#eternally yours collab

[jaehunnyy]

The sound of our tied souls

Genre: soulmate!au, rockstar!au, kinda enemies-to-lovers but not really, a bit of angst, fluff, happy ending

Word count: 3.3k

Pairing: rockstar!San x fem!reader (feat. reader's best friend x Mingi)

Warnings: swear words (quite a lot), time-skip, kind of a bad guy attitude—San's a bit of a jerk at the beginning but he has a character development :), soulmate rejection, mentions of some jealous fans, kinda slow-burn, one kiss, possible grammar mistakes

A/N: this oneshot is part of @sungbeam's soulmate collab, which i was so proud to be part of; thanks for the opportunity, love 🤍

You got woken up by that annoying song again, your beauty sleep being thrown away for the rest of the night—cause it seemed like your soulmate had no sleeping schedule. You couldn't understand how he could listen to this all the time, you often wondered if his hearing was still intact—cause the loud growl of what seemed to be an electric guitar could surely manage to make you deaf by now. 

You have first discovered your soulmate bond after your 16th birthday, when you began hearing rock music everyday. Everyone was talking about how sweet their marks were: a tattoo with the letter of their significant other's name, a highlight in their hair matching their future partner's color, and the list could go on. You, on the other hand, had to struggle with listening to something you absolutely despised, without thinking that your soulmate returned the same feeling to your music choice. With a mischievous smile on your face, you made your way to your piano, starting to play one of your favorite songs. God, if only you knew how frustrated your soulmate got. 

"San, you messed up again! Can you fucking focus?" Hongjoong, the leader of their group, Guerrillas, shouted, watching as the culprit lowered his head. 

"I can't, Joong. I can't, because all I hear right now is Für Elise, and it messes my head up!" he shouted too, pulling his hair back in frustration.

The others looked at each other with confused looks; was there something they didn't know? Without actually meaning to, Mingi bursted into laughter, leading Wooyoung to chuckle as well. 

"Since when do you listen to classical music?" he asked San, smirking playfully. 

"I don't. That thing you call soulmate does." 

"You're hearing what your soulmate listens to?!" Wooyoung exclaimed, covering his mouth in shock. 

"Yeah. But you know I'm not into this shit of yours, so let's get back to practice. I'll try and focus." he simply said, taking his guitar again, the strap attached to it hugging his torso perfectly. 

Seonghwa shrugged and signaled the others to start playing, their practice session blooming once again. You could swear that he'd never played music that loud before; it felt like a competition between the two of you, and you smiled at the thought of having him so frustrated. You didn't know who he was nor how he looked, but you were ready to make his life a living hell, as much as he had started to turn yours into one.  

At one point, the music stopped and you managed to sleep a bit, but it was way too little for your liking. You woke up at the sound of your doorbell, your best friend standing behind the wooden door. 

"You won't believe what my boyfriend got me!" she said as soon as you opened the door, barging into your house like it was her own. 

"Do I wanna know?" you sighed, thinking that your best friend's excitement meant chaos. 

"He got me two tickets at his band's concert! We're gonna see the Guerrillas!" she jumped, pulling the two golden-like tickets from her pocket. 

She and Mingi—her soulmate, met a while ago, and since then, she was always talking about him and how much their music grew on her. She must have been so happy now, that her world had finally earned its colors. Her and Mingi's soulmate mark consisted of seeing the world in black and white, until the two of them met. You still remembered how fast they agreed on becoming a couple, and you still wondered how they made it work so well. You knew how proud she was of her boyfriend, mainly because it was the third time she was trying to convince you to go with her, thinking that it would be, somehow, her lucky chance. 

"There's no way I'm going to a rock concert." you protested, crossing your arms. 

"There's no way I'll leave you alone until you say yes." she smirked, shoving one of the tickets in your jacket. 

Nice try, you thought, before taking a moment to actually read the information on the ticket. How bad could it be, after all? Maybe, in this way, you could find more about your soulmate's favorite genre of music. You also thought it was maybe an occasion to meet Mingi's friends; you knew he was in the college's rock band, though you've never met them in this formula.

"Fine. I'm only doing it for Mingi's effort to get you these." you said coldly, side-eyeing your friend when she gave you a bear hug; it was gonna be a long week.

While the two were already making plans for the big day, the boys took a break from their intense practice session, starting to talk about whatever traveled their mind while drinking a can of energy drink. San was absent from their conversation, fidgeting with his calloused fingers, the effort of always trying to hit the right strings showing. The thought of having a soulmate was really burdening him, he didn't want to spend his energy searching for someone he didn't even want to meet. Little San would probably be disappointed, because all he has ever wished for was to grow up and meet his other half. Arts student San, though? He didn't need anything else as long as he had his guitar by his side; a capo and some sheet music could easily solve his problems. But he couldn't stand the thought of someone constantly hearing the feelings he tried expressing through music; it made him feel vulnerable, like he had no personal space anymore.

"San, do you agree with the outfits we've decided on?" Jongho asked, looking curiously at the way too quiet boy. 

"Huh… yeah, sure, sounds great." he replied, avoiding the way Yunho raised his eyebrow at his reply. 

"You didn't pay attention," he sighed, before adding some other words: "Something's definitely bothering you, so talk to us." 

"Is it because of your soulmate? Why don't you just search for her?" Wooyoung asked, feeling the way the elder tensed. "It should stop after you meet, right?" 

"Meeting her means that I have to be committed, and I don't want to commit to her." he spat, putting emphasis on not wanting to do so, and without bothering to spare his friends the slightest glance, he just took his things and left them speechless, in the middle of the studio. 

The week passed fastly, the not-so-wanted (by a certain someone, 'cause the whole college actually went crazy for it) concert finally coming to life. The boys were backstage, trying to memorize their lines or chords for the last time. You and your friend would be late though; because she couldn't let you wear the clothes you would usually wear. 

"I can't believe you want to wear a coat to a rock concert," she sighed, slightly amused by your antics. "They cover songs like Smells Like Teen Spirit, Sweet Child O' Mine and more, and they will most likely sing their own songs as well. This isn't Antonio Vivanti." 

You let out an offended scoff, grabbing the leather jacket she was trying to put on you and wearing it, despite the ick the weird material was giving you. "And it's Vivaldi, by the way. Pay respect!" 

"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, or else we will be late!" 

Luckily for her (‘cause you tried to lose as much time as you could), you arrived just when they settled on stage, greeting the ones who came to see them. You couldn't say you weren't a bit jealous whenever you saw the way her and Mingi looked at each other—because it did something to you. But you were scared of being rejected, pretty sure that the soulmate thing wasn't as easy as it seemed. 

Your thoughts were brushed off by the loud sound made by the mix of instruments, making you flinch, to your friend's amusement. Not being able to sneak outside because of her hand constantly holding yours, you decided that the least you could do was to pretend you were enjoying it. The others seemed to have fun too, even the boys, who really owned the stage—until something stole the show. San was taken aback by the way his in-ears worked—or so he thought. The same song they were performing was playing in a faded but bothering way in his ears, making him look at the others with a questionable look. He then made a few gestures to the staff, waiting for the song to stop so he could go and see what was wrong. Hongjoong looked at him worriedly while still focused on his bass, meanwhile Mingi almost messed up while playing the drums. 

"We will be back in a few minutes, wait for us, okay?" Jongho screamed, hoping to keep the audience busy for a bit, while the others went to see what was wrong with San; their mics weren't off, though. 

"There's nothing wrong with your in-ears, San. They work perfectly," the staff informed him, a few curse words leaving his mouth. 

"What if your soulmate is at the concert, San?" Yeosang asked innocently, almost like a joke—though the younger boy freezed in his place. 

The audience went crazy; some fangirls gasped and started to whisper several things about San's potential soulmate, meanwhile some of them had the same reaction as San. Some of them even started to run, looking suspiciously at every single girl they saw. "San has a soulmate?", "God, what did she do in her past life?", and so many other phrases that made you scoff. Who was this San and why was he so popular? The influence of his jealous fans spreaded through the whole venue, making the staff finally notice their mics and turn them off, though it was too late—the fuss was already created.

"I don't think that's the case—" Seonghwa tried to protest, but San stopped him. 

"I think that's exactly the case." San looked at them, before throwing his in-ears somewhere. "What should we do now? I don't want to perform anymore." 

"Then… let's wrap it up." Hongjoong sighed, before going back on stage. "Due to some unfortunate events, we need to stop here, darlings. Don't worry, we will come back soon!" He bowed and left the stage, leaving the fans high and dry. In other circumstances, nothing could have made him leave the stage that easily; he would have found a solution. But seeing how messed up his friend was, it made him want to try and understand him, he was going through a quite special phase, after all.

"I will go ask Mingi about what happened, do you want to come?" your friend asked, though your answer didn't even matter, she was already dragging you after her. 

She greeted her boyfriend and the others as if they knew each other since forever, asking them about what was wrong. 

"San hears whatever his soulmate is listening too, and he has only told us a few days ago," Mingi said, wrapping an arm around the girl's waist. 

Your eyes widened at what he said, but you decided to keep composure—maybe it was just a coincidence. 

"And she is into classical music, it's so frustrating. Why would she come to our concert?" San snapped, ignoring the guest his friend's soulmate brought. 

It all made sense to you then. You probably didn't realize the music coming from him because you tried to enjoy the new experience, but it made sense. The two-tone haired boy, the arrogant San everyone was talking about was standing in front of you—moreover, he was your soulmate; and he didn't seem too happy with the idea of being bonded to someone. 

"Who's the lady next to you?" Wooyoung asked, feeling the need to make you feel implied in the discussion. 

"She's Y/N, I dragged her here with me," your friend laughs awkwardly. "She's not a fan, but Mingi got me two tickets so I made use of them." 

"Oh! Do you happen to hear rock music sometimes?" Wooyoung asked, smirking playfully. 

"Uhm… no, sorry." you said, looking at San, who was already looking suspiciously at you. He was really arrogant, you wished to be able to reject him, but he seemed to do it first. 

"Even if she was, I told you guys I don't care. My soulmate can go search for another one." he said, before leaving them, once again. You were the next one to leave, not even caring about the possibility of giving your little secret away.

Even after a few days, you couldn't deny the emptiness you felt the moment you were indirectly rejected by your soulmate—it was definitely noticeable, somewhere in your heart. It was safe to say San didn't feel as good as he thought he would either, even when he rejected the one he was assigned to live his whole life with on purpose. He figured out it was you, because he stopped hearing the once annoying music; but he missed it. And the news about his soulmate was spread in the whole college as well, not helping at all; they were making even the outsiders interested in the tea going on. 

"I'm tired of this shit, guys. I won't come to practice today." 

Hongjoong looked at him once again, nodding, not knowing exactly how to comfort his friend in this situation, words long forgotten. San started to walk in the direction of where the studio was, his ears filling with the melodious sound of a piano playing. Like it was a habit of his, his legs guided him to the door, which he cracked open, just to reveal you playing the piano. Your fingers moved skillfully along the piano keys, Debussy's Clair de Lune resonating beautifully in the room. The sweet melody managed to comfort him somehow; he didn’t know if it was the calming nature of the song or the closure he was supposed to have with you, but he felt relaxed, listening peacefully until the painful silence started to bother him. He then took the matters into his own hands—in such a San way. 

"You’ve got some skills, soulmate," he said, his lips stretching into a little smile, though a little dimple made its appearance still. 

You got a bit surprised by his presence, but stopped what you were doing, to return a small smile and answer him. 

"Thank you. I guess you do too." 

"Was that Beethoven?" he asked curiously, sitting on the chair in front of the piano, next to you. 

"Claude Debussy, but A for effort," you said, smiling at his attempt. 

A wave of silence spread across the room, before you decided to break it: "We got off to a bad start, but we can still repair it. I'm Y/N," you said, sticking your hand out to him. 

He grabbed it, shaking it softly. "I'm San, nice to meet you again." He waited for another reaction of yours, but seeing that you didn't plan on saying anything else, he made the next step: "Let's be friends." 

