I guess I can do that for you.”

You can’t control the smile that spreads across your face when he acquiesces. This was a really good opportunity for you. You pick up the punch that he gave you and almost bring it to your lips when he speaks again, interrupting the motion.

“Your pictures are pretty good, by the way,” he says, still staring straight forward at the fridge.

Your mouth gapes slightly. “How have you seen my photos?”

He looks down at you, an eyebrow raised. “I follow you on Instagram, dummy. Also, you never followed me back.”

You’re standing there a little stunned at the conversation. He speaks to you so casually as if you haven’t just met him tonight. “Sorry, I only really follow back my friends…”

“Are we not friends?” It’s your turn to let out a laugh, thinking he’s joking, only to realize he’s not.

“I’ve literally just met you…speaking of, I should probably pour my own drink,” you say as you slide the punch back onto the counter top over to him and turn away to head in the direction he had gone to retrieve it for you. You hear him mutter an ouch from behind you at the implied accusation you just made but you remind yourself that this man is essentially a stranger to you, and the only things you know about him are things you’ve heard from other strangers.

You spot Mina still by the beer pong table, this time heavily invested in the game and she even flirtatiously blows on Todo’s ping pong ball for good luck before he chucks it at the opposing teams’ cups, entirely missing, but Mina reaches up to place a kiss on his cheek regardless. Your jaw drops at the sight. She was going to be answering a lot of your questions in the morning.

You find the punch table, pour yourself some, and realize that it was indeed non-alcoholic and pretty damn good. Mina finally makes eye contact with you from across the room and she leaves the table to make her way to you.

“Y/n! OMG, I was lookin’ for you, girl!” She sounded a bit tipsy. “What time is it? I totally forgot I have a stupid discussion post thingy due at midnight.”

You pull your phone out of your fanny pack and read the time that says 11:12PM. It was still a bit early to leave a party, but you supposed it was up to Mina. “It’s 11:12PM. There’s no traffic so it would probably just take us around 10-15 minutes to get home. You wanna leave?”

She sighs and turns around to look at Todo, who was giving her a sleazy look and mouthing what’s wrong, babe? Mina shakes her head at him pitifully and then turns her head back to you with sulking shoulders. “Yeah…stupid professor making those posts 25% of our entire grade…”

You laughed and made sure she grabbed her purse before you two headed towards the exit. You bumped into Geto again on your way out and gave him a polite goodbye and then you two were out of the door, loud party noises getting further and further as you made it to the car. Mina trailed a bit behind you but eventually made it over to the passenger side door. You unlocked the car and she made it inside, but before you do the same, your phone pings with a notification from Instagram.

|| 11:16PM Gojo Satoru: I’ll let you know our practice and game schedule for the next week. Just let me know what times you’re interested in stopping by

A small twinge of excitement fills your chest and you’re suddenly feeling some sort of high as you slide into the driver’s seat of the car. Mina’s mumbling something like turn on the heateeerrr beside you, and you put the car in drive then take the two of you home.

a/n. apologies for any formatting errors since i'm copy/pastin from my ao3! i've tried to manually fix them all but i'm too lazy to read the whole thing to fix it lol. hope you enjoyed!

➸ take me to chapter three!

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number1mingyustan · 7 months

Text

Keep On ✹ ☾

toxicboyfriend!mingyu x fem!reader

Warnings: kissing, cursing, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, established relationship, mentions of cheating, oral (f.), multiple orgasms, car sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, toxic relationships, smoking, crying

Summary: Every time I come crawling on my knees, you're there and you just keep on taking me back

Word Count: 2.9k

_______________________________________________

song: keep on– kehlani

“This shit’s exhausting, Gyu,” You sigh, taking a long drag of the cigarette wedged between your pointer and middle finger.

You exhale, watching the smoke blow from your lips and into the crisp night air. Your cheeks are stained with tears, uncomfortably drying against the cool night air.

Mingyu hates it when you smoke. Always says something about how it’s bad for you and advises you against it. You don’t do it often though, only when you’re stressed or upset.

Right now your back is pressed against the side of Mingyu’s silver BMW. You sniffle, taking another drag and blowing out the smoke.

Mingyu stands next to you, leaned against the car with his head tilted back. He stares up at the stars illuminating the night sky instead of staring at you. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out an exhausted sigh.

“I don’t know what you want me to do Y/n,” He crosses his arms. “I already apologized.”

You let out a scoff and inhale from the cigarette once again.

___

About twenty minutes ago, things were going fine between the two of you. You were sitting in the passenger seat of the car and Mingyu was driving. The two of you were at a party earlier in the night and decided to go home.

You’d been drinking a bit, not enough to be extremely drunk, but enough for Mingyu to decide it was time to go home. You were driving with the windows down and decided to connect to the car AUX.

When you went to unplug Mingyu’s phone you saw a text message from a new number and everything fell apart.

hey it’s yena from the party :)) wanted to make sure i got the right number lol

You didn’t hesitate to confront him about it while he was driving. You asked him who she was and why she was texting him. He got defensive immediately, questioning you and why you were on his phone in the first place.

You didn’t back down, continuing to pester him and grow upset about the text message. You grew more frustrated with his unwillingness to be honest with you and completely lost your calm.

Next thing you knew, you were screaming at him with tears in your eyes while he was trying to calm you down. His attempts weren’t effective and having you scream at him was quite distracting on the road.

Instead of driving straight home, he made a detour to the parking lot next to the trail nearby. It was dark out and no one was around.

He parked the car in a rush, barely making it in between the painted white lines. You were still screaming at him and sobbing frantically.

You climbed out of the car, leaning against it and lighting your cigarette. He was quick to follow after, joining you on the side of the car, where you stand now.

___

“Your apologies don’t mean shit,” You blow out the smoke.

He turns his head in your direction. You look away, refusing to meet his eyes. He sighs and cracks his knuckles.

“I’m not trying to hurt you baby, you know that.”

“I don’t actually.” You’re quick to respond.

“You do. C’mon, you know that I love you.”

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have cheated.” You sniffle.

“I didn’t cheat.” He says firmly.

“Gyu-“

“I didn’t kiss her, I didn’t fuck her, I never laid a finger on her. She and I talked for a few minutes and she wanted my number. I didn’t cheat on you. I may have fucked up, but I’m not a cheater and you know that.”

“You still gave her your number! You didn’t think to tell her you had a girlfriend or tell her no! Regardless of who initiated it, you didn’t turn her down. You fucking entertained the flirting and I wouldn’t be surprised if you flirted back. Chances are pretty high that you did considering the way you came back and immediately dragged me off.” You scoff. “Shitty excuse saying I was too drunk when the problem was you. You obviously just didn’t want me to find out. You always do this shit, Gyu.” You inhale from the cigarette once again and blow out.

“You know I’d never cheat on you Y/n. I don’t take those accusations lightly. You know that I love you and I’d never do that shit to you. I cant help it if some girl approaches me, I stay loyal to you.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time you’ve dealt with a situation like this with Mingyu.

You’re Mingyu’s first real relationship. Before you it had been meaningless flings and very short term commitments for him.

You and Mingyu started very casual, but grew into a serious relationship over time. Something about you was different and he found himself wanting commitment. He hated the idea of you being with another guy and your relationship blossomed.

But with a guy like Mingyu, it’s only natural to catch the attention of other women. He’s tall and attractive and knows all the right things to say and do. He knows his way into a woman’s heart, and into her bed.

It’s not uncommon for women to flirt with him when you go out, but the way he responds to it is what bothers you.

He can’t seem to fully let go of his old habits.

When you started dating, you made it clear to him what you wanted and what your commitment to one another would entail. He agreed, assuring you that you were what he wanted an all he wanted.

But three years later you still find yourself having to come back to this conversation.

However, the fact still remains. Despite this being a reoccurring issue, he’s never allowed things to get physical with another woman, at least to your knowledge.

He simply likes to flirt because he enjoys the attention. He’s always loved the attention, but you’ve always hated it.

“You’re not loyal to me though. You go around flirting with other bitches and don’t listen to a word I say. It’s been three years and I still can’t get actual commitment from you.”

“Baby you know we’re locked in.” He defends.

“I don’t know that, actually . And I cant keep having this conversation with you. It’s been three fucking years and I don’t know how many more times or more ways I can tell you this shit. I’m exhausted.”

“So what? You wanna break up because some girl flirted with me at a party?”

“Fuck’s sake,” You drop the rest of your cigarette on the dirt and step on it to put it out. “You know it’s not that simple. I’ve said it a thousand times, I’m not doing it again.”

You turn around, reaching for the passenger side of the handle. “Take me home.”

You pull at it, letting out a frustrated sigh and you notice he’s locked the car. He comes up behind you, playing his hands ever so lightly on your waist. “Don’t be mad at me, you know how much I hate it when you’re upset with me.”

“I hate it when you do shit that upsets me.”

He licks his lips softly, leaning in closer to you. He presses his chest against your back and wraps his arms around your waist.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I’m gonna do better for you baby, promise. I love you.”

You hate that he’s telling you everything you want to hear. You hate that there’s so much sincerity in his voice and you already feel yourself giving in. You hate that you let this stuff slide with him and give in easily. You hate that he makes you so weak.

It’s quite sad really, especially knowing that if things were the other way around it would be completely different. Mingyu has always been possessive over you and gotten jealous easily.

You’ve never entertained other guys the way he did, and you had no problem rejecting them. But it still pissed Mingyu off. Seeing a guy approach you or stare at you a little too hard had his blood boiling.

It didn’t matter if you rejected them, Mingyu still had a sour taste in his mouth at the mere though of you with another guy.

For now, you’ll blame letting your guard down on the alcohol. You know you’d do it sober, but it’s not a fact you have an easy time accepting, at least in the moment.

He turns you around so you’re facing him and your back is pressed against the car again. He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead.

“I don’t like hurting you… I’m sorry. You’re the only one for me, my girl. Don’t need anyone else, I’m gonna be better for you.” He kisses your cheek. “You’re all I want.”

“You’re lying,” You sniffle, turning away from him. “You’re just saying that. You don’t really mean it, you don’t love me.”

He cups your cheek, turning your head and forcing you to face him. Your eyes meet and and he stares down at you with soft eyes. A small smile appears on his face.

He knows you’re giving in.

“Baby… would I be here apologizing to you and eating your pussy if I didn’t love you? You know I mean it.”

“You’re not eating my pussy.”

“Not yet I’m not.”

He flashes you that million dollar smile and you feel yourself fold completely. Your face feels hot despite the cool night air filling the atmosphere.

You feel pathetic for letting him win so easily again. But you can’t help it, not when it comes to Mingyu.

He needs no invitation to lean down and kiss you. When he does, you’re kissing him back immediately with no protest.

His hands move from your waist to your inner thighs, traveling up the skirt you have on. He leans in closer, pressing his body firmly against yours

He plays with the hem of your panties before pulling them off and dropping to his knees in front of you. He looks up at you with lust clouding his eyes.

“Let me make it up to you?” He licks his lips.

Your brain is telling you no, but you’re already nodding your head the moment he asks the question.

It’s all the invitation he needs before he’s dipping his head under your skirt and forcing your legs open. He holds you up, supporting your shaky thighs.

He licks a teasingly long stripe along your folds before diving in.

He sucks on your clit, moaning softly as your arousal begins to coat his tongue. You get wet for him so easily, it fuels his ego and desire for you.

He buries himself in your cunt, determined to get you off and make you forgive him. You’re pulling at his hair beneath your skirt and crying out his name.

“So good Gyu,” You moan breathlessly.

He eats you out so sloppily. There’s a mixture of his saliva and your arousal dripping down his chin, and the lewd sounds slipping from his lips are pornographic in nature. The cry that slips out of your lips when Mingyu bites down on your thigh hard enough to leave a mark is anything but appropriate, especially when he presses his lips back to your pussy and laughs in the middle of going down on you.

His warm tongue is bringing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

Your hands are tangled in his hair messily, pulling and grabbing at his waves desperately. You’re grinding against him, pushing your hips into his face every time his tongue glides across your clit.

You pull at his hair particularly hard, eliciting a groan from him that sends vibrations coursing through your body. It’s just enough to have you cumming on his tongue.

He laps your cunt greedily, allowing you to ride out your orgasm on his face as he cleans you up with his mouth.

He doesn’t let up until you’re pulling him by the hair and forcing him off of you. He takes the hint, finally removing himself from your cunt and looking up at you.

His face is soaked and there’s a hazy, lustful look clouding his eyes as he stares up at you. “You forgive me yet?” he asks.

You ignore him, pulling him up to his feet and holding him against your body. “Fuck me, please.”

You can feel the way his cock twitches with excitement. It’s already hard and straining against the material of his jeans. He’s relieved to hear you want this just as bad as him.

He reaches into his back pocket for the car keys to unlock it. He yanks the door open and pushes you inside. He climbs on top of your body, wedging himself between your open legs.

The car door slams shut and his lips are back on yours in no time. Your hands on him, roaming his body until you’re undoing his jeans and helping him take them off.

He places your legs onto his shoulders and slides his length into you. He fills you up perfectly, stretching your tight hole open with ease. Your warmth envelopes him, arousal coating every inch of his cock and filling the car with lewd squelching noises with each thrust.

He finds his pace quickly, pounding into you roughly the way he knows you like it. The tip of his cock brushes deep inside of you every time he bottoms out, leaving you crying out with his every movement. You can feel the weight of the car shifting beneath you every time he fucks his cock into you.

He lets out a deep groan with each thrust when he slams into you. Your arms are wrapped around his neck with your hands tangled in his hair, bringing his body in closer to you.

"Shit," You cry.

He's literally got you folded in half and fucks himself deep inside of you. There are tears welling in your eyes due to the intensity of it all.

"You take me so good baby, every time," he coos. "This cunt was fucking made for me. All mine."

You can only manage a nod in agreement.

Your breathing is growing heavier and the car windows are starting to fog up. You're squeezing him so tight, it'd be hard for him to move if you weren't so wet.

He wipes away your tears, lightly shushing you as he draws his lips closer to your ear. "You hear that baby?"

"H-huh?" You choke out.

"Hear how wet you are for me? How good I fuck you. Was fucking made for you baby," he whispers into your ear. "I'd never give this up. You're perfect for me."

His hand sneakily slips between your thighs, thumb circling your clit in small circles. It has you mewling and whimpering upon contact and you're cumming only moments later.

It's one of the most intense orgasms your body has experienced. Your legs are shaking and you're gripping his hair for dear life as you cum around him. He fucks you through it sloppily.

The sheer feeling of your walls tightening and throbbing around him is already sending him close to the edge. He lets out a long groan and drops his head into the crook of your neck as he cums.

You feel his cock twitching inside of you as he pumps you full of his cum. His eyes are screwed shut and his hips stutter as he thrusts into you sloppily.

His hips finally come to a half and he's breathing heavily onto your skin. It takes him a minute to fully come down from his own orgasm, but he sits up and slides out of you slowly.

You suddenly feel cold and empty as the loss of contact.

"You feeling okay?" He asks breathlessly.

You nod, propping yourself up onto your elbows before searching the car for your clothes to redress yourself. The two of you situate yourselves in silence. There's a faint tension lingering in the air, but the post-nut clarity hasn't hit hard enough for either of you to actually address it.

Once you're both dressed again, you relocate back to the driver and passenger seats. "Ready to go back home?"

"Yeah," You say quietly.

He starts the car back up and turns to look at you. He leans over, extending his arm to fix your hair with delicate fingers. He pats your head softly, mumbling a soft "there."

He then grabs the Aux cord and plugs your phone in. He extends his arm once again, holding your phone out to you.

There's a bitter taste on your tongue when he does so. You fight the urge to say something in the moment. But he smiles at you and leans in, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

It heals you the way a bandaid would. The sweetness of his lips is like a stamp replacing the bitterness that was on your tongue only moments ago.

It's not permanent, and you know it's only a matter of time before the bitterness returns. But you know he'll simply kiss it better and you'll just keep on going back.

_______________________________________________

#seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #mingyu smut #seventeen drabbles #seventeen angst #seventeen mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu drabbles #mingyu svt #svt mingyu #kim mingyu smut #mingyu fanfic #mingyu #kpop

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gomapda · 7 days

Text

sidewalks we crossed [side B: him.] (pt. 1)

this is broken into parts because tumblr has a limit of 1000 blocks.

side A found here!

author's note:

oh goodness. it's been a while.

i really did intend on posting this soon after i published the first part, but then life kind of got in the way. i graduated from grad school, moved to south korea, and have been here since. i'm still a carat, and i really do think about this fanfiction all the time, mainly because this story is truly me bearing my soul to the internet and my friends who have access to the original google doc.

this one is a lot less edited and looked over, but it's because this portion of the fic reminds me of something i'm still in deep grief for. so, for those of you who will read this, i was originally going to have a third installment, but i think i'll leave it at this two. it feels good and true to leave it here.

this was supposed to be published yesterday on seventeen's anni, but i was busy spending time with my korean host family who i've not been able to see that often since moving out :')

maybe i'll write short stories including these two because they are so special to me, but this main story has come to a close. the real final push was jihoon releasing "what kind of future?" officially, the very song that inspired this fic, in honor of his beautiful friend and human, moonbin. bin-ah, i hope you're sailing among the stars and looking over all of those who love you and who you love in return.

and to you, who may be reading this, thank you for being here.

✧⋆°｡☾☼꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ‧ ⨯ ς(>‿<.). ⁺ ✦ * . ˚ ⨯ ੭ * ‧☼☽⋆｡°✧

tagging @fiantomartell since you asked me to whenever i published this. it's been a long while, but.

pairing: lee jihoon/woozi (seventeen) x f!reader

genre: romance, fluff

summary: an accidental like, an off-chance comment, a purposeful message. you were in an unrequited love with your childhood best friend and decided to run away from him and your feelings and years later you find yourself in the same city with the same feelings when he stalks your instagram.

rating: 13+

length: 30k (bro WHAT LOL)

tags: idol!jihoon, childhood friend!reader, unrequited love (but not really), reconnection through instagram, this is just different scenes pieced together (including a ton of flashbacks), reader’s nicknames are all bug-themed, reader has depression and it manifests as suicidal ideation sometimes, this is basically real life (aka seventeen exists and debuted 150526), but the years are a little bit off for the trainee period, jihoon left busan later and trained for shorter for the sake of my story hehe, cursing, pining, mamamoo + ateez are the besties of reader, member x member pairings, jihoon and reader are both dumbasses, reader is extremely book smart but has one brain cell when it comes to romantic feelings, jihoon writes music like he’s been divorced 12x, word genius lee jihoon, idk how doctoral degrees work, i only got my masters and it was a non-thesis track lol, also idk how trainee auditions work either, miss communication is a lady we all know too well, super cute soft shit too tho tbh, no beta we die like men, i spent 5 hours trying to format this for tumblr and i’m still unsure

inspired by “drivers license” by olivia rodrigo and “what kind of future?” by woozi

inspo spotify playlist found here!

──────────────────

side b: him.

The rapid beating in his chest drowned out the slam of the door behind him as he rushed down the stairs of your home, desperate to just get away as soon as possible. Your parents weren’t home, so he didn’t have to worry about looking like an absolute fool in front of them.

You knew. You fucking knew.

You knew how much he was in love with you and this was your way of rejecting him.

He was stupid, so stupid. If he just put his feelings aside then you wouldn’t leave. You wouldn’t have to leave. But this was all his stupid hormones and brain chemistry and his fucking heart. He knew that it wouldn’t pan out. You never saw him as anything more than just a dear friend, a brother. You made that clear.

Since the beginning, your pinkies intertwined promised a forever, but you both had different ideas of what that was. And he was stupid to believe there was a chance.

He ran.

He ran so far and so hard that he couldn’t make sense of left or right or forward or backward. All he knew was that he needed to get away from you.

But he couldn’t.

He passed by Old Man Park’s home with a winding tree you were convinced held fae people that would only come out when the entire town was asleep (there was a 50km radius, you said).

He ran by the rusted bars of the playground you two snuck off to instead of going to cram school where you attempted a flip and promptly landed on the crown of your head, wood chips tangling themselves into your hair, tears mixed with laughter and pain streaming down your cheeks.

The library where you would spend more time in the children’s section than anywhere else because you would practice your ‘reading voice’ for your future children’s bedtime stories.

The baseball field where the realization that he was in love with you hit him harder than any fastball pitch ever could.

You were everywhere.

And he needed to get away.

He went to your house to share the news of passing the trainee audition, that was the whole purpose of seeing you.

However, that wasn’t the only thing he planned on confessing.

If you asked him to stay, he would have.

But instead, you rejected him before he even got one word out.

So, he packed his bags up for Seoul, a place untarnished by you. A city that not even your light could reach, no matter how radiant you were.

──────────────────

Years later.

“Jihoon-ah, aren’t you working too hard?”

He glanced up at Jeonghan who was probably let into the studio by Bumzu. Jihoon glanced at the clock to notice a bright 4:02am glaring back at him. “Ah, hyung. I didn’t even notice the time.”

“I figured. I brought you some food.”

Jihoon glanced down at the two bags in his hands. His eyes narrowed. “Hyung, I don’t eat as much as you think I do.”

“I’ve seen you eat three full meals in one sitting. Get away from your desk and we can eat.”

Jihoon sighed before he reluctantly left the seat he hardly moved from for over seven hours. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan replied happily, snapping the wooden chopsticks into two. He started chewing on one of the danmuji, the sound of its crunch reverberating in the studio. “Oh. And also, the wi-fi’s down at the dorm, so.”

“So, you’re here to steal my bandwidth.”

“I brought you food. I paid my toll.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes. “Alright, sure.”

“So, are you in the composing stage or the writing lyrics stage?”

“...Lyrics.”

“Hm. What are you writing about? Or rather, who are you writing about?”

Jihoon stabbed the grilled fish. “...You know who.”

“She’s really got a grip on you, huh.”

Jihoon grunted in response. Obviously.

Jeonghan continued, “I saw that one of the local newsletters interviewed the group home that she volunteers at. She was voted as volunteer of the year. Again. She smiles with her entire body. Seems like a good person.”

The younger of the two picked away at the fish, not bringing it onto his makeshift plate. “Yeah.”

“Do you still stalk her on Instagram?”

Jihoon let out a loud sigh.

“That’s a yes, then.”

“You know it’s not as bad as it used to be. I used to check, like, every few weeks, but now it’s gone down to just a couple times a year.”

“She hasn’t blocked you yet?”

“Hah. I don’t think she even knows that my account is reactivated.”

“Well, you never needed to reactivate before. Her Instagram used to be public. The rest of the members and I used to scroll through wondering how a bright girl like her could be associated with such a deadpan guy like you.”

“Wow. Thanks, hyung.”

Jeonghan merely brushed off Jihoon’s sarcasm, already used to it. “She only made it private this last year, right? Since she complains about her program being out to kill her on her story. To be honest, I’m surprised she didn’t realize you’ve been watching her stories.”

“I don’t think she checks who watches her story since she has over a few thousand followers.”

“She attracts people, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she always has.”

“Can I see her profile again?”

“You’re not going to do something weird, right?”

“Ey, Jihoon-ah.”

“That makes me really not want to.”

“Ey.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes before pulling out his phone. He opened Instagram and clicked on the “Search” feature and saw your profile appear at the top without even needing to type anything. He signaled for Jeonghan to scoot down the couch so he could sit down and handle the phone in his own hands. Jeonghan peered over his shoulder as he scrolled through your profile.

“Oh, is that Japan?”

“Yeah.”

Jihoon clicked on your post.

But it wasn’t opening.

So, he clicked again. And then again.

And his phone decided to catch up with his thumb’s movements.

The once white heart was now red.

His grip loosened on the device of betrayal and it clattered to the ground. “Oh shit.”

Jeonghan bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. He placed his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder and squeezed slightly. “I’m sorry, but. This is karma for not letting me see her profile on my own.”

“Hyung. Hyung. What should I do?”

“Just unlike it? I’m pretty sure that Instagram doesn’t send a notification as long as you unlike it before she sees it.”

“How do you know?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “Jihoon. It’s not the end of the world if she happens to see it. If she blocks you, then you know, and you end up writing another heartbreak masterpiece—” Jihoon couldn’t even appreciate the comment. “—but. Who knows what’ll happen?”

“...”

“Uh. I’ll just… do it for you, then.”

Jeonghan picked up the phone, facing the screen towards Jihoon, the camera scanning his frozen features to unlock and Jeonghan tapped the red heart to empty it again. He placed the phone back on the younger man’s thigh, but Jihoon remained in the same position as earlier, eyes glazed.

“Jihoon-ah.”

“Hyung.”

“Let’s just wait, yeah? The food’s getting cold. So, let’s finish eating.”

“...Okay.”

──────────────────

Jihoon picked at the rice bowl in front of him, his mind light years away, chest filled with concern for the future. Was auditioning for a company worth it? Even if he started the process now, wouldn’t it still take a while to even hear back?

“Jihoonie.”

His heart constricted once he heard the voice of the person who made him unsure. He caught you blinking owlishly at him. “Y/N.”

“Hrmm. You seem quite a bit down, my friend. You’ve barely touched your first bowl of rice. It’s concerning.”

“Just thinking.”

“Oh, don’t do that. We know that usually ends badly for people.”

“Well, someone between the two of us has to have brain cells.”

“I pride myself in simultaneously never thinking and also being the top student of our school.”

“You work miracles, Y/N.”

“Hey, now I know you’re down because you didn’t call me a flipping nerd. Your best moods are usually accompanied by your worst words.”

“You make me seem like an asshole. You slander me to other people, don’t you?”

“Of course. I can’t have them know just how utterly wonderful and fantastic you are. I’d rather you have that butthole reputation if I get to keep my best friend all to myself. I’m a selfish lady, you know.”

Did you even know how much your words affected him?

“You’re neither selfish nor a lady.”

“Oh, but I am. I’m a selfish lady who’s only checking on you because I refuse to be wrought with worry for the rest of the day. So, come on, Jihoonie. Let’s go play darts.”

“Last time we played you almost stabbed my hand.”

“Your fault for reaching for the board when I was about to own you. Come on. Let’s go. I’ll make a pinky promise with you.”

Jihoon snorted. “Of what?”

“I promise to do whatever you want if you win.”

Jihoon scrunched up his nose in response. You were always so naive with him, trusting him wholly. But a part of him was grateful that you did. He merely sighed and stood up.

He might as well use your promise to his advantage.

──────────────────

“She didn’t block me.”

“Oh, really?” Jeonghan glanced up at Jihoon who suddenly broke the silence.

“Who’s she?” Soonyoung’s ears perked up.

“You know. His firefly,” Jeonghan replied.

“What? Why would she block you?” Seungkwan directed his question at Jihoon, who was simply trying to edit lyrics in his own studio, which was being occupied by several SEVENTEEN members.

“Jihoon accidentally liked one of her posts last night, but we unliked it. Oh, sorry. I unliked it because he was completely frozen.”

“The notification probably didn’t go through,” Seungkwan supplied. “I’m pretty sure unliking a post makes the notification go away.”

Jihoon had set his phone aside earlier in hopes of not constantly checking it. His mind may be unsteady, but he was always self-disciplined.

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Soonyoung glance down at his own phone screen that buzzed a second prior.

“Oh. Jihoon-ah, she liked one of your posts.”

Before his mind could even catch up, Jihoon flung himself to his phone, his self-discipline be damned. He frantically clicked on the notification and it redirected him to his Instagram page, where he saw your name among the list of likers. He wasn’t sure whether his heart was racing or whether it stopped completely because the buzzing in his ears overtook all of his other senses.

He even ignored the boys’ laughter around him.

“Is… Is social media actually facilitating real connection right now? Are we about to prove all of the ahjussi and ahjumma wrong? Are we about to witness history?”

“Seungkwan-ah.”

“Sorry, Jeonghan-hyung.”

“She… She didn’t block me. She saw me. What is this? What do I do? Do I just ignore it? Or should I let her know I saw it?”

Soonyoung snorted. “Yah, I’ve never seen Jihoon this nervous for any performance ever.”