You spent most of the day with him, sharing tips and talking about your opposite passions—though it was well known that opposites attract. Now, that you've gotten to know him a bit better, you could say he was more than just an arrogant guy. 

One month passed since your first interaction with your soulmate, and you would have never expected that there would be more; yet here you were, watching as he excitedly got two tickets from his pocket. 

"You're invited to our concert tonight! My treat this time, for you and our friend." he winked, handing the same golden-like tickets to you. 

"I'll be there, Sannie." you smiled, giving him a side hug before running to your class. He smiled softly, not believing the effect love could have on him.

Furthermore, tonight's stage would be an important one for him; it could mean accomplishment or failure, but he was still willing to try. The boys found him smiling like an idiot—but they enjoyed it, they could tease him about how a certain someone made him change. He never failed to amaze them, but someone definitely brought the best in him. He watched as the boys looked at him, his freshly dyed hair glowing nicely into the dim lights. His hands were covered in a pair of fingerless mesh gloves, fingers full of rings, while his t-shirt was nicely tucked in his leather pants. Some chains were dangling on his neck and waist, and a fake lip ring laid on his lower lip, completing the rockstar look he opted for. 

"Where's San and what have you done with him?" Yeosang joked, entertaining the other seven boys in the room. 

"Shut up, Sang. Are you ready?" Seonghwa asked, taking his mic and retouching the last details for tonight's show. 

"Never been more ready." San smiled, taking his guitar and being the first one to get on stage. 

"Hello guys, thank you for coming today too!" Wooyoung exclaimed, getting ready to perform at his best. 

You and your friend were somewhere in the front row, singing along with the other fans who came to see the eight boys. You were bouncing with her, enjoying the genre you softly became addicted to, but it was surely an influence San had on you. You didn't know what happened to you, but you still had hope, that maybe something would change his mind. Suddenly, the culprit's voice was heard in the whole venue, catching your attention and making you stop whatever you were doing. 

"As you all know, one month ago, I met my soulmate at the concert we held in the same place. I'd like her to join me here, please, Y/N?" he smiled, gesturing for you to get on stage, next to them. 

You looked confusedly at your friend, who pushed you in the direction of the stage, playing their game. You got there, finding yourself in front of the crowd and waving awkwardly at them, not expecting to hear their loud screaming. 

"I know I was a bit of a douchebag at the beginning, and that was definitely not the way you wanted us to meet. I messed up, but I hope you can forgive me." 

The fans cheered up louder, while a big smile found its way to your face, making the boy's lips stretch into one as well. 

"I know I rejected you at the beginning, but let me try to fix things. I hope it's not too late," he laughed softly, before continuing: "Have you started your looking for another soulmate project yet?" 

You burst into laughter, nodding as no a few times. His cheeks got colored in a crimson red tone, and you could swear you've never seen anything cuter than a shy rockstar.

"Can I have the chance of being the lucky one, then?" he asked and watched as your expression changed, nervousness noticeable in his voice as well. 

"I thought you considered yourself unluck—" Wooyoung interrupted, but Jongho was fast to cover his mouth and prevent him from saying anything else. "You're screwing the moment, Woo." he said, mouth still pressed on his older friend's mouth. 

You laughed at their antics, taking the mic from San's hand. 

"As much as you've annoyed me, I still like you, Choi San. I always did, which is why I would actually love to give you this chance." 

As soon as you finished your romantic little speech, he cupped your face, pressing his lips on yours softly. The fans went crazy, cheering and jumping as the two of you sealed the promise of loving each other forever with a soft kiss. 

"With these being said, I'd like to announce the title of our next album, entitled The sound of our tied souls!" Yunho said, making the night of every single soul attending that concert, the stars shining even brighter above their heads.

You pressed your forehead on San's, admiring his beauty while your noses rubbed lovingly against each other's. The road you had to walk on to find your soulmate was a tough one, but looking back on it, you wouldn't want it another way; you were too excited for your future with your other half—the arrogant boy you started to love, the one destined to be eternally yours. 

#eternally yours collab #kpop oneshots #ateez oneshot #kpop imagines #choi san imagines #san imagines #san oneshot #ateez x reader #ateez x you #san x reader #san x you #ateez fluff #ateez angst #san fluff #san angst #kpop fluff #kpop angst #choi san ateez #ateez soulmate au #san soulmate au

[taem-min-archived2]

immortals || k.kb

PAIRING || Key x Female Reader

GENRES || Soulmate AU, Mystical AU, Angst

SUMMARY || Soul (noun):  the spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal, regarded as immortal.

COLLAB || Part of the Eternally Yours: The Soulmate Exhibit collab by @sungbeam​​. Thank you for letting me take part in this collab! Check out the collab here!

WORD COUNT || 5.7k

A/N || Slight inspiration from ancient dreams and see you in my 19th life. Also thanks to @jaynaur​ for helping me get some inspo in these dry times.

TAGLIST || @shrutiajit​ @exoxobsession​ @woo-minhee02​ @buttvi​ @vllxchor @stayinzencity​ @ahtisa02​ @spacebyuns​ @midnightmoi​ @xavi-in-kpopland​ @fifty-shades-of-mischeif​ @whatudoing​ @justchuji @myluv-yeonjun​ @cara-18​ @ongshimi​ @xuxibelle​ @yerimezzy @trashlord-007​ (If you want to be added to my taglists, fill in this form)

A misty breath escaped her mouth as she sighed, the cold air clinging against her skin, no matter how much she pulled her drape closer to her body. Winter had begun earlier than usual this time, causing the days to feel much colder. The trees in her garden had already shed their leaves and neither were there any squirrels or birds lurking on them, enveloping her house in an empty silence.

But it was something she had gotten used to over the years. It was something she had to get used to. Somewhere down the street, she heard a group of children laugh, and a small smile tugged on her lips. It was nice to hear other people laugh and smile. It somehow bought a sense of calmness over her, which was something she rarely felt. 

Living was painful for her, but so was death. Y/N honestly didn’t know which she dreaded more. She really wished this endless cycle of pain would stop but that would have been a very selfish move. Especially when she knew that they would be hurting.

A crash came from behind, jolting her from her reverie and she walked back into the house. Y/N found a broken cup on the floor and she glared at the teapot on the table.

“Sorry.” A wisp of smoke arose from it, partially taking the form of an old man. “You were out there too long. We were worried you would catch a cold.”

Y/N sighed, picking up the broomstick to sweep away the broken porcelain. “You could have called. And also, just because we figured out that this cup doesn’t have a soul doesn’t mean that we can break it.

“Sorry Y/N.” This time a young girl’s spirit from the vase spoke. “We did want to call but what if the neighbours heard us?” 

“Still…” But their argument was right. After all, she was the only one who had discovered that objects had souls too. And for this truth, she had to pay a heavy price. A price that pained her both mentally and physically. A price of her soul.

In a world where lovers were connected by the string of fate, you were given a chance to find your soulmate throughout all your lives. Most people tried to find theirs within their given lifespans because not finding one had a heavy punishment: you remembered your previous life. And you kept on remembering all your lives, pain and happy memories until you found your soulmate.

Only a soulmate would be able to end the cycle of remembering. For Y/N, the hard part wasn’t finding a soulmate. Since everyone was always on the lookout of finding theirs, you were bound to find your soulmate in the given life itself. But the hard part for her was the fact that she didn’t have a soul. 

“Should we get going for today?” Y/N asked, stuffing a piece of bread into her mouth as she hurriedly wore her apron and packed her tools into her bag. She tried sounding cheerful because she didn’t want the antiques in her house to be burdened by her sadness. She didn’t want them to blame themselves for her current state. 

“Y/N, be careful out there!” 

“Don’t forget to eat your lunch!”

“Don’t be back home too late, it gets darker earlier nowadays!”

“Don’t worry about me, I promise to take care of myself!” She yelled back as she dashed out of the house. Even if she never had a soulmate and had forgotten what it was to be loved by someone who wasn’t family, she was glad of these companions she had made.

Some of them had been with her since her very first life. Since she remembered every single life, she had always tried to collect the antiques she had lost in her previous life just so that they could be together for another lifetime. 

By the time she had stepped out, it had begun snowing. The snow grew thicker by the time it was evening, slowing down business more than usual.  Y/N had been mending a damaged clock when she heard the bells of the temple ring nine times, indicating the time. Suddenly, realising how late she was and how worried the spirits at her home would be, she hurriedly packed up her things and closed the shop. 

The snow had begun falling more thickly and the road was completely covered in a white blanket. It was hard telling where the sidewalk ended or where the road started but Y/N kept towards the sides just in case. There weren’t many people at this hour nor were there many cars on the street. She hurried on, feeling apprehensive all of a sudden and pulled her cloak closer to her body, dismissing the feelings as cold.

Y/N turned towards an alley, pausing for a second at how dark it was. She wondered if she should just stick to the main road but deciding that she was already too late today, she continued walking. It was lonelier here, with almost no street lights or even houses in the vicinity. The feeling of foreboding grew in her heart and all of a sudden she froze. 

Just as she had predicted, the sound of footsteps that had been following her for quite some time too stopped. Her eyes scanned her surroundings as she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. 

Y/N began walking away, this time with a much more quickened pace as she ignored how much colder she was feeling. It’s going to be okay. She thought to herself. The street is coming to an end. I can just-

She turned back just to make sure she wasn’t wrong and at the same time, the man ran towards her. A scream tore her throat as she stumbled back, slipping on the ice and falling down. Y/N saw a flash of silver in his hands and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the stabbing pain but nothing came.

Instead, she heard the sound of knuckles hitting something hard, followed by a crash as though a body was thrown across the street. Slowly opening her eyes, Y/N saw another man standing in front of her with his back facing her and the person following her lying on the street. She looked up at him and at the same time, he turned towards her, their eyes meeting. She felt a shiver run up her spine as the man’s cold eyes flicked through her. 

She had met people whose eyes didn’t hold any emotions, almost soulless like hers. But never had she seen someone whose eyes were so lively, almost looking like their coldness could burn through her skin. Y/N could nearly see flames dancing in his eyes. Somehow, that made her more scared and she inched away from him a little. 

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to harm you.” He said. Extending his hands towards her, he looked at her expectantly. Y/N tried to think of what he might have wanted from her but seeing that he had saved her this once she had no other option but to accept his hand.

She had expected his hand to be cold just like his eyes but to her surprise, they were warm in a comforting way. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt a sense of familiarity but nothing came to her mind presently so she dismissed the feelings.

“Er, thank you.” She muttered, unable to meet his eyes. Something about his intense eyes seemed to scare her. “I’ll, uh, get going now.”

But as she was about to remove her hands from his, he tightened his grip on hers. She looked up at him in surprise and felt another shiver run down her spine. He was looking at her so lividly that she felt like it was her mistake he had gotten pulled into her mess.

“Oh no, you are not going anywhere. You have a lot of explaining to do Y/N.”

Y/N wasn’t sure what had gotten into her but here she was, standing beside the stranger as he cooked dinner in her house. At first, she was terrified of how he had come to know her name but then he explained a little and that’s how he ended up being invited to her house. He had asked for dinner as payment for saving her life but upon finding her house was practically empty, he had taken up the task to cook them dinner.

“So, um,” She began the conversation awkwardly, not sure what to ask. Judging from the way he was cooking, she figured that he must be a professional cook too. “Your name is Kibum and you are a soul collector?”

“That’s right.” He said, tossing the vegetables in the pan. His temper had cooled down by the time they had reached her house but he seemed to snap again when he found out she barely had food in her house. The only reason she began a conversation now again was because he seemed to have calmed down once more.

“And you…collect the souls of the dead?” 

“That’s right.”

She already knew what a soul collector did but of course she had to pretend like she didn’t know. Most people eventually found their soulmates so even if they did remember what happened to them after their death, they would forget it after this life. But she remembered each and every single of her death, which was why dying was as painful as living for her. At least when she was alive she always had the antiques with her but in death, it was a cold, lonely and dark place. 

“So…you’ve come to take my soul because I was supposed to be killed by that man today? Then why did you save me?” She now realised what that feeling of foreboding she was feeling. Even after all her deaths, she could never guess it on time. 

The soul collector looked at her suspiciously. “You know an awful lot about this, don’t you?”

“Hahaha,” Y/N laughed nervously. “It’s just that-”

“Let’s cut to the chase shall we?” He interrupted her, placing the two plates on her dining table. He sat down and she followed suit, all of a sudden feeling scared. What if he had found out her secret? What was going to happen to her? What was going to happen to the antiques? She could feel the tension in the room but she didn't dare speak before Kibum did. 

“Where’s your soulmate?”

“Oh, uh, he’s- he’s I haven’t met him yet actually” She lied. “I’ve tried searching-”

“Is that so?” He tilted his head and studied her, as though he already knew the truth but was just teasing her. For some reason, this made her angry and she looked up at him, forgetting all her anger. “Yes. I haven’t bothered to look for them. To be honest, I don’t want to look for them. There isn’t any problem with that, right?” 

Kibum seemed taken aback by this response but he gained his composure almost immediately. “No, there isn’t a problem with that. But it does make soul collecting a bit difficult.”

“That isn’t my problem.” She said coldly. “Now if you excuse me, it would be better if you were on your way-”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He snapped all of a sudden, making her jolt back. Once again, she felt a sense of deja vu, like a distant memory she had forcibly forgotten. “There’s a huge problem if you don’t get a soulmate! It would have been fine if it was just one or two lives but I know that you haven’t had one for many lives! I’ve been noticing these abnormalities for quite some time and I'm sure it's just you being reborn. But here’s the main problem. You seem to remember even the period between each life. In other words, no soul collector comes to you when you die. Why do you think it's like that?”

Kibum was standing by now and peering at her angrily, causing Y/N to gulp in fear. How did he figure out so much? Did that mean all the soul collectors were after her now? 

“I-I don’t know-” she stammered when he cut her again coldly.

“It’s because you don’t have a soul.”

She could only stare at him, hands clutching under the table as she held her breath in fear. What was going to happen to her now? What was going to happen to her antiques? Would she be punished now according to the laws of the soul?

“I’m sorry.” was all she could say.

“Sorry is not going to solve-”

“I know that okay?” She snapped, her voice rising. “You think I like the fact that I don’t have a soul? Do you know how hard it has been for me all these years? As though the loneliness wasn’t enough but the pain of remembering everything is just too much! There are so many things I want to forget and yet I- I-” Y/N felt her voice choke as tears brimmed her eyes. 

Kibum looked at her as though he understood her pain. He stood up and cleared away their plates, turning his back to her. “You don’t need to explain to me now. Get some rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“What about you?”

He looked at her questioningly. “What about me?”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

He looked at her hurt and offended but Y/N could see the look of mischief underneath that facade.  “Why, are you not going to let me sleep here?”

“Excuse me!” 

“Sheesh, I’m just going to be in the living room. Don’t worry, I won’t creep into the bedroom. I have some manners. Unless…you want me to freeze to death in the backyard?”

“...Make yourself comfortable.”

“What does he even want?” Y/N muttered to herself angrily as she shovelled the snow from her front yard. “Why is he even here if he doesn’t even want to talk business yet?”

“He was so aggressive yesterday and yet today, he hasn’t spoken a word about it?” The porcelain vase beside her asked. She shook her head angrily before muttering once more. “I couldn’t even get a good night’s rest because of him.”

All night she had tossed and turned in her bed for two reasons. One being that Kibum apparently didn’t need any sleep. So he took this opportunity to ‘tidy’ her house. The whole night all she heard was the clattering and shuffling of things. Another reason she didn’t get a wink of sleep was because her mind was elsewhere. His words had reminded her once more of how lonely she was and she racked her brains hard trying to remember her first life. The faint feeling of being loved was lingering in the back of her head but no matter how hard she tried to remember, she couldn’t remember who it was, or if it was all just a part of her imagination. 

“You are the owner of the house!” The vase whispered to her. His spirit was almost a thousand years old and she always listened to his advice. “You should be the one commanding him, not the other way around! How dare he go around threatening you!”

“That prick! I should-”

“Darling, why do you keep talking to yourself?”

“D-Darling?” She stuttered angrily, turning to glare at Kibum who was leaning against the door frame, smirking at her. “Who do you think-”

All of a sudden she felt the ground under her dissolve, the world growing dim around her. The air around her felt different, somehow warmer as though it was a different season. Y/N tried blinking to clear her sight but the world was still blurry and dizzy around her. She could faintly make out Kibum standing against the door, but now he was wearing different clothes, much ancient ones. His hair too was styled in a different way and he was smiling at her. 

“Darling, why do you keep talking to yourself?” He repeated his question once more, even though it felt like he was talking to her underwater. But yet, she felt that this time the question was asked in a more teasing way, and she could hear the faint touch of affection in his voice.

Her mouth opened on her own and she heard herself repeat the same this time, but this time sounding more flustered than angry.

“D-Darling? Who do you think you are calling darling?”

“Darling?” His voice sounded clearer and this somehow jolted her back to reality. Everything around her cleared but Y/N could still feel her head spinning slightly. She looked at Kibum and expected him to have the same expression but instead, he was looking at her in shock. Judging by his expression, he too had just experienced what she had.

“What was that?” She asked angrily. If he was a soul collector he should be able to tell what had happened right now, right? 

But Kibum only stared at her, his shocked expression slowly turning to that one of pain. 

“Kibum?” Her anger died down a little and she took a step closer to him, only for him to stumble back. “W-Wait- Stop-” He looked like he had seen a ghost, and for some reason, that hurt her a bit, like it was her fault that he was like this. “I-I’m not sure but d-don’t come closer!” Saying that he dashed back into the room. She stood staring at his retreating figure for some time, before going back to her work.

No matter how much Y/N tried to wrap her head around this, she just couldn’t make sense of it more than the fact that it might have been one of her past lives. People barely remembered all the details of their current lives, so it wasn’t possible for her to remember each and everything unless it had affected her emotionally. She definitely didn’t remember anything from her first few lives except how she ended up in this repeated cycle.

Now that she thought of it, how was she sure that that was her first life? It could be that that was the first life she remembered. Maybe she had a soulmate in all her previous lives. She wondered who was her soulmate in her first life and what had happened to him. All of a sudden, a sickening thought came to her mind, one she had never thought of all the years she was alive. What had actually happened to her soulmate? Surely he was able to find another one, right? It couldn’t be possible that he too was roaming around without one, sharing her pain and burden of remembering his past lives, could he?

This very thought made her knees go weak and she sat down on her verandah. How could she have never thought of him even once? If anything had happened to him it was her fault. 

All of a sudden, an idea popped into her head.

“Hey,” she said, speaking to the vase beside her. “Do you think soul collectors have a list of names from whom they collect souls or something?” 

“I suppose so. Or else, how would they keep track of you not having a soulmate?” 

“Do you think this is the right time to talk about something sensitive?”

“I would not suggest it. Given his prickly personality, he will probably lash out on you.”

She sighed, realising that the vase was right. But for some reason, she felt uncomfortable about leaving him just like that, when it was clear that he was shaken up by what he had seen. Was it because he was her guest and she couldn’t bear to leave him like that? Or was it the fact that for some reason he looked familiar to her?

Y/N trudged back into the house, wondering what she was going to say to him. She always thought soul collectors were gods, celestial beings that had never experienced any human emotions. But from seeing KIbum, she wondered how one ended up as a soul collector in the first place. Were they chosen? Or were some people just born to do it?

She found him sitting on the steps of her house, staring at her front door listlessly. Standing behind him, Y/N racked her head, trying to think of how she should approach him. She didn’t want to anger him more now that he knew her secret. But more importantly, she didn’t want to hurt him more.

“Is my back that beautiful?”

His cocky voice jolted her back to the present, throwing out the little pity she had felt for him. Rolling her eyes, she sat down beside him, looking at him expectantly. He sighed and looked at her questioningly, as though asking what.

He looked like his usual self, not even a trace of sadness even in his eyes. It was as though the hurt person she had seen a few minutes before was just a figment of her imagination.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

Kibum looked at her like she was asking an obvious question. She resisted the urge to get up and storm away from him. “Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you didn’t look alright a few minutes before. You looked…hurt.”

At this he scoffed, turning his face away from her. “Soul collectors don’t feel emotions. I can’t feel hurt.” 

Even though he stressed on the can’t, to her it sounded like he was just shutting out his feelings no matter what. Sunlight was directly falling on his eyes now and you were squinting against it. She sighed in exasperation and gently turned his shoulders towards her.

“Don’t face the sun-” All of a sudden Y/N realised how close they were. She was still holding his shoulders and his face was just inches away from her. From this up close, she could see his pale skin and the slight flush his pale cheeks had. His eyes flicked over her face in surprise and she felt heat rush up her cheeks. She let him go and turned away a little, feeling as flustered as him. 

“So- um-” She stuttered, trying to change the subject with whatever came into her mind. “Do you like flowers?”

“F-flowers? Yeah, I like- I like flowersuns. I-I mean sunflowers. Yeah I like them a lot.” He looked at her surprised, his expression more scared than relieved for the change of topic. His usually cool demeanour seemed to be completely gone now that he stumbled upon his own words. For some reason she found it funny and a giggle escaped her mouth.

“W-what? Why are you laughing?” He whined, and that made her crack into laughter even more. 

“I don’t know.” She said, “It's just…very funny seeing you so flustered.”

He glared at her and muttered a ‘I hate you’. She smiled at him, feeling all the tension that had built previously disappear. The corners of his lip too curled up to a smile and she realised how beautiful he was. With the sunlight falling on his face lightly, Kibum looked almost godlike and it made her wonder whether good looks came with the soul collectors package. Again, the strong sense of familiarity enveloped her but this time she ignored it, choosing to enjoy the comfortable silence between them.

“I've made dinner for us.” Kibum announced, like it was a daily routine he followed. He moved towards the kitchen just as Y/N came in through the living room.

“You are still here?” Y/N asked jokingly as she took off her coat and hung it on the coat stand. It had been snowing heavily today too but she didn’t make the mistake of staying out late at night like she had yesterday. Kibum had indirectly threatened her that if she ended up dying before he got to question her, he would personally haunt her. Though, she pointed out, it would have been the other way around since she was the one who was dead.

“Of course. I still didn’t question you.” He said, placing the dishes on the table. She looked at all the dishes he made impressively. She didn’t cook much usually since she never had a proper appetite, but somehow the smell of his food made her feel hungry, as though she hadn’t eaten in a long time.

“Do you like it?” She looked up at him and he was smirking at her, but she nodded happily. “It's been a long time since I had good food. Somewhere down the line, I just lost interest you know…” her voice trailed off but Kibum nodded.

“I understand. Being immortal…isn’t all that glamorous as people paint it to be. Soon even the smallest things that give you pleasure too feel like a burden.”

She stared at him. For the first time in all her lives, she felt understood. Y/N clutched the chair hard, feeling as though she had just lifted a huge rock off her chest. Of course Kibum could relate to her. Being a soul collector must have been painful for him too.

“Shall we?” He asked, motioning to her chair. She nodded and sat down, picking up a spoon to decide on what to try first.

“So do you eat such good food on a regular basis?” She asked.

“Of course not. But I do enjoy cooking sometimes for my guests.”

“Guests?”

“Yes of course. You didn’t think that soul collectors can’t have friends, did you?”

“No I didn’t. But given your personality I just wondered-”

“Hey!”

She laughed before smiling at him apologetically. It had been a really long time since she had an interaction like this and somehow this was making her giddy and light. When was the last time she had talked to someone so freely, laughed like this or even smiled at? Over the years she had slowly shut out people. Maybe this was why Kibum had said he couldn’t feel emotions? Because of the burden of remembering rather than because he was a soul collector?