“His heart’s probably racing more than it did the Golden Disc Awards.”

“WHAT DO I DO.”

“Jihoon-hyung,” Seungkwan started. “I think the first thing you need to do is breathe.”

So, he did. In. Out. In. Out.

After what seemed like years, Soonyoung spoke up. “So… Are you gonna message her?”

Jihoon sat in contemplation for a moment before he decidedly shook his head. “No. It’s time to write a song.”

Soonyoung’s eyebrows rose at that. “You’re gonna go back to work after all of this?”

Jihoon bit his lip. “No. This is gonna be a solo song.”

The corners of Jeonghan’s lips curled up at his dongsaeng. “I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.”

Jihoon nodded almost mindlessly.

Everything about her usually is.

──────────────────

“Jihoonie~ Wake up~”

He groaned loudly under the bed covers.

He heard you snicker, the only warning before you landed with a loud thump as he let out an “oof!” from beneath you.

“Get off me. You weigh like a million pounds.”

Rather than listening, you spread your limbs and trapped the adolescent boy beneath you, nuzzling further into the outer casing of his cocoon. “Nope. Just yesterday you yelled at me for not eating enough when you flung me off of the couch by accident because I stole the remote. So.”

“I’m suffocating. You’re killing your best friend.”

“Oh, but to die with a beautiful girl on top of you, isn’t that the way to go?”

There was a moment of silence where Jihoon contemplated catapulting your entire being off of his bed before, “Pretty sure that’s your dream, you damn pervert,” came his muffled reply.

“Huh. You might be right there.”

“Get! Off!”

His hand easily found your weak point between your first and second rib and you cried out as you toppled down onto his bedroom floor. He emerged from the confines of his sheets with hair sticking up every which way.

You grinned lazily up at his disheveled state and he glared right back at you. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

“Because your mom said to come and get you! We’re going to Muju today, remember? In time for the Firefly Festival!”

“Right. It’s your yearly family reunion.”

“Yes, I will become one with the bugs. My fursona will arise again. Or is it bugsona?”

“Is a buggy better than a furry?”

“You’re asking me to choose between two evils, my dear Jihoonie. Come on, get up. I’m excited to spend an entire weekend with our family.”

It was way too early for his mind to whirr as fast as it did at the simple implication of ‘our’. “Alright, firefly. Get out of my room so I can get ready.”

“Okay! I’ll go help Mama downstairs.”

You were committed to calling Jihoon’s mom as Mama instead of Eomma, as the latter held a tone for you that was nothing less than stressful.

Jihoon smiled at your joy, but stopped when he noticed you freeze in place. “...What?”

You shifted the weight in your feet before speaking. “Mm. Just had a thought. With a smile like yours, who would ever need the summertime?”

You grinned at him while his heart stopped. You always spoke without a care in the world; never carefully crafting your thoughts before speaking them aloud. You were spontaneous. Wild, even. Sometimes it ended with you in some kind of trouble, while other times, like this one, ended with him in trouble instead.

You scurried out of his room before he could respond.

He released a dragged out sigh as he felt his cheeks warm.

Forget summertime.

He wondered whether the earth could be sustained through all of the seasons at the sheer brilliance of your smile.

But he ought to thank the summertime.

Because it meant, every year, without fail, he would wake up to you, he would smell the breakfast you helped his mother cook, he would hop on a plane to travel to a different province and see the night sky alight with hundreds of fireflies, your face aglow with soft awe and wonder.

Yeah.

He needed the summertime.

──────────────────

“What? Jihoon-hyung is talking to the girl that just upped and left him and fled the country?”

“Chan-ah, your wording needs work,” Seungcheol chastised. The other members that were near enough to hear nodded, while others were distracted by their own activities.

Jihoon buried his face in his hands. “Eugh, I don’t even know anymore. It’s not like we’re actually talking; she just reliked one of my posts. It’s like, she went back and let me know that she saw me. But is that supposed to be a warning? Is it supposed to be a white flag?”

The youngest member of SEVENTEEN shrugged. “Hyung, I think that you’re putting a lot of meaning behind something that was just a small gesture.”

“Nah, Chan,” Seungcheol interjected. “Jihoon has been in love with this girl since he was a kid. This is more than just a small gesture, after what she did to him.”

Wonwoo spoke up. “Hey, don’t forget Jihoon was the one who left Busan first.”

The accused groaned.

“Wonwoo, you’re just biased towards her because you think that she and Jihoon would make a good couple and you believe in an ideal love.”

“Hyung, I just think that if Jihoon can write what he writes about her, there’s something there.”

“You romanticist.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Jihoon-ah, I think you’ve tried to reach her with your words time and time again, but maybe it was never made clear that she was the one it was for. You mentioned that she really thought you were in love with your noona—” Jihoon grimaced at the memory. “—so, maybe she’s just unaware.”

“She can’t be that oblivious,” Soonyoung interrupted. Jihoon knew Soonyoung was almost fiercely protective over him because he was the one who witnessed Jihoon’s aftermath firsthand. Soonyoung may be over-the-top some days, but whenever Jihoon needed it, he would help ground him.

Wonwoo’s eyes flicked between the two of his fellow 96ers. “We were all kids once, Soonyoung. We were all so focused on ourselves we couldn’t really see what was happening around us.”

Soonyoung pursed his lips. “...I guess. Jihoon, what do you think?”

Jihoon stared at his hands. “Does it matter whether she knew back then or not?”

They all collectively raised a brow.

“Whattaya mean?” Seungcheol asked.

“I can make a ton of assumptions about her. That she was actually in love with me and was scared. That she was rejecting me in her own cruel, yet kind, way. That she had no idea and the timing was just completely off. But all of that, I don’t actually know. All I do know is that… I want to see her. And not just from afar anymore. But part of me also hates her. But all of me misses her. I don’t know. I guess I’m just too stupid to figure this out.”

A heavy silence passed over the group.

Soonyoung broke it. “If you’re stupid, then I’m the biggest idiot on this planet.”

“That’s not comforting, that’s just a fact.”

“Hoon, you wound me.”

──────────────────

Award shows were weird.

At first, everything was an out-of-body experience for him and could barely process what was happening. He even couldn’t believe that he and his twelve members managed to earn their matching pinky rings and the right to produce and perform, let alone be nominated for an award. When they went on the stage, they did their best to be as refreshing of idols as they could be.

But it was much more daunting than they were used to.

Their debut year went by, and although there were many nominations, they remained only that.

In middle school, he would often tell you that you had a strange fixation on being number one in your graduating class. He said that he didn’t get it, that being in the top 5 was already something that was admirable.

He would never forget the look you gave him when you said, “One day, you’ll know what it’s like. You’ll know what it’s like to almost have something and then not. It’s the kind of feeling that eats away at you, Jihoon. The feeling of, ‘But what if I did more?’”

He merely rolled his eyes and called you dramatic.

That is, until he experienced it firsthand.

The first time ever was when he was doing a music competition for clarinet and compared himself to his bandmate, who received several achievements while Jihoon found that he simply didn’t have the body to be able to hold the same lung capacity.

Then he felt it: that driving force.

You both pushed yourselves further, to higher heights.

And it ended with him sick and bedridden.

And you, heartbroken and unsure of life.

The two of you would reprimand each other for trying too hard, but even with accountability, that envy, that desire for an indisputable win, that fear of failure, would still sneak its way into you both. You, with your academics. Him, with his musical endeavors.

For several years after their debut, at award shows, Jihoon would clap, the rhythmic beating of his hands echoing that in his chest, his smile lined with bitterness, his ears rang with the whispered voices.

‘Those people didn’t deserve it. You worked so much harder. These people don’t even produce their own music. Or maybe it’s because they have real producers and composers, unlike you. Who are you to think you deserve that award?’

One night, after another show of no wins, he collapsed onto his bed, unlocking his phone, intent on watching an anime episode before falling asleep. His members were discouraged and no one wanted to discuss what more they could even do.

Even if they did everything right, maybe it still would never be good enough.

When he opened up the YouTube app on his phone, he saw a recommended video. Your name written out in English caught his eye and he realized it was Part II of a podcast you had done with the channel before. It was a Korean-American podcast and you would share your experiences in the Korean language, connecting with your culture despite being in a foreign country.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he clicked on it, hoping to find comfort in a person he always had, in someone he probably always would.

Several minutes in and he realized just how thick that red string must be between the two of you.

“You know, I thought I undid a lot of my perfectionism before coming to college. Korea is the birthplace of comparison and pressure, I’m sure of it. It was ingrained into me from childhood. So, I did what I could. I got out. Learned to broaden my horizons. But when you attend a school like Yale, your environment really just kinda forces you to be perfect just so that you can survive. Because if you’re not, then you’re cut.”

He thought back to his trainee days.

To his current days.

How similar.

“I remember being at an event where we were being presented awards for our achievements. I remember that I was in the running for one of them, and I won’t say which one so this doesn’t come back to bite me. But at this one event, I remember no other guests were invited, only the nominees and peers in the same field. And when they announced the winner, everyone applauded, of course. However, I won’t ever forget the sight that I saw.”

You chewed on your lips, gazing upward trying to find the right words to say, a habit you’ve had for years.

“The winner had the biggest grin on their face, proud of themselves, as they are allowed to be. But when they turned back to the crowd? I think they saw something. I think they saw that our smiles were forced, that we were judging them, judging ourselves, trying to determine whether they actually deserved the recognition or whether we should have been the ones to win. And… their smile faltered. It was quick, but it was noticeable. And I think the only reason why it even faltered was because it was only those of us who were nominated or could have been. Like, it’s easy to cheer on someone for a prize that you didn’t want, but as soon as you have stakes in the game? Well. That’s a whole different story. But when they lost that smile, it felt like something shattered.”

Your eyes welled up with tears, but they didn’t fall.

“They say it’s lonely at the top. I haven’t been there in a long time, but. I don’t even know if that’s where I want to be. These people have done super cool things, and who’s to say that I would’ve gotten the same results if I had tried? And maybe, maybe they have enough competitors. Maybe they need someone who celebrates them. Someone who knows the hardships of working in this field. And maybe that’s what I can do. I just want to do what I love and what I love doing is social work. Celebrating other people. Learning their stories. Not saving the world, but trying to make it into one that might be worth saving. If I happen to get recognized because of doing those things and they give some kind of trophy for it, then alright. But that’s just a byproduct of the greatest award I’ve already given myself, which is just letting myself do what I love.”

And those were words he carried with him as he went to bed that night.

When they won their first award. Their first Bonsang. Their first Daesang.

Award shows were weird.

It was all about performance.

Performing on stage, prepped through sound-check, clean-cut choreography, and pre-recorded live vocals to grab the audience’s attention.

Performing when at their designated table, giving reactions at a timely rate for both the fancams and large screen cameras.

Performing when behind the stage, being the best hoobae or sunbae they needed to be, adapting to whatever situation they may be placed in.

He knew how to perform. He was good at it.

It was why he’s in this industry.

But there are some things that don’t warrant worrying about an audience.

As he watched the seven members of BTS walk towards the stage, reaching for their Daesang. He clapped to match the rhythm in his chest, sure and steady, at ease. His smile, genuine and wide. The voice in his head, not unlike yours mixed with his own, provided gentle comfort.

‘They deserved it. They worked hard, just like you did. Their ability to collaborate with other musicians is astounding. It would be an honor to work with them. And you, too, have won, you’ve given yourself the greatest award by continuing to do what you love.’

──────────────────

Jihoon once again found himself at the recording studio, however, at a more reasonable time. He was trying to finalize all of the details on the songs for their comeback album, so he was spending his days in the recording studio and ending it in the dance studio, fully exhausted to where he would only have enough energy to shower and trudge back to his bedroom, just to pass out on his bed.

He heard the door to his room open but didn’t make an effort to turn around.

“How’s the song coming along?”

“The album is nearly complete—”

“No, the solo one.”

Jihoon finally glanced up at Seungcheol who now stood beside him. “I haven’t had as much time to work on it. Why?”

“No, I just wanted to check in with you.”

“You’re a good leader, hyung,” he said quietly.

Seungcheol clicked his tongue. “Of course, I am. But I’m mostly just curious because you’ve never written a song about her specifically that only had you singing it.”

“…that’s not true.”

“What? Which one?”

“The first song I ever wrote.”

“Oh what? What was it?”

Jihoon shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s an old song that I think only I remember anyway, plus, I only had vocals at the time. No instruments or anything.”

“…huh. What was it about?”

──────────────────

You wiped your snot away from your face, unable to differentiate between mucus and tears. Your unrelenting sobs weakened to light shudders.

His voice carried from above you, his hand entangled in your messy knots as he rubbed soothing circles against your temple. You curled yourself further into the tear-stained pillow he so lovingly dubbed, “Y/N’s Breakdown Headrest” which also doubled as “Y/N’s Punching Bag” when your emotions were forged from fire and not a dam that couldn’t hold anymore of the taunts and cruelty from your own parents.

His thigh was a mere hair’s breadth away from grazing the top of your head. He had a tendency to bounce his leg, one you continuously called him out on, but he wouldn’t ever stop his bad habit.

That is, unless you needed him to.

And he always gave you what you needed.

So, he sang to you a song of hopes and dreams and the magic of forever and always. Lyrics of never-ending friendship and pinky promises.

──────────────────

Jihoon paused, wondering how you comforted yourself now, wondering if you now had a Breakdown Headrest 2.0, before he spoke again. “It’s about what all the songs I write are about. Love. Although, more lowkey, not as direct.”

“Love and her are synonymous to you, aren’t they?”

“She’s the one who taught me most of it,” Jihoon said nonchalantly. “A truly honest and genuine form of it.”

“Wow, how romantic of you,” Seungcheol laughed.

Jihoon rolled his eyes. “I’m letting you know I only have the patience to tolerate all of you guys because of her. She believes it’s her divine mission to be as annoying as possible.”

“She sounds terrifying.”

“Yeah, she’s taught me how to be patient and remain calm. But she was also incredibly patient with me. Honestly, it feels like all the things that make me likable are all from her.”

Seungcheol made a “oOooOooOOOooOOooo~” noise before Jihoon got fed up and kicked him out. Of course, his reprieve was short lived as more and more members flocked into his room, a constant moving traffic of his twelve brothers.

He imagined you meeting them.

With Seungcheol, you would probably tease him relentlessly, trying to come up with new names for the S. Coups game, while also thanking him for being so protective and steadfast, praising him for his taste in emo music and asking him to sing My Chemical Romance with you.

With Jeonghan, you both would sneak off to devise plans on how to create chaotic dynamics in between the members and cause more infighting while eating stolen snacks or spend hours just sitting around, doing fuck all, because why not.

With Jisoo, you both would speak in English (with you affectionately calling him by his English name “Joshua!”), sharing music as well as probably arguing between Los Angeles and New York, since that was a common feud topic Jisoo brought up.

With Jun, you would try to get as many reactions out of him as possible or get him to write down the list of all of the authentic Chinese restaurants around Korea or you would sit with him at a piano and watch as he played OSTs to Chinese dramas, applauding all the while starry-eyed.

With Soonyoung, you both would either be each other’s soulmates or the banes of each others’ existence, both fiery and passionate; however, you were always good at matching the energies of those around you, so you would let him ebb and flow while you merely followed, likely to call him, “Hoshingi,” just as Jeonghan does, and you would probably love caring for him the same way you did with elementary school students.

With Wonwoo, you would watch him play his PC games, probably in awe of his prowess or you would discuss lyricism and poetry, both exchanging flowery words for no reason as you would try to pick his brain as to what really lies beneath the surface, whether he truly is as straightforward as he seems, and be intensely satisfied that he simply is as he is.

With Seokmin, likely to sweetly call him “DK~”, you would ask him to sing for you since you loved Broadway style voices, and since you both were so generous with your kindness, there would be no doubt that the two of you would somehow manage to start up a non-profit that manages to eradicate all the bad in the world.

With Mingyu, you would discuss filming and the latest movies to watch and you would ask him how he finds the motivation to do many different hobbies at once especially when busy with being an idol; you would probably try to trick him into listening to you tell ghost stories as if they happened to you.

With Minghao, you would share your favorite poets and philosophical ideas, sharing the life lessons that you two have learned and realized you managed to hack life’s code at a younger age than most, you both realized the real importance of being alive: contentment and love.

With Seungkwan, you would probably be laughing so hard at his wit that you wouldn’t have much time to breathe, you would try to figure out how exactly he managed to memorize so much information surrounding K-Pop and why exactly he was so passionate about it or if neither of those, you would ask him if he could get you the plug for those Jeju hallabong oranges.

With Hansol, you would call him “Vernonz,” since you loved names that began with the letters V and Z, and ask him about his parents once you found out they were both artists, and you two would definitely discuss the effects of late-stage capitalism and social media on humanity.

With Chan, you would do your best not to baby him, but you hold a lot of fondness for those younger than you, you would try to figure out how he is so particular about his attention to detail and whether it is something that is pressuring him (and if there was some way you could alleviate it).

He imagined you there, integrated into his life again. He imagined you showing authentic interest in every one of his precious members, unlike most interviewers they would be forced to interact with every comeback. You would learn all of their names, find out their favorite foods, the best way to make everyone collectively laugh, and ultimately, how to help all of them feel comfortable around you and inevitably love you.

And once they did, he could say that his most beloved people were finally all together.

He fell in love with you, but you’re the one who taught him how to walk into it with his eyes wide open. So, he did it with his members. It took practice, having to actively choose them. With you, it may have always been a choice, but it was as natural as breathing, even if there were times he felt like he was being suffocated (or wanted to suffocate you).

He remembered the first time he became aware of it. Most people talk about how love comes, there was always talk about rose-tinted glasses and how it softened the world around them, unable to forget the brilliant smile on their face, but no. You always shattered expectations.

From anyone else’s standards, his realization came at an inopportune time. But it was so clear. It wasn’t as though you had sparkles around you as you emitted a warm glow, it wasn’t as though your hair was perfectly touched up with no strand out of place, it wasn’t as though you were perfectly dolled-up with eyes lined and lips colored. No. It was just… you.

And that's when he knew.

Because there was no filter to block the sheer clarity he was hit with when he finally accepted he was in love with you.

──────────────────

When Jihoon saw your crying form, a slurry of words filled with concern and instructions were the only thing leaving his mouth as he packed his things up. He only deviated once he gave a quick farewell to his noona who left with her dad.

Jihoon bit his lip. Would you be okay? Maybe he’ll just rush home now and shower then call you later at night. Or maybe he should go prepare his bedroom if you decide to visit. Yes. He should do that.

Jihoon turned on his heel to make his way back home, his newfound mission resounding in his mind.

However, your cousin’s voice reached his ears, “Wait—Jihoon, I can give you a ride.”

He looked back at him, saw the way your shoulders still trembled, and shook his head firmly. His fist clenched, the baseball preventing his nails from biting into his palms. He spun it once. Twice. And up into the air.

“Here, firefly.”

You caught it by instinct.

Your gaze met his.

He felt his heart ache at the sheer brokenness apparent in your eyes, rimmed with red and puffed skin. He grit his teeth. He hasn’t seen you cry this hard since the day your parents told you that your number two class ranking was nothing to be proud of and that they expected more from you.

His jaw clenched so hard, he heard an audible bite.

“Why are you giving me this?”

Your voice sounded so soft, like a child. A visceral instinct within him wanting to lull you into a peaceful rest with a lullaby.

But he wouldn’t do that.

Because that would be embarrassing.

(That was a future Jihoon problem.)

“It’s your win today.”

He much preferred the look of confusion on your face to the look of agony you held just a few moments ago.

“Huh?”

He swallowed thickly, his brain unable to keep up with the words tumbling from his mouth. “Even when you feel like you’ve lost, even when you feel like you have nothing to gain, just the fact that you’re still here, that’s a win. So. Scream. Cry. You can do what you want. It’s your win.”

Your gaze trailed down to the baseball, too large to wrap your fingers around entirely. It was probably much denser than you thought it would be, the weight foreign in your hands, unlike his.

You sniffled.

A soft smile formed on your lips.

And Jihoon realized he preferred that look on your face than any other he’s seen.

Pretty.

He rapidly turned on his heel before he even gave a second to try and unpack that thought.

The weight of his baseball gear was really doing a number on his heart, he realized belatedly.

That night, he didn’t prepare his room. He didn’t even call you.

(Not that you reached out.)

He merely stared up at his ceiling, his heart in a constant flux of rapidly beating or stopping completely.

He groaned loudly as he played through the day’s earlier events, thinking himself stupid for giving you a fucking baseball. You don’t even like sports. Did he think he sounded cool when he said all of that cringey stuff?

It’s your win?

But despite the feeling of wanting to curl in on himself, he couldn’t help but still agree with his earlier self.

You did win his heart, after all.

(He threw his pillow at the wall.)

──────────────────

“You’ve been liking her posts more easily.”

Jihoon merely grunted as he tapped away at his computer, Soonyoung on the couch beside him. “I decided to just… stop overthinking. Well, more like just stop thinking in general. I’m too tired to try and pretend I’m smarter than I actually am.”

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. “You got it bad for her.”

Jihoon glared at him, who was scrolling through his (Jihoon’s) phone. “Be careful what you say. For the amount of songs that are about her, she covers basically 60% of your salary.”

Soonyoung laughed. “Guess I owe her a lot, huh? If she didn’t up and leave, you wouldn’t have come here and we would’ve never met. So, I guess I’m grateful to her. Plus. She’s cute.”

“She’s more than that.”

“Yeah. I can tell,” Soonyoung went quiet for a moment. “She… A part of me really doesn’t want to trust her. I keep remembering that day, you know. Where you just… didn’t seem like yourself. Barely there—” Jihoon cringed at the recalled memory. “—but she also just seems so genuine that it makes it hard. I want to be your bro, you know? Bro code and all—”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“—And I’m nothing if not a bro. But I don’t think you’re the type of person to be hung up on someone who’s not trustworthy. Like. You lose interest in people easily if you don’t see them on a regular basis. But her? It’s been years, bro.”

“Okay, bro.”

“Just letting you know I support you in your decisions,” Soonyoung stated, but there was an edge to his voice that sounded as though he was trying to convince himself more than Jihoon. “If she’s really who you say she is. If she’s the one who’s captured that stubborn heart of yours. Then I’ll do everything I can to help you out—Oh, she posted again. Wow. She posts often and yet still gets over a thousand likes. It hasn’t even been a day. Oh wow!”

Jihoon twitched but tried not to show his eagerness. “What?”

“They’re doing a donation drive for the group home that she works with. Ey, how can someone who does volunteer work to help kids and teens be a bad person? Jihoon, are you kidding me?”

“Young-ah, you’re the one who said it, not me—”

“So close-minded, Hoon.”

Jihoon rolled his computer chair over to Soonyoung, snatched his phone back, and smacked the annoying gnat’s hand in the process. Soonyoung yelped in pain, but laughed it off. He saw your post (noticed that Soonyoung ‘liked it for him’) and a figurative lightbulb lit up over his overworked head.

“This looks like something Bumzu-hyung would post on his story. Maybe I can ask him to share it. Oh, but this is her private page. Oh wait. She tagged the group home.”

“Thanks for the play-by-play.”

Jihoon ignored him and clicked the profile to see they had the exact same e-flyer post. But he knew that you’d probably notice there was an influx of donations (hardly anything got by you) and he didn’t want to bombard you with unsolicited help.

But it’s for a good cause!

But he might be trespassing on her territory.

Everyone cares about youth and kids!

This group home wouldn’t have even caught his eye had it not been for you.

He groaned inwardly. “I don’t know whether I should ask Bumzu to reshare or what—”

“Dude, just ask her if you can share it and then wait for her reply. It’s not like there’s only a one day donation thing.”

Jihoon blinked at Soonyoung. “You’re right.”

Soonyoung immediately sat up straighter, pulling out his own phone from his pocket. He opened up his voice memo app. “Say that again, I need to record that so I can set it as my ringtone.”

Soonyoung pressed the Record button, extended his phone receiver to Jihoon, who leaned in promptly and said:

“Fuck off, Kwon Soonyoung.”

──────────────────

“Kwon Soonyoung, what the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean? It’s not like I planned this.”

Jihoon glared at the boy before him who was somehow wearing matching clothes again. He specifically came home after rehearsal to change into something different and yet, here he was, matching with this endless energy ball. Jihoon specifically changed out of his all-black garment to choose a long, plain blue button-down overshirt and ripped, dark jeans. Something different from his usual style of a t-shirt and shorts.

Yet, there Soonyoung was, in nearly the same outfit, minus the overshirt being a blue flannel.

“I think this just means that we’re soulmates, Jihoon-ah.”

Jihoon pulled back his fist as if to hit Soonyoung, but the latter didn’t flinch at all, only laughed at the expense of his friend. The other members were downstairs waiting for them so Jihoon didn’t have enough time to change out of the outfit. And it felt almost ridiculous to give this more attention than it deserves, as if he was losing by admitting that it bothered him to the point of needing to change clothes.

But Kwon Soonyoung, the man that he was, would not let him live it down.

“Wow, we look like a couple. We should go on dates, huh? Get some sushi or–ack!”

The shorter of the two pressed his foot against the back of the other’s knee and Soonyoung nearly came crashing down had it not been for his instincts to catch himself.

Jihoon huffed down the stairs, shaking his head at the situation and readying himself to be made fun of by his members. Once he got through that door, it was game over.

And he was right.

Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Dino were the ones who rallied the rest of the group to heckle, which only added insult to injury, as those three were the ones who had the longest rap sheet to make fun of. Jihoon kept his disgusted face on as Soonyoung wrapped his arms around his shoulders, announcing to (what seemed like) the world about how he’s ‘matching with his best friend.’

Jihoon came back with a slew of half-hearted insults at the rest of his members, but they unfortunately outnumbered him. He is rarely on the receiving end of this level of teasing, but he was dragged into it thanks to Soonyoung, who was eating it up.

Even in the midst of it all, Jihoon couldn’t help but feel thankful that he even had someone to accidentally match with who would wear it with such pride and not shy away from it. Sure, it might seem dumb and annoying, but it reminded him that he could have that kind of playful relationship with others outside of you. He had other friends in school or at baseball, sure, but none were as comfortable, as relentlessly fun. He thought there would never be another you.

And there never was, but that feeling of acceptance, of joy, of gratitude.

He was able to find it outside of you.

Which was a heartbreaking realization before, but now he only hopes you’ve done the same.

And mere hours after his own outfit debacle, Jihoon sees your instagram story to find you accidentally matching with Hyejin, her making the same face that he did not too long ago. But you had a shit-eating grin, no doubt proud of causing a disruption in your friend’s life.

Your caption read: “oh, you and your soulmate are tied by a single, red thread? that’s nothing compared to the matching threads we got on right now. eat your heart out, makoto shinkai.”

Beneath it in smaller letters: “if you can’t tell by her face, this was not planned at all, but man, am i really rolling with it.”

Jihoon snorted at the serendipity of it all.

Perhaps the string of fate really isn’t just a single thread.

──────────────────

It was a rare day in which Jihoon found himself at home.

Which meant he had a lot of time to think about you.

(You replied to him. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. But he was, pleasantly so. Of course, it included a thumbs up emoji which was the visual manifestation of the acquaintance zone, but he would take what he could get.)

Album preparations were underway, and although there is a part of him that feels as though he should be scrambling, especially as their anniversary date was literally tomorrow, he thought back to a voice from his youth.

Years ago, he laid in his childhood bed, struck with a nasty fever from pushing his immune system too far by attempting to balance school and various music competitions. There was a half-asleep you, exhausted by misplaced guilt, with your fingers intertwined with his, who said: Jihoonie, Koreans always say ‘fighting’. I told you that this morning, and I knew you weren’t feeling well. I could’ve stopped you. And now here you are. I said ‘fighting,’ but why? Why do we have to fight? Life isn’t a battle to win. You don’t have to overcome anything, okay? You can just lay here and be with me. Please don’t get sick again. Please remember to rest. Some days, it’s okay to just be.

So, here he was. Simply being.