Shaking off these heavy thoughts from her mind, Y/N turned her attention back to her food, still unable to choose which food to start with. Kibum chuckled at her indecisiveness and picked up her bowl, placing a little of everything in it. 

“Sheesh how have you been living on your own if you can’t even take care of yourself?” 

“Don’t put any cucumb-”

“I know.”

“Huh?” The two of them looked at each other in confusion. How had he known that she didn’t like cucumbers? 

For the second time that day, she felt the world swim around her. Once again, it felt like she had travelled back in time, but in the exact same setting.

“You are such a baby, you know.” She heard Kibum say, his annoyed voice sounding afar. And yet, he picked out all the cucumbers from her dish and placed it in his, smiling at her softly.

This time she jolted back to present almost immediately, feeling nauseous from the memory. Now she was sure they had met in some life, but judging how lovingly he had looked at her and how her past self responded back, she was suspicious that it was her first life.

Then did she actually have a soulmate? Kibum looked ghastly, cold sweat dripped all over his face and Y/N felt her heart twist in pain. 

“Kibum?” She whispered. “Are you okay?” 

He shut his eyes tight, as though trying to forget what he had just seen. Slowly, she got up and walked to the other side of the table, sitting down beside him. Then gently putting a hand on his shoulder, she softly asked him once again. “Kibum? Is something wrong?”

She heard him take a shaky breath and she froze. Was he crying? 

“Why did you do that?” He asked, causing her to be taken aback. What was he talking about?

“Are you talking about the memories? I don’t know-”

“I meant,” he asked, turning towards her. Tears were running down his cheeks and she felt a familiar stabbing pain, one she had forgotten long ago. “I meant why did you leave me?”

“Leave-”

And it was as though he had asked a magical question because all of a sudden memories of her first life came flooding back into her head. 

“Wait for me!” 

Y/N turned towards the voice chasing her, laughing at his annoyed face as he stumbled to catch up with her. She had been running across the field for quite some time, and he had been chasing her, despite complaining of how he didn’t care much of where she wandered off to.

“What is it? You are pretty slow, you know?” 

“You are too fast. I’m not slow.” Kibum huffed as he caught up with her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her down, sitting to catch his breath. She let out a laugh and edged closer to him, giving their entwined hands a squeeze. His annoyed face broke into a smile, before he quickly leaned in to give her a peck on the lips.

“H-Hey!” Y/N stuttered, heat rushing up to her cheeks. “You can’t do that! You should at least give me a warning.” She muttered, fingers lightly grazing her lips, still able to feel the tingle as his lips had grazed against hers.

Kibum laughed once more. “Fine, I’ll warn you next time, okay darling?” The pet name caused her to flush more furiously and Kibum took it as a yes. Slowly, he leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers. She stared back at him, unable to look away. He looked so beautiful that she felt that her heart was going to pop out of her chest any moment now. She was sure even he could hear her heart hammering. Unable to control the excitement she was feeling right now, Y/N shut her eyes. She felt his soft lips graze against hers, and before she could stop herself, she kissed him back.

It definitely wasn’t their first kiss, but each time they kissed, it felt like a whole new feeling for her, as though she was falling in love with him again. She gripped on his shoulder, as his hands cradled her face, bringing her even more close than they already were.

Finally, they ran out of breath and broke apart, foreheads still touching as they gasped to catch their breaths. 

“Hey.” She whispered, and Kibum smiled at her softly, asking her to go on. “Do you think I’ll be able to find you in our next life too?” 

“Why?” He asked, raising an eyebrow jokingly. “Already tired of me?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling into his body. He too wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. His scent had always been comforting to her and right now this was the place she felt the most loved. 

“I want to be yours forever.”

“Me too. I love you so much. Promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I promise you. I love you, Kibum.”

“You promised me.” Kibum sobbed, clutching her hands as though begging her to look at him. But no matter what, she just couldn’t look up to meet his eyes. The guilt she was feeling right now was just too much. Just because she had sold her soul, he had ended up as a soul collector. He had to suffer just because of her.

“Y/N, darling, please just look at me.” His now familiar warm hands gently cradled her face, lifting it up so that their eyes met. Seeing his teary ones made her heart give a crushing squeeze, as tears flowed from hers too now.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Kibum. I never knew-”

He cut her off by pulling her into a tight hug. She clutched his arms, as though afraid that he would leave her if she let him go. “I’m sorry Kibum. I never knew it would be like this.” Y/N sobbed. “You have every right to be mad at me-”

“Stop, okay? Just stop. I searched for you all these years but I never knew-”

“It hurt, didn’t it?” She broke away from his embrace and asked, looking at his shining eyes. “It hurt living all these years, didn’t it? This is all my fault. I'm so sorry.”

Kibum brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping her tears. “But it hurt for you too didn’t it? Giving up your soul like that. What were you even thinking?” He whispered harshly. “W-Why don’t you think of yourself before others-”

“No. I didn’t think of you. I never thought of your pain or what you might have to face. I only thought of the antiques I used to mend-”

“You are wrong.” He interrupted her. “You knew the consequences you might have to face and yet you gave up your soul. If that isn’t selfless, then I don’t know what is. I’m sorry it took me so many years to find you. It must have hurt living like that.”

“Why are you apologising?” She could feel her voice cracking again. “You did nothing wrong. It's all my fault. I should have talked to you before making such rash decisions.”

“Then make up for it. Make up for all the years we lost.”

She blinked at him in surprise. Y/N just couldn’t understand how he had forgiven her so easily, despite what she had made him go through. But after all, that was love, wasn’t it? Even after all these years she could feel her heart beating for his, as though their souls were one. 

Then slowly, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. His hand ran through her hair, tugging her closer. She felt a spark in her heart and it felt like the world that had once looked bleak to her had its colour returning back. He tasted salty and yet comforting. 

“I’ll make it up to you.” She whispered against his lips, feeling him smile. “After all, we are immortal.” 

A/N: Please do tell me what you think about this story!! I worked really hard on it and I would love to know everyone’s thoughts on it~ Comments and reblogs are appreciated!  

#eternally yours collab #╼ 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 ↺ ❝ 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐑𝐇𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐌 ❞ ღ 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒 ⇝ 𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒 #kwritersworldnet #wkcnet #prism.nw #key x reader #kibum x reader #shinee key x reader #shinee x reader #kim kibum x reader #key angst #shinee key

[restlessmaknae]

a moon apart [seoho]

What if you have a soulmate, but you can only meet ever so scarcely?

What if you have a soulmate, but he can never be yours?

➳ Characters: Seoho x princess!reader/you

➳ Genre: folktale-ish, fantasy, mystery, kingdom au, royalty au, soulmate au, romance, angst

➳ Words: 3.5k

➳ Warning: mentions of imaginary gods and goddesses (let me know if you find more!)

➳ A/N: This is my contribution to the Eternally Yours collab hosted by the lovely @sungbeam​​. You can check out the collab and the participating writers here. Thank you for letting me participate! ❤️

➳ Oneus taglist: @dat-town, @tranquilpetrichor, @laaylaazyy​,  @effulgentfireflies​, @anime-lover-2020​

The elderly in your kingdom had a saying: lovers who meet during the full moon are lovers forever - both in this life and in the afterlife. In other words, they are one soul in two different bodies. They are soulmates.

It was an old saying, something that citizens took more or less seriously, but you liked to think it true. Your parents had met during a full moon after all, and they were still as much in love with each other as in the beginning. You kept hoping that one day, you would have a love like theirs: so selfless, uplifting and withstanding all seasons of life.

So far, you had not met the one though. Maybe you had been merely unlucky, maybe the places you frequented weren’t the ones where people found love - or maybe it was rather because you were a princess, and princesses didn’t randomly stumble upon their love in the woods on a moonlit night or by walking in the royal gardens accompanied by the moon high up in the sky. Your parents didn’t want to force you to marry someone you didn’t love, and even though you had suitors, none of them made your heart race.

However, time was pressuring as your parents were getting older, and you had no other siblings who could save you from being the heir to the throne. So every now and then, you and your parents went to the shrine of the Goddess of Earth, also known as Mother Nature, and burnt sacrifices - the first piece of snowflower of the year, the first blossom of the cherry trees, the first potato harvested and such - to ask for guidance, for appreciation by the gods. It was said that those who made good to the Earth were rewarded with prosperity - let it be regarding an actual harvest, a thriving business or love.

Indeed, Mother Nature heard your plea, but you crossed paths with more than one boy afterwards, yet you loved only one.

The one who could not be yours.

Prince Hwanwoong was a delicate, diligent yet sometimes childish prince, someone who could make you laugh with his silly faces and goofy behaviour and make your heart flutter with his thoughtfulness - let it be asking for a cup of chamomile tea for you when you had an upset stomach or helping you lift the hem of your dress when you were stepping into a carriage. He definitely made the days at the palace seem brighter, the atmosphere more cheery, your parents’ worries more subtle. There was only one problem though: that you didn’t love him.

Even though he was a sight to behold, a prince who knew his responsibilities, a future heir who knew his responsibilities and truly, genuinely cared for his people, you didn’t love him like your mother loved your father.

“There is no need to rush, my dear. Maybe one day, you will realise that you have already fallen for him,” your mother put a reassuring hand over your shoulder when you shared your concern with her. In return, you directed a grateful smile at her and turned back to the mirror to have one last glance at your midnight-blue gown for the ball that the Yeo family was holding at their palace. You were invited alongside your parents after you had met the prince through a ball your own family had organised, but you were nervous about today - about the lack of butterflies in your stomach.

This nervousness didn’t leave you for the rest of the night either, and despite prince Hwanwoong appearing to be as kind and gentle as always, your heart was heavy after the ball, thus sleep didn’t come to you easily that night. Nor the night after when you headed back home, and there was already another encounter in talks with the Yeo royal family.

To ease your nerves, you did what you had always done: walking through the royal garden, gazing up at the moon - a plump, round full moon in all its glory - and pacifying your heartbeat through breathing techniques the royal medic suggested. You usually ended your walk in the garden, but that night, you went even further, and only halted when the magnificent, crystal-clear pond came into view. There though, you felt your body shake, and you let yourself cry far from the watching eyes of the servants or your worried parents.

To your surprise though, there was someone who had been watching you, and upon hearing your sobs, he came out from behind a tree, his instinct telling him to console you. However, when you heard branches crunching under his feet, you yelped, confusion overtaking your features as you locked eyes with him.

“It’s okay. You can cry. I won’t tell anyone,” he justified while raising his hands in front of his chest as if he was trying to defend himself. He didn’t look like a servant, he had more delicate clothes for that - a blindingly white, loose shirt that was tightened by the waist with a similarly white belt, soft snow-white cotton pants and ballroom shoes. He was also delicate in his features - smooth pale skin, plump lips, chiselled jawline and warm brown eyes that held a whole university in them. It was as if the moon above reflected in his orbs with all its light and warmth.

Despite being surprised - and a bit frightened a minute ago -, the worry that you saw in his eyes reminded you just what kind of a state you had been in before he had shown up, and felt your lips quiver. Then, you turned your back to him in hopes of suppressing your cry, but to no avail. Your tears just kept flowing like the raindrops racing down the windows on a stormy night, and your whole body was soon shaking with your sobs.

“You may feel like the whole world is on your shoulders now, but the sun will rise, another moon will come up, and it will all pass,” the stranger said in such a soothing voice that it almost felt like a warm hug. Even though he didn’t come up to touch you, you felt surrounded by light and a sense of calm that had never visited you before.

However, after crying as much as you wanted and letting him console you with his words, you were about to turn around to thank him, only to find the serene garden behind you bathing in the moonlight, no one else.

He truly left without a trace.

The next time you met, it was almost in the same setting, but with a few different details. This time, the weather was turning chilly, the leaves were falling elegantly from the weary, arched trees that were almost sighing with relief that they could let go of the added weight. Just like you who kept reminding yourself of the mysterious stranger’s words to keep going, to keep showing up for events and to keep seeing if your heart was ready to accept Hwanwoong’s love.

This time, you weren’t crying, and the stranger was no longer in his white attire. Instead, he was in a dirty grey coat dotted with white patches like little clouds on the night sky, and his smile was gentle, but it faltered a bit when you asked him why he was here.

“I come here sometimes. I like the way the moonlight reflects on the surface of the pond,” he mused out loud as he took a few steps closer to you. Not directly towards you because he halted beside you, but his closer proximity still triggered an erratic heartbeat symphony in you.

“That, I can understand,” you bobbed your head, sharing his sentiment. You felt oddly bashful under his otherwise affectionate glance, so you turned towards the pond instead, watching the small ripples on the surface, the water giving in to the power of the occasional gentle breeze that passed by.

“Is your heart a little less heavy than last time?”

So he remembered. The thought alone was enough to paint your cheeks in the colour of the vivid cherry trees in full bloom, but you tried to keep your voice steady despite his obviously caring question.

“Yes, it is. Thank you for last time.”

“I didn’t do anything special,” he denied, almost coy, and you could see from the corner of your eyes how he shook his head. Usually, you weren’t one who kept pressuring the topic when the other was a bit nervous around you, but you felt the need to let him know just how thankful you were.

“Sometimes just listening to someone is enough. There are so many people who want to tell me what to do, how to feel, whom to love… They aren’t willing to listen to how I truly feel and what I truly want,” you shared with him, your voice more resigned than you had intended.

You were a princess, the sole heir to the royal couple of your kingdom, so you had your fair share of duties and responsibilities. Nevertheless, a lot of times you felt that just because you were young and you were a female, you had no right to feel the way you did. Everyone wanted to tell you how to feel, and everyone acted as if they knew you so well.

“They probably want to reassure themselves that they know you better than you do know yourself. You shouldn’t let them sway you,” he pointed out gently, no room for malice in his voice. He wasn’t even reprimanding you, he was more like consoling you - yet again.

“I’m trying,” you bobbed your head, turning your head to glance at him, only to find him already looking at him. When you caught his eyes, his lips curled into the tiniest of smiles, but there was so much in it - so much empathy, so much understanding and so much hope. You had never paid a lot of attention to people’s microexpressions, but you couldn’t help but notice how relaxed his whole body was from the smooth arch of his eyebrows to the way his jaw was set and his shoulders eased. As if he was perfectly at peace with the world.

You reciprocated his smile, finding it easy to do so despite not knowing each other for long. Crazy how it was only the second time you met!

“What’s your name?” You inquired, hopefully in a friendly manner, but there was a hint of panic going through the boy’s eyes. However, in the next moment, he was back to his relaxed self.

“I’m Seoho,” he answered, and you guessed that he didn’t ask back because he already knew who you were. You also felt as if he knew you already, but this kind of feeling wasn’t unpleasant. Because the way you talked was always comfortable and comforting - like the softness of the freshly washed sheets or the fact that you knew that the sun would rise in the morning.

“Glad to have met you, Seoho. You always seem to know what to say to make me feel better.”

“Likewise,” he smiled back, and then turned back to look at the pond bathing in the full moon’s light.

You kept talking about little nothings and big, heavy topics until the moonlight started fading and you felt sleepish. When you parted that night though, you asked if he would come again, and when he said yes, it was the first time you felt butterflies in your stomach.

You and prince Hwanwoong kept meeting during balls and other royal families’ weddings, and even though he would have never pressured you into anything, you saw the glances his and your parents sent in your way, and you wondered how long they would wait before they would tell you to actually get married - for the sake of the two families, of the two kingdoms. The prince clearly liked you and tried to take care of you - bringing you a bouquet of your favourite flower when he knew that you would be meeting and suggesting places that he knew you would like.

On the other hand, all you could think about was the reflection of the stars in Seoho’s eyes, the light he lit up in your heart and his gentle words that felt like a blanket over your shoulders on a cold night. Talking with him was more than just a conversation; it was a walk down memory lane, it was a way to reflect on all the good and bad and it was like picking little seeds of hope to bury them into the ground, to wait for them to start growing, to start blooming. Being with him brought great pleasure into your days, but fearing what your parents would think of you meeting up with a member of the staff, you tried not to visit the pond too much at nights - when you weren’t busy with other things, that is.

Sometimes Seoho didn’t even come, but you still kept meeting, months and seasons passing by. Yet, once as you were sitting under the half-moon, you wondered where he could be working and what his shifts could look like given that you met each other so infrequently. Prompted by the thought, you visited the main maid’s office to inquire about Seoho. However, much to your bewilderment, she said that there was no one named Seoho working at the palace. You were so perplexed that the next time you met the boy, your first question towards him was why you couldn’t see him so much around, hoping to see if he was trying to come up with excuses or he would tell you why he was truly there.

Seoho was a bit taken aback by your question, and it was the first time you saw him a bit bittersweet. However, he still responded.

“It’s because I’m not here all the time. Just every full moon.”

You could see that he wasn’t lying. Everything in his demeanour told you that he was being honest, but that just broke your heart even more because he appeared so resigned. As if he had already played out this conversation in his head before you had the chance to ask about it.

“Why? How do you even get access to the royal gardens?” You quirked an eyebrow as you laced your arms in front of your chest, suddenly cautious. Who could he be if he wasn’t working here? You would have never dared to question him, but his answer didn’t shine a light on the truth either.

“I don’t need it.”

“Seoho, I don’t understand,” you pressed, shaking your head. While it was true that you had met during a full moon and you thought that if he hadn’t been your soulmate, then no one else could have been your soulmate, but still… Was he just a trick of your imagination? Was he breaking rules to see you?

“I don’t want to break your heart, but I’m afraid I’ll do so if I tell you the truth,” he replied without stepping closer to you even though you itched to reach out to him. Especially now more than ever when it seemed that his whole existence was a big question.

“Are you… a ghost?” You guessed hesitantly, and when he didn’t reply immediately, you reached out to place a hand over his heart to ground yourself, to make you see that he was there, that he was very much alive. That’s when your lips parted though. Even though his skin was warm under your touch, you couldn’t feel the beating of his heart. You pressed more firmly, but still nothing, and the way Seoho looked back at you was enough of an answer in itself. 

How could you have missed it when he had even hugged you before, holding you close to his chest?

“I am not a ghost. I have a human form, but I’m immortal. I’m the God of the Moon.”

You tried to rack your head around the fact that he was someone you read about in books, someone for whom you had burned sacrifices, someone who had been in your kingdom’s anthem, someone who should have been an old man according to the tales.

“I-” You started, too many questions crossing your mind all at once. You started with the most confusing one. “How is that even possible? I thought gods and goddesses don’t visit us in the human realm.”

“They do, humans merely don’t know. I know for a fact that Mother Nature also likes helping out on the fields, but she usually changes her human form. I am, on the other hand, fond of this one,” he explained, boasting an almost cheeky smile as he looked down at himself, but when he caught your eyes, his lips turned into a thin line, his expression hardening. “I usually visit the human realm only during the full moon though. That’s when I have my energy in full, and I visit back here to keep reminding myself why I should continue lighting the way for humans. I like listening to troubled souls’ stories because that way, I know that my efforts are not in vain.”

His words were so like him, but you would have never guessed that he was a god. Now though, it made sense why he was fond of the pond - he had said that it was because he liked the way the moonlight reflected on its surface -, why you couldn’t see him so often - because he only came to visit the human realm every full moon, so every 29 days -, why he spoke so wisely despite his seemingly young age, and why he was so good at comforting you.

“Why did you keep visiting me?” You pondered once you came back to your senses. He said that he kept visiting back to remind himself of his duty, and that he liked listening to troubled souls’ stories. He didn’t mention that he had to revisit one after having met them already.

“Why did you keep coming back to the pond then?” He asked back instead of answering, and you were so on the edge already that you blurted out your answer without thinking ahead.

“Because I wanted to see you, because I’m afraid I might be in love with you.”

Given other circumstances, this might have been a heartfelt confession. However, considering that he had just admitted that he was the god of the Moon, it just made everything even more complicated, even more wrong. He was an immortal, you were a human. He only had this human form ever so scarcely, and he could only visit you during every full moon. Realistically speaking, you could never have a future together, but the way you were still waiting for an answer from him - an indication of some sort - was enough of a proof that despite everything, you still cared if he reciprocated your feelings.

“Well…” Seoho sighed a long, aghast sigh. He averted his eyes for a moment to gaze at the pond under the canvas of the sky and the dirty grey moon, then looked back at you. “I’m afraid of the same.”

Those words were engraved into your heart afterwards; because it was a confession of some sort yet it was a goodbye of some sort as well. Something so sad yet so beautiful, so comforting yet so painful. It was as if those few words were just like the time you shared with him: dreamlike and something that was out of your reach all too soon.

The elderly in your village had a recent saying when it started raining more and more during full moons after seeing Seoho for the last time: that Mother Nature cried for the lovers who couldn’t meet for whatever reason, and this was her way of mourning the missed chances of soulmates meeting.

You, on the other hand, knew that it wasn’t true. It was because though you had a love like your parents’ - so selfless, uplifting and withstanding all seasons of life -, you couldn’t be with your soulmate for he was a god and you were a mortal princess. Your paths should have never crossed in the first place, but maybe full moons weren’t just for eternal love, they were for miracles, too.

However, even though your love couldn’t bloom, you would always cherish the time you spent with Seoho, and whenever you looked up at the sky, it felt like the Moon was watching over you, let it be day or night, and the thought itself made you feel safe.

(Little did you know, it was actually true: Seoho had never stopped watching over you ever since.)

A/N: Oneus has so many moon references in their songs, not to mention the masterpiece the Luna MV is, no wonder I got inspired by their symbolism. *-*

Hope you enjoyed this story of mine (and I hope you don’t hate me too much for the bitter ending)!

Thank you so much for reading! Hope you have a lovely day/night! ❤️

#oneus scenarios #oneus imagines #oneus x reader #eternally yours collab #oneus x you #seoho scenarios #seoho imagines #seoho x reader #seoho x you #oneus fantasy #seoho fantasy

[veryfireenemy]

जीवन का तात्पर्य

View On WordPress

#कविता #जिंदगी #Eternal Shine ! सुसुप्रभात। एक सुंदर collab Rest Zone की ओर से। जीवनकातात्पर्य YourQuoteAndMine Collaborating with Your #life #Quote

[evercelle]

“The maid outfits! What’s your opinion?” Xiao feels himself going red. “My opinion is that you shouldn’t wear them.”

-- from "below the sea of clouds lies eternity (of maids)" by @merthurlin!

a collab done for xvx week 2024, day 2: maid! good luck, xiao...

#genshin impact #venti #xiao #xiaoven #ever makes art #maids are just maayan and i's brand now #we saw the prompt list and made a solemn pact to come out of xv retirement for the sole purposing of maiding one of them

[ovaova]

Okay but imagine Husband Katsuki and Wife reader being co-stars in an upcoming movie and like in the movie there’s an intense sex scene.

And like the scene becomes soooo famous that it’s starts trending, people start writing fics about it, draw it, recreate it, etc- basically just everyone uses it as an excuse to simp and ship

It gets so hyped up that both of your media teams have to collab to put the whole thing to rest through an interview.

Ofc the interviewer asks a bunch of questions before acknowledging the elephant in the room.

“So! Now that we got all the other questions out of the way, let’s address it. Mr. And Mrs. Bakugo, I’m sure you’ve heard the sudden uproar from your latest scene in the new film, “Eternal”. It just came out a week ago and its already sold out almost everywhere and received a 98% on rotten tomatoes! I’ve seen the movie already and must I say, it is phenomenal. But, enough about that, many fans are asking about you! Not too many actors co-star with their lover, especially in a spice scene, so tell us, how was that experience for you?”

Of course, you were quick to answer the question. From both relief and excitement.

"Well, first of all, thank you for the kind words about 'Eternal.' We're truly thrilled by the response it's received. As for the experience of working together in that particular scene, it was definitely a unique and challenging experience, but we strictly kept things professional and had a lot of trust in each other as actors. Our goal was always to serve the story and bring authenticity to our characters, and I believe we accomplished that."