Whenever massive events (like SEVENTEEN’s six year anniversary) happened, he made sure to spend the 24 hours prior doing nothing than just being, to gain enough energy to last the following day.

Otherwise, the nagging guilt would get to him.

You were always weaving stories with even the thinnest of threads. Your knack for adding dramatic flair, amping it up to eleven, was a nightmare sometimes. For example, when he got sick and you kept repeating that you should’ve said something instead of letting him go on stage only to nearly faint afterwards. You took on too much responsibility for things outside of your control, which only caused you to lose your grip on what you actually could.

His chest tightened at the thought of you losing your grip completely. There were very few things in life that terrified him, but you potentially ending yours was one that plagued him until he learned how to remain steady when you were feeling unsure, and even still, it tore him up inside. But he knew that it wasn’t his battle to face; he wasn’t meant to save you. You reminded him of that time and time again, so instead, he learned how to let you live the life you weren’t sure you wanted. He observed warily.

As a teenager, he knew just how bad these thoughts could get for people at that age. He knew how people fell prey to the lies that they were unworthy of life and love.

So, he simply tried to be as honest as possible. He would do his best to not invalidate your experience, but he refused to enable those insidious feelings. He would come off as abrasive, he was sure, but your ability to detect bullshit was like no other. Your parents had a big hand in that. So, instead, he was truthful in his own way, in his own language, one that you learned to understand.

A few years ago, you did a two-part YouTube podcast at Yale. The first one was released a couple of months prior to the second, and he’s sure at least one hundred of the views are from SEVENTEEN (not all him, his members also took away a lot from your words).

He listened to that podcast time and time again. He heard the life in your voice, the curiosity of the future outweighing the pain of the past. You said that life was, at first, a means to be with the people you loved. But you slowly came to believe that life was something that you would choose to love every single day, and so you did.

He hoped that you still did, but trusted that, if there were days that would come where you did not, you would reach out to someone to wait with you until the storm passed and you could choose to love again.

His chest filled with pride thinking about how far you’ve come.

But he couldn’t help but wish there were some things that remained from back then.

That glimmer of hope spurred him to become mindful of the object he was fiddling with in his hands. He held up a bracelet of years ago, hardly worn by time or by him. He wasn’t sure whether he was still allowed to. It was one-half of a pair, but if its partner no longer existed, then.

However, he never had the desire to throw it away.

The metal charms felt both foreign and at home in his hands as he fiddled with them, the faint clicking sound of the chain barely registering as his mind was in an entirely different place. His eyes focused once again on the charm of the sun caught between his fingers.

If only catching you was as simple, he mused.

Jihoon sighed and covered his eyes, desperately trying not to cringe at his internal monologue, habitually reaching for the Chopper plushie that you gifted him years ago, squeezing the body to diffuse the embarrassment he felt.

He remembered when he saw the charms at some random shop he heard about from others and thought you would enjoy, so he decided to scope it out in advance for the two of you. It was easy, on his way home after spending a few hours on his own to rehearse his clarinet, a regular occurrence.

Although there was no doubt the two of you gravitated towards each other, you both valued your independence and alone time.

──────────────────

“We’re giving us the chance to miss each other, Jihoonie.”

“Who said I’d ever miss you?”

“Well, gosh darn. Guess I’ll cover for you and miss you twice as much.”

“…You’re dumb.”

“Yes. Can I have some of your fries?”

──────────────────

He retaliated by taking the ketchup bottle and squeezing them all over the tray of fries and you immediately retracted, believing that fries should be dipped in its respective sauce (unless they were loaded fries, of course, which warranted using a utensil of sorts).

He chuckled to himself. Fifteen was one of the most turbulent years of his life, but there were plenty of moments (like fries drowning in ketchup) that reminded him it wasn’t all intense.

Your fifteenth year started off with that charm bracelet.

Two weeks before then, you were so moody that he nearly gave you your birthday gift earlier than he intended, just so he wouldn’t have to see you be so upset (for which, he has only a vague remembrance of what could have made you so upset). Of course, it might have been easier if he had simply brought up his concern and asked how you were, but he knew you would have brushed it off as nothing.

He paused.

Did he know that though?

Or did he just assume?

He clicked his tongue, annoyed at his own self-reflection.

Communication was easy in theory.

Application, however.

He often found it difficult, matching your pace.

You were always so quick.

Quick-witted.

Quick to anger.

Quick to assume.

Quick to run away.

He heard a soft knock at his bedroom door (which meant it wasn’t Mingyu or Soonyoung) and he grunted in response. The door slowly opened (that ruled out Seungcheol and Chan) and revealed who decided to greet him in such a manner.

Ah, he was right.

“Woozingi~”

“Jeonghan-hyung.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Jeonghan moved to sit at the edge of Jihoon’s bed, with his legs crossed. “The members are wanting to get dinner tonight altogether since we have a schedule tomorrow. The staff said they’ll pay since it’s our six years.”

This had Jihoon propping himself upright. “Barbecue?”

Jeonghan snickered. “Yeah, it’ll be good to get ready in a few hours. But I just wanted to stop by and tell you in person since I know you like to mute the group chat.”

“That’s because it’s constantly going off,” Jihoon grumbled.

“Yes, that happens when people are trying to have a conversation, Jihoon-ah. You should try it sometimes. Especially since it sounds like you have communication issues.”

Jihoon winced. “Hyung. Your timing is terrible.”

“No, it’s impeccable. Just not for you. Anyway, a word of advice.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t have to fear rejection anymore,” Jeonghan started, slowly, the words seeming almost foreign in his mouth. “Regardless of what happens with her, you have people in your life that care about you as you are. You don’t have to try and match her. I don’t want you to subconsciously fall back into a habit of appeasing her because you’re afraid of scaring her away again.”

Jihoon blinked slowly. “I wasn’t expecting actual advice, so I’m a little stunned right now.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “I’m gonna be honest. The other members told me to come talk to you because the rest are either too scared or don’t know what to say.”

“Hah, we’re back to our trainee days, huh?”

Jeonghan grinned, probably recalling the amount of times that he was the emotional support pillar of the boys before they each learned to open up to each other. “Speaking of, I remember when I first met you. You were a teen with a cold-hearted exterior and a lot of opinions as well as the weight of the world on your shoulders. You had the responsibility to carry the music of twelve other guys and you had just lost something that was precious to you. You threw yourself into your work and that became your identity.”

“I—”

“I know you’re not that way anymore, but I’m just reminding you that, no matter what happens with her, no matter how she may respond, you aren’t that cold teenager who had to bear the weight all on your own. You’ve grown and are surrounded by people who can help ease the load.” Jeonghan paused for a moment. “Also, if I could think of a member who laughs easily at anything, you are one of the first that comes to mind. So, it concerns me that you haven’t been laughing lately, even when Mingyu accidentally sneezed out his ramyeon noodles—“ Jihoon snorted at the memory from last night. “—and, if I can assume anything about her, I don’t think she’d be very honored to know that it’s because of her. So. Come back to us, Jihoon. If she’s really meant to be in your life, she can match your rhythm. Don’t leave us in the dust.”

“Is this a long-winded way of saying ‘bros before hoes’?”

Jeonghan burst into laughter. “Maybe so!”

──────────────────

“Our Jihoonie~”

The teenage boy grunted in response, shooting up a look at one of the older members. “Is there something that you need, hyung?”

“You speak so formally, it’s off-putting.”

“That’s because someone refuses to act his age.”

“What a tough Busan guy,” Jeonghan teased.

Jihoon’s face twitched.

“Bumzu-hyung is looking for you. Said he wanted to finish up some more lessons.”

“Agh. I knew he was going to have criticisms. I’m barely getting a grip on this music production stuff, so I don’t even know if what I’m making is good enough to sell. Everyone might hate it.”

“Even if everyone else hates your music, just know I’m one of your biggest fans.”

“...If my music is hated, then we won’t make any money, which means you’ll be poor. What? Is it your dream to become poor?”

Jihoon expected Jeonghan to laugh and tell him that he was right and that money mattered. But instead, Jeonghan replied, “Jihoon. Your music is good. And if we don’t make money because other people aren’t able to see it. Then what’s the point? You say that it’s your responsibility as to whether SEVENTEEN succeeds or not, but, we’re thirteen members. Three units. One team. We’re SEVENTEEN. Stop acting like it’s all about you. Maybe my dream used to be becoming rich. But now, it’s just doing this. With all of us.”

──────────────────

Jihoon stared at his hands, at the charm bracelet. “Is it selfish to want this life and her as well?”

“Maybe it is. But, so what if you’re selfish?”

“Isn’t being selfish supposed to be a bad thing?”

“Just hope that she’s as selfish as you are,” Jeonghan shrugged. “By wanting her in your life, does that mean you want to be with her romantically?”

Jihoon paused. “You know, I’m not sure. I think I would be over the moon if we could even just be a part of each other’s lives. To have that line of communication open. But as the people that we are now. I think I’d like to meet the new Y/N. She probably has more in common with the new Lee Jihoon than the old her anyway.”

“You two have grown apart, aren’t you worried?”

Jihoon went silent for a moment, trying to pick out the right words. “Rather than grown apart, it feels like we’ve simply grown in separate spaces, by taking different routes, but our lives seem too intertwined for our paths to never cross again. Plus, she’s one of the few people that I could really be myself around. It’d be nice to have another safe space like that outside of SEVENTEEN because who else can I complain about you all to, that wouldn’t cause conflict between us?”

“Ay. What is there to complain about?”

Jihoon gave his hyung a pointed look.

“Alright, alright,” Jeonghan started. “But be honest. Real talk. You really think she wouldn’t spread it to Dispatch?”

“She has always valued people’s stories more than anything, so it really annoyed her when other people would take out-of-context excerpts and twist them. So. That’s how I know she wouldn’t spread it. Also, if she was that kind of person, she would’ve done so by now. She has a ton of blackmail material on me.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Interesting. You said she likes stories, so is she a writer like you?”

“Not in the traditional sense. She’s more of a speaker than a writer. In high school, of course, she had her awkward moments like everybody else did, but even then, she was a tier above the rest. I don’t know how to say this kindly, but she doesn’t really think before she talks, but she doesn’t usually have to because what comes out is almost always what she intended.”

“So, she must be eloquent then.”

Jihoon clicked his tongue. “Just because things come out as she intended doesn’t mean she wouldn’t intentionally be mean or annoying.”

──────────────────

“You like unnie, don’t you?”

Jihoon spluttered. Shit, shit, shit. He tried to gather his thoughts, but failed. He wasn’t good with spontaneous spoken words, that was always your realm of expertise. He needed time to think of the right thing to say, but you never waited for him. “F-Firefly, I—”

You barked out a laugh, and he nearly retaliated at the harshness. He wasn’t sure why exactly you were being so harsh. “Hey, it’s fine. I don’t blame you. She’s pretty high up there, above us mortals. From now on, I’ll do my best to help you out, yeah? That’s what best friends are for. Plus, you’re like family, like a brother to me, so.”

Jihoon sank back.

Family? Brother?

He wondered why that left a bitter taste in his mouth. But that didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t being called family the highest praise?

So why the hell did that piss him off?

Instead of speaking his actual thoughts, his mouth had a mind of its own. “I can handle myself, Y/N.”

You sneered at him.

God, you were so infuriating sometimes.

She wasn’t like that.

She was the soothing waves of Busan, ebb and flow, constant and expected. She was everything you weren’t. She was older, more experienced, graceful, calm, soothing.

She was beautiful.

But she didn’t have that burning fire you did. Didn’t have him reacting the way you managed to every time you opened your damn mouth or rolled your eyes—there you went again!

What the hell was wrong with you?

Rapid escalation, raised voices. You, accusing him of not trusting your judgment and hiding his crush from you, saying that you wished he trusted you. Him, arguing that he didn’t need to share every little thing, that it wasn’t about his trust for you at all, and that God, he did! He did trust you! Of course, he did!

So, why didn’t he tell you about the stupid crush?

It wasn’t that deep, but you were convinced it was, and he was too tired to even try and correct you. So, sure, he could be “in love” with his noona, like you believed. Because then he wouldn’t have to untangle the mess in his chest. He could shove it under the rug like he always had, always would.

You slammed your fists down onto the table before you walked away from him, in a rampage. Like a damn wildfire trying to clear everything in sight.

You were a volatile thing, explosive, even.

But.

You fizzled out just as fast.

He awoke around midnight to the soft knocking at his window, your silhouette perched on the thickest branch the tree outside his childhood home had to offer. He had half a mind to not open the glass pane but he saw you shiver and his body leaped out of bed without a second thought.

“I’m sorry, Jihoonie,” you said, a few moments after you clambered into his room.

“Okay.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for being friends with me anyway.”

“Sure.”

So, he wrapped your favorite blanket around you, the one he kept in his room for nights like this. Color slowly returned to your face and he saw the stains of tears on your cheek in the moonlight. You muttered words of apologies and told him about your day, not having the chance to earlier.

You were better like this, quiet, but not silent. Like a crackling fireplace beckoning all to come and listen, to be enveloped in warmth and light.

He never once called you his family.

But he’d be damned if you weren’t his home.

──────────────────

“Funny enough, despite the fact that she’s more of a speaker than a writer, even more than that, she’s a listener. She listens to more stories than she tells them. I think that’s helped with her pride. If she knew she messed up, she would always apologize, even if she hated doing it.”

“Well, that’s one lesson you haven’t learned from her yet.”

Jihoon pulled a face and Jeonghan laughed in response. The older of the two snatched away the Chopper on the opposite end and started throwing the doll up and down.

“Alright, lover boy. What I got from this conversation is that you’re still in love with her, but you gotta make sure she’s worthy of your love, alright? Heed my warning, don’t be afraid of being rejected by her. It’s already happened anyway, and here you are: world-star idol with twelve bros behind you no matter what.”

Jihoon cracked a smile. “You’re right. I got lucky.”

Jeonghan tossed Chopper back in his original vicinity. “I think Dokyeomie wanted to ask something from you too, but I don’t remember what it was, so maybe you can go get ready and he’ll come find you.”

“What a useless messenger.”

“Your luck can’t be perfect, Jihoon-ah,” Jeonghan quipped. He turned to leave the room but stopped in his tracks. “I hope to hear her story one day. Hear her side of things.”

“…Me too, hyung.”

──────────────────

“How much is the corn dog?”

“Hmm… Tell me your favorite color and how it makes you feel.”

Jihoon mustered as much displeasure as he could hold in his six-year-old body. “Y/N, you can’t pay with stories, that’s stupid.”

“It’s my shop!”

“Jihoon, we’re just playing pretend,” your cousin added, his eyes darting between the two of you, likely worried about needing to do damage control.

“Hyung, her idea is dumb!”

“Why!” You whined. “People pay with money all the time, but you can get money whenever! I don’t get to hear stories! I like stories! My parents don’t read to me every night like yours do, Jihoon!”

Jihoon stomped out of the playroom in annoyance, ears grated by the sound of your crying and your cousin’s failed attempts to console you. Stories couldn’t buy the new toy race car that he got. Stories couldn’t buy him candy at the corner market near the kindergarten. Stories couldn’t buy a GameBoy.

Stories didn’t matter.

Money mattered.

Still, nearly a decade later, you never failed to ask for your unconventional form of payment every time he took a portion of your lunch. He knew you packed more for him anyway. And he knew you would always ask for a story in return.

And he intentionally packed smaller meals so he could tell you about how the History teacher had botched up his classmate’s test and accidentally graded off by one, about how the clarinet solo he was learning required a finger pattern he wasn’t used to, about how that one guy—oh, the tennis player?—no, no, the flautist—isn’t it flutist?—it doesn’t matter—yes, it does, Jihoon—anyway, he asked out a girl—the senior?—yes—oh wow, how bold.

And you would smile in return, sliding your food choice of the day within his reach.

He learned that you hated money; it was the one and only thing your parents ever gave you consistently. Simply, it was the manifestation of their love (or lack of) for you.

So, he paid you with recountings of the mundane. You never complained, even when he felt as though his storytelling skills were lackluster. He held your rapt attention; your eyes wide with wonder, voice laced with curiosity.

Eventually, he asked you why.

Why stories?

“Because without them, I wouldn’t have learned that you love the X-Men series because of Hugh Jackman, that you prefer winter over summer, that the first ever K-Pop group you listened to was Brown Eyed Girls, that when you tell me a funny story, you wait until I react before you start laughing.”

And you gave him that smile that made his heart stutter.

“Money is everywhere, Jihoon. But there’s only one you. That’s all there is to it. People, at the core of it all, are just stories. So. That’s why. People will always matter more than profit.”

──────────────────

After Jihoon readied himself for the group dinner, he plopped himself down onto the communal couch and found himself scrolling through Instagram. He stopped at your latest post, a candid shot of you reading a children’s book to several six-year-olds, your face aglow with excitement, a high chance the photographer captured you mid-way through some silly voice attributed to the character on the page.

“Hey, hyung.”

“Hm?”

“Can I borrow your microphone for the day?”

Jihoon didn’t even have the chance to think twice before the words left his mouth, “Tell me your favorite color and how it makes you feel.”

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room.

“Is… Is this a hidden-camera?”

“...never mind. Just put it back when you’re done.”

“It’s blue, by the way.”

“I don’t care—”

“It makes me feel happy because it’s the color of the sky and of the ocean, which means it can be super calm or super exciting. It’s also one of the colors of our Caratdeul.”

“Okay, Dokyeom-ssi. Get out.”

“Yes, hyung. Thank you.”

Jihoon thought about how, if given the chance, you would ask Seokmin if he liked the paleness of 9am or the depth of 6pm? If he liked the gentleness of serenity or the vibrancy of cerulean? Or if he appreciated all that the shades encompassed before fading into greens and indigos?

But he wasn’t you.

You were the inspiration; the muse.

You were the reason to write.

He was just a storyteller.

──────────────────

“THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO IS HERE. THANK YOU TO THE PLEDIS STAFF, OUR MANAGERS, OUR CHOREOGRAPHERS, OUR MUSIC TEAM, OUR DANCERS, OUR STYLISTS, OUR CAMERA WORKERS, OUR FAMILIES, AND OUR SEVENTEEN MEMBERS! HAPPY SIX YEARS. HERE’S TO MORE!”

Everyone in the rented out restaurant cheered before drinking together. Even the sound barrier breaking screams of Soonyoung wasn’t enough to dampen Jihoon’s pride and spirit over how far they’ve come as a team. He looked around at his table, several members already seemingly drunk, and couldn’t help but smile to himself.

“Jihoon-ah, make an exception for tonight and drink!”

He shook his head fervently. “There’s going to be several of you who are going to regret drinking when we have our V LIVE tomorrow. You’re going to look super puffy.”

“I can already feel it,” Seungcheol laughed, his eyes slightly glazed. “But the food and the beer are too good to pass up.”

Speaking of, Jihoon made sure to snatch a piece of kalbi to put onto his plate before Mingyu could. The younger one gave him the stink-eye while Jihoon merely smirked and tilted his head back, challenging him. Mingyu decided to change his target and grab at Seungkwan’s piece, who promptly smacked his hand with a “Kim Mingyu!”

Laughter went around the table as they reflected on the last six years, the amount of embarrassing moments that were brought up were positively correlated with the amount of shots that were taken.

Jihoon grit his teeth as he tried not to fold in on himself, remembering how they threw him up as a cheer and nearly ended his life by creating a Jihoon-shaped hole in the ceiling. He was so much smaller back then, easier to launch without thinking.

They laughed about the incident where Mingyu was nearly beaten to death by Jihoon with a guitar, which Jihoon argued that he still believed he was in the right. They discussed one of their first performances as a team, where they performed NU’EST’s “Hello” and they all had helmet hair. They poked fun at Seungkwan for his revolutionary English skills when he said, “are you kimbap kidding?”

They’ve grown so much.

International interviews with BuzzFeed, Seventeen the magazine, and others. GOING SEVENTEEN as a show has grown alongside them, more than just showing Carats the behind-the-scenes, but has now turned to variety that garnered the new fanbase of Cubics, and has been an honest highlight to Jihoon’s career, where they can just go wild and laugh with each other, just as they always do.

They talked about how they used to sneak in food, how they used to help each other get ready for school, how they still have the same playful spirit as they did back then, but with more trust that has formed between them (although, less for Jeonghan since his cheating at games has only gotten worse).

Jihoon leaned back, full of food and laughter and gratitude.

He wouldn’t trade his life with his team for anything.

(Not even you.)

However, that didn’t mean Jihoon didn’t want you to be a part of his already complete life.

He was a selfish human being.

He hoped you would be one too.

──────────────────

May 26th.

Six years ago, “Adore U” came out, marking the beginning of the journey of a thirteen member boy idol group named SEVENTEEN.

Now, here he was, trying to not be bullied into drinking another shot of soju after already consuming several in a short period.

Their anniversary V LIVE ended not too long ago and they did not have a schedule the following day, so the team decided to celebrate on their own, playing Mafia and messing around. A few hours ago, Jihoon would’ve hardly been able to tolerate the noise level, but since his hearing has been compromised due to his heart beating so loudly in his ears from the alcohol, he was plenty fine.

He shooed away his members and retreated back into the corner of the room, pulling out his cellphone and ignoring Mingyu making stupid kissy faces and noises. Jihoon shot him a look of disgust, but Mingyu merely laughed it off and went to go bother his next victim, who seemed to be Boo Seungkwan, a prime choice indeed.

As soon as he refreshed his Instagram app, there you were (with a highlighted gradient ring around your profile picture, your head tilted back with a soft smile grazing your features as you took in the endless sky above you).

He clicked on the circle and saw you and your friends there, a dimmed photo but your collective smiles large and wide. He recognized Hyejin and Wheein easily (the former with a disgusted look apparent on her face and the latter with a deep dimple), as they were two friends who were a common occurrence on your feed.

And there you were.

alexa, play congratulations by post malone ft. quavo 🥳🎓 #PHinisheD

The corner of his lip quirked up at the cleverness in your caption.

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol in his system, he swiped up to send a message:

i figured u would be a day6 or eric nam kind of fan

His brain short-circuited.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck.

Who was he to think he could directly message you like this? Also, who the hell was he to figure anything about you? He hasn’t even spoken to you. Jesus Christ, what has he done?

Before he could stop himself though, his thumbs decided to speak his thoughts.

sorry that was dumb of me to assume

of course u would like post malone considering u could rap the entirety of eminems album

What the hell, dude.

You were going to freak out and call him a creep and then block him.

You’ve literally never done that.

He tried to calm his heart.

However, not even ten minutes later, he realized he couldn’t take that risk.

sorry that was stupid

ignore me

congrats y/n

He felt nearly every goosebump that crawled along his skin, creeping up to his neck, threatening to choke him out. He breathed in deeply through his nose, hoping no one bears witness to him.

“Yah, Jihoon-ah.”

His eyes trailed up to see Soonyoung with a look of concern, mixed with a twinge of panic and anger.

Ah, it would be him.

“What did she do?”

──────────────────

For people who didn’t know him, Kwon Soonyoung comes off as, well, not-so-bright.

But that wasn’t (entirely) true.

Kwon Soonyoung was aware.

He knew how to read a room, but oftentimes, he would purposely choose to simply do what he wanted anyway. Hardly did he ever prioritize another person’s comfort and complacency over his expression of his individuality. He knew what it took to be a performer, and he never denied himself the opportunity to be one.

So, him simply staring at his friend in silence with eyes that alone could have earned him his moniker of “Tiger’s Gaze,” was a major indicator that something was amiss.

Also, the fact that his friend was shrouded in near darkness, eyes rimmed with red, only a corner lamp illuminating his pale features.

“She went to America. She’s never fucking coming back.”

Soonyoung tried not to wince at his friend’s broken tone. Jihoon cursed like a sailor when they were trainees, but it was a habit that he slowly lost since he would often be reprimanded for his speech. He had to do the work to censor himself.

Well, the K-Pop industry was not a stranger to censorship, he mused.

“Wasn’t she already at an international school, though?”

“Yeah, but I just… I thought she would come back after graduating from that boarding school, you know? She wanted to go to Seoul National University, but. Fuck, dude. What if I’m the reason she stopped? What if she stopped following her dreams because of me? What if I–”

“She made her choice, Jihoon.”

“This is all my fault.”

“How?”

Soonyoung saw confusion flit across Jihoon’s face, but it quickly settled with a shake of his head. “It just is, alright?”

“Jihoon–”

“I’ll never be good enough for her. Fuck, I just thought if I tried, then maybe I could be, and– God, who do I think I am? Of course she’d never want someone like me–”

“Dude! Shut the fuck up, will you?”

Jihoon sat there in stunned silence.

“This might not even have anything to do with you. And if she really went to America because she’s trying to avoid you, then she’s a massive bitch–”

“Don’t fucking call her that–”

“I can do whatever the hell I want. Just like she’s doing whatever the hell she wants.” Soonyoung’s anger was slowly morphing into rage. Who was this person in front of him? He was so used to the sure, secure Lee Jihoon who would never truly get riled up.

But one mention of you and suddenly he would spiral.

Who the hell did you think you were?

Leaving this man who loved you so fucking wildly, to the point where he was just one moment away from begging on his knees for your return.

Soonyoung felt disgusted, but it was more of a ringing concern in his ears.

“Jihoon, you’re acting crazy right now. So what if she doesn’t come back to Korea? Are you gonna wait like a fucking sad dog out in the rain? Hoping that she’ll come pick you up again? You’re missing your own fucking life here.”

“I just–”

“Yeah, yeah, you love her. I get it. But… If she were to see you right now, do you think she would even want this kind of love? This obsessive, insecure kind?”

Jihoon’s face was now contorted in pain and Soonyoung tried so terribly hard to keep his face neutral. Soonyoung was plenty capable of being a soothing person, especially to his fellow members, but he was so riddled with frustration that he knew that he would come off as disingenuous if he even tried to pretend to be.

“Let her go. If she comes back, then she will. But don’t let her come back to someone who is incapable of even picking himself off of the floor.”

“...Okay.”

Kwon Soonyoung was aware.

Aware of how much Lee Jihoon was in love with you.

Painfully so.

──────────────────

“I just–”

“You just what?” Soonyoung’s eyes bore into his friend’s face.

Jihoon recoiled at his tone. “I replied to her Instagram story and it was some dumb comment, but what if she thinks I’m being too much and she backs off and–?”

“Jihoon-ah.”

“...Soonyoung-ah.”

“She’s human, right?”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow at that. “Yeah, no shit.”

“Then why are you acting like she’s this untouchable goddess? Who cares if she thinks you’re being too much? You’re putting her on a pedestal she probably doesn’t even want, dude.”

──────────────────

“Why’d you reject the guy?”

You glanced up at her best friend. “What’re you talking about?”

Jihoon cocked his head to the side. Was it already so quickly forgotten by you? It happened at lunch and it was kind of rowdy. Poor dude. “The guy who asked you out to the dance. You said you thought he was cute before and that he was good at tutoring math.”

“Yeah, I might know him, but he doesn’t know me.”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “I thought you guys tutored together.”

You clicked your tongue. “Yeah, we do, but. He doesn’t know me. I know him because I ask him questions. I ask him about himself. But he never once asked me a question about me. If he did, he would know that I hate public gestures. He would know that I don’t like receiving flowers. He didn’t even care to ask any of my friends about what I liked. The main reason as to why he asked me to go to the dance is probably because I made him feel good about himself. I might know him, but he doesn’t know me, and that’s one of the most annoying things.”

“What, that people don’t know you?”

“No. That people assume they know me.”

Jihoon paused for a moment.

“People think that I’m this super wholesome good kid who gets perfect grades.”

“Well, one of those things is true.”

You cracked a smile at that. “Yeah, well. The more people assume I’m on a different level from them, the lonelier it is. I just… I don’t want to be lonely, Jihoon.”

“It’s alright. I’ll make sure you aren’t.”

It was chilling, how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, as if you knew a secret he didn’t, as if you already prophesied a future that rendered his words empty. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lee Jihoon.”

──────────────────

Jihoon nearly bit his tongue.

Ever since he no longer had the security of having you be by his side, he became exactly like one of them, forcing assumptions onto you.