That’s when Katsuki scoffed, in his head of course.

“Strictly kept things professional..”

That’s when he started having flashbacks-

The way you and him would fuck in his dressing room only 10 minutes before filming

How you and him would have quickies in your trailer

When after a long day of filming, as soon you would get home, you wouldn’t hesitate to pounce on him and fuck him in the shower

Constantly finding places around set to fuck any where at any minute

Always pleading and begging for him only to make him beg and plead for you in return

None of that seemed quite professional to him-

“So what do you have to add to that Mr. Bakugo?”

Bakugo snapped out of it, coming back to reality from his deep web of thoughts

“Uh yeah, the movies great-“

#bakugo x reader lemon #bakugo #katsuki x reader smut #dad bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader smut #katsuki bakugo mha #mha bakugo x reader #mha headcanons #x reader

[stayconnecteed]

❪⠀🪐.⠀ethereal roses⠀𓏔⠀hwang hyunjin⠀❫

☆ㅤhwang hyunjin x afab!reader ( valentine's collab oneshots )⠀★⠀3.1k words

synopsys: even before he knew your name, hyunjin already knew your dog's. it had been difficult not to, considering that you shouted it on a daily basis in the park where he walked kkami. but he wasn't complaining: thanks to jisung he had been able to meet you, and and after a slight confusion, being able to see you again, and then again, painting your future in a lovesick red, as pure as the one in the roses that had brought you two together.

note: this is the last part!! with this oneshot our valentine's collab comes to an end. it was a pleasure to work with you, mana! i had so much fun 🤍

Before even learning your name, Hyunjin already knew your dog's. It had been hard not to when you were shouting it on a daily basis in the park next to his building, and even more so because of the name you had decided to give the poor animal. To hear such a pretty girl exclaim "Soju!" while laughing as he walked Kkami was a sight to behold. The little King Shepherd puppy you owned had never approached Hyunjin's dog before, but loved to jump and run around next to you, wagging his tail at an astonishing speed and looking at you as if you were the one who hung the stars in the sky every night. Hyunjin ended up understanding Soju perfectly, as every time he looked at you the sparkle in his eyes was the same.

It had all started when you had moved into the building across the street. Hyunjin lived in a fifth-floor apartment, and the flat he saw from his living-room window had been empty for as long as he could remember, until suddenly it hadn't been. He had seen you one afternoon after work, when he had gone down to Kkami for his evening walk, talking to the truck driver who had just dropped off what looked like a rolled-up mattress on the ground with the help of his co-worker. All he had thought about at the time, apart from the fact that you were going to be a new neighbour, was how beautiful you were, the reflections the sun created in your hair if you turned slightly, and the colours he would have to blend to get all the shades that merged into your strands.

The first time he'd heard you shout your dog's name was two days later, in the same park he was heading for when you'd first arrived in the neighbourhood, when he had just gotten there. You had run past, with your eternal smile plastered on your lips, your flashy yoga tights clinging to your skin, and Soju chasing after you amidst joyful barking. It had been quite an image. The same image he had caught himself trying to sketch that very night, instead of writing in his journal, before turning out the light to go to sleep. It was at that moment that he knew that even though you had not yet been introduced, you were already a part of his life.

And from then on he couldn't stop seeing you everywhere. It was like he had unlocked a new character, like when you noticed the presence of someone you thought was a stranger to you, then suddenly they weren't, and your day-to-day life was totally parallel, your paths coinciding but never crossing. He would come out of his room in the morning ready to make a coffee, and he would see you cooking breakfast in your pyjamas, in your kitchen. When he looked out of the window, on his stumbling way to the bathroom for his morning shower, and you were in the street, Soju hopping around you again, happy to be out for a walk. As he went downstairs to the park for a short walk with Kkami before work, you were again in your front door, Soju watching from your window as you put on your helmet, and Hyunjin watching you ride off on your bicycle.

In the morning, in his office, he couldn't stop thinking about you, neglecting his work as a art director more often than recommended to shut himself away in his personal studio, analysing colours, mixing them in his palette, remembering... All to find the perfect tones for your features. But the frustration of not succeeding could get the better of him and soured his mood, making him highly irritable until the end of the day. Then he would say goodbye to his colleagues and employees with the smile of someone who knew he was going home, when in reality all he wanted was to see you again.

He had just enough time to get to his flat, get Kkami on his leash and go out into the street again, but with a changed mood, heading for the park. And after waiting a few minutes sitting on his favourite bench, he would always see you arrive at your building, pretending to read a book he couldn't even remember the synopsis of, with your hair blowing in the wind. And you'd hurry up the stairs, eager to greet Soju, a few minutes later you'd be back on the street, ready to play with him. Because in the afternoons you never walked Soju. Every second between the trees was spent playing with him, with branches or his little red ball, or even running between passers-by.

But even though it was a habit he had developed, to include your routines in his even if you had never spoken a word to each other, he didn't have the confidence to do anything else. His friends had encouraged him to introduce himself, to strike up a conversation with you, to ask you out on a date, but he couldn't. The awkwardness gripped him, his natural shyness forming a lump in his throat, freezing his muscles as soon as he saw you appear. So he would just admire you from a distance as you played with your dog, as you danced around your living room, as you went to work... While he did nothing about it.

At least until one of his best friends asked him to stop by a florist's to pick up a bouquet of flowers he had ordered for his girlfriend. And when he walked up to, entering that little shop squeezed between two buildings, the one he had spent so many afternoons walking past on his way home, and saw you through the glass, he had to pull back suddenly, hiding from you, his cheeks flushing. He didn't know if Jisung had done it on purpose or not, but he was going to kill him anyway. He considered for a moment not going in. Surely Jisung would have time to come by and pick them up before his date, and he could go back home, regretting that he hadn't seized the moment. But he cared too much about his friend's girlfriend to deny her some nice flowers on Valentine's Day, so he gathered up his courage and secured his hand on the doorknob, opening the door.

our face lit up even before you knew who had entered, welcoming the new customer with a warm smile, but your eyes had a most excited gleam in them as you made eye contact with him, recognising him. And Hyunjin knew. He knew and his heart filled with pride, allowing himself to dream that you could feel the same way he did. And you greeted him, a soft, melodic "hello", and he greeted you back, his words certainly shakier, his curved lips mirroring yours. And for a few moments you watched each other, his eyes roaming over your features for the first time so closely, taking in the details, memorising every mole and wrinkle, those cute ones that formed at the corners of your eyes when you smiled. And he felt your gaze on his face too, his cheeks turning crimson.

"Which flowers are you interested in?" you asked, your swift hands fiddling with a discarded piece of stem from the bouquet you had just prepared.

"I... huh," he closed his eyes in a quick blink, focusing on the reason he had come in the first place, placing his hands on the counter to gain strength, "I'm here to pick up an order. Under the name of Han Jisung.”

"Oh," he could see the moment when your face fell, turning hurriedly, rummaging through the loose papers in a notebook on the cabinet behind you. "Yes, I... Yes, a dozen red roses."

"I thought they were orchids," Hyunjin uttered, before he could contain himself, frowning. "I could have sworn... I know she likes orchids."

"Well, there's a bouquet of red roses ordered under that name," you said, your shoulders still tense, your back to him. He heard you sigh before you turned around again, offering him a smile that was nowhere near as bright as the one you'd flashed when he'd arrived. "I can make you an orchid one, if you wait a while."

"Really?"

"Yeah, sure," but there was a sad tinge in your voice.

You rolled up the sleeves of the thin jumper you were wearing and disappeared into the back room. Hyunjin had not had a chance to observe the place as much as he would have liked, his attention directed entirely towards you, but he had marvelled at the magical place he found himself in. From the outside, the establishment was clean glass and old wood, but inside it was a forest straight out of a fairy tale. There were fake trees, some branches even painted on the wall, and ivy falling from the ceiling, lit in a warm, cosy light. The tables were covered with little ready-made bouquets, vases of flowers of all sizes and colours everywhere, a chaotic myriad of scents that created a soft and enchanting perfume, in a setting that should have felt overwhelming but was actually pleasant.

He was flashing a lovesick smile when you returned, holding a pot in your hands, and followed you with his eyes until you reached the table in the centre of the room, full of ribbons and laces, bits of stems and loose leaves, wrapping paper and various filler plants for the bouquets. You kept your head down, working quickly, and Hyunjin watched in amazement, admiring the way you expertly pulled out the flowers and cut the roots, preparing the stem as you thought it would look best, adding a few fresh leaves to match the white of the flowers with a refreshing green colour. By the time you had finished, laying the bouquet with heart-breaking delicacy on the wooden surface of the table, you simply whispered to him how much he had to pay for the expenses.

Hyunjin left the flower shop with a sad look on his face, your masterpiece resting in his hand as he sent a message to Han, agreeing to drop by his office to leave the bouquet. He was sad to have to give it up, the only piece that tied him to you, and after handing the flowers to his friend, scolding him for not choosing his girl's favourites, he returned home looking pained, defeated by how badly the first 一and probably only一 time you had seen each other had gone. The walk with Kkami lasted less time than usual, releasing him from the leash and letting him run wherever he wanted while he kept his gaze fixed on the entrance to the park, anxiously waiting to see you enter.

But you didn't. And while it was getting dark and he was going back into his flat, ready to pour himself some alcohol and drown himself in the sorrow, or the apparent rejection you had destined him to, you had decided to spend the night in your best friend's place. Hyunjin couldn't see the lights in your apartment on, but he couldn't see Soju either, so he realised that you weren't there, that you didn't want to be there, and that maybe you were the one who had felt rejected. Even if he was head over heels for you, even if he couldn't think of anything else, even if now that he knew what you smelled like, what you looked like up close, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he had you in his arms. He'd seen the way you'd looked at him, how you'd locked eyes, how everything had disappeared around you as soon as he'd entered the shop and you'd recognised him. That connection could not be faked.

So he locked himself in his studio. And instead of mixing the colours he knew would form every shade of your skin, every strand of your hair, the kaleidoscope of your eyes, he let his heart bleed onto the canvas, a chaos of beiges and reds intermingling in the image he had conjured in his mind: the dozen red roses he had seen on the counter when he arrived, the one Han had ordered for his girlfriend. He poured out all his frustration using the brush as a channel, the colours sliding down the canvas of the frame as tears fell down his cheeks, angry, desperate, desperate... And when he finished, the smell of the paint overshadowing the memory of the perfume he remembered in your shop, he tried to grasp every word exchanged, every absence of interaction that had led you to this situation. And he understood.

Because in his eagerness to help his best friend's forgetful heart, he had forgotten to consider yours, and how his words might have been interpreted. He had lost himself in the romanticism he so adored, and had let you think the bouquet was for a date of his. He knew how it had happened, what you had thought. He knew why your smile had faded, and why you had needed to fetch the flowers from the back room when you had more in the shop, why you had put so much effort into his orchids. He knew because he would have done the same 一the sudden sadness, the time alone to avoid crying in front of someone, to give the best of you even if it was hurting like the worst wound... And he smiled, when he realised, in the middle of the night, determination warming his chest like a blanket on the coldest day of winter, that he just needed to explain it to you to start from scratch.

So he waited. The night felt like an eternity, the hours didn't go by fast enough, going to work was a misery. He hadn't seen you yet, and he already missed your silly dances in the kitchen at seven in the morning, the variety of sundresses you wore with tights and a big coat, how adorable you looked on your bike. God, he missed your voice. Even Kkami noticed his nervousness, chasing him around the flat at noon, when he had come back with the excuse to have lunch just because he wanted to find out if you were at home. He'd relaxed slightly at the sight of Soju dozing in the living room, but assumed you'd be working, so the afternoon's work hours went by pretty quickly, the certainty that he'd see you again in the park turning him into a giggling and excited mess.