You were out of sight and he was out of his mind.

He told you that you could always be yourself around him, and here he was, creating a caricature of you in his head that he knew didn’t exist. To push forth the narrative he wrote. One born of insecurity. “...I don’t understand how you’ve been so right lately?”

“I really do wish I had my phone around to record you when you say that,” Soonyoung said off-handedly. “So, you’re not going to try to unsend those messages?”

“You can unsend messages?”

“Uh–”

Jihoon immediately unlocked his phone to go to his messages. There, he saw your chat. He long-pressed the message without much thought and his thumb hovered over it.

But he hesitated.

“...Just watching from afar isn’t enough for you anymore, is it?”

Jihoon stared up at his friend, who had a look of (almost) pity etched across his features. Jihoon swallowed the lump in his throat. “...No. I don’t think it is.”

“Well, if she rejects you in any kind of way, I can comfort you.”

“No thanks.”

“Yeah, thought you’d say that.”

──────────────────

Almost exactly sixty minutes later, Jihoon witnessed a miracle.

“...She replied.”

Seungkwan glanced up at Jihoon. “Who?”

Jihoon turned his screen to his younger member, who leaned forward to read his screen. Only to audibly gasp and cover his mouth with his hands. “You messaged her?!”

“Yeah, like an hour ago. Keep up.”

“Hyung, you didn’t tell me–”

“Ah, Boo Seungkwan.”

The corner of Seungkwan’s mouth twitched and Jihoon merely smirked. He turned his attention back to your messages, smiling fondly at your usage of 🥳 after greeting him a happy anniversary.

Oh shit, wait. You knew SEVENTEEN?

And he portrayed that sentiment exactly when messaging you.

(With some typing errors.)

(He may or may not have taken one, two, several shots once the anxiety settled back into him.)

(His alcohol tolerance was nonexistent.)

The messages were now rapid-fire. He found out that you were a Carat and that you favored Yoon Jeonghan.

He snorted at that, of course you would.

A lightbulb lit up over his head. Ah. He could do something for you.

He jumped up from his seat on the couch, away from Seungkwan who was watching over his shoulder the entire time who chose to remain silent because he knew he would be kicked out if he said anything compromising. “Jeonghan-hyung.”

“Woozi Woozi~?”

“Can you do something for me?”

Jeonghan stared at him, frozen. Then after a moment to process what exactly Jihoon said, the older one crossed his arms over his chest, a scandalized look in his wide eyes. “Depends on what you’re asking for.”

“YAH.”

“Lee Jihoon, don’t yell at someone you’re trying to ask a favor from. You’re lucky I’m a nice guy.”

Jihoon held his tongue, but his expression must have given it away because Jeonghan laughed and said that he would rather not die, and asked Jihoon to continue with what he was saying. “Y/N just graduated and she basically said that you’re her favorite SEVENTEEN member–”

“WOW! I like her already.”

“Hyung.”

“Okay, what do you want me to do for both my cute fan and my even cuter dongsaeng?”

“Just a video to congratulate her.”

“My videos are rare, it’s not easy to get something like this, you know.”

“Hyung, please.”

Jeonghan cackled, but quickly acquiesced. “Alright, alright.”

Soon enough, he found himself in a rhythm speaking to you. It was so easy, there was no residual awkwardness (on his end, at least) and it felt so natural. The banter was still there and so were your emoticons, escalating from the “:)” of your childhood to the iPhone emojis. You seemed so close, within reach, attainable.

That felt dangerous.

He could feel it. He could feel that desire to spill out everything he could. He spent years coming up with the words he wished he could’ve told you, some of them now award-winning songs, and it feels almost euphoric to know that he could tell you it all.

But.

He wasn’t sure, still. How receptive you would be. Would you run away like you did in the past whenever things became too much, too overwhelming? He always reminded you that you could never be that, but he wasn’t sure whether he was of the same capacity.

He wants you in his life. There is no doubt about that, especially not now.

But what if you leave again?

He cannot mess this up. He can’t.

So, he kept things light between you, jokes and jabs.

But that didn’t stop him from pushing for more, disguised in a (not-so) innocent attempt at ensuring that he would be able to have open contact with you in the future.

And that’s all he needed. A future with you in it.

That wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

──────────────────

Yes. Yes, it was.

After a few days of no response from your end on KakaoTalk, your Shikamaru profile picture almost mocking him with his permanent deadpan look, the answer was resounding.

But Jihoon’s entire identity was based on his stubbornness.

So, he decided to take a chance and message you on Instagram.

Only to retract immediately saying you didn’t have to reply.

Stupid.

Thankfully, though, you responded within 30 minutes, admitting that @narutofanfreak123 was not exactly a username you wanted to share with anyone above the age of twelve. You both quickly resolved the miscommunication (wow, Jihoon thought, imagine if we had this before).

He chuckled at your choice of KKT username, @MadameFirefly, oddly touched that his nickname for you still held enough weight to be your moniker for a messaging app.

He did his best to casually ask what you were planning on doing in the future (not like he wanted to see if he could somehow fit into it, or whatever).

Jihoon was left staring at his phone screen, the weight of his phone now burdened by the weight of your choices. Seoul? Or New York City?

──────────────────

“You didn’t have to miss the dance just because I got a B on an exam, you know.”

“Your parents are insane for grounding you to the library for a B on an exam, you know? And for a hagwon that’s way above our grade level.”

You shook your head, not willing to admit out loud that you agreed. “What I mean is that you don’t have to keep me company while I study when you could go off and meet cute girls and sweep them off their feet.”

“Why would I do that when I can watch you and your snot-nosed face trying to do college level calculus?”

“It’s all so that I can get into Seoul National.”

“Firefly, you could get into any school, even outside Korea.”

“Maybe I’ll do just that,” you laughed. “Finally get out of here.”

“Just let me know and I’ll stow myself into your suitcase.”

“Oh please. You’ll probably be the one traveling internationally doing whatever you do. A world-renowned musician.”

“Alright, you can be in my suitcase instead then.”

“Okay, can you leave breathing holes for me?”

“No, get better lung capacity.”

You clicked your tongue at him and he laughed. “Seriously, though, Jihoonie. You could be spending your teen years the way the movies do it. You could be ‘swearing you’re infinite’ while a slow-mo cam focuses on you as you dance, surrounded by beautiful people definitely too old to be cast as teenagers.”

“No thanks.”

You put your forehead down onto the table. “Please. Do it for me. Get a girlfriend because I can’t.”

“You know, you’re probably why I can’t get a girlfriend.”

No. You definitely were.

You shot him an annoyed look. “You could easily go and find someone who’d be smitten with you. But instead you’re about to watch me get a nosebleed over how hard I’m working my brain here.”

“Maybe I’m a sadist and want to watch that happen.”

You threw your eraser at him, but easily missed, the rubber object bouncing off of the table and onto the carpeted floor. You whined at the idea of having to leave your seat and Jihoon just rolled his eyes and picked it up for you.

Sure, he could be dancing with his friends, with cute girls, with whoever. He could be surrounded by endless snacks and overly sweet punch, the dance no doubt smelling like youth and pride and reckless decisions. He would see that there are plenty of people in his life outside of you.

But, no.

If he did, you would be left here, in this almost deserted library on a Friday, pouring blood, sweat, and tears into what your parents have convinced you matters more than your health.

You gave him a large grin as he passed you your eraser before you went back to focusing on your work.

Yeah, he’d much rather see this instead.

──────────────────

Later that evening, he found himself again in his recording studio.

Our past that didn’t line up,

If I could go back in time,

Rather than roughly, but warmly,

Would I be able to let you go?

He stared at the lyrics he wrote, feeling discontent. He wanted to be the kind of person who didn’t feel any kind of residual emotions towards you. Who would be able to meet you where you were and wish you well, no matter where you decided to go.

One of his biggest regrets was storming out of your childhood home the way that he did. He could’ve had answers but instead he was left with hostile emotions and questions.

He could only hope he would’ve done something different.

But now that he is faced with letting you go, he’s not sure how easily he would yield.

He took a moment to bury his face in his hands and tried to think about this from your perspective (something he had to practice while living with twelve other boys). He breathed in deeply and thought about the you that you are now, about how the person he fell in love with could easily be gone, and you were nothing but a shadow of what remained.

But that didn’t feel right either. It seems as though the person that you’ve grown into, that you’ve flourished into, is someone he would’ve wanted to get to know regardless of whether you had history or not.

Perhaps that is because of the artifice of social media, or perhaps it’s because you carry an air of authenticity with you that has now been given the opportunity to bloom instead of stifled in the environment you were raised in. Whether or not you were mere remnants of his past, it does not mean that the person you are now is any less lovely.

He groaned loudly.

Emotional labor is hard.

How is this something you enjoy doing?

──────────────────

“You really want to become a social worker, huh?”

You shrugged. “I mean, yeah. It feels like the best use of my skills. I like being able to potentially help people like me and well, there are a lot of people like me, you know. I don’t know whether I want to become a private practice therapist, but that seems like a solid option for now until I know more about what else is out there in the field.”

He would disagree, but he decided not to. “I just can’t deal with all of those emotions.”

You gave him a raised eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most sensitive people that I know.”

Jihoon felt ruffled by that. “What? What are you talking about?”

You quickly put your hands up in mock defense. “I’m not saying that being sensitive is a bad thing. I’m saying that there’s no way you would be my friend if you couldn’t handle emotions. I have way too many of them, I’m not that blind to that. Also, I’ve read your poetry and heard your music and that’s some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. Like, even the way you hold your clarinet is emotional.”

“I think that’s you projecting yourself onto me.”

“Say what you want, Jihoon. You’re a sensitive soul, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“Yeah, well, sensitivity isn’t what gets you awards, you know. Skill does.”

You huffed in response. “Yeah, well, once you build up the second, the first is what will create a legacy that will be one to remember for ages to come. I’m speaking it into existence now. And I lay claim to the title of being your first fan. I will support you the entire way, no matter what you do. Music, baseball, comedy. Whatever!”

Jihoon snorted. He wouldn’t dare become a comedian, but it made him feel good that you thought that was a viable prospect for him. “Whatever industry I’m in, I’ll probably have to protect you from all of the bad people. You’re too soft. Even just last week, I mean…”

“What? You mean, when Nahyun made fun of me during my presentation in front of everyone?”

Irritation washed over Jihoon.

The self-proclaimed It Girl decided to try and belittle you while in the middle of your presentation, as you were explaining the measurements that you used in your findings, she asked whether you had ‘measured’ your weight recently because ‘you really ought to’.

He never wanted to get into a fight more than then, especially when your other classmates laughed along. It was a subpar, typical, low-class mean girl line, but it filled him with rage.

You were completely unphased by it, continuing on with your presentation, not even choosing to spare a glance in her direction.

Luckily, the teacher, not being a prick himself, called out Nahyun and pulled her aside after class to apologize to you. (Jihoon would’ve preferred a public execution apology.)

Jihoon stood just a few feet away as you accepted her half-assed effort. You paused for a moment and muttered something to her, something that only she could hear. Nahyun merely pursed her lips afterwards before walking away. Irritation rushed through him again.

“Seriously, though. You’re too soft, firefly.”

“Hm. I don’t think so.”

“No?”

“No. I just think everyone else is too hard on themselves. And each other.”

“...You’re gonna be a great therapist.”

“Thanks. Hire me.”

──────────────────

Jihoon had his own fair share of meetings with professional counselors (especially in the midst of living such a hectic life as an idol), but he was worried whether you would be as cut and dry as they were, whittled down by years of academia. It seemed almost like they were reading out of a textbook, using vocabulary words like ‘empathy’ and ‘self-care,’ so he never saw it fit to return if it wasn’t necessary.

However, the places you’ve poured your time into left only glowing reviews for your passion and compassion for the field that you were in.

Jihoon was roused from his thoughts at his phone ringing on his desk. He looked at the Caller ID and saw a name he has been in and out of contact with for over a decade, it was your cousin. He picked it up. “Yo, hyung. What’s up?”

“Are you busy right now, Jihoon?”

“No. It’s a slower day today. Do you need something?”

“Yeah, just wanted to let you know that I’ll be in Seoul in a few weeks. Your noona and I are planning on celebrating saying goodbye to our single days by drinking way too much within the span of 12 or so hours. I wanted to see if you were down to join.”

“I probably won’t drink, but if it’s for you, hyung, I’ll go.”

“Nice. And you can feel free to leave after the dinner, we’ll just be at an apartment we’re renting out in Gangnam, since I don’t trust those fools to walk around the streets of Hongdae.”

“I’ll probably do that, I don't want to accidentally be caught by Dispatch.”

“Right, right. We wouldn’t want to sully the name of the best producer in all of K-Pop.”

“That’s a title I don’t think I’ll ever get.”

Your cousin laughed. “You never know, you might get that award sooner than you think, kiddo. Alright, I’ll keep you updated on our schedule. But uh…”

Jihoon knew his hyung well. He was about to bring you up again. “What about her?”

“I just wanted to ask whether you’d be interested in a meet-up with her. Not that we’ve asked her or anything, but I know we’ll probably meet up with her at some point, and I know it’ll feel weird if we’re not all together, you know? The four of us.”

“Yeah… I want to say that I’m courteous enough to wait for her response, but I just know that I’m willing to meet with her, if anything. Even just one last time.”

“That… sounds kinda sad, but. I guess I’ll take it. If you’re down, we could even make it a surprise on her end.”

He imagined your deer in headlights look but couldn’t think further than that. “Sounds like we’d really be putting her on the spot, if that was the case.”

“Hey, she’s rarely played it safe. Same with you. Might as well keep the flow going. And if anything, I’ll take the brunt of it all. She can’t stay mad at me for too long.”

“We both know that’s literally not true.”

“Okay, fine. Your noona can take the blame.”

“Wow, very excited to see how this marriage will go.”

His hyung laughed. “Amazingly, I’m sure.”

A thought occurred to Jihoon and he realized it was strange that he was mentioning it as an afterthought, as if it was something to be expected, something natural and normal. “Oh, hyung. By the way, I’m talking to Y/N again.”

Jihoon heard the undeniable ‘beep beep beep’ of being hung up and he stared confused at his phone screen until he saw another phone call from your cousin. He picked up with a, “Hello?”

Your cousin sounded much more flustered than he did just seconds ago. “Sorry. I hung up because I dropped my phone by accident. Say that again. You’re what?”

“I’m talking to her again. Kind of. I guess. Like, Instagram DMing went to KakaoTalk.”

“Jesus Christ, you slid into her DMs?”

“Can you not say it like that?”

“Can you say that that didn’t happen?”

Jihoon relayed the entire experience to him, only now realizing he didn’t even share all of the details with his members because it would’ve been too much teasing fodder from them. But your cousin, his hyung, was the kind of fellow that wouldn’t do that, even given the opportunity.

──────────────────

“Hyung,” Jihoon started one day, across from said person in a local Busan restaurant. “I don’t get how you’re single.”

“Why, you wanna date me?”

Jihoon’s eye twitched and your cousin laughed. Jihoon bit on his straw, the family style meal between the two young men long since devoured. “People compare us, you know.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “What’s there to compare?”

“I don’t know. So many people around us know how cool you are. You’re good at sports, you’re smart, you have a lot of friends, you’re handsome. Everyone always says you’re one of the best listeners they’ve ever met.”

“The trick is to not pay attention sometimes and just nod.”

“I’m gonna tell Y/N you said that.”

“I’m sure she knows,” he laughed. “Well, I'm honored that you think all of those things, but those are all traits you have too. You do realize that, right?”

Jihoon grunted. “Not… really.”

“Well, just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean others don’t. My cousin definitely does. She’s a good kid and has a good heart. Same with you. If you ever decide to do anything about those feelings of yours, just know that I approve.”

Jihoon nearly choked on his drink. “Wh–?”

“Oh, it was a secret?”

“Hyung!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t say anything to her, don’t worry. And if you ask me, I’d say that you’re the only one on this planet that even has a chance. Well, except that girl from the cake shop.”

Jihoon sneered.

Fucking Woo Soyeon.

With her shiny hair and long eyelashes and doe eyes and tanned skin from her beach volleyball playing.

Giving out discounts to you like nobody’s business. Calling you cute and flirting nonstop while twirling a lock of her hair. Saying you’re her favorite customer. He could swear Woo Soyeon would throw a knowing smirk at him every time you stuttered a little too long when saying thank you.

That damned girl behind the counter, the one whose beauty and voice (“It’s just so velvety, you know? Like the chocolate cherry cakes.”) he knew you were smitten by.

She was even taller than him, especially in her heels.

At the ripe age of 15, Jihoon understood what jealousy was.

Because of fucking Woo Soyeon.

“Watch out, Jihoon. I can hear your thoughts all the way from over here.”

“Sorry.”

Your cousin laughed. “Trust me, you mean a lot more to her than cake counter girl. My cousin wanted all of us to go see the Christmas lights in the city together. You don’t see her inviting that cake counter girl, do you?”

Jihoon felt a weird sense of pride well up in his chest. Then immediately deflated. It felt stupid to feel like he won against a person who’s just trying to sell cakes to a loyal customer. “Hyung, how do you do it? You’d never let yourself get angry or jealous over stuff like this.”

The older of the two cocked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t get jealous over a cake counter girl.”

“Says who? I get jealous. It’s normal, you know. Jealousy isn’t inherently a bad thing. It’s just what you do with it, right? Like, just because you’re jealous of cake counter girl, does that mean you stop Y/N from going to that shop?”

“What? Why would I do that? She loves that shop.”

“Exactly. Emotional maturity doesn’t mean you stop yourself from feeling the emotion, it just means you learn how to handle it as it comes. And once you practice it enough, it becomes easier and easier.”

“You make it sound easy, but it’s not.”

“Hey, I’m not anything big and special myself.”

Jihoon shook his head. “Hyung, you’re a superhuman.”

“No, I’m just human and letting myself be that,” he corrected. “Trust me, there’s plenty of good people out there. A lot of them just aren’t making the decision to do so. It’s easier to be cruel, but. I want to prove that you can be kind and still be a man. We get to define what that means. If I decided to be cruel, to become what society says is ‘a man,’ then I have no doubt Y/N would lose trust in me, and probably, all men.”

Jihoon noticed that his hyung stared at him for a second.

“Actually, maybe not all men.”

Jihoon felt embarrassed, but also honored, at the implication. “Thanks, hyung. You know, for not making fun of me. And for admitting that you also feel those kinds of things.”

“Absolutely, I’m glad I could help.”

“I’m seriously still surprised that you’re single.”

“Yeah, well. That might not always be the case if I can figure out what to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well… you know your noona?”

──────────────────

Jihoon couldn’t help but shake his head at the way the events unfolded. Your cousin told him about his feelings for his future wife, but it still took a few years for anything to come out of that. He wondered whether being childhood friends had anything to do with it, as if the longer and deeper the bond, the riskier the chasm was to try to jump across.

However, your cousin still managed to do it.

“How did you do it, hyung?”

“Hm? What’s up?”

“Just… how did you manage to tell noona how you felt?”

The older man laughed. “You really think that it was me who confessed? No, no. It was her. I think she was tired of the back and forth that was happening between us. I mean, so was I, but I was a coward, but thankfully, she wasn’t. Now because of her saying that she loved me first, I get to be the one who says it last. Then we start again. It’s a dialogue, you see. It doesn’t matter who starts the line, as long as it continues.”

“Oh…”

“Am I proud that I was a coward? No. I sometimes wish it was me who said it first so she wouldn’t have any room for doubt. But we can’t go back and change the past, only commit to a better future. All of this to say, though, Jihoon, it’s been long enough of not saying anything between the two of you. I don’t think you want to wait any longer.”

“…yeah. I agree.”

That night, hours after preparing for the album, Jihoon’s fingers tapped away on his Notes app.

This waiting, it’s not easy to endure.

It was past 4am now.

But he didn’t want to wait any longer.

So, he switched apps and instead of a blank Note, he began typing into a message box.

i know its late. rehearsal never ends until 3am and i know that when u get texts you wake up even if ur phone is on silent bc the vibration wakes u up so im trying to type this all in one message so that it doesnt wake u up (hopefully) but i didnt want it to seem like i left u on read because i was upset or something. but i didnt want to message until i had the time to have a full conversation but i dont think thats happening any time soon anyway. when you see this i hope it makes sense im not sure if i am

A response from you was the last thing he expected, but you always managed to surprise him.

The first time he heard your voice directly in his ears, he thought he was going to spontaneously combust. But he tried to keep his voice level as he asked you about where you were leaning towards for your career.

The relief that rushed through him.

The hope that ignited in him.

That was the spark needed for him to explode.

And so he did, into words.

“I’m proud of you, you know?”

He heard your throaty stutter, one that only came out whenever you were really caught off guard. “Uh—what?”

“You got a whole ass PhD. From the best university in Korea,” Jihoon still couldn’t believe the two of you went to the same school. “You got offered a job at a super big school in America. One that’s super big in the field that you studied. You graduated from an even school for undergrad, a school that even I know the name of. And just… I know that people expect you to achieve because you’ve always been a genius, always so brilliant, but. You also work really hard. So I’m proud of you.”

He could barely hear your, “It’s not that big of a deal—” over the pounding in his ears.

“But it is, firefly.”

And suddenly he was brought back to all the years before. Where he spent more years in love with you than not. How that nickname encapsulated exactly as he saw you: inspiration, guidance, hope.

“I mean, I just—”

Your flustered response only encouraged him to continue. “You don’t have to believe me. But that won’t stop me from feeling it.”

“Jihoon, I—”

He didn’t realize just how much he’s missed hearing you say his name. But more than that, “I’ve missed you.”

There was a pause on your end, but he was done with his.

“I’ve missed you a stupid amount. Like us stealing your dad’s car to drive to McDonald’s at 3am and then running a red light on the way there. And then somehow almost hitting an entire flock of seagulls—” which he would never admit to being the reason he never wants to get behind the wheel again. “And then going to some random, deserted parking lot. And then realizing we didn’t know the way home, so we drove aimlessly, for, like, 45 minutes. And then panicking when we kept seeing the gas needle going down. That kind of stupid.”

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he was naming a memory that you no doubt remember as well, it was near traumatizing. But there was something in him that didn’t want you to forget. He didn’t want himself to forget. Because…

If I forget someday, as if nothing is wrong,

Our future will be empty and sad.

It’s not that I want to forget you.

Ah, he made a mental note to switch to his Notes app later.

“I… I missed you too.”

Jihoon couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his cheeks, almost to the point of straining them. It was already so late and he still had enough function in his brain to know he ought to cut this short now. Otherwise, he’d be on the phone with you for an ungodly amount of time. “I have to sleep now, but. I just. I couldn’t not tell you. That’s all.”

“Okay.” Your voice sounded so small, he had to press his phone closer to his ear to ensure he didn’t miss anything.

“Get some sleep, firefly. Or should I call you, Dr. Firefly now?”

“That sounds like a cartoon villain.”

He laughed hard at that. You would say that. “Alright, we’ll just go with firefly then.”

‘We’ felt good on his tongue.

“Night, night, Jihoonie.”

“Sleep well, firefly.”

He told you he needed to sleep, but with the way that he was running on sheer endorphins from finally releasing some of that pressure inside of him, sleep was the furthest thing on his mind. Instead, he imagined you getting some well-deserved rest, wondering what kind of dreams you hoped to have.

You were falling asleep, he was falling in love.

──────────────────

In less than 24 hours, he was going to see you in person for the first time in years, no more needing to find YouTube videos or podcasts or news articles or social media posts.

Tomorrow, he’ll be face to face with you.

And the dorm was in chaos.

“He should wear the white button down!”

“No, he should wear something funky, with cool patterns!”

“What? Absolutely not, hyung! Jihoon-hyung looks best in plain clothing, his skin shines that way!”

“Well, he’s been avoiding his skincare, so that might not be the best route to go down.”

“Hoon is handsome no matter what!”

Jihoon was exhausted. Why were his members more invested in this than he was?

Even Soonyoung was getting giddy. And that was a problem. When it came to you, Soonyoung was his voice of reason, but after he relayed the phone call he had with you, Soonyoung was easily won over by your: ‘I missed you too.’

“I knew it!” The tiger had exclaimed.

(Jihoon wasn’t sure whether he did.)

Junhui was thriving off of the chaos and was now leaping across the wooden floor, with Jeonghan quickly on his tail, trying to coerce him into stopping and failing miserably. Seokmin was still trying to convince Seungkwan that a funky pattern was like how, in nature, peacocks showed off to their mates—“he’s not a bird, hyung!”—while Soonyoung kept interjecting saying that Jihoon was attractive no matter what so he could just wear a plastic bag (which earned him a gentle slap by Seokmin). Mingyu disappeared for a moment after Wonwoo’s off-handed comment about Jihoon’s skin, only to return with his skincare products that Jihoon knew were going to be slapped on him soon enough. Seungcheol kept repeating in an exasperated tone, “Stop fighting, we already got a noise complaint this week,” while Jisoo and Minghao were probably off in Jihoon’s closet trying to establish an outfit for him without his consent. Hansol was on his phone, noise-canceling earphones on, completely uninvolved in what was going on. Chan was only goading on whoever was the loudest in the moment (currently, Junhui).

Jihoon piped up. “Do I get an opinion on this?”

In near perfect synchronization (including the boys in his room), everyone responded with a, “No!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

God, tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

[continue reading here]

61 notes · View notes

kedsandtubesocks · 10 months

Text

in the shadow (of your heart) - Mandalorian!Bakugo

pairing: Mandalorian!Katsuki Bakugo x Jedi!Reader

tags & warnings: (all characters aged-up 25+) Star Wars AU, intense yearning and light angst, brief discussion of raising children, a surprise Jedi!Todoroki x Smuggler!reader appearance, Monoma bestie supremacy, exploration of mandalorian lore and customs, inexperienced Bakugo and the endearing fluff that comes with him

wc: 7.6k

a/n: here it is…the cultivation of all my other snippets and ficlets that have led to this moment, you don’t necessarily need to read them before to understand this but I think it would just add to the goodness of reaching this point, biggest and dearest thank you to @willowser & @ofmermaidstories always being my mando bakugo squad, also the title of this piece comes from the always lovely Florence + the machine & her song ‘cosmic love’ - thank you for reading!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

It’s been a galactic month since your entire world collapsed.

A month has passed since the Jedi temple was attacked. A month since you woke up and found yourself in the bedroom of the mandalorian that conquered your heart.

And a month since you…

The thought of what you did has you flinching in pain like you just touched an exposed live wire.

Someone calls out your name. When you turn there stands Shouto along with his intriguing friend - the scavenger pickpocket who could speak seven and maybe even more languages.

“We plan to explore Tatooine tomorrow.” Todoroki is patient and calm, a true honor to his Jedi title. “You’re more than welcomed to join us.”

Even his friend, the pickpocketing smuggler who still does not seem trustworthy, wears a rather understanding look mirroring Shouto’s.

You think of the heat on Tatooine, the blistering mirage of the sand and the change of scenery it might bring.

So you agree to go.

Shouto smiles a reassuring grin that whispers of how proud he is for you to take this step.

His smuggler friend grins wider. “Sweet, guess that means I get to steal a bigger means of transport for us.”

“No.” Shouto flat out swiftly shuts the idea down.

Something hollow, the echo of a laugh leaves you but you hope even this is the start of returning back to yourself.

You send Monoma a private message over your jailbroken data pad about your upcoming trip. He immediately calls as you pack.

“Sure Tatooine is boring but...” Neito begins, a bit bored himself. “You can go snag me one of those nice satchels the vendors there sell.”

The truth is easy to find under his words.

I’m glad you’re getting out, I’m glad you’re trying to move forward.

You ask if the Jedi council has anything new to stay and just thinking about it draws a deep ache in your soul.

“Nah. They’re mainly keeping busy overseeing the rebuilding process and there’s been no update on the hunt for the culprit.”

You sigh. There had been no leads or luck on your side of the search either.

“I’m not surprised. Leads are going cold. Even with Sir disgusting picture perfect Jedi knight Deku still on Naboo, we got nothing.”