He was waiting for you, once again, sitting on his bench. He hadn't bothered to bring a book, he couldn't distract himself, he wasn't capable of it anyways. While Kkami wandered around the lawn and amused himself chasing pigeons, he kept his eyes fixed on the entrance to the compound, his heart skipping a beat every time a person entered. But none of them were you, and his mood dropped as the afternoon progressed. Had you been so hurt that the possibility of seeing him made you walk Soju in a completely different place? He had been a fool. Deep down he knew it wasn't his fault, that it was just a few poorly chosen words, but it wasn't your fault either, and you were the one who was suffering the most.

And he couldn't allow it. Not when your heartbreak was avoidable, when he reciprocated your feelings so fiercely. So he got up, a high-pitched whistle spilling from between his lips to call his pet, and when he was sure the dog was following him he made his way to your building. He hooked the leash back on Kkami's harness and looked for your front door, hurrying when he saw that one of your neighbours was leaving at that very moment and racing down the hallway. He knocked on the wrong flat a couple of times once he got to the right floor, until a kindly old lady informed him that the cheerful pretty girl in the fifth lived in apartment E, and after thanking her he stopped, taking a moment to breathe.

He felt that everything was going very fast, but he was not sure if time was running out or if the accelerated rhythm of his heart had something to do with it. He seemed to be trapped in a movie, and couldn't stop smiling, starring in his own k-drama. He walked towards your door, knees trembling, clenching his hand into a fist to release the tension before pressing the doorbell, his chest rising and falling in an accelerated pace. He waited a few moments, listening to his heartbeat in his ears, swallowing saliva in agitation. Until you opened the door, the blue sundress you must have worn to work still hugging your body, Soju's curious figure at the end of the corridor, your face taking on a gesture of confusion.

"Go out with me" he blurted, his eyes wide, surprised at the way he had uttered the words, his eyebrows curving with concern at your possible response.

"I... Huh, what?"

"You, go out with me" he repeated, more confidently, feeling the material of Kkami's leash in his hand like an anchor to reality, "one dinner, one date."

"But..." you protested, looking back at the bouquet of red roses you had in the doorway, the edges of the petals already somewhat ruined, a sorrowful reminder of what had happened, "your bouquet...".

"They weren't for me," he explained, an incredulous laugh breaking through his chest, his face glowing with happiness, "they weren't for me. I was picking them up for a friend".

"They weren't for you" you repeated, looking into his eyes, the world once again disappearing around you.

"They weren't for me" he murmured, nodding, your lips curving into a reflection of the smile Hyunjin had on his lips.

"One dinner, one date" you affirmed, your cheeks taking on a reddish hue, exhaling a pain that seemed to have settled in your chest and that you were finally letting go of.

And in a catharsis of relief, found feelings at the door of your flat, and the joy of a beautiful crush, Hyunjin said goodbye, promising to pick you up the next day around eight o'clock. You closed the door slowly, leaning your back against it and smiling like a teenager. Hyunjin returned to his flat with a heart filled with happiness, and as he looked at the painting of red roses, he no longer thought of what he had felt when he painted it, but of all that was to come.

taglist: ( @hanjsquokka ) · @jazziwritesthings · @rylea08 · @starlostastronaut · @manuosorioh · @kpopmenace143 · @skzms · @atinyniki · @bbybearcubbs · @caitlyn98s

to be part of the taglist, fill this form or send an ask!!

© stayconnecteed 2024 · do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms

#﹙ ★ ﹚ mars — writes. #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff

[facioleeknow]

Sweet firsts • Seo Changbin

Your boyfriend wants to try something new in the bedroom ;)

Wc: 722 Genre: smut 18+ ONLY

Tw: smut, unprotected sex, anal, plugs, squirting, anal fingering

Part of my valentine's day collab!

With your eyes closed, a sigh escaped your lips. Trying out new things was always nerve-wracking for you but the moment Changbin suggested you introduce ass play in the bedroom, both giving and receiving, a switch flipped inside you. Your boyfriend, being the gentleman he always is, had told you to think it through and not rush an answer. That night when going to bed you felt warm and excited. The more time passed the more you tossed and turned in your sheets and when you finally passed out of exhaustion a delicious dream about being in a very compromising position with Changbin jolted you awake. 

The next morning, you texted Changbin saying that his proposition seemed interesting and you were willing to try it. He replied with a simple “I'll take care of you well, my love <3” which made you rub your thighs and your panties stick to your core uncomfortably.

It all led you to your current position, on your back with your legs bent and in the air while Changbin was squeezing a generous amount of lube on a small plug. Your pussy was slick with arousal and swollen, your generous lover had spent what felt like an eternity lapping at your folds and sucking on your puffy clit. With his face buried between your legs, he inched his heavily lubed fingers near your other hole. Your breath hitched as his thumb pressed down on your ass and then slowly disappeared inside you. It was a strange feeling but not entirely unpleasant, it was intense. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked hard, a string of whimpers came out of your mouth. 

His thumb came out of you and his index finger took its place. When he slowly started to move his finger, a sharp gasp echoed through the room. It ended in the most intense orgasm you had ever had. 

“What are you thinking about, baby? You're soaking,” Changbin’s voice brought you back to reality. His thick fingers gingerly ran through your folds.

“You,” you answered breathlessly. 

Changbin leaned down and gently kissed your knee.

“Are you ready?” 

“As ready as I'll ever be, Binnie”

His fingers once again spread the lube around and in your ass, eliciting a gasp from you. His other hand was spread on your lower belly, his thumb pressed down on your clit to distract you from eventual pain.

The small plug pushed against your tight ring of muscle and then slipped inside, settling itself inside you. The intense feeling came back and with it the throbbing in your pussy started again.

“Please Binnie fuck me, I can't take it anymore,” you whined at your boyfriend.

“Aw, how could I ever let my baby wait.”

His hand gripped your knee, the other around the base of his cock as he slid in easily.

“God, you're so wet baby” 

You keened. His thick cock filled you like nothing else and the added pressure that the plug offered was making you see stars.

Changbin's thrusts were slow and powerful, calculated even, to hit your g spot everytime he plunged into your heat.

The pleasure was building up faster than usual, and you found yourself cumming around Changbin's cock soon enough. Your pussy squeezed him tight.

“Bunny,” he moaned above you. His thrusts started to get quicker and more desperate, a sign that he was close too. 

A tear fell down your face as Changbin fucked you through your orgasm and beyond, threatening to send you over once again.

“Give me another one, bunny.” 

His left thumb pressed down on your clit, sparks flew through your whole body. His right hand went to your other hole and started delicately moving the plug inside you.

A weird pressure started building in your lower belly and a pleasure never felt before began to expand more and more. With one last thrust Changbin groaned and spilled his seed inside you. The feeling of his warm release sent you over the edge for the third time. The orgasm was the most intense of your life and had you gasping and screaming.

Warm, clear liquid shot out of your pussy and on your boyfriend's pelvis and bed underneath you.

Changbin chuckled excitedly.

“Wow, I should've asked you sooner.”

#kpop #reader insert #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #changbin #changbin x reader #changbin smut #changbin x you #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin smut #valentines day collab

[humbuns]

forget-me-nots; eternal love and devotion

Decided to share my piece for the collab I’m running for Malleus’s bday. Only one more week left guys, get your flowers in before it’s too late!!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia #i been seeing everyone's flowers choices and i can't get over some of them #i only went with forget-me-nots though because i feel it's one of the few things he fears the most #to be a passing memory while his own stills feels new #maybe that's why i still drew him smiling because he is a little naive #but let's not get too critical in my tags lmao #art tag

[semisolidmind]

Hi there, how are you?

So I came across your eternal servants au pic, and I was just wondering how would the dynamics change between the twice as bad duo and Peaches if she was their master? And how would they be the same or at least similar?

No pressure to answer obviously, I was just curious because it's such a cool pic.

(eh. i cant think of a good reason for her to be their master in my au, so ill just describe what my reader would be like as the master in @emelinstriker 's universe)

reader is a very benevolent master. she doesn't want to punish her champions. and it's only partially because...she doesn't think she can? they're all incredibly powerful, so...what right does she have as a relatively normal human to enact any sort of repercussions on them?

however, she also doesn't want them to kill if they can help it. i imagine she would attempt to talk any enemies down first (if she's present) before one of her fellas has to step in and take the aggressor out.

i really can't see reader giving orders to the champions unless she has to. it just feels so...wrong to give them commands, like they're nothing more than machines. she feels a sense of remorse for the champions. reader can't help but wonder who they were before.

reader doesn't play favorites. mostly because all of the champions unsettle her to some degree. she just can't get used to the idea that these powerful beings are at her beck and call.

however, wukong, macaque, mk, and azure are the ones she interacts with the most. the others seek her out as well (as is their want), but at least one of these four are never far from her side.

(i know it's just a cute collab w/ @theweepingegg and it's not canon, but bean mk is a cutie, so that's how he'll appear here) lil guy mk follows reader around like a duckling. reader genuinely can't help but baby him, he's just too cute. he'll tug on her skirts for attention and look up at her with those big ol eyes; she has to pick him up, she can't resist. it doesn't matter that he's capable of incredible violence, he's just a lil guy!

idk exactly how the masters are usually "acquired," but i imagine that reader was living a fairly normal life before she was nabbed and brought to the palace. she takes an exhausted pride in the fact that she didn't freak out as bad as she could have. and y'know, in spite of the way she got there, reader really hasn't minded having all this free time.

if the palace has a library, that's where you can usually find reader. she feels safer in there than anywhere else.

the only champion who gives reader a hard time is mink (of course). however, it's less in a "genuinely doesn't like her" kinda way and more in a "teasing her because he thinks it's funny and otherwise doesn't mind her" kinda way. he thinks it's funny to rile her up, knowing she won't actually punish him. the others don't really voice their opinions on the masters, so i think mink's attitude is a good indicator for whether a master is a good one.

overall, reader tries her best to be a good master. she knows her champions are doing their best.

#i think about emelins au occasionally #I really want to draw her version of azure w reader

[imnameimswrld]

╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 || 𝗝𝗝 ꒱꒱

━━ ❪ . . . jungkook x popstar!reader ❫

━━ ❪ . . . description : bullied for being "immature" , y/n goes dark for a whole year, before returning with a new sound, and a whole different aesthetic, and the world is shocked to find just who's been by her side through it all ; ❫

━━ ❪ . . . smau ! ❫

━━ ❪ warnings: none ❫

━━ ❪ fc: dove cameron ❫

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

before...

ynusername

liked by zendaya, thv, and 2 334 224 others

ynusername sunday vibes 🌻

View all comments

user pretty !

user jesus, you're not in Disney Channel anore girl, grow tf up.

user ...you know you're not 16 anymore right ? 🤭

user this girl NEEDS to start acting her age or istg

⤿ user wdym ???

⤿ user first of all she's been blonde since her liv and maddies, and she's been all prissy princess when we all KNOW she ain't nothing like that. she needs to grow up, like, yesterday already.

⤿ user there's nothing wrong with her still being blonde tf, YOU should grow up.

user so no one is gonna talk about kim taehyung in the likes ? no ? okay...

one yeah later...

ynusername added to their story !

ynusername

liked by rkive, thv, and 2 987 224 others

ynusername hi loves, I'm back – alchemical out this Friday 🤍.

View all comments

user holy shit – MOMMY !?

user THE QUEEN HAVETH RETURNED

uarmyhope 🔥🔥🔥

user JHOPE !? HELLO !?!

user okay can we PLEASE talk about how all of bts are in the likes ?? collab 👀

user yn in her reputation era we love to see it.

[ liked by ynusername ]

ynupdates

liked by user, user335, and 656 others

ynupdates BREAKING NEWS GUYS !! Y/N was spotted out yesterday in Miami with... JEON JUNGKOOK FROM BTS !?!?!? I'm no kpop fan but what I do is, he is fine as hell, and look at our girl's smile !!!! I love seeing her happy.