Oddly enough you missed hearing Monoma complain about the shining star that emerged from your academy class.

“Let’s hope Tatooine has something.” You hope.

“Well now with you on the investigation team I know we’ll get shit done. And if not, I’m getting so close to blowing something up myself.”

“Hey now.” You playfully chide Monoma. “No threats of violence now, Jedi Knight.”

Monoma chuckles weakly but the comment draws blood at a barely healing wound.

A silence settles between you and your dear friend. Its heaviness over the call clogs your senses and painfully crawls over your skin.

“Miss you dummy.” Nieto coughs out through tears and you furiously blink back your own.

“Miss you too, you annoying ass.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Tatooine’s heat bears down unforgivingly.

The planet’s two suns stings your eyes. There’s even sand in places you didn’t think it could reach. But the liveliness of Mos Eisley, the commotion of the markets, comfort you and raise your spirits.

Under the dry air it feels as if you are resurfacing, emerging from a fog you have existed in for an entire month.

It’s invigorating, has you strolling through the markets with a relaxed ease.

Shouto and his smuggler, who is notoriously friendly with the Jawas, decide to check the junkyards first for any new information and leads. You instead head to the city to hopefully pick up any chatter about the temple.

After all, you are no longer in your Jedi robes.

So any fear of someone not speaking about the temple around you is gone.

Among the bustling marketplace in the heart of the city, a stall with shimmering jewels and trinkets twinkling under the two suns snags your attention. Specifically a beautiful iridescent gem like pendant immediately catches your eye. The jewel hangs off a simple sturdy leather thread and allows the stunning crystal to be center focus. Your fingers trace over it gingerly and fondly.

“Oh, are you planning to propose soon?”

The vendor suddenly asks intrigued and brightly curious. Her words make you choke out a wild dry cough.

“Excuse me?” You politely and weakly laugh.

“That’s an engagement pendant!” The older twi’lek woman beams excitedly with a twinkle in her eyes almost rivaling her jewelry.

“You have someone special in mind?”

The image of who you have in mind flashes fast. His striking black beskar armor, the electric orange and green trimming… his loud voice…

Your heart starts crumbling in your chest.

“No.” Your reply is rather hollow. “Just thought it looked beautiful.”

Whatever else the woman hears in your voice is enough to quiet any more questions she might have. You return to browsing the other jewels offered on the stand. But even with the beautiful craftsmanship before you, a slow poison seeps into your mouth and you try swallowing it back. But your heart remains an open wound thinking of that mandalorian.

And you think it always might be now.

The stall vendor who went silent now gasps so sharply it spooks you. You snap your gaze up to her.

Her eyes staring beyond you are wide and hypnotized.

“A mandalorian.” She whispers.

A terrifying dread runs up your spine. The rational voice screaming inside your head argues it could be any mandalorian, that you shouldn’t be getting this worked up.

You decide to see and prove to yourself that it is not the mandalorian haunting your existence.

When you turn off to the side -

You discover striking obsidian beskar armor, a beautiful ink dot against the shimmering sands.

Your heart collapses. Your legs almost buckle.

The familiar beskar helmet stares straight at you.

“Shitty Jedi!”

Then the mandalorian screams so gutturally loud that half of the market turns towards him.

You turn the other way and run.

Your heart races wildly loud in your ears, a horrifying war like drumbeat.

It can’t be him.

But in your heart of hearts you know it is. You would know it’s him in every lifetime, in any other reality.

In such a wild panic you can’t fully comprehend your focus. You even forget to use the force to run away.

A dead end hallway stops you in your tracks. Before you can bolt in another direction, a mandalorian descends down from the sky. He lands before you a fiery man of myth immortalized straight from his people’s creed.

“What the fuck?!” Bakugo screams at you raw and demanding.

“Stop screaming!” You hiss back but your voice already begins cracking.

“No!” He snarls back.

“You’re going to cause a scene.” You snap back harder and glare fierce at him.

“I don’t fucking care!” He punches out every word not wavering once. Standing across from you, Bakugo is an intimidating force so broad and filling up the space with his armor.

It’s a simple staring contest. No words are spoken for what feels like hours. A part of you wonders if maybe this is all just a heat mirage illusion brought on by your sad heart.

You end up sighing defeated.

You weren’t going to have this discussion, this reunion, here in an alleyway of the city. You and him deserved better than that.

So with a silent nudge of your face beckoning him to you, the mandalorian wordlessly follows you back to the hostel Shouto’s smuggler booked.

A rapid nostalgic haze tugs at you. This feeling of him so close to you, walking through a crowded planet is as if not a day has gone by.

Yet, an entire month hangs between you and him.

Thankfully your two travel companions are still out when you return to the suite. In the eerie stillness of the cramped room, you turn to the tense warrior.

“What are you doing here?” You don’t even have the energy to yell at him.

Out of all the planets in this grand universe, how did you have the luck of stumbling into this man here?

“That annoying fuckin’ blonde Jedi friend of yours.” Bakugo replies gruffly and his words rattle your brain.

“Wait, Monoma?!” You’re the one shrieking now.

The helmeted warrior nods.

“He told me you’d be here…” Bakugo’s voice trails off.

Even with the rabid confusion consuming your brain, you remember Neito was planned to be sent back to Mandalore. However, he never spoke about it with you. So you began to wonder if he ever did go. Now it makes sense and only confirms your suspicions.

“Why did he tell you?” Your voice wavers frustrated.

The mandalorian’s fist clenches. “Because I told him I needed to talk to you, shitty Jedi.”

The term claws at your soul.

“I’m not a Jedi anymore.” You flat out tell him.

A moment passes.

“Yeah…blondie told me about that too.”

Your heart drops. Of course Monoma told him. He always was a damn gossip.

All you can do is shakily exhale.

The memory still stings so raw.

Leaving your lightsaber at the ruins of the temple, crying with Neito over your decision, sitting with a thick confusion that had you in a daze for days…

“Why?” Bakugo asks, confused, dare you even say genuinely concerned.

“Why did you leave the order?” He clarifies.

The question you knew was coming.

The weight of its answer still feels too grand, too out of reach even for you. It’s like your heart and mind can’t fully comprehend into words the complicated sticky reason.

You tried to justify that your confusion mainly stemmed from the trauma of the temple attack and that you needed time to mediate, to heal. But the truth, your answer, is that you wanted more.

You wanted to yank off the shackles keeping you from reaching for him, that kept you from embracing every aspect of your heart.

So you half heartedly lie.

“I couldn’t wholeheartedly serve the order anymore.” Even stripped of the title of Jedi knight, your answer surprises you. So noble and composed as ever, a hard habit you think you might never fully be rid of.

“What’s that supposed to fuckin’ mean?” Of course Bakugo sees through your words, tries digging through them.

“It means what it means.” You reply back sharply. “I couldn’t stay in the order. I had too much on my mind and I knew…”

You knew that everything in you ache to break everything you were raised with. Because after you faced ruin and destruction, you ached to step forward into a future full of life without anything holding you back, without worrying if you were disappointing anyone or even yourself.

“I knew I couldn’t honor the Jedi.” You finish simply.

You were thankful those like Shouto and Monoma especially understood and helped guide you. They supported you even after your path diverged from theirs.

It’s why you would continue to still help look for the culprit who attacked the temple. You might not see yourself as a Jedi anymore but that didn’t mean you would truly abandon them.

So absorbed in your thoughts you don’t realize how quiet the room has gotten until Bakugo suddenly breaks it.

“Sorry…Knew how much it meant to you.”

It did. But you realized there are things that might mean more.

All you can do is weakly thank him.

You sigh again as the weight of this moment slowly curls over your shoulders and tries to dig past your skin.

“Is that why you left without saying shit? Without even saying goodbye?” His voice gradually fluctuates with tension and hurt. It shreds apart your heart with a jagged edge.

After you had woken up in Bakugo’s room, you stayed in a pretend sleep whenever he returned, not ready to face him yet. You couldn’t continue to keep bringing him into your path of trouble. Even after meditating, even after deciding to leave the Jedi order, you came to the same conclusion. You needed to leave this mandalorian.

For his sake and maybe mainly yours.

So you tell him how you managed to leave like a wordless ghost.

In your first true selfish act, in your first step at shattering your sense of self as a Jedi, you used the force to sense when Bakugo left. Once he was far away enough, you slipped out of the hut. Using the force to cause diversions, you bolted straight to the planet’s port of entry. After that you slipped away onto the next transportation shop.

You cried the entire time on the way back to Coruscant.

You do not tell him this.

Now the consequence of all these actions, your actions, stands before you hurt and anger forged in a man of beskar armor.

“You didn’t even tell me.” His voice cracks and your eyes blink through cloudy tears to stare at him.

You ache to see his eyes, to know what this man looks like.

“I have my reasons, and I’m sorry. I really am.” You apologize, wiping your tears away.

“Yeah? Those reasons better be real fucking good!” He snarls and you glare furious at this mandalorian.

“You wouldn’t understand.” You snap back like a cornered loth cat. You’re tired. You’re emotionally drained and the heat of the planet is catching up to you. You wearily move to sit on the creaky dusty couch.

“To have something control your life that keeps you away from someone…from somethings-”

You quickly correct yourself, but your voice continues wavering more and more with the frustrated tears threatening to spill.

“You’re so loyal to your own creed and I…I couldn’t face you.”

You don’t tell him the whole truth.

You don’t utter the truth that you loved him so much that it alerted your entire world. You wanted to let yourself love him against all odds. But, you wonder if this myth of a man could even possibly hold the same feelings towards you.

Every emotion tears you apart all over again. Inside of you rages a storm ripping apart every safe harbor you had built. All you can do is close your eyes to stop the tears from the storm raging.

“You said it kept you away from someone.” Keen as ever, Bakugo catches your comment.

That’s when you also notice his voice is closer.

Your eyes snap open and your heart drops into your stomach. The explosive mandalorian kneels before you.

“Who?” He asks calm, firm and surprisingly low.

You can’t even say his name and instead stare at him, stubborn and your tongue locked up tight

Bakugo says your name in the same direct tone except now with an undercurrent of urgency.

“Who?” He repeats again.

Out of frustration or maybe finally the weight of your emotions cracks you. Angrily shove away tears until you eventually cry into one of your hands not even able to look at him.

“I knew we could never be together.” You croak out a whisper. “You’re engaged. And with your creed, even when I stopped being a Jedi I just…”

The words escape you on another sob.

Large gloved hands suddenly rest gently on your thighs. Panic snaps your eyes open and there his striking black helmet stares unwaveringly at you.

Bakugo firmly says your name and you wait for the heartbreak that’s about to come.

“Marry me.”

It doesn’t.

“What!?” You ask through tears and snot.

“Marry me.” Bakugo repeats as unflinching and true as he did the first time.

“You… you’re engaged!” You stammer out.

“Obviously not! I’m in love with you but I’m not a fucking asshole! I wouldn’t have asked you if I was still engaged!”

His words knock you breathless, throw you out of orbit and you’re surprised your body has not floated away.

“You love me.” The words don’t sound real even from your mouth.

He coughs out a watery sound and moves forward. His bodily slots between your legs effortlessly. He curls against you and presses his helmeted forehead to yours.

“More than you know, shitty jedi.” He croaks while his strong arms wrap you in his embrace.

“Not a Jedi anymore.” You mutter watery as you clutch onto him.

“You’re not.” Bakugo confirms as he moves to rest his helm against your face.

“Be my riduur instead.”

During your time in Mandalore you picked up on plenty of Mando’a phrases and words. You even flirted with the idea of trying to learn the language fully.

You did learn some mandalorian words held a sacredness that set them apart because of their layered holy weight.

Riduur is one of those words.

It translates to wife, husband, spouse. But riduur held the weight of a partner forged in such a deep love that the basic term of spouse couldn’t capture the bond a mandalorian marriage would bring.

Your eyes widen and a storm of tears blur your vision. This time however, it’s the overwhelming overflow of emotion filling your heart and spilling over.

Nodding you holding onto him tighter.

You try joking about wanting to be the only one who gets to annoy him for the rest of his life. But your voice comes out a ridiculous sob.

Bakugo barks a wild chuckle and his arms tighten around you as well.

“S’why I asked you. Couldn’t put up with any other extra.”

Your eyes close right as you now hold onto your fiancé, and the thought of that makes your brain trip over itself.

“We’re getting married.” You mutter out mainly to yourself still not believing it.

“Damn right.” Bakugo growls low and proud.

“Congratulations.”

Your eyes snap open wide and horrified at hearing Todoroki’s simple flat comment.

Your mandalorian scrambles away from your embrace to instead lean in front of you, as if to shield you.

Standing in the door’s entryway is Todoroki and his smuggler friend who smacks your once fellow Jedi knight.

“I told you to keep quiet!” The smuggler cries out horrified at being caught.

You’re embarrassed. Bakugo is screaming obscenities but for some reason, you laugh. It’s a buyout laugh filling you bright and beautiful. That’s when the force suddenly surges through you warm and celebratory.

Earlier this month you thought it had slipped away. That even the force itself began to pull away because of your decisions.

But now it hums beautifully in and around your body, exhilarated and electric. You think you could power an entire planet.

You laugh and simply lean against your fiancé who continues to threaten to blast poor Todoroki out the window. But his hand suddenly reaches out to your knee and he squeezes it tight, reassuring as if to say I am here.

You came to Tatooine simply looking for a lead on the temple attack.

Now would be leaving it engaged with a mandalorian by your side.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“Come back to my ship with me.” He mutters softly after you manage to drag him away to a local cantina to grab something to eat.

You don’t hesitate to follow him.

The inside of his grand sleek starship, modified to fit a whole room compartment, greets you like the warmest old friend. You even take a stroll around trying to see if he added anything new.

“So you wanna to get married now or what?” Bakugo simply asks.

Your mind feels as if he just set off one of his explosives inside.

“Now?!” You shriek shrill and chaotic.

“Yes now.” You’ve been with him long enough to know this tone suggests he’s rolling his eyes.

Trying to process this your mind sputters in a spiral like a broken speeder bike.

You understood mandalorians held certain courting rituals that you vaguely heard of. You voice this concern to your mandalorian who crosses his hands over his chest in a pouting type manner.

“That’s for potential marriage partners. We’re already engaged aren’t we?” Bakugo challenges.

“So we just skipped an entire courting process?” He seemed like such a traditionalist and would be upset over this. You even sound more upset than he does.

Especially when your fiancé simply shrugs.

“You’re not mad?” Now you have to ask and he shakes his head a casual no.

“Didn’t need to court anyone else.” He gruffy asserts confident and true.

So that meant jumping straight into marriage?

Whatever lies on your face, whatever is clouding your heart, your fiancé notices it and sighs.

He explains how Mandalorians typically didn’t have long engagements. When someone proposes marriage it’s with the acknowledgment they would be wedded moments or at the latest days after.

It mirrored the same direct quickness the first mandalorian vows were rumored to have been said in the creed’s legend.

“Look,” Bakugo continues with all the conviction a warrior pursuing victory holds.

“I know that’s my culture and shit but…We can wait whenever you’re ready.” He reassures you.

“I’ll wait for as long as you need because I know the ending s’always going to be the same. And that’s me as your husband. So if we do it today or fuck a year from now, I’ll wait.”

Love crashes into you in waves and you cannot fight the current any longer.

“So whenever you’re ready.” Bakugo’s beautiful beskar helmet nudges towards you. “You let me know.”

Now, you want to marry him now.

“Bakugo-” You are about to say your answer when he cuts you off.

“Katsuki.” He corrects you, a gentle firmness that speaks of his kind understanding.

His first name.

The most precious of gifts he can give to you and now here it is ready for yours to hold.

“Katsuki.” And you find to tastes like the most reverent prayer.

Mandalorian weddings, from what you remembered, were quick and privately intimate ceremonies. Here in his ship, away from his home planet and far away from yours on Coruscant, it’s as if this space is carved out just for you and him.

You don’t care about how long it’s been since you last saw him or that you only have been engaged for less than a day.

You want this, to be married to him, for him to be your husband.

And maybe it’s the shackles of the Jedi order being released from you but you want to be selfish. You want to grab at anything you want and greedily say yes it is okay to want without any guilt. It is beautiful to embrace it.

“Guess you’ll be the one having to call me Bakugo then huh?” You tease light but adoration coats your voice thick.

His shoulders tense. You can almost sense, almost see the suspended hope hanging on by a thread.

“So…you saying yes?” He tentatively ask.

You nod repeatedly and firmly.

“I want to marry you now.”

Katsuki walks closer to you, gently holding your hand in his.

“There’s this saying…” he begins low as if someone outside the ship might hear him.

He says a phrase and you can’t process what it is. You barely even pick up a word of Mando’a

“It’s a way we say I love you.” Katsuki explains. “But translate into basic it means something like… I’ll know you forever.”

To know is to love and to love is to know a person.

“That’s beautiful.” You admire and he nods silently.

“You know me, more than anyone else has.” Your mandalorian tells you. “And I know you. And even when I think I didn’t want to. I wanna keep knowing you for as long as I live.”

You swallow back a sob threatening to escape as you nod. You want that too.

He squeezes your hand.

“You ready?”

You squeeze his hand back. “I am.”

For a moment you think of the oath you took when you became a Jedi knight. How you swore to consecrate yourself to the universe, to a grand idea that would tie you to preserving an ideal and cause until your last breath.

Here you are now taking another vow, another oath, that you swear to honor for the rest of your days.

“Repeat after me.” Katsuki says and you don’t miss the slight waver in his voice.

“We are one when we are together or apart.” He declares and you repeat.

We are one when we are together or apart.

“We will share everything.”

We will share everything.

“And…” he pauses for a moment, but quickly gathers himself.

“We will raise warriors.”

The implications are not lost on you. You knew how open the mandalorians were about adoption, about raising children communally. This was a topic you would have to deeply discuss with him.

But the idea of simply guiding and watching over any young ones, even if they were not your own, even if you and him decide to not have children, shifts your world. Because just being by his side to help guide the next generation as you grow old with him is more than you can ever imagine.

We will raise warriors.

Once the words leave your mouth suddenly a shaky modulated exhale escapes your mandalorian.

Katsuki breathes out your name.

His bare hands move to cradle your face and a wide range of beautiful emotions begin to bubble in you.

“You shitty Bakugo.” Your husband, your husband, croaks to you tear soaked. You laugh loud and just as watery as he sounds.

That was going to take some time to adjust to. But this, in every way, is better than hearing him call you a shitty Jedi. Because you are Jedi no more. And now you exist as a Bakugo.

The excitement and giddiness bubbles over, illuminates you from the inside out. Katsuki presses his helmeted face against yours as you embrace him tight.

“I love you.” You breathe out to your husband.

Katsuki squeezes you firmer. You simply exist in this moment in his arms soaking in the quiet but powerful conviction of this new existence. You are someone’s spouse. You are his, just as irrevocably he is yours.

Katsuki mutters out your name.

“There’s…still one thing we gotta do.” He adds.

Oh?

Slowly Katsuki untangles himself from you and you already miss his warmth. His shoulders slightly curl over and his helmet can’t even face you.

A tinge of fear bubbles in you fast and threatens to poison the barely moments old wedding bliss.

“I’m going to have to fight your ex fiancé for stealing you away, aren't I?” The idea that pops into your head so fast and quick you can’t even stop it.

The beskar helmet turns back to you.

Then, Katsuki bursts out laughing. A true warm gruff cackle that shakes his shoulders and makes you want to smack him.

“What?! That’s it, isn’t it!?” You shriek. You immediately dreadfully think of having to go hand to hand against the red and white armored mandalorian of Yui Kodai, who you only met once.

Katsuki continues to laugh even after you begin pouting. He even shakes his helmeted head a solid no.

“Fuckin’ love your ridiculous ass so much.” He breathes out a wonderful modulated sigh.

His hands move up towards his helmet.

And then he begins to raise it.

The action clicks instantly in your mind. In many cultures and customs a kissing vow is exchanged after weddings. You wondered if that was a secret only known by mandalorians.

So out of respect for your new husband you naturally close your eyes.

The hissing sound of his helmet being removed fills the small space of his ship. You didn’t realize how much you had missed the quiet but electrifying sound.

You wait for the pressure of his lips against yours.

Nothing comes.

The force even retreats away from you so softly like a loth cat returning to its bed to nap and you feel a chill in the air.

Katsuki sighs slightly shaken and heavy.

You’re about to ask if he’s okay, want to comfort him already when he speaks up first.

His voice crystal clear calls out your name.

“Open your eyes.”

The words clutch your throat and ignite an electric wave throughout your body.

“What?” You ask a bit confused because maybe you had misheard.

“You heard me.” Katsuki urges gruffly but gentle, so truly like him. “Open your eyes.”

You couldn’t.

It was against the code, against everything he stood for, everything his people stood for.

The surprise brush of his fingers against yours provides a solid stability.

“What?” He teases light. “Afraid of what you might see?”

No. That wasn’t it at all.

You even shake your head a furious stubborn no that makes him chuckle.

You know without even seeing him that he’s beautiful, probably one of the most striking forces to ever be seen in this galaxy.

“You know I can’t.” A fervent urgency leaks into your voice as if you want to remind both him and yourself of the danger behind this act.

Defiance, banishment, excommunication.

The words sting you fierce.

Like the solid lifeline he is, the back of Katsuki’s bare hand tenderly running across your cheek floats you out of your hectic thoughts.

“We’re married now, idiot.” His voice wavers. “Clan members are allowed to see our faces.”

Something deep inside of you shifts so effortlessly.

You are a clan member now. The answer hangs so truthfully and effortlessly in the air you almost can sense the force itself giggling at you.

You want to see him. You’ve wanted nothing more than this, to know him and know the face of your husband.

So you open your eyes.

The first week after you left the Jedi order, Shouto’s smuggler friend took you out for a drink. There on the sips of alcohol and the freedom it tasted of, you spilled your heartache.

“In love with a mandalorain.” The scavenger had sighed almost a bit apologetic. “And you have no idea what he looks like?”

You shook your head no.

“I have imagined it though,” you instead added boldly because you had.

At first you couldn’t picture what this man of fire and beskar, who would fight a galaxy with his bare hands, would look like. But for some reason you always pictured his eyes bright, like the fiercest force that could never be dimmed because that’s the type of man he is. You believed his eyes would reflect that.

And now you find they do.

The most stunning crimson eyes stare at you so openly, honest, hesitant and guarded slightly. The bold red color is beautiful. You don’t even think you’ve seen eyes so gemlike.

You think of how red for a Jedi is aligned with the sith. It’s not a color one wants to encounter in a lightsaber. There was even a legend that spoke of how the first red kyber crystal was created when a sith held a white crystal in their hand until they bled and let the color soak into the gem.

The color that was once a warning sign now stares at you as a promise of your future, wonderful and warm like the red sky in the evening.

It fits him too.

The color of war, blood and passion so vividly mixing with the color strongly associated with love…

You think you fall in love all over again with this mandalorian.

Then you finally soak in his entire face and feel your soul leave your body.

He’s handsome. Of course he’s handsome you knew he would be. But he’s stunning in a way that has your thoughts clustering together in a collision.

A strong sharp manly jaw, high cheekbones, and the softest spikes of blonde hair -

You can’t believe it. He’s a blonde. He’s gorgeous.

And he’s yours.

“You’re beautiful.” You croak out freely and tear soaked.

You get to see his emotions flash across his face now, see how his eyes shimmer so glossy as his eyebrows furrow.

“Shitty riduur, that’s my line.” Katsuki replies back just as thick and his hand now simply cradles your face once again.

What did the vows say? That you and him were now one whether together or apart?

That already seems to be so true. Or maybe it always was.

The way you and Kastuki seemed to both mirror and repel each other like planets trying to fight a gravity bigger than your orbits. Now here you are.

You can’t help it.

You laugh a watery jubilant thing and clutch onto his hand still resting on your face. You happily burrow closer into his hold.

Slowly but so firmly Katsuki draws you into him. His bare face goes to rest against yours. His nose even burrows against your forehead as he towers over you.

Shakily your mandalorian exhales, relieved and gentle and you melting into him more.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him. “For showing me…for letting me know you.”

Katsuki’s arms wiggle out to now wrap you in a true warm embrace.

“Yeah, yeah.” He mutters back and your heart jumps at his lips tickling against your skin.

“You smell s’good.” His molten syrupy voice seeps into the very core of your being.

Your mind feels cloudy but in the best way so much that you can only hum back a quiet thanks as you press your cheek against his warm face more.

He says your name and your eyes, which had closed in pure content bliss, open wearily.

“There’s…there's somethin’ else…”

What elses could there be?

Begrudgingly you draw back from his warmth and glance up at him a bit curious now.

It’s so interesting and even a bit funny to see how expressive your husband truly is now. His crimson eyes are averted from you. His pretty blonde brows furrow so hard and faintly a hint of pink begins to color his cheeks.

Embarrassed, he seems embarrassed.

You’re about to ask what he means when suddenly those gemstone eyes of his snap back to you quickly and fierce.

“I wanna kiss you.”

He flat out says it but with unwavering solid sharpness.

The thought almost makes your body buckle. You even almost choke on the sharp inhale you take.

“O-oh.” You stammer out.

“Yeah.” Katsuki mutters out low and slightly bashful.

At just the thought your eyes immediately flicker to his lips. You noticed them earlier of course when you first saw his face but didn’t want to stare. Now you find they are soft, plush and you want to press your lips against his more than ever.

“I haven’t…” your mandalorian begins then his voice trails off.

He hasn’t kissed anyone.

It makes sense. He’s so abstinent in his loyalty that he would never remove his helmet for a simple kiss.

And, for some reason that truth licks a dangerously warm heat up your throat that also seizes your heart. To know you’d be the first and only one to kiss him awakens something clawed and pleased inside of you.

Katsuki swallows hard.

He’s hesitant, embarrassed, maybe even worried. It paints his handsome face so easily.

Very cautiously your hand rises up to his face.

After having his face covered for most of his life out of instinct Katsuki immediately snaps his attention to your hand with a hard cautious scowl. You freeze, wondering if this is all too much.

But then realizing what you are trying to do, your mandalorain’s scarlet eyes soften instantly. When your hand softly rests against his face, mainly against his sturdy jaw, Kastuki exhales heavily as he closes his eyes.

The weight of this force of a warrior melts against your hand as he leans against it fully.

“You’re considered the best of the clans,” you begin. “The best out of all the others.”

“Damn straight.” He mutters out still looking like a blissful lothcat against your hand.

You hold back a chuckle that still manages to trickle your lips.

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of.” You reassure him. “You’re a natural and the best for a reason.”

But you also realize that yes, even though he said he wants to do this, this does not have to be done right now.

“Plus, there’s no rush…We can wait whenever you’re ready, I’ll wait as long as you need.” You repeat the same words he told you, feel their weight and devotion, patience and love, weave deep into your bones.

You even feel a smile tug your lips.

Hazily, almost sleepily, his eyes halfway open to stare out at you with such an intense warmth you feel as if you are staring into his heart's core.

He’s so unbearably gorgeous you almost can’t stand it.

Then without any warning, Katsuki leans forward and presses his lips against yours.

The surprise of him acting so quickly mixes with the surprise of finally getting to kiss him that you wonder if your heart is going to give out from the rush of emotions. But then your mind melts to simply solidify into this moment.

You’re kissing him, your husband, your mandalorian. You’re kissing Katsuki.

His lips are so soft, warm and the faintest smell of his herbal soap suddenly fills your senses.

Slowly his lips begin to pull back ever the slightest before you jump back at him with the same energy of acting without hesitation.

Your eyes close as pure bliss fills you to the brim.

Your lips meet his once, twice in sweet simple kisses but each time he presses closer and closer to you.

Katsuki’s lips now chase yours as if to ask for another kiss every time as if he wants to slowly kiss you again and again until he can’t any more.

You almost want to snicker, but you believe if you do your secretly tender hearted husband might storm away in embarrassment. But it’s not out of humor why you want to laugh. It’s out of a giddiness you can’t describe.

Until you realize the giddiness is simply love.

It is a love stitched into your bones and so overjoyed to finally be free, to finally be in this moment with the man with crimson sunset eyes.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You came to Tatooine with Todoroki and his scavenger. You now would be leaving the planet with your husband.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just come back with us?” Shouto asks with the most intense sincerity in his dual colored eyes. He stares so directly into you wanting to gauge if you give him a secret sign saying otherwise.

“My ex jedi is coming home with me!” Bakugo barks back angrily at Shouto who ignores him flat out.

You laugh and even the scavenger who you now feel is slowly actually becoming a friend, laughs too.

You can’t thank this pair enough for what they have done for you. They gave you shelter when you were lost and aimless and a home when you had nowhere go. They became almost your strongest support system besides Monoma. Your heart would hold them tight together.

And when you bid them goodbye you hug the two of them just as right. You vow to contact them when you return to Mandalore.

Just because you are married now did not mean you would abandon any of your friends or the task of finding who attacked the temple.

As you watch them take a speeder bike to head out to the other city here on Tatooine you say a silent blessing to the force to keep them safe.

“When we get back home,” Katsuki mutters. “We’ll start figuring out what leads we can track.”

Seems like you would not be alone in your search.

Then the word hits you gently.

Home.

Mandalore would be your new home. Or mainly, Katsuki is your new home now.

Overwhelmed with emotions you turn back to stare at your husband.

Katsuki wears his helmet now but you can so clearly picture his handsome face composed with determination. You even itch to lean forward to just kiss the side of his curved helmet cheek. Instead you playfully nudge your armored husband who stiffens at your playful action. Then he nudges you back harder.

You snicker amused at how childish he can be.

“Damn weirdo.” He even mumbles out annoyed.

But his fingers continue to brush against yours as if to simply chase after your presence or simply remind him

how close you are.

The markets once again liven up the streets of Mos Eisely. You wanted to do one final look through the shops and vendors before your trip back. You even mention finding something for Monoma, specifically maybe that satchel he hinted about wanting.

“Fuck you and him are gonna be damn headaches together.” Katsuki even sounds as if the thought stabbed his side.

“Oh hush.” You chide him gently as you scan the market place.

That’s when you spot the familiar jewelry stand. The same elderly twi’lek woman is there working. Her eyes grow wide seeing you and then they eagerly flicker to the mandalorian with you.

Naturally you walk back to the stall.

“I’m thinking you might need that necklace now huh?” She grins wide and your face heats up.

“I was worried when I saw him chase after you but I should’ve known it was a lovers quarrel.” She adds and the thought of her being worried is endearing.

“Ha?” Your mandalorian asks so rudely and you lightly shush him as you buy the necklace.

The sweet elderly twi’lek giggles the entire time. Especially when Bakugou swoops in to hand the vendor credits.

“I could’ve paid for it.” You huff.

“No, cause that’s my job now.” He bluntly tells you like it’s the most obvious thing in this galaxy and you don’t even want to argue with him.

“Besides, s’nice.” He admires low, only for your ears.

“It’s an engagement pendant.” You explain. You even add how you’re just holding on to it until you can give it to him later.

“To mark our engagement and all that.” You casually and a bit cheekily say.

“We’re married!” He snaps back insulted and horrified that you’d even make the mistake of even forgetting.

“Oh you’re married?!” You’re not that far from the stall for the vendor to catch that. Or it could be that Katsuki is just that loud.

Either way you and him turn back to her. Her warm eyes shine with excitement.

You sleepy grin back to her. “So he says.”

“We are!” Your poor husband cries back furious.

You think this is it. This is the true blessing of getting to be married to this mandalorian for the rest of your life and that is getting to tease and annoy him.

You can’t help but snort. Then the rush of footsteps on the sandy gravel come towards you. When you and Katsuki turn back your dear vendor approaches with something in hand.

“Here, the companion piece!” She warmly hands you the twin of your necklace.

“Once someone gets married the spouse is meant to come back to retrieve the matching necklace so that the two are now together forever.”

It’s a sweet tradition and you happily hold the two necklaces together as you ask how much for both.

“Oh no young one, it’s fine.” The vendor waves you off warmly. “Think of it as a wedding gift from me and the city.”

You’re overwhelmed by the gesture, the pure genuine sweetness of it and the force even dances beautifully in the air.

“You’re too kind please let us-”

Before you can finish Katsuki moves beside you and places down two solid gold credits on the stall’s counter. That’s triple the amount that you paid and you’re pleased at your husband’s action.

The vendor exclaims in huttese and almost looks petrified seeing the money on her stand. She tries to sputter out something but you simply give her a warm thankful nod.

“Think of it as our thank you for the gift.” You tell her earnestly and even Katsuki beside you nods in quiet agreement.

With her heartfelt thanks you find yourself already walking back to the ship. Monoma’s satchel would have to wait for another day. Your eyes are focused on the two necklaces sitting in your grasp.

“I’m counting this as my wedding gift to you.” You say matter of factly to your husband.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup, deal with it.”

He chuckles low at your reply.

“Moron.” Is all he says but you hear the truth happily buried beneath it.

Thank you, it’s wonderful. I'll cherish it forever…

You glance down again to look at the two necklaces with a fondness before you move to place them in your bag

“You’ll get your gift when we get back home.”

Then his words almost make you trip and drop your precious jewelry pieces.

“What wedding gift?” You ask again as worry leaks into your voice.

Even with the helmet on you know he’s staring dryly at you.

“What? You can get me somethin’ and I can’t get you shit?”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” You reply back huffy.

He stays quiet.

“What did you get me?”

Again he stays silent and doesn’t answer.

“Katsuki.” You hiss out and you believe this ridiculous mandalorian is now grinning at you victorious.

“It’s meant to be a surprise, shitty Jedi!” He barks back and you’re too wrapped up in this conversation to even correct him.

“Shit…thinking about it, it won’t be a surprise when you gotta get measured.” He mutters mainly to himself as if he realized this fact.

The words stop you dead in your tracks.

You stare at him a bit petrified and confused. So all you can do is ask him again, low and even a bit serious about what he got you.

You’re thankful to have made it to the edge of the market and it is mainly vacant.

Because your spirit leaves you the moment you see Katsuki move to tap at his beskar shoulder pauldron.

And it clicks.

Armor.

He means to give you beskar armor.

#I am… seriously so nervous about posting this I’m not even joking 🤡#what’s keeping me solid is knowing that about five people will read this and that’s what matters #across the stars: mandalorian bakugo #mandalorian bakugo or aka erika stop talking about Star Wars #in a galaxy far far away: a sw mha universe #Katsuki 🧡

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littledollll · 1 year

Note

🕊️

Another prompt for you darling~

Prompt~ r needs to be little like showing their usual tales for it (maybe fidgeting, messing with their sleeves, starring at lucis wings and biting their lip in a need for a tether etc I trust you with the tales) and luci sees this and keeps asking if they need to be little. R says no because it’s not a good time for them to slip and they know that. R wants to stay big and do a good job for lucifer.

Later on R slips and comes up to luci and and goes “da!” And touches their wings. And luci is happy to see their little angel finally giving into their own needs and reminds them to trust “da” because luci only wants them to be happy.

~ shy anon🕊️

#shyanon🕊️

Babbles

(Little angel universe, side shot)

Lucifer x little!angel!reader

A/n: honestly have no idea why this took me so long but I love it sm u don’t understanddddd, excuse the awful amount of space at the end it’s the only way I can work around this new stupid character limit

Extra prompt: very tiny r curling up in lucis wings

No warnings I think

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

You’ve always been a fan of showing your affection, truly no matter the setting you’d have an arm linked with Lucifer’s or be content as long as you got to sit next to them, pda wasnt an issue for you and Lucifer, and anyone who cared enough to comment on it would be reprimanded.

Here’s the thing though, there’s different types of affection you showed, and Lucifer noticed the way you’d tug on their sleeve or poked them for their attention instead of just calling them. How you seemed to be talking less and less and when you did you’d jumble your words, and mostly how your eyes darted to their wings more than usual. All of these being things you do when you’re little.

“Love, do you need to slip?” You shook your head, parting from them again. After every message you’d come back, and seek out Lucifer’s warmth, only to be sent back out within minutes with another message or reply. “Come on pouty, off you go.”

______

Again a few hours later when you finally had done everything, and got a chance to simply exist with them, while they worked of course.

The fidgeting, how you’d absentmindedly bite your nails, how your wings seemed to be hiding uncomfortably against your back and you would cling around them every chance you’d get. They attempted to ask again only to be interrupted. “Nu-uh don’t even say it. not the time” but they were right, you needed to slip.

“You’re stressed, Angel your wings should not be this tense.” You thought you were good at hiding it but they’re not stupid, of course they’d notice.

“Don’t ignore your needs, my love. Other things can wait.” They tried convincing you, but your stubbornness was greater. “I can also wait, I’m fine! you have work to do and I happen to be a great distraction apparently.” You pouted.

“If you’ll excuse me I’m going to find mazikeen, since she won’t fight me and tell me to slip while you finish whatever that is!” You stormed out in faux anger, it’s always fun to be dramatic. Lucifer huffed out a laugh as your made your way out.

_______

Not twenty minutes later you were storming back into the room. “mm da!” you ran to Lucifer with open arms, practically crashing into their chest and meeting them with a bone crushing hug. “up up up!!”

Lucifer chuckled, picking you up and settling you on their hip. “hello there little dove, that was quite fast, did something change your mind?” your hands absentmindedly smoothed over their wings, of course, what else was Lucifer expecting?

They went unheard, you were busy messing up their hair, which made Lucifer playfully glare at you, you giggled and continued, there was really no threat in doing so and Lucifer could fix it in seconds when they needed to.

“No work?” They gave you a nod and you exited my kicked your legs. “we gos now?” Lucifer chuckled and wrapped both arms around you as they made their way out. “You really hate the office that much?”

“Mm! Taks away da!.” You huffed rubbing your eyes. “We’ll limit office time for my little love then, I think it’s time for a little rest no? Long day for such a tiny one.”

______________

All while complaining against sleep you made your way to the floor picking up one of your stuffies and poked luci for attention. “Yes, my dove?” “da!” “What’s wrong, tiny?” you babbled something Lucifer could not possibly understand, but it seemed to be in a happy tone, so Lucifer just agreed.

Your communication was reduced to differently energized kicks that they eventually figured out some meant anger and others giddiness, little hums with again different tones of approval and disapproval and then impossible to understand babbles that they interpreted just by energy what whatever body language you attempted to show.

Occasionally they’d get another poke, or the somehow still energized “da!” When you really required their attention, otherwise they settled for watching over you, just making sure you didn’t do anything unsafe or somehow get hurt.

________

Soon enough Lucifer noted how often you were rubbing your eyes, little yawns that you tried to hide escaping you and how you seemed to be a little extra cuddly, it’s time for bed. “Come on tiny I’ll help you up, it’s bed time.” You babbled out some type of complain before reluctantly making your way to the side of the bed.

You giggled when Lucifer effortlessly lifted you up and got you onto bed. You curled up to their side, hugging tightly your stuffie, your little kicks didn’t come to a stop nor did your babbles as you seemed to be having a super interesting conversation with your stuffie.

“da?” Not so energetic this time, barely above a mumble. Lucifer didn’t need to ask, pulling you into their chest, wings enveloping you, making it dark yet safe, and perfectly warm. You nuzzled closer to them with a satisfied hum, letting your eyes close and sleep take over.

#the sandman #cg! lucifer sandman #sandman agere #shy anon love page #🕊️ anon #gwendoline christie #lucifer sandman #little angel (lucifer x little!reader)#sandman lucifer x reader #sandman lucifer #lucifer morningstar (the sandman)#lucifer morningstar the sandman

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intuitivemoonbaby · 1 year

Text

What are you not seeing?

Pile 1 Pile 2

***these photos are not mine! i stole them from pinterest ;)

welcome back to another pick a card. thank you for all the love for my first post!! i didn’t know if people would actually resonate with the reading. since people did here i am with another reading :)

pick the pile that is calling you the most. to pick a pile, just breathe in and out. don’t overthink it, just trust your gut/intuition. remember to take what resonates and leave the rest. if the pile(s) don’t resonate with you… then maybe this reading isn’t for you. sorry love :( now scroll for your reading…

Pile One

hello pile one!

what you’re not seeing is the new love coming towards you. this seems like a wish fulfillment, something you been manifesting. this person is emotionally mature, caring and charming. they want to build a stable foundation with you. this person is balanced. i’m picking up their energy and it feels very peaceful, like flowing water. this person feels like you’re a blessing. they view you as a confident, passionate and optimistic.you may know this person from work or school. if not that, you could be in the same career field/path. this connection has marriage potential! they could want to give you a gift. maybe flowers? you could also have a past life connection with this person.

Pile Two

hey pile two!

okay y’all are giving i just got out of a toxic relationship. what you’re not seeing is the opportunities coming your way, since you left that relationship. you’re grieving and living in the past. this person was not good for you or your mental health. i’m sorry you had to go through that (i wrote down “grow” instead of “go” in my notes, so this relationship could’ve helped you grow). but you cannot sit in your emotions babe, feel it and let it go. better things are coming towards you. shit they’re knocking at your front door and you’re ignoring it.

so i asked the cards what blessings are coming your way and oh my gosh. once you start to heal through this and let it go, you’re going to step into your bad bitch energy. no one is going to be able to you shit. you’ll also receive clarity on why things happened the way they did. the star came out, you’re definitely going heal, come back stronger and probably get a wish fulfillment too.

i hoped you enjoyed your reading! please leave feedback. you can also message or submit some questions for future readings!

-ɪɴᴛᴜɪᴛɪᴠᴇᴍᴏᴏɴʙᴀʙʏ ☾

#pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a pile #pac #pac reading #tarot cards #tarot reading #free tarot #tarot community #tarot reader #pick a card

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cheolhub · 10 months

Text

UR INVITED 2 CHEOLHUB'S 1ST BDAY BASH!

ABOUT THE EVENT ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

HELLOOOOO! ok first of all, no one comment on my header (unless ur complimenting it 😊), i dropped my art minor after 3 months bc i lack artistic skill and i’ve made it very clear here. NEXT, it’s not MY birthday but cheolhub will officially be a YEAR old on the 26th of august & i wanted to celebrate with a lil sleepover event :> i've had so many ups and downs while running this blog and have almost abandoned it more times than i can count, so i just want to say CHEERS to cheolhub (aka sar aka me) for making it this far <3 i am eternally grateful for every kind message, every piece of feedback, and everyone who has been supporting me and my silly lil blog. i love u guys sm and would’ve been long gone without you T^T <3 i hope you'll join the celebration!! -3- and if this flops, you’ll never hear from me again /j /j /j

i knowww it’s early, but i start uni classes again next week (my last semester, yay 😻) and i wanna have time to do an event T-T

SLEEPOVER DATES ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

this event runs for about two weeks! from sunday, august 13th to sunday, august 27th. any asks sent after august 27th will be deleted!

please note that i’ll still be working on asks (if i have any left) even after the event is closed.

EVENTS ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

！★﹕ᶻ﹐LET'S EAT﹒

☆︎ who's hungry? 👹🍽 request a short (less than 1k) drabble and you shall receive. i will be writing the first 5-10 requests due to my busy uni schedule :3 — choose a prompt (or two) from this prompt list + a member from seventeen, txt or the boyz! [closed] (ik the list isnt numbered, so just copy + paste ur preferred prompt(s) ><)

★︎ mtl for seventeen and txt! [open]

☆︎ hard hours for any group i write for! [refer to my guidelines to see who i write for] [open]

！★﹕ᶻ﹐ TIME 4 SELF CARE﹒[open]

★︎ let's do the things that make us happy! what makes us happier than being delusional and horny? you guessed it! being shipped with a hottie 😻 — this is the SHIP GAME + i’ll give you a silly little trope to kickstart ur epic romance

☆︎ OR opt for a personalized moodboards or playlists based off the vibes you give off! (mutuals can get both a moodboard and playlist if they’d like bc i would diy for all of u -3- just say u want both so i know<3333)

note: anonymous senders, please send me a few bits of info like your mbti, ult group and/or bias (does not have to be a group i stan!), star sign (big three if you know it), favorite color, etc. basically anything you want to share + one of the options above. mutuals can ask for any of the above, but providing info is totally optional!!

！★﹕ᶻ﹐WANNA PLAY A GAME?﹒[open]

☆︎ q&a!

ask me anything! favorite movie, how i got into writing, what i do when i’m not writing, why i only ult leaders etc. but please nothing too personal!

★︎ my opinions on literally ANYTHING!

☆︎ ask me for fic recs or give me fic recs!

★︎ fuck, marry, kiss (not kill bc i do not condone violence… not on here at least /lh)

☆︎ would you rather

note: you can send as many of these as you’d like :p i like answering them <3

RULES ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

everything for this event will be tagged under #[ birthday bash ! ] you can block the tag to avoid seeing the posts!

please make sure to get your ask in within the time frame (aug 13th-27th)

minors, please please please do not interact!

be respectful and patient! — the drabbles, mtls & hard hours may take longer for me to get through, but i’ll try my absolute hardest to get them done in a timely manner <3

when sending an ask, be sure to mention the event so i can differentiate between those and my regular asks :)

have fun! ⭐️⭐️

#[ birthday bash ! ]#vernon and the cat r literally twins #send an ask 🤬 (non-threatening)

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pearl-tarotist · 1 year

Text

☾.‧͙*✧*:ﾟ✧ - YES OR NO - ✧･✧*˚⋆☽˚

To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Ask a question and receive the answer from the pendulum (yes/no), the advice from the Greek Alphabet oracle, a song and a small conclusion.

!disclaimer: all photos belong to pinterest + it's possible that this PAC is the most general I have ever done.

PILE 1.- Colorful trees by JOAQUÍN SOROLLA

1)Yes.

2) RHO (P) - You will go on more easily {Rhaion} if you wait a short time.”

"Go on: live, continue; easily: willingly, recklessly, thoughtlessly; wait: stand fast, remain, stay.

If you will hold your ground for only a short time, you will be able to proceed (more easily or with greater cooperation). You will go faster by waiting than by going now; on the other hand, delaying too long may provoke reckless action. By standing fast you live recklessly. By remaining where you are, you live life thoughtlessly".

3)Conclusion:

It seems that you will achieve what you want at the end but it's going to take time. There's a need for you to relax and take care first of yourself, also, learn to cooperate with others. The process should be as pleasuring as the result.

PILE 2.- ITALIAN GIRL BY JOAQUIN SOROLLA

1) No.

2)CHI (x) - There is no fruit to take from a withered {Xêros} shoot.”

"Fruit: produce, return, profit, result; withered: lean, harsh.

There is no good to be gained from an angry young man or woman. The frayed end of a good line. Harshness and stinginess will achieve nothing. You can’t get blood from a turnip; you can’t get water from a stone. Don’t polish a turd".

3)Conclusion:

If you are asking about a person, darling, there's no love nor benefit that you can get from them. They do not share the same feelings and you can not create love from scratch. If you are asking about a situation (jobs, market, a product...) It won't work. You are searching or expecting something from it that can not exist. + With the song I got, it's obvious you want to make things work to the point of hurting yourself or surpassing your own limits.

PILE 3.- GIRL DRINKING

1) Strong no.

2)Alpha - “The God [Apollo] says you will do everything {Hapanta} successfully.”

"Do: achieve, bring about, effect, accomplish, make, manage, negotiate, transact, practice, fare; successfully: prosperously, luckily, with good fortune.

Your entire project will turn out well and you will meet all your goals. You will have good luck in all your activities, or prosperous business transactions and negotiations."

3) Conclusion:

I was a bit confused about the difference between the first two messages but when I listened to the song I got it. You are designated for better things that not the one that you are asking. Stop waiting for people that do not fit with you, you are worth much more than what you allow yourself to be. You could be divinely protected or have people around you that do care a lot about you but you are not able to see it or feel it. I think the message would be something like "stop following others people's orders/dreams and star chasing and working on yours".

PILE 4.- PURSE

1)Yes.

2) Sigma - “Phoibos [Apollo] speaks plainly {Saphôs}, ‘Stay, friend.’”

"Plainly: distinctly, certainly; stay: wait, stand fast, remain.

Neither advance nor retreat; wait or hold your ground, as appropriate; the best action is inaction. “Phoibos” refers to Apollo as Bright and Pure, which also characterizes His advice in this oracle."

3) Conclusion:

I feel like this pile is for the baddies, for the heartbreakers. The message for you is that if you do not feel comfortable with it, if people are trying to force you or tag you, stand your ground and do not force yourself to fit in their ideas. Apply this energy to your question. There's no need to make a choice right now; Gemini, Aquarius, Libra and Sagittarius I see all of you in here.

PILE 5.- MOST ARDENTLY

1)No.

2) Iota (I) - “There is sweat {Hidrôs}; it excels more than everything.”

Sweat: gum, exudation of trees; excels: is superior to, outlives, remains in hand, is a result, is around.

There will always be hard work; work is never done. Hard work is the surest means of success. When you have lost all other possessions, you still have your labor as an asset. The oracle recommends elbow-grease.

3) Conclusion:

Focus on your finances, on your career and on creating abundance for yourself. Your words could have a bigger impact in your environment that you think of. Be careful on what you think, what you say and to who you say it. For some of you, something may have gone wrong but with hard work, it can be fixed and bettered. If you want to have it again, it is possible.

PILE 6.- JOHNNY SUH

1)Yes.

2) Theta - “You have the helping Gods {Theoi} of this path.”

Helping: propitious, defending; path: road, course, way.

The “way” may be a concrete road, a plan of action, a spiritual path, a way of life, etc. In any case, the Gods who oversee this way will help and defend you, so you may go forward with confidence; you are under divine care because you are following your destiny.

3) Conclusion:

Whatever you have asked, it is a strong yees. It's possible it even is your destiny, fate or if asking about a person someone you were destined to meet as a soulmate (from a past life), a twin flame... Whatever you do you are going to be successful at it. Also, you got a Shrek song 🔥🔥🔥.

PILE 7.- WANDER

1)No.

2) Kappa - To fight with the waves {Kuma} is difficult; endure, friend.”

Waves: swells, floods; difficult: hard to bear, do, or deal with, painful, grievous, dangerous; endure: delay.

In time, the force of ocean waves can grind down anything; they can be a metaphor for repetitive, unstoppable processes. It is difficult, dangerous, and painful to try to resist them; the sensible thing to do is to wait until they abate, or if that is impossible, then to endure the inevitable with courage.

3) Conclusion:

What you have asked it's complicated to fulfill. The circumstances that surrounded you will not help you with what you have asked, and sometimes it's wiser to give up on some projects because it's not the right time. You could always come back to them in the future when the the variables are correct and appropriate for you.

PILE 8.- WOMAN

1)Yes.

2)Psi - “You have this righteous judgment {Psêphos} from the Gods."

"Righteous: just, fitting, meet, fair; judgment: resolve, decree.

Literally, a psêphos (Lat. calculus) is a stone used for divination, voting, counting, and similar purposes, so this oracle refers to collective judgment rather than individual judgment. This implies that the majority of the Gods concur in this judgment, and that this judgment is appropriate, fair, and righteous, though there is no implication that the result is that desired by the querant."

3) Conclusion:

What you have asked is more than possible and really logic. It's something that you could expect to happen. The question could be even what was expected of you to ask...like,somehow, the question was more what others expected of you to ask than not what you wanted to ask somehow? You have asked with the mask you put in front of others, not your true "face". Nevertheless, the answer is yes.

PILE 9.- NECKLACE

1)No.

2) Gama - “Gaia [the Earth] {Gê} will give you the ripe fruit of your labors.”

Ripe: complete, final; fruits: produce, returns, profits, results.

You will have a successful harvest, or you will reap all your profits from the Earth. The Mother of All will bring your labors to a fruitful conclusion. Gaia will give you your just deserts.

3) Conclusion:

These are contrary messages... Maybe you were a bit of a pesimistic when you asked that question. There's nothing you can not get a minimal beneficial from. At the end of the day karma will get the ones that hurt you; your problems will get fixed or will disappear.

All rights belong to @pearl-tarotist .

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straykits · 1 year

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☾⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: evening star ; two *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

⋆*･ﾟ story preview. ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:

pairing(s): knight!chan x princess!reader, mage!minho x princess!reader featuring: prince!hyunjin and others. story summary: you were soon to be married to a well liked and nobel prince from one of the wealthiest kingdoms. however, when the engagement ball takes a turn for the worst, you’re to try and reclaim your kingdom with the help of your knight and best friend chan, as well as the mage who you have a secret history with.

⋆*･ﾟ part two ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:

wordcount: 13.9k chapter warnings: blades, mild violence, some injuries note that these warnings are specific to this chapter. if you read something you think should be tagged, please send me a message/ask. a/n: hihi! sorry for the long wait but she's here!! i did have to repost this for reasons which i won't get into, but anyhow. happy reading! taglist: @kpop--etc / @freckled-felixlee / @foivetimesacharm / @tremendousminyoongi / @wearethethunderousones / @chrisishungry100397 / @freckledquokka / @starrylino / @soulssung / @scarsnfevers / @sahazzy / @djeniryuu // unable to tag some :(( --- m.list | one | two | tbc...

It's cold.

That's all you can seem to think about as you slowly come to, the heaviness in your head tempting you to keep your eyes shut. Your ears are ringing dully, and your limbs feel heavy, the way they had years ago when you had first tried to swing Chan’s sword.

The memory blurs in your brain as you try to push yourself up. Your shoulder is killing you - you must have fallen asleep with your arm at a strange angle, but for how long? How long had you been on the staircase for your shoulder to hurt like this? There was nothing to indicate the passage of time that had passed, though the moon was viewable through a small cutout in the staircase. It shown down through the gap, cold moonlight casting an eerie blue glow over you

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Repeat.

As the ringing in your ears start to die down, an unsettling feeling overcomes you. It was quiet. Too quiet. There were no footsteps, no distant chatter or sounds of the quartet playing. There didn’t even seem to be any nightlife - the sounds of crickets and owls that you were positive almost always accompanied the night were no where to be heard. Had it always been this quiet?

As if the world was desperate to prove you wrong, the sound of clattering footsteps makes its way to your ears from below. There was the familiar footfall of the palace servants - more rushed and skitterish than normal, but the sound of their shoes on stone was one you had grown up with.

And then there’s the heavy sound of boots, creating a dull thud with every step.

“To the ballroom! Now!”

It was an unfamiliar, gravelly voice - none of the guards you knew sounded like that. None of them sounded that demanding. As the steps come nearer, you can make out panicked whispers and muffled crying.

Pushing yourself up, forcing your weak legs to hold you up, you scramble up the staircase, away from the noise. With each forced movement, whatever power had fatigued you seems to wash away.

Some part of you - the part that had grown up on adventure stories and fairy tails of princes saving princesses - wanted to run down and help whoever was crying. But you knew that wasn’t the smartest of ideas - and the castle staff, knowing their kind hearts, would tearfully scold you for putting yourself in danger for them.

The sound of your shoes on the stone stairs reverberates in your ear. Kicking them off, you continue barefooted up the staircase.

It was a good idea - not only were your steps quieter, but the cold floor beneath you was grounding. It shocked the drowsiness out of your system, heightened your senses.

And thank god for that, fpr had you continued on with your shoes, you may not have noticed the voices from the second floor until it was too late.

“Find her! She can’t have disappeared into thin air!”

Were they talking about you? So whatever had happened had been to target you?

The thought makes your blood run cold, a sudden wave of dizziness hitting you. To your knowledge, you had never been made the sole target for anything, and all the drills and procedures that you had been taught- they all revolved around someone escorting you away, someone protecting you.

But right now? You were alone, unsure who the enemy was and had no way to contact the only person you trusted. You didn’t even know where he was.

Your mind jumps to your mother - where was she? Was she alright? The last time you had seen her, she’d been in the ballroom. There had been plenty of guards in the ballroom. Hopefully, she was alright.

“Have you checked her room?” A new voice - familiar, but not enough that you can put a face to it in your panic.