View all comments

user HELLOOO !? my worlds colliding fr daamn

user JUNGKOOK WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user y/n looks so happy omg 😭

user HAND PLACEMENT !?

user I am so here for this – if I see any toxic army coming for her istg

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz

liked by j.m, urarmyhope, and 10 224 787 others

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz a lethal woman, but the best lover 🖤

View all comments

user JEON. JUNG. KOOK !?

user bro hasn't posted since 2022 😭

thv alchemical>>>>golden.

⤿ ynusername tae 😭

⤿ abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz wow...

user V PLS- 😭😭

user slide 3 DAMN 🥲

user a power couple fr.

ynusername

liked by thv, booboostewart.art, and 2 334 878 others

ynusername eternally greatful for your continuous love and support through the years baby 💋

View all comments

user YEARS !?

user y/n was at the ptd show in vegas !? holy shit they've been together for way longer than i expected.

uramyhope ynkook !!!

[ liked by ynusername ]

user they're actually so perfect for each other

user WAIT- y/n gets it seven days a week !?

⤿ user LMFAO 😭😭😭😭😭

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#kpop #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #bts imagines #bts jungkook #bts #kpop smau #bts smau

[sailoryooons]

F*ck Christmas | myg (m)

❆ Paring: Yoongi x f. reader

❆ Summary: Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancé cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog.

❆ Word Count: 23,466

❆ Genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

❆ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❆ Warnings: Reader is miserable to start this and isn't very nice to Yoongi because she has Feelings and unpacked issues, a lot of nostalgia, mentions of depression and depictions of anxiety, mentions of parent deaths (Yoonig's mom, readers dad), a lot of familial guilt, reader isn't always The Best, Yoongi's dad has some failing memory with old age, Yoongi and reader and their endless pining, cheesy and very contrived scenarios, explicit language, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content including, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving) fingering (f. receiving), Big Dick Yoongi, bodily fluids, established safeword, honestly emotional fucking ok, reader being a bit in subspace/overwhelmed during sex, cheesy as fuck ending

❆ Published: December 28, 2022

❆ A/N: Holy shit this is finally done. It is days, late, about 10k more words than it was supposed to be because I couldn't shut the fuck up, and it is not my favorite thing I have ever written, but I hope that you enjoy it anyway, and that you find some comfort if you have a hard time during the holidays like I sure as shit do (which is why this fic is legit so late ijsdgkjng). Eternally grateful to M for being my mental crutch during this process, reading to make sure it doesn't suck and constantly assuring me I'm not writing a total car wreck. Super pleased to have been able to write with @here2bbtstrash @gimmethatagustd and @nabiolive so please please please make sure you check out their fics when they're posted (Jai's is posted now so GO READ!!!!)

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

  Masterlist | Ask |  Collab Masterlist

The monotonous shuffle of feet, mechanical click of the baggage claim conveyor, and three-toned chime before a muffled and completely unintelligible airport announcement work together in tandem to make a grating symphony. 

You spot your neon green, plastic suitcase drifting through the black flaps of the conveyer. As it nears, a cluster of people block your access, huddling and waiting for their bags right up against it. With an angry sigh, you navigate around them, throwing a glare as you reach for your back and haul it off the conveyor. 

People who crowd baggage claim when their bags aren’t out are at the top of your travel intolerances, second only to people who clap when the plane lands. 

Wheeling your suitcase toward the entrance as fast as you can, you look at your lock screen to see that your mother has blown up your phone with text messages.

[Mom]: Gate G

[Mom]: I’m at gate G

[Mom]: I still have the white Macaran. Gate G I am waiting by it.

[Mom]: What are you wearing? I will try to pull up closer. 

[Mom]: They are asking me not to wait. Do you have your bags yet? Is it close to Gate G?

“For the love of Christ,” you mutter under your breath, shoving the device in your pocket. 

The airport doors open, making a stuttering suction sound as they do. Cold air hits you in the face, making you flinch and squint. 

Just near the column marked ‘G’ your mother waits in her white car, waving wildly when she sees you. Despite your temporary annoyance, you give her a tight-lipped grin as she climbs out of the car, running to you with hand motions signaling she wants your bag. 

“Hi, hi!” she cheers, grabbing you quickly for a brief hug before making grabbing motions toward your bag. “Here, let me! Let me!”

“It’s fine,” you assure, trying to wheel the heavy bag away from you. You both end up wheeling it together, your mom refusing to let go of the handle until she’s opening the trunk and you’re hauling it into the back. “Thanks.”

Inside the car, the leather seats are heated and the hot air is blasting enough to threaten a nosebleed. You close the vents as your mother gets in, saying something you can’t hear over the blaring horns, slamming of her door, and fumbling with her seatbelt.

“What?”

“How was your flight?”

Awful. Long. Filled with absolute dread of the finality of your one-way ticket. Wondering if the movers had successfully delivered your shit to storage and dropped your car off at your mother’s house.

Naturally, you say none of these things. You offer canned responses with forced happiness that your mother doesn’t detect. She’s just happy to see you. The thought makes you soften a little.

Outside the world is covered in sheets of white. You know the winding roads well. Your mother talks about how it’s just the two of you for Christmas morning, but that she is volunteering at the homeless shelter on Christmas Eve. You take this in with a soft hum, eyes watching as you pass Mulberry street.

If you drive down another mile and take a left, you’ll be at Plaza Center, the mecca of your childhood with a movie theater, a Blockbuster turned Mattress Firm, Lucky Strike bowling alley, and a combination grocery store and liquor store where you used to huddle outside in the cold while waiting for someone’s fake ID to work. 

Soft music plays in the background as the tires hum on the road. You pass by the newer additions to the town – Starbucks, Olive Garden, Longhorns – they’ve all replaced longtime restaurants and a laser tag place that you remember having three birthdays in a row at. 

“Tired?” your mom asks, drawing you from trying to draw up the red brick houses from memory instead of watching them blur by. You hum. “You can take a nap later, get that airplane yuck off of you. Yoongi is working on fixing those damned cabinets. He ripped out the whole thing-“

“What?” 

“What what?”

“Why is Yoongi in your house?”

Your mother blinks at you owlishly as she pulls up to the stop light. You realize suddenly that she’s in one of your father’s old sweatshirts from university. It cuts you like a knife as you readjust yourself in the seat, suddenly tense and griping the door. 

“Min Yoongi still lives here?”

“Of course he does,” she scoffs and turns when the light changes. “Do you not keep up with him? You guys used to be such good friends.”

“Why is he at the house?”

“I just told you, he’s re-doing those damn cabinets. They had mold in them.”

For a moment, you just slow-blink at your mother. Min Yoongi is in her house – your house, now. You haven’t seen him since college. You knew he had moved back after school to help move his dad into a home, but he was supposed to leave once his dad was settled. 

He was… well he was supposed to be a big-shot architect. You just assumed he was. It occurs to you that you can’t remember the last time you even looked at Yoongi’s social media, though that was more on purpose than you’d like to admit.

Who wants to see what their life-long crush is still up to after they’ve long stopped talking to you?

“So you had him do our cabinets? He’s an architect, not a contractor.” 

“You really don’t know shit,” your mom laughs. “Yoongi took over his dad’s shop down on Miriam. Home Depot keeps trying to run him out, but most of us still like the comfort of Min’s Hardware. Plus, he spends the entire last quarter of the year building toys and the like for the children’s home and new chairs and furniture for the old folks home.”

You pause. “Is Old Man Min-“

It’s hard to bring yourself to finish the sentence. You remember the bleak affair of summer 09’ when Yoongi’s mother passed away, but you feel like someone would have told you if his father had passed. 

Thankfully, your mother shakes her head. “Still kicking. Yoongi didn’t want to sell out to one of those land development companies, though. They kept trying to pressure him – they want to open up a Super Target – but he said no.”

“Huh.” You lean back in the seat as your mom turns down your street. There is a sense of trepidation as you pass rows of brick-and-mortar homes with nondescript cars in the drive. “Good for him. Fuck Target.”

“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t mind a target, but I certainly don’t want it to replace Min’s.” 

A dark blue truck sits in the drive of your home. It’s hard not to focus on it, your eyes drifting from the swan-shaped mailbox to the giant blow-up decorations still wiggling, even covered in snow. The wind chimes are frozen on the porch and there’s a tarp on the swing set in front of the kitchen window.

The kitchen window, where you vaguely make out a shape with his back turned.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. You have no reason to be nervous to see Min Yoongi and yet the thought of awkwardly walking into the kitchen like hey how are you threatens to make your demand your mom drive you back to the airport even though you have nowhere to go.

No home to go back to. No fiancé to-

Your mom shuts off the dark and slides out. She’s still rattling on about the developers buying up land and putting in condos and luxury apartments that no one can afford. You’re a beat behind her, slipping a little on the icy drive as you scramble out of the vehicle and retrieve your bag. 

Inside your chest, your heart pounds against your ribcage. You keep glancing out the window, wondering if you’ll suddenly see Yoongi’s soft, sweet face. Kicking ice off her boots on the porch, your mother opens the door as she talks on, breezing in and to the side to take off her boots.

You step in awkwardly. Unfamiliar. 

Everything in your view is the exact way you remember it, except suddenly… None of this feels like yours. Or like anything that has ever belonged to you. To your right, there is an open doorway that leads to the study – or the computer room as your dad chronically called it. It’s dark inside but you can see the indents on the carpet from the faded office chair, and the power-down Dell on the desk with multiple broken drawers. 

On the right is a cubby where you can kick your shoes off and hang your bag. You follow your mother’s example and take off your boots, feeling in a daze as your eyes drift down the hall. There’s a set of stairs that lead to the second floor just beyond the door to the computer room, and the living room and kitchen open up at the end of the hall.

Christmas music and the smell of cinnamon float down. There’s a lump in your throat as your mom walks toward the living room – and ultimately where the kitchen is. And Yoongi. Who is apparently hammering at something loudly, from the sounds of all the banging that drowns out the sound of Michael Bublé. 

“I’m gonna lay down,” you blurt before your mom can enter Yoongi’s line of vision. You’re frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, heart hammering. “The plane ride really exhausted me and I have a bit of a headache. Yoongi’s banging will make it worse.”

She frowns. “Well at least come to say hello.”

“I’ll see him later,” you assure her, moving toward the hardwood stairs and bending to pull up your bag. “It’s a small town, no big deal. Tell him I said hello.”

You’re halfway up the stairs when your mother says your name, irritation evident. You don’t respond, jogging the rest of the way. The bottom of your bag clips one of the stairs, making you stumble. You curse and recover before rushing down the right side of the hall, past the pictures on the wall and your open bathroom with the mermaid curtains straight into your room where you slam the door.

Leaning against it, you close your eyes and take a few breaths. In and out. In and out. Downstairs, the hammering pauses. You assume your mother is talking to Yoongi. Guilt eats away at you like a worm to an apple. You shove it down and walk into your room proper, trying not to think about how you want to avoid the man downstairs at all costs. 

Collapsing on your bed, you flinch and grab the mattress, forgetting how springy it is as they twang under the sudden weight. Your room is exactly how you left it. Aquamarine walls, a sea turtle lamp, a horrible collection of Justin Bieber memorabilia including a lunch box you can’t ever remember using, and an old box TV with a tiny DVD player. 

A broken lava lamp stands frozen in time on the white, paint-chipped dresser. You wonder if it even turns on anymore. The rolling closet door is open, empty save for extra sheets and towels and a couple of Vera Bradley duffle bags your mom never tossed out. 

Everything is the same and yet… you have never felt more like a stranger in your own home.

Pulling the scale pattern quilt from under you to wrap yourself in, you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, although the hammering downstairs starts once again.

-

A knock on the door and your mom’s voice telling you to come eat dinner pries you from sleep. Your limbs feel heavy and your back and neck ache with the unfamiliarity of the springy bed. Your thoughts are honey-thick as you try to remember that you’re not in your apartment – your old apartment that is no longer yours – and that your ex is not with you.

Mouth dry and limbs sluggish, you manage to trek down the stairs, footsteps heavy and awkward. There's still Christmas music playing somewhere in the living room, but it’s at a manageable volume now. You try not to think about it too much, finding Christmas music particularly grating