“Yes, sir. She isn’t there.”

You wait, holding your breath and pushing yourself flat against the curved wall of the staircase as you wait for the men to move away - anywhere but down the staircase. It seemed an eternity before the one in charge replies.

“Fine. Go find some men and comb through the forest. If she somehow escaped, she can’t have gone far. Not in heels and a ball gown.”

“Yes, sir!”

Hearing their footsteps fade, you take the last few steps up to the top. To leave the temporary sanctuary offered by the darkness of the staircase seems like leaving the only safe haven you know, but you also know that almost nothing was ever permanent - stories of heroes could be immortalised by ink and tongue, but things like safety were only temporary.

Your bare feet pad across the cold floor, the lack of echo each time your feet hit the ground alien to you.

It was tiring and absolutely terrifying to look over your shoulder every few steps - what if, in that split second, someone appears in front of you? Or what if you look back, and someone is there? You weren't sure who the men were, who they worked for (if anyone at all), nor were you sure what they wanted.

Despite there having been men above and below the staircase, you manage to make your way down the hall without being spotted. When the door to your bedroom finally comes into view, the adrenaline increases in your veins - this was it, this was the last sprint. As soon as you're in, you can lock the door and then figure out your next move.

Taking a deep breath, you set off on a run to the door, feet falling hard against the ground.

Just as you reach the door, the sound of footsteps from down the hall reach you. You start fumbling the door handle, hands suddenly uncooperative and breath erratic and heart beating in your ears and the footsteps are speeding up, getting closer, closer, closer-

The door opens, and you barely manage to push it shut behind you as you stumble in. Spinning around, you throw yourself back against it, fingers struggling to lock the door based off of muscle memory.

You can hear the lock slide home, the click calming your nerves ever so slightly.

Finally, you were safe once again, your room providing temporary solace. And familiar, it could have been, had your room not look like it'd been torn apart.

The blankets on your bed had been pulled off, and the wardrobe doors thrown open. Closet doors had also been opened, and you could see the gaps in your clothes where someone had pushed them apart. And at the center of your room - the flowers you had been gifted earlier in the day, spilling over the edge of the table, the vase knocked over.

Whoever had come looking for you had really looked through everything, you thought, face warming despite all. But it should be the last thing on your mind, you chide yourself. There were more important matters at stake - like your life, and whatever on earth was going on.

Running to your open wardrobe, you rummage through the mess that had been left behind for something to change into, grabbing at the darkest thing you could find - a dark, velvet dress. You quickly undress, letting the stained tulle gown fall and bunch around your feet. Stepping out and kicking it aside ungracefully, you struggle to pull the velvet dress on while simultaneously digging around for something that wasn’t heels - it takes longer than you had thought to locate some riding boots. You crouch down, pulling at the laces.

How long would it be before someone was going to return to check your room? If you were still here, what would happen? Could you fight them off by yourself? ...No, probably not. You might be able to fling a few measly knives, but you had never been in combat of nay kind. If anyone returned, if anyone found you, you’d be helpless.

And then what? Would they take you to the ballroom, where it seemed they were gathering everyone, or would they lock you in the dungeon? Or would they ki-

Like a deer who had heard a twig snap, your body freezes when you hear your door rattle. Every joint in your body feels like it’s been locked in place, and your breath unable to leave your lungs. Had you overthought this all and imagined up the door rattling? Or was someone really outside, trying to get in?

It rattles again, a catalyst for movement as you crawl to your bed - an unsightly scene for a royal, but you couldn’t care less - and reach under the bedskirts. Your hand grasps at nothing until finally your fingers wrap around the string of the drawstring bag you had handed Chan earlier that morning. Pulling it out, you could hear the metal daggers sliding against one another, the harshness of the sound amplified against the stone even through the fabric of the bag.

Click.

Your breath is caught in your throat, trying so hard to force its way out that you feel like you’re about to puke. The drawstring bag seems to be stitched shut, your fingers prying helplessly at the string and the material.

Over your raging heart, you can hear the door shut softly.

Someone was in your room.

Hands shaking and sweating, you finally manage to tug the bag open, and you pull it wide, not caring for what noise it made - if someone was in your room, they were bound to find you anyways - and you reach inside, hands sliding against cold metal that sends shocks up your your arm.

Like some twisted nightmare, all you can see is a pair of black boots before you feel yourself being pushed over onto your back, the stranger putting his weight onto you and pinning your hands above your head with one hand, the other covering your mouth.

Eyes squeezed shut, you thrash around, kicking and twisting, yells muffled despite all your effort. The grip around your wrist was secure, preventing you from even twisting your hand around and nicking the person’s hand with the small dagger you had tried to hard to retrieve.

“Shut- Shut up, y/n, it’s me-”

Your body stills at the all too familiar voice. Eyes snapping open, You find Chan leaning over you, face flushed and eyes wide. He was panting, as if overpowering you had taken all the strength from him.

He releases your wrists, bringing a finger to his lips. Be quiet.

When you nod in response, he lifts his other hand from your mouth.

Without another thought in mind, you reach up and pull him down on top of you, hugging him tight despite your shaking limbs and burying your face into his shoulder. He smelled of the forest at night, the smell of earth and wood mixing with sweat and Chan.

“Chan, I thought you were someone else-”

Your breath rushes out, words barely squeezing past the sob in your throat.

Seeing Chan’s face made you want to cry; you wanted to be held, to be cradled in his arms and have him whisper words of comfort in your ear, for him to stroke your hair and tell you hey, everything’s alright, this is all just a bad nightmare and you’ll wake up soon.

He does stroke your hair - you feel his hand come under you, holding your head to the crook of his neck. He pats your head, hand running over your hair rhythmically until the adrenaline in your veins dissipates.

The smell of forest and night and Chan, the feeling of fabric between your nails and your palm, the sensation of being held by someone safe - it grounded you, each rattling breath shaking out the fear from your mind.

Slowly, your hands open and release his shirt. Even with your arms loose around his torso, Chan continues to hold you, and then you feel it, adrenaline leaving the room for your senses to recover.

His arms around you are strong - you’ve always known that he was strong - but they’re tense, as if he was restraining himself from holding you any tighter than he already was. You can hear his breaths, forcibly steady and controlled, and his hands are shaking against your hair as he calms you down, leaving an onlooker to wonder who it really was that needed the comfort.

He gulps, and you think he’s about to say something, but he pulls back. Still on top of you, he looks down, his bangs hanging and brushing against your forehead. He seems to be scanning your eyes, your face, for something that you couldn’t quite figure out. Injuries, perhaps? Or was he trying to see if you were still scared?

With each passing second, you can see his eyes soften. Simply looking at you, it seems, was enough to ground Chan.

“Did- Did you lock the door?” you break the silence after a while, and Chan blinks rapidly.

As if suddenly remembering that he was straddling your hips and leaning over you, he throws himself to the side, rolling into a kneeling position. He nods minutely, glancing across the room to the door. Though it stands silently, though you can't help noticing the feeling of impending doom it seems to radiate.

You push yourself up from the floor, retrieving the dagger you had discarded upon recognising Chan. The metal is unnervingly cold against the palm of your hand, and you quickly drop it back into the bag.

"What happened?"

Chan is across the room, peering out one of the two windows in your room. His eyes flick to you, and quickly back out the window when he catches you staring at him.

You shake your head, still trying to piece it all together yourself. "I don't- I don't know. I was going back to my room-"

"Why?"

"To change my dress - There was an accident-"

"Accident?"

"Yes, I knocked into someone- No, they knocked into me- Oh, I can't remember, but my dress got stained, so I was told to go back to my room and wait for a new dress. I was- I was on my way to my room, and then everything started getting all... weird, and it was like the castle was moving - I couldn’t - I couldn’t walk fast enough, and I was scared, and the torches kept moving and-" It was all mixed up in your brain. You could picture it all happening, could see yourself talking to the maid, could see the hallway, the fire and dancing shadows on the wall-

"Breathe, your highness. You're safe right now. I'm here." Chan had, at some point, made his way over to you. He had his hands on your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. "Now, have you been in your room all this time?"

“I-” shuddering breath in, shuddering breath out. “No. I only made it to the stairs before I... before I fell asleep.”

Once you had calmed down, Chan starts the questioning. What do you remember seeing? How long were you asleep? What did you hear? You had expected this to happen, and tried to recall all the details.

The story, though short, slowly unravels, and Chan shares his side too. He had been making his rounds, ensuring everyone was stationed where they were supposed to be when he noticed the change in the atmosphere - everything had gone quiet. He’d found one of his men on the ground - unwounded, but asleep, and Chan couldn’t wake him up. He would have kept trying, but then he saw the group of men approaching the castle.

“There were too many for me to try and beat. And I didn’t know how many more there were, and it was just- there were too many risks.” Chan had regret painted all over his face. You knew how much it must have hurt him to walk past his men, all on the ground, and be able to do nothing to help them. “But they said it had worked. And I don’t know what it is, but from the looks of it...”

“Magic.”

The word hangs in the air, a dark cloud that could bring anything from a light shower to a thunderous storm. No one really knew what the nature of magic was - after so many years of separation between the magical and non-magical, there was little interest in educating the non-magic folk of what magic really was. Magic was wild, something you nor Chan could fully comprehend.

“What I don’t understand,” Chan starts, pacing around the room, “Is why you were the only one who woke up. I mean - I assume I was outside of the spell’s perimeter, but you, your highness... Everyone was asleep, when I made my way here. No matter how hard I tried to wake them, no one would open their eyes. They were all breathing, though.” A reassurance, for himself or for you, no one knows.

You had an idea about why you were awake. A voice, a memory, a boy from long ago. You were sure he was connected to this somehow, that he had somehow tried to protect you - he had told you to run, had he not? That had to have been his voice.

But you knew that mentioning him to Chan right now wouldn’t be the best of ideas. Chan - always protecting you, always ready to cut down anything that could be a risk to you - was already sure magic was the root of whatever trouble you were now in, and to tell him that the reason you woke up was most likely because of someone’s magic?

No; Chan wouldn’t just be pointing fingers - he’d be pointing a sword at whoever’s name you let slip.

So instead, you shake your head. “But what now? We can’t stay here and wait the spell out,” you reason. “Besides, I heard the men moving everyone to the ballroom. We- We can’t even stay here.”

The realisation settles in your mind, a cold blanket that seemed to freeze you in place.

You had… never spent a night outside of the castle before. Chan had, of course, but he had been out with people who were able to protect themselves, able to take care of themselves.

But what were you, if not a princess who had grown up sheltered by the castle? And sure, you theoretically knew your way around a blade, but you could barely do more than hit within two meters of your target.

"...And I know we don't have time, but we'll figure this out, okay?"

You would be nothing more than a burden on Chan; extra baggage that he had to carry and take care of, whether he wanted to or not.

"I won't let anything bad happen to you or our kingdom. I promise."

Sometimes, you simply wished for a life free of the responsibilities you and Chan had.

"Your highness?"

It was hard to shake the thoughts from your head, though you tried - too much was at stake right now for you to get lost in your own shortcomings.

"Y/n," comes Chan's voice, closer and softer than it had been a moment ago, drawing you away from all the possibilities of the past, present and future. "I know this is overwhelming, but I need you here with me, okay?"

He raises a hand, palm cupping your cheek and thumb swiping under your eye - had you been crying? You hadn't even realised.

"I'm here," you tell him, and despite your voice betraying you, you really were present. Wiping away at your tears, you take a deep breath. "I'm here," you say again, more confidently this time.

"Good. Now,” Chan takes a breath that seems to rattle his body as much as you felt rattled. “Go grab that dagger from above your bed."

It takes a moment for your feet to move; once they do, it was like everything was being sped up.

You had to get up on the bed to reach the dagger. You go to step on your pillows, almost falling as they move under your weight, and kick them out of the way. They fall onto the floor with light thumps, and you reach up for the dagger.

“What about the prince?” You ask as you unhitch the blade from where it was mounted. The light catches on the star etched at the hilt, flashing as you move off the bed and back to Chan. “Him and his men aren’t familiar enough with the castle to-”

“With all due respect, my only responsibility right now is you,” Chan replies. He isn’t cold or dismissive, but his tone tells you he wasn’t going to compromise your safety for anyone else. “There are too many unknowns right now for us to try and find him.”

He’s standing by your window, peering out of it from the side. You sneak a glance out, curious as to what he was watching.

Nothing. He was watching nothing.

All was still outside your window, which overlooked the back of the castle. The forest was dimly lit by the moon, though you could see the shadow of clouds inching closer and closer. The only thing that seemed to move - even the trees seemed like they were still, unmoving against the wind that moved the clouds.

“Are we… Are we going?”

He nods silently, solemnly, before turning on his heels with what seems to you like newfound determination. Had he been thinking all this time? Trying to come up with a plan?

Well, you’d probably know had you not been so caught up in your thoughts before.

“Now listen, your highness.” Chan is busy rummaging through your bag of knives as he talks. “It’s just the two of us, so I should be able to fight should anyone come at us. But in the case that someone gets to you, you use the dagger, all right? And if you don’t have your dagger, use your body. Fists, elbows, knees. Connect with the throat, with the eyes. You might not be strong enough to faze an armoured person with a hit to the torso."

You nod, repeating the words in your head. Dagger, fists and elbows, throat and eyes.

“These will be too loud if we’re to carry them around, and we don’t have any harnesses on us.” He balls the bag up, sliding it and the daggers across the floor and back under your bed. He turns to you next, hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes with a fierceness that almost shakes you. “If we get separated, you run into the forest, okay? You aim for the forest, and get as far in as you can. I’ll find you.”

Brows furrowing, you shake your head. “You- You say that like I’d leave you behind.”

“You have to, if I get caught- If I’m fighting someone. If you have the chance to run, you run, okay?”

You continue to stare at him, at Chan, who had been by your side all your life, who was asking you to leave him behind if the situation called for it.

“Promise me, your highness. If I tell you to go, you go, okay?”

He’s looking at you with such seriousness, with so much will and determination and need for you to to promise. And, were you to look closer, look longer, you’d see the fear in his eyes.

What was it that he knew, that he had thought about that you hadn’t quite comprehended about the situation yet? Surely it wasn’t so bad that Chan would have to… sacrifice himself, right?

“Y/n, I need to know you’ll be safe if I-”

“I promise.” The words manage their way up and out your mouth, leaving a vile taste behind. It was both a truth, and a lie. I promise I’ll be safe. I won’t leave you behind.

—

The plan had seemed simple when Chan had talked you through it, and perhaps it was naive of you to take his words at face value. You definitely thought so now, as you almost run into Chan for the third time as he stops abruptly at a corner.

Ahead, you can hear the sounds of voices - not hushed, but far enough that you can't make out any of the words. They slowly grow louder, louder, footsteps drowing out the words, and then all the sounds fade out all together.

“Okay, let's go.”

After a moment of silence, Chan moves again. You follow closely behind, glancing back every few seconds to make sure that no one had walked around the corner.

You were near a staircase, you knew. Another small spiraling one, not unlike the one you had fallen asleep upon.

Chan stops before the entrance. He pokes his head in, cocks his head slightly to the side - you wait, heart beating in your ears until Chan gives the all clear.

The pair of you descend the stairs, the cold entrapped in the small, stone-walled space sending shivers down your spines. You spare but the smallest thought to curse yourself silently for forgetting to bring coats - but this wasn’t a planned outing, really. Who had the luxury of time to remember coats?

As yellow torchlight can be seen reflected on the walls of the staircase, Chan turns his head to speak to you in a hushed voice.

“Once we exit the staircase, we’ll head straight for the back door. Once outside, head straight for the forest. If we get separated, meet near the clearing where you practice-”

Chan disappears from your sight, thrown to the left with a grunt of pain.

“Chan!”

You quickly descend the last few steps, turning to find Chan on the floor, an arm over his head protectively. As you go to take a step towards him, mind gone in your panic to see if he’s alright, your feet leave the ground.

“Let- Let go of me!”

The person behind you has a hand around each wrist, pushing your arms against your chest as they lift you off your feet. You’re kicking and yelling, the dagger in your hand useless with what little range of motion you have.

As if you were but a pillow, the person - a man, you guessed, from the grunts in your ear and the thick, muscular arms around you, - carries you over closer to Chan.

“It wouldn’t do his highness any good to leave someone so devoted to the princess alive-”

You freeze as dread feels your veins, your mind, every part of your body, filling you in a way that seemed to offset your balance.

His highness? He couldn’t mean- no-

The man moves you to the side, jerking motion pulling a cry from you. He pulls his leg back, prepares to kick Chan. You shut your eyes tight as you can, turning your head away - to see Chan in pain right now, to see him be hurt, would crush your spirit.

“Don’t worry, some of your buddies will be joining you soon,” the man says, before bringing his leg forward and-

A sharp curse is yelled into your ear before you feel yourself fall, eyes staying shut until you feel the body behind - no, beneath you, make impact with the ground.

The man’s arms loosen around you just enough for you to pull an arm free. The dagger, held so tight in your hand that you feel like it’s hilt would be imprinted into your palm, swings behind you blindly. There’s a shout of pain before the tip skids along the stone ground.

Whatever damage you had done was enough of a surprise for the man to release you.

You roll off of him, being sure to keep the blade of the dagger away from you, and scramble to your feet. Eyes wide, you take in the scene before you.

Chan, still on the ground, was pulling the man towards him by the foot; had he stayed on the floor on purpose to pull the perpetrator down with him?

“Chan-”

“Go, y/n!

You stare in horror as the man, getting dragged slowly but surely towards Chan, starts to come back to his senses and recover from the initial shock of the fall. Chan, while not lacking in the muscle department, looked like he would be done for if he took another few hits.

And yet he wanted you to leave him.

It was his job, you knew, but still-

“I’ll be right behind you! Just go!” Chan yells, half frantic and half commanding, eyes jumping haphazardly between you and the slowly awakening man. “You promised!”

You had, and yet you had also promised yourself you wouldn’t abandon him. But what use were you if you stayed?

Chan wouldn’t be able to use his sword, not at that close a distance. You knew enough about battle to know that. So you do the only thing you can for him in that moment.

“Here!”

Before Chan could even look at you, you slide the dagger in your hand towards him, hilt first. It glides across the ground, metal against stone filling your ears, and as it passes the man, a brief image of him grabbing it and diving forward at Chan flashes in your mind.

But he doesn’t grab for it, and the dagger comes to a stop at Chan’s knees. He looks at it in shock, confusion, then back at you and nods.

Now, go, his eyes seem to say.

A strange calmness had settled in Chan’s face, as if he had come to some final decision, had accepted something.

A pit of newfound discomfort makes its home in your stomach, but you do, this time. You go slowly at first, one step back, two, and then you turn your back and run.

You can hear grunts and yells as you run away from Chan and the other man. You can hear him yelling to let anyone nearby know that the princess was getting away, but you don’t turn back to see if anyone’s following you. Part of you feared you would lose your footing if you did, the harsh sounds of your running steps a driver to keep you going, and the other feared the potential scene you had left behind.

It was awfully difficult to run in the velvet dress. Though no where near the heaviest dress you had worn, the way the skirt’s layers moved against your legs seemed to act like a barrier. You fought on, pulling it up to free your ankles of the resistance. The echoes of your steps fill your ears, heart beating against your chest, in your ears, as the wooden door you had come through this morning finally becomes visible. As if in response to your near success, you can hear the sounds of more men coming - the clunking of armour, of swords being unsheathed, of incoherent orders being yelled.

You push the door, the velvet of the dress catching on the old wooden door; though reinforced with iron bars, the door itself had stood sturdy for as long as you can remember, and though well maintained, time had brought forth a few chips. It stood strong, even now, and your face scrunches up in effort - had it always been this heavy? - until finally, finally it groans open.

Cold night air slips through the gap, drying your eyes and piercing your already pained lungs further. You step out, one foot, then the other, and the door slams shut behind you.

The vast silence that greets you is deafening.

Despite the breeze that had slipped through the door, the air was still. Lack of wind didn’t make you any less cold, and you feel a shiver run through your body as you scan the horizon.

The forest behind the castle seemed frozen in place, and had it not been for the eerie way the clouds floated above the trees, you’d have no trouble believing someone had stopped time in its place.

Draped in the blues and purples of night, the stone stairs that lead down the east side of the castle and to the stream that separated the castle grounds from the forest looked colder than ever. You had fallen on them once when you were younger, the cold biting into your palms when you had gone to brace yourself. To fall again now might mean more than just scratched up hands and knees.

You hands fist at your sides when you feel the unnerving thoughts fill your mind. Into the forest, Chan had said. As far in as you can go, and he’ll find you.

He’ll find you. He would always find you, unless-

You take a deep, bone-rattling breath in and let the pain of cold air in your nose ground you. Pulling your skirts up once more, you make your way down the stairs.

Steady but fast, you descend the stairs. Each step reverberates through your body, the sound of your own breathing in your ears.

You didn’t dare to concentrate on anything other than placing one foot before the other and not missing a step - a tumble would be detrimental to everything, would put you at risk, would make Chan’s sac- would mean that Chan had stayed behind to fight for nothing.

Your boots make contact with grass, the soft surface of the new ground unsettling to your legs. One step, two, a glance behind. The door stood dark and unmoving - had the men not seen you leave it, or were they occupied elsewhere?

It mattered not - you take a deep gulp, cold air filling your throat, your lungs, before you start running towards the stream. Just past there, and you would be at the forest. While you had yet to explore the entire forest, you knew most of it, and you were certain that at the very least, you knew it better than the men who were attacking the castle.

The men who were attacking the castle… His highness, the man had said.

You were in denial, you knew, but there was only one person that you were aware of that held that title.

Your throat seemed to close up at the thought - the prince had been nothing but kind to you and your servants, had done nothing but try to get to know your land better… and it all could have been an act.

Yet some part of you wanted to believe he was better than that - better than someone who acted kind and gentle, who spoke fondly of their men, their friends, just to sympathise and get on your good side. But he had said it himself, no? That with the lives of their people in their hands, there are things that royals need to sacrifice?

The maelstrom of thoughts is pushed from your head when your feet meet new ground once again. The stream is shallow and unmoving, and yet dragging your feet through the water seemed to require a great deal more energy than ever before. It’s cold, the width from one side to the other large enough that despite your boots, your feet seem numb by the time you reach the other side. Your skirt, though you had held it as high as you could manage, had been caught by the river in the crossing and now seemed to drag behind you as you trudge through the last stretch of land to the forest.

And just in time.

Shouts from the castle reach your ears as you step between the trees, and you turn to see silhouettes of men, flames from their torches lighting up the sides of their face. Too far away for you to make out if the three of them were your men or not, yet close enough that they could see you should they descend the stairs.

So you push aside the small slimmer of hope that these were Chan’s men and scurry into the forest.

It was dark, twigs and leaves on the ground catching on your dress as you make your way in, and yet you found an odd comfort in the shadows of the trees. If the people chasing you were in fact from another land - you refused to even think that they might be your people - then being in the forest that you had explored since you were young would, theoretically, put you at an advantage. You might not know the entire forest inside and out, but you knew it well enough that you were confident you would be able to evade the pursuers.

At first, you follow the path you normally take when you go off in the early mornings to practice your knife throwing. Down between the two trees, perfectly lined up with each other, past the boulder that Chan had once chased you around - Chan- no, don’t get distracted - and down the steady slope, the well-trekked path obvious for it lacked foliage and branches in the way.

It was obvious.

So without a second thought, you turn to your right and dash madly in between the trees, losing yourself in their shadows.

No one had really ever travelled off the path, especially not this close to the castle grounds. The ground was far more uneven than the path before, sticks catching on your skirt, hitting the leather of your riding boots - you could feel the small thumps. Even your sleeves, though not wide, caught on the lower branches as you tried to push them out of the way. There was little to light your path but whatever moonlight managed to slip past the trees, highlighting the odd patch of forest ground. Leaves and rocks, roots and fallen branches. You tried to avoid what you could, tried your best to keep your footing, but it wasn’t long before you tripped.

Hands met the ground and a jarring pain shoots up your left arm. You try to stop the cry of pain from escaping your lips, your mouth opening in pained silence as your left hand gives way and you fall onto your side.

The ground is rough through the velvet of the dress, rocks digging into your shoulder as you cradle your arm to your chest. You give yourself only a second, two, to collect yourself. Your wrist hurt, the initial sharp pain dulling down to a strong throb that made you feel like your veins were about to burst with each pulse.

You push yourself up, forcing your legs to carry you further across the forest.

It feels an age before you finally come to a stop, hand against a tree to support yourself as laboured breathing hurts your chest, your head almost woozy from the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the panic and the confusion and the fact that you just didn’t know what was going on and if Chan was even-

Snap.

You force yourself to hold you breath mid-inhale, force your muscles to freeze and your mind to quiet down and your ears to listen.

Snap. Snap.

it wasn’t coming from directly behind you. You gulp, turning your head to your right, squinting against the darkness in some hope it would make your vision clearer.

There’s someone there, and even silhouetted from a distance, you can tell they’re in bad shape - one hand held a sword, the other their side, and with each step forward, a limp becomes more noticeable.

They raise their sword hand in greeting and it takes you a second to process.

Chan*.***

You trip in your haste to get to him, barely managing to regain your footing before your next step propels you forward. You’re stumbling across the ground and you feel the twigs get caught in your skirt, feel your feet kick them out of the way, but you don’t bother to hold your skirt up. The pain in your arm was holding you back from doing so, yes, but the sheer fact that Chan was alright and was here and that you’d found each other - that fact was enough for you to push forward.

You seem to reach him before he does you, your eyes drawing instantly to his left side - a hand was holding a piece of fabric to his side, and as your eyes scan him, you notice he had only one sleeve; he’d torn one off, using it as temporary gauze to stop what you can only imagine to be bleeding. The sword was held loosely in one hand, and to his thigh, your dagger was strapped.

“You’re a mess,” you whisper into the night, heart aching. Your fingers reach out, first for the wound at his side, then to cup his face, but they move ever so minutely that when you stop yourself - you’re a princess, damn it, and Chan was your knight; such acts weren’t befitting of your positions at all - Chan doesn’t even realise you had moved at all.

He chuckles, despite his appearance. Chan drops his sword and lifts his hand to your head, pulling something from your hear and flicking it away. “You’re one to talk.”

You pout, suddenly self conscious and try to clean off whatever dirt had clung to your dress. “Well, you could hardly expect me to look presentable, given the situation.”

“Ah.” Chan grimaces, as if suddenly reminded of the present. “The situation. We- We should get going, deeper into the forest and find somewhere to hide for the mean time.”

“Will you be okay? How bad is the wound?”

He nods, face set in a smile. “It’s nothing life threatening - just a graze,” he comments. “Just a bit of blood-”

He’s cut off as you reach for the dagger strapped to his leg.

“What are you-”

Reaching for the hem of your skirt, you drag the blade across the fabric. It rips with a satisfying sound. Dropping the dagger onto the forest floor, you continue to tear the fabric from the bottom of your dress. Your face burns - standing in front of Chan with your skirt pulled almost to your waist to tear the fabric… you somehow still had the mind to feel self-conscious.

“You can’t just hold that the entire time,” you explain with a final tug to the skirt. It falls back around your legs, higher than before. With a gulp and furiously burning ears, you wrap your arms around Chan’s torso, pulling the fabric around his waist twice before securing it with a knot. “There. Now your hands are free.”

Standing back, you smile at your work.

“Okay, let’s go,” you say and turn.

Though you were ready to move, Chan doesn’t budge. Your muscles relax in confusion, head cocking in question.

His eyes are on you. They’re dark, shadowed by his features, silhouetted by however much moonlight manages to trespass the trees, but you can feel his gaze.

“You’re not…” He gulps, taking in a shuddering breath that causes him to wince, and slowly exhales. “You’re not injured, are you?”

Eyes softening, you feel the urge to cup his cheek again. You shake your head gently. The pain in your arm was easing - it was nothing worth him fretting over.

But how could he, bleeding as he was, still be concerned for your wellbeing?

“I’m fine.” A gentle smile tugs at your lips, and you eye the makeshift bandage around his torso. “Start worrying about yourself more.”

Chan's concern falters and he scoffs. “It's my job to worry about you, your highness.”

He was right, you knew. It was his job, had been his job for as long as you could remember.

“We should get moving, though.” Chan breaks the silence that had fallen between the two of you. “If I were in their shoes, it won’t be along until I either loop back around or send out a full search party to cover the entire forest.”

“So what do we do?”

Your question is met with silence. Chan’s eyes had fixated on a spot on the ground, though you knew he wasn’t really looking at the ground. He had zoned out, the way he does when he gets lost in his thoughts.

Giving him his moment to think, you collect the dagger from the ground. It’s clean, void of any violence it may have taken part in. The blade shone in the night, edges sharp and though cold, the weight of it in your hand brings you an odd sense of comfort.

It reminded you of a time in your childhood when you’d carried an identical blade through these woods.

“I think I know where we can go.” It’s a rush of words as the idea fills your mind, as your brain tries to figure out the kinks in your underdeveloped plan. “He would help us. I know he would.”

An incredulous look passes Chan’s face, so theatrical and comedic that you almost burst out laughing despite the situation.

“’He’? Who is ‘he’?” Chan, so perplexed by the fact that you were acquainted with a boy outside the castle, is frozen in place. “Do I know this person? Why- How do you-” He clears his throat, composes himself, and tries to regain neutrality on his face. “I apologise, princess, but I… have been with you for years, have barely left your side when outside the castle walls… so please forgive my confusion at the moment.”

Though you’d not seen him since that night long ago, you knew he was here. Knew he had stayed in your kingdom, and knew he resided on the outskirts of the town. Any and all businesses who dealt in or with magic were to send official notice to the castle regarding the purpose of their business. Along with a variety of other contracts, it was a method through which the use of magic could be indirectly monitored. The practice had been picked up by all the kingdoms, and any one found to profit off of their magic outside of what they had agreed to would be punished.

You had spied Minho’s name, once, in one of the books that kept such details. An address had been scrawled next to it, and though you had read it out of interest, you had never expected to remember it, especially in a situation like this.

But a mage, you realise, would be the last person Chan would turn to. And how were you to explain how you knew him? How were you to explain why he would help you, without having Chan go off at you about how stupid your decisions had been?

So instead, you take in a slow, deep breath. Tilting your head back to look up at the moon concealed by trees, you exhale. It shone bright, a beautiful sight in the treacherous night.

“Do you trust me, Chan?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, voice filled with absolute certainty as he crosses an arm over his chest and lowers his head into a bow.

“With my life, my princess.”

You and Chan were fortunate enough to not run into anyone as you made your way around the castle grounds. The adrenaline pushes you, keeps your legs working and your ears on high alert. Many times, he had pushed you against a tree, his arm or even his body pressed against yours at the faintest possibility of running into anyone.

You held your breath in these moments. The proximity at which he held you left little space for you to even inhale as deeply as you needed to calm your breathing, and besides - the sound would be too loud to hear anything over it.

When the trees finally start thinning, your legs are heavy and your lungs feel something akin to having had inhaled a thousand thorns.

The forest ended at the top of the hill. To your right, the gates to the castle, the long road up hidden by the night. Before you, the town lay spread out. The houses clustered, divided at intervals to form the many streets. Lit windows were few, and yet you thought that you could almost, if you tried hard enough, hear the hearty laugh of men at pubs.

“Your highness, are you alright? On the edge of the forest may not be the wisest of places for us to rest, perhaps we should-”

Shaking your head, you gather your skirts once more and lift your head. “No, no rest. I was simply sentimental, for a moment. I apologise - such feelings will do us no good right now.”

An expression of confliction crosses Chan’s face, so brief that when you look at him, he looked impassive.

“So, where does this… this person live? Where are we headed?”

The address tumbles from your lips, pulling from Chan a strained look.

“That’s on the other side of the town-”

“But we’ve few, if any other choices,” you reason. “We can’t possibly return to the castle nor can we try and make it to the next town over with nothing on us. We don’t even have money, Chan.”

“Then the people of the town-”

“Will insist on helping us, I know, but I will not take advantage of their kindness when such a thing could put them in danger.” The words come out with much more force than you had intended, the subtle escalation of your conversation with Chan having taken the better of you.

But Chan is seemingly unaffected by it. He regards you with a thoughtful gaze, eyes dancing with both amusement and respect. “Very well. Across town we shall go, your highness.”

Tonight was a night of many firsts for you. The first time you had ever had to flee your home, the first time your life had ever been in danger, the first time you had ever genuinely feared losing Chan.

The feeling had been so alien to you, so impossible to ever fathom, so unnecessary to even had imagined in the past, that as you walked through the sleeping streets of the town you had grown to love so much, you had to resist holding onto Chan like you had when you were a child. It would be silly now, to hold his hand as you had in the past whilst sneaking around the castle. This wasn’t a game anymore; the consequences of being found by the wrong people wasn’t forced study in the library. It was worse, much worse.

So why not hold his hand? Keep him close, know he’s safe - not that you would be able to do much of the protecting, you knew.

But as it had been in the past - when one was in trouble, so too would be the other.

Your fingers flex at your side now, itching to reach out and hold onto Chan as he peers around the corner to ensure no one was there.

He tenses, the same time the sound of a girl's laughter reaches your ear. Footsteps are fast to fade, alongside the quiet murmurs of a man, loud in the soundless night. Lovers, perhaps, heading home together as the night grows old.

A quick gesture of the hands from Chan indicates that it was safe to move. The two of you dart out of the small alley you had been hiding in and enter the town square.

Another first to add to the list; never had you seen the town square bathed in the silver light of the moon, street lamps flickering orange and crossing at the center of the square. Perhaps it was your circumstances, but the emptiness of the town square leaves an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

Chan leads you around the edge, behind empty stalls and shrubbery. Your footsteps echo off the walls of the buildings, playing back into your ears as if to emphasise the emptiness of the town.

“Half way there,” Chan mumbles as he enters a dark alley.

Had that alley always been there? Had any of the roads you’d taken always been there? You knew, realistically speaking, they had been - and yet you could not recall ever having seen them before. Perhaps the street that the bakery had been on, you’d seen before - but the alley that smelt of old blood and meat, the alley that had crates of empty glass bottles stacked by the door. How did Chan know of these roads, of these many paths? Had he memorised the map of the town, the many streets that had never existed to you before now?

It was his job, you supposed, to know these things. And yet the sheer ability to know his way across the town amazed you. Had he ever walked these roads before, or was he simply relying on his mind’s eye, on the chance of an accurate mental recall of the many maps he’d studied?

The scenery had changed - houses were few now, the paths between buildings more dirt and stone than they were stoned tiles, like they’d been in the town square. As you and Chan make your way down the street, Chan a hand on his sword the whole time, you can’t help but marvel at the contrast present in just this one town. Had you not walked here with your own two feet, you would have believed this to be a whole new place. The town you were familiar with had tiled floors, had flowers blooming on the balconies and children in pinks and blues, greens and purples. Not the browns and creams that hung from laundry lines at the front of the houses in the night.

“Up ahead,” Chan breaths, and your eyes scan the distance.

It wasn’t hard to spot, really. The only lit house in the dark street, windows warm with yellow light. There was a sign hanging by the window, but you couldn’t make out the words - weather had gotten the better of the paint. It swung feebly with a passing breeze.

“I trust you, your highness.” Hushed words leave Chan’s lips, followed by a resigned sigh. “I just hope your own trust isn’t misplaced. If they so much as look like they’re going to hurt you, I’ll-”

“He won’t, Chan.” You place a hand on his arm. After a moment, you feel his muscles relax, and Chan moves towards the lit house.

He… won’t, right? You believed he wouldn’t - The last time you had seen him, he had been afraid. He hadn’t hurt you, though you knew he could have. He had listened to you, and you to him, and he had accepted what little help you could offer. You wanted to believe that people were good - that kindness would be remembered.

And yet, back at the castle, his highness-

“There’s someone inside.” Chan, nearing the lit window, holds a hand out to stop you. “I can’t be sure, but it seems to only be one person.”

It’s him. You swallow nervously.

How had the years changed him? Had they even changed him? Would he recognise you at all?

Chan was right. There was someone in the house, their silhouette faint against the window. They were moving around, though it was near impossible to tell what they were doing.

“Are you sure this is the house, your highness? And if so, are you sure this person can be trusted? We don’t know what will happen in the next few hours-”

“Well, we’ve little other choice.” Your statement is all you manage to get out before you push past Chan’s hand. It was now or never - dawdling by his door wouldn’t change the current situation.

Chan makes a shocked sound of protest as you push past him, but he doesn’t move to stop you - only to follow you, and you’re aware of his hand securing it’s grasp on his sword.

Standing in front of the door, you could make out the sound of running water. You raise a shaking hand, fingers curling uncertainly before you squeeze them into a fist and rap on the door. Three quick knocks, breath caught somewhere in your throat as you wait for a response.

Chan speaks up from behind you, voice urgent. “Your highness, please step back-”

The door swings open abruptly, causing you to flinch back in shock.

The heart is a funny thing, really. How can it hold so many emotions at once?

Looking at Minho after so many years was strange. It was like he hadn't aged at all, and yet he looked like he had matured twice as fast as you. His face, though as angular as it had been that night so long ago, was now more jawline and cheekbones, as opposed to malnourishment.

“Lower your weapon, knight, or else I’ll blast you from my door.”

He speaks with a tired drawl, though you see the way his eyes quint in suspicion.

“Minho, it’s me-”

“Yes, I saw you,” he cuts in, eyes still trained behind you. “Not as flashy as your friend’s sword, unfortunately.”

It’s a cold response, not at all what you had expected, but you turn all the same and glare at Chan.

“I told you he wouldn’t hurt us, so-”

“He just said he would blast me from the door-”

“Because you’re waving a great, big sword around, idiot,” Minho says with a roll of his eyes. He’s leaning against the door, body blocking the rest of his house.

“I’m her highness’ knight,” Chan states defiantly, as if challenging Minho. His gaze lingers on Chan for a second longer before he looks at you - really looks at you.

It feels like ice piercing through you, his eyes reading every thought in your head. He knows why we’re here, a small voice in your head tells you. But how could he possibly know that?

“’Her highness,’ huh.” Minho lets the words sit on his tongue, lets it mull over in his head as he regards you. His gaze falls briefly to the dagger in your hand. “Well, I don’t suppose that after all these years you just decided to spontaneously come by in the middle of the night to see how I’m doing, so it’s probably best I invite you in,” he concludes with a sigh. “Tell your knight to sheath his sword, or it’ll be as existent as his sleeve there.”

“We- We don’t have sheaths on us,” you explain hesitantly. “Or anything, really. Just his sword, and the dagger. Not even any money.”

Minho looks down at you - he was taller than you and held himself with such an air of indifference that you couldn’t bare to maintain eye contact. Were you right to come here at all? To ask for help, and, despite your position, have nothing to offer in return?

A defeated sigh leaves him before he steps aside. “Whatever. Hurry in, then.”

He steps aside and after a moment’s hesitation, you make your way into his house.

It was cozy, unlike the great stone walls of your home. Sure, the library fireplace was warm and comforting, but the sheer size of the castle and all of its many rooms were nothing compared to the small space Minho lived in.

Dried plants hung over the window, each bundle a different kind. The table was laid not with the remnants of a meal well eaten, but with more plants and glass bottles, books opened with feathers marking different sections, and a range of things you barely had time to try and identify before you were ushered further into the house.

A fire blazed low in the corner of the room, opposite a messy looking kitchen. The sink was filled with unwashed dishes and more glass bottles, which you had only ever seen in books before. Few chairs were scattered around the room - wooden chairs that you assumed to belong to the table out front were occupied by books and blankets, and a long, two-person sofa had been turned into a makeshift bed. In the corner between the sofa and the fireplace, two wooden doors lead off into unknown areas of the house.

“Well, do sit down,” Minho says with a wave of his hand. Static seems to fill the air as items move from the chairs to the floor, neatly stacking themselves upon one another. “Having the princess and her royal knight standing about my living room is making me quite… anxious, for lack of a better word.”

You watch in amazement as the blankets fold themselves up.

“You’re a magic user?!” Chan whirls on Minho, eyes wide in shock. There’s an edge of something akin to fear or anger - you can’t quite place it, distracted instead by the way the room accommodates for two more people.

“What, your princess didn’t mention that I’m a mage?” Minho retorts, amusement in his eyes. “Shame. But that seems the least of your problems, if you’re coming to my door at this hour. Now, sit.”

An invisible force maneuvers you and Chan down into the sofa. Chan falls with an indignant sound - was this his first time encountering magic? You’d never talked to Chan about magic, before. Nothing beyond stories of faeries and witches, curses and potions.

“Minho,” you begin, before Chan could say anything to worsen a relationship you were surprised had started off on such bad footing. “We- we need you help. I need your help.”

You meet his eye, and for the first time that night, Minho holds your gaze with a seriousness that felt befitting of the situation. Was he aware, after all, of the situation? You were sure that the voice you had heard earlier that night had been his. But no matter how you tried to rethink the situation, there was nothing you could think of that would explain why he had told you to run.

Perhaps you had imagined it, in your drowsed, sluggish state, but you search his face all the same, for any sign that he had sent you the message, had been aware of the potential danger you had been in.

He turns away, a shrug of his shoulders the only sign that he had heard your request at all.

Minho moves to the sink, and in a surprising act of normalcy, picks of a sponge and turns on the tap. He begins to wash his dishes.

Chan glances towards you - this person who you had believed would help obviously showed no care about whatever predicament you were in.

You fidget nervously at the velvet of your dress. Minho places a soaped up plate in the adjacent sink.

“I was hoping-”

“If you knew where to find me,” he suddenly says, his back still towards you and Chan, “Then you’ll know I run a business. Magical assistance in exchange for payment. And, as I recall, the pair of you are quite penniless at the moment.”

“Her highness is still the royal princess.” Chan sounded like he was speaking in court, stating facts as if to argue their case. His voice was clear, rock solid despite your wavering faith in Minho. “Whilst we may currently be in a difficult situation, rest assured that your assistance, should it be provided and adequate, will be rewarded fittingly.”

Minho doesn’t reply to this. He continues to wash his dishes. In the silence, you look around the living space.

Unlike your own home, the walls of Minho’s house were bare of any intricacies. Simple wood, with no grand photos of family members hanging - though, knowing Minho, you’d be surprised if he even had any. Across the fireplace mantel were jars of what seemed to be dried up herbs, sticks of what you recognised as cinnamon, and- were those egg shells? A strange assortment of things, you mused.

“Your highness,” Chan whispers. He leans in towards you, sofa shifting under him, and raises a hand to cover his mouth. “Perhaps your trust- Apologies. Perhaps we are unwelcomed here. It may be best we leave as soon as possible, if this boy refuses to help us.”

“He’s the same age as us, Chan.” Well, you think he is, anyways. “Please - just give it another minute.”

Despite your hopes, Chan seems to be right. The only thing dissuading you from the belief that Minho wanted nothing to do with your recent events was the fact that he hadn’t blatantly turned you away.

The sound of water eases and shuts off. Minho busies his hands - with what, you couldn’t see.

“Was there trouble? At the palace?”

You’re surprised by his question - so he was willing to help? Or, at the very least, hear you out?

“Yes, how did-”

“What makes you say that?” Chan says, and a jolt ran through you. Never had Chan spoken over you so forcefully before. He doesn’t meet your eyes and instead frowns at the back of the mage’s head.

Minho doesn’t answer immediately. He continues whatever other task he had started, back to you. After a few seconds, he turns and grabs for a tea towel. He leans back against the sink, wiping his hands.

“Well, is it not the most obvious thing to have happened?” With a forced smile at Chan, Minho discards the towel behind him. “Why else would you and the princess be at my door, penniless and on foot, at this hour? If not for trouble at the palace, surely you would have opted for a horse or two, and if you knew I ran a business, surely you would come with some form of payment.”

The points, while well made, seemed to do little to ease whatever suspicion had overcome Chan - it didn’t take much to guess what those suspicions were concerning, and you turn to Chan with a resigned look.

“It took you some time to formulate such an easily deducible answer,” Chan muses aloud.

“Well, then why ask such an obvious question?” Minho retorts and all of a sudden the temperature in the room seems to drop. The air seems to fizz, and a stroke of fear enters your body as he returns Chan’s glare with his own pointed look.

He pushes off of the sink and walks forward.

He doesn’t carry the same angry threat that you’d seen come from Chan when his men were out of line. No glowering, no fists at his side, no long strides to advance upon his opponent. He seems to simply walk across the room instead, his head held high and jaw clenched ever so subtly, never breaking eye contact with Chan. He stops half-way - he doesn’t need to make the full distance. Chan abruptly stands up and makes his own advance.

“Chan, honestly-”

“I don’t quite appreciate the way you’re regarding me, knight.” Each of Minho’s words seems to be accentuated by the flicker of the fireplace flame. They’re spoken clearly, carefully - not quite a whisper, but then again, it didn’t take much for him to be heard in the silence. “The implications you’re making, while subtle, are not left unknown to me, human.”

The two of them, knight and mage, are in the middle of Minho’s living space, the tension so high that you didn’t know who to fear for.

“I’ll have you know something, mage.” Chan snarls. “I don’t trust you. Not one bit; not at all.” He’s breathing down Minho’s chest, a snarl you’d never seen before turning the face of someone you’d grown up with into someone almost unrecognisable. “I’m only here because her highness believes strongly that you will help us.” He jabs a finger into Minho’s chest, though the latter only raises a brow. “However, it is my job to keep her safe and even if I respect her opinion of others, it does not mean that her and I are of the same mind.”

He’s breathing heavily by the end of it, the tips of his ears red. You had risen from your seat at some point, the waves of unease in your stomach turning turbulent. Your eyes dart back and forth between the two of them.

“And I’ll remind you that it is my house you are standing in and it is my assistance that you are seeking.”

Minho is no where near taller than Chan. The two stand face to face, and yet it was like the mage was looking down at Chan. The scary calm that had taken over him, the careful control of his emotions and his magic - you could feel it in the air, feel the static you had felt earlier, only this was cold. Cold, chilling static, like that of winter waters or thick snowfall.

He doesn’t break eye-contact with Chan. He blinks, he takes steady breaths, he keeps his chin raised, but he doesn’t falter.

After what feels like an age, Chan turns and walks past Minho. You take a step after him, fearful that he was about to leave out the front door, but he simply places himself on one of the vacated stools. He was out of Minho’s point of view, and though the latter was still in his, Chan crossed his arms and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall.

It seemed impossible for you to exhale fully, much less take a deep breath. You had expected some resistance from Chan when he inevitably found out that Minho was a mage but whatever had happened in the last few minutes was beyond anything you could have imagined.

“Minho, I-” You turn hastily away from Chan and to Minho, who had not moved. He looks at you now with troubled eyes. Gulping, you take in the deepest breath you can manage and exhale through pursed lips. You try again. “Could we perhaps take this elsewhere?”

A tired, resigned smile makes its way to Minho’s face. “Perhaps that would be best.”

It turns out, you discover, that one of the two mysterious doors led out to a garden.

The door shuts quietly behind you as you breathe in the night air. Minho’s garden, while no larger than his living space, seemed to house a variety of plants. Flowers of differing colours, shapes and sizes filled the majority of the space, alongside some recognisable vegetables - tomatoes and lettuce, though few, seemed fresh and ready to harvest. All the plants, you notice, seem to shine in the night. Taking a step closer, you almost let out an exclamation as one, two, three glowing creatures dart in and between the flowers.

“They maintain the garden for me,” Minho says, as if it explained everything. You turn to him, having forgotten for a moment that he was with you. “A marvelous help, they are, especially when I’m away on business.”

He picks up a basket, hanging it off his arm and walks up to a purple flower. You watch as Minho inspects it before pulling a pair of scissors from the basket and cutting the flower off its stem.

“Minho, I wanted to apologise for-”

“There is no need. I don’t seek an apology from you - nor the knight, I might add, before you berate him for his behaviour.” His basket was quickly filling with flowers, though you note there’s no more than two of each kind. “It is not uncommon for me to hear such things, for it is not easy to place your faith in things you do not understand. Though, I confess, such things are less common now. Do you mind?”

He hands you the basket - now filled with so many things that you wouldn’t know where to start if he were to ask you to remove a flower from the lot - and picks up another. This one he begins to fill with produce.

“But he is still my knight, and I ask for your assistance not just for myself but for him as well. Tonight-” You break off, and Minho spares you a glance over the shoulder before he returns to his carrots. “It is perhaps unfair of me to ask you for your help, after all these years,” you finish, an increasing hopelessness somehow making sense of itself in your mind.

A decade, perhaps, it had been since you last saw him. You had every possible means to seek him out after parting, had an abundance of ways you could have assisted him - for you knew, even if he had rejected help the first time, that to do something was better than nothing, and yet you had kept quiet about your encounter. For his own safety, one may have reasoned, but in hindsight it seemed a child’s selfishness was what kept him a secret. Something for you to know, and no one else. Not the maids who tended to you every day, or the queen who asked you what you had done that afternoon, or Chan who was by your side whenever possible.

Minho had returned to stand before you, the second basket full of tomatoes, lettuce, and a range of root vegetables. The hem of his pants were speckled with dirt, and a smudge of it ran over his cheek.

“You saved my life, y/n. I think you underestimate the consequences of our meeting far too much.”

It was like the child you had met so many years ago was back before you, a vulnerability in his eyes that you couldn’t quite understand. You, who had always been sheltered, had always had your safety assured, prioritised, and the child who had been covered in dirt and bruises, twigs sticking out of his hair and so tangled up that you’d had to sit him down and carefully undo all the knots.

The way Minho looked at you now almost scared you - if your request had been not for help, but for his life, you were sure he would have said yes.

Unable to hold the truth in his gaze any longer, you busy yourself with readjusting the basket in your hand, carefully easing the petals away from the rim as to not crush them.

“The last thing I wish to do is to hold that over you, Minho,” you say softly. “It was wrong of me to come to you for help when I fear that asking it of others would endanger their safety. You too are part of this kingdom, and I cannot simply treat you different because of the past.”

“Can’t you?” He sounds wistful, you think, the words almost musing, so soft and quiet that you weren’t sure if they were meant for only your ears, or for no one’s at all.

Then, as if there had been no sentimentality at all, Minho flourishes his hand and the basket of flowers levitates out of your grasp. “I’ll help you - but first, it would seem a good night’s sleep would do you well.”

The door swing opens as Minho nears it, and he gestures for you to enter the house first. The flowers follow you in, Minho bringing up the rear.

Chan, who’d been pacing by the fire, looks up abruptly when he hears you come in. Relief seems to wash over his features, and you give him a strained smile.

“Minho said he’d help us.” You lay a hand on Chan’s arm, and the tension seems to leave his body at the confirmation of your physical presence. “We can rest here for the night, and figure everything out tomorrow.”

“On that note - here, to help you sleep.” A small opaque bottle floats its way to you. “Just light a match, drop in there and leave it in the room. I’m sure the night’s events will leave your mind running when given the chance.”

You take the jar in your hands, feeling its weight as the magic disappears. Peering inside seemed pointless - the opening was just small enough for your finger to fit in; barely enough light could enter the jar for you to see its contents.

“And a salve, for any minor wounds you may have.”

This time, a red jar lands by the sink. It’s even smaller than the bottle, barely the size of your palm. Though Minho doesn’t look at him, you know that he had taken note of the wound at Chan’s side.

“You can take my bed, y/n. The knight can sleep on the floor, or something. I don’t really care.”

“You little-”

Minho ignores Chan, moving to grab a satchel from the table. Your eyes follow him, the way he truly seems to disregard Chan’s presence as he walks past him and towards the front door.

“And you? Where will you sleep, then? I insist you keep your bed-”

“Oh, I won’t be sleeping tonight.” Hand on the doorknob, he turns to you with a glint in his eye. “The moon is full. It’d be a waste to do something as mundane as sleep tonight. I’ll be close by, and there are protective charms on the house. Worry not.”

The door shuts behind him before you or Chan can even protest.

—

Chan’s wound had stopped bleeding. Though he had played it off as a simple graze, you were relieved to see it wasn’t too much of an understatement. The initial redness that surrounded the wound had frozen your mind with fear, but after taking a wet cloth to it, you discovered that it was mostly dried blood that had spread.

The salve Minho had given you smelt resinous, like wood that had been left out in the rain. Your face scrunches up as you scoop a small amount up with your fingers. Setting the jar down next to the chair Chan was sat on, you steady yourself with a hand on his knee and run the salve over his wound. He flinches at the sensation, muscles tensing under your fingers, but keeps his shirt held up.

“You don’t think he’s tricked you into poisoning me, do you?”

You spare a glare at Chan.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say, though you know he was just trying to ease the tension.

Though Minho hadn’t returned since he’d left, you could still feel Chan’s discomfort with the situation. He too seemed to sense that you wee troubled - you had caught him shooting you anxious glances as you’d prepared to treat his wound.

“You know, he told me not to berate you.” Having finished applying the salve, you push yourself up from the floor and dust your skirts off. Chan avoids your eye, fixating instead on straightening his shirt and picking at the torn fabric under the flickering light of the fireplace. “Just because he says he doesn’t seek an apology, doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t get one.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, and he looks up you through furrowed brows. “Are you ordering me to apologise to him?”

Your jaw drops at his words, helpless against the hurt that they bring you. For him to bring status into this, to make it seem like he would rather be anywhere but here - his words from earlier echo in your brain: I’m only here because her highness believes strongly that you will help us.

“Chan, that’s not at all what I-”

“I don’t feel like I’ve anything to apologise for,” he says, voice edged with annoyance. “I don’t trust him. I have spoken my truth - but I won’t interrogate you for yours.” His voice is gentler, resigned. “Though, I admit the mage is right. You should rest, your highness. It has been an eventful night, and you will need your energy for tomorrow.”

It felt wrong, to leave and rest without resolving the tension that had formed between you and Chan. A part of you didn’t understand why he had been so aggressive towards Minho, why he was so against the idea of his help… and yet you knew it was wrong of you to expect Chan to understand your thoughts and feelings when you had given him nothing to help form an understanding of your relationship with Minho. To Chan, you realised, Minho was simply an unknown stranger who possessed the abilities to have aided the night’s chaos.

But it felt wrong to reveal your and Minho’s shared history with Chan. Afterall, it wasn’t only your story to tell.

So you take a deep breath, try to catch Chan’s eye one more time, before murmuring a small goodnight.

Minho’s bedroom, located behind the second of the mysterious doors, was dimly lit by a a candle sitting on the corner of his desk. There was a single, unmade bed next to it, and a set of drawers at the other end of the room. Another door (which you presumed led to the bathroom, for you hadn’t seen one in your time here, and what home had no bathroom?) stood in the corner, next to the drawers. There was a window, the curtains secured to one side.

It was a small bedroom, void of anything unnecessary.

Placing the bottle Minho had given you on the table, you search for a match. His desk was covered in books and papers, and it’s not until you brave a small box on his desk that you find the matches. You do as he had instructed - striking one, you watch as the corner you stood in lit orange before dropping it into the bottle.

You had been skeptical that dropping a match into such a small space would work - surely, the fire would be extinguished, right? - but you’re mildly surprised when a soft, sweet scent arises. It reminded you of home, of late nights spend in the library reading stories of knights and princesses, witches and curses. A familiar drowsiness overcomes you.

It doesn’t take long for you to find yourself sliding under Minho’s covers. Your mind spares a moment for you to feel embarrassed at the act of sleeping in not only someone else’s bed, but in a man’s bed, before it lets the exhaustion take over.

This time, you don’t fight the heaviness of your body like you had so many hours ago.

This time, you let it consume you.

---

a/n: hi hi! thank you for reading. comments, throughts, feedback, questions - all of these (and more) are appreciated! if you want to be added to the taglist (or alternatively, removed) please let me know !!

#straykits’ evening star #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee minho x reader #lee minho imagines #lee minho fluff #lee minho angst #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

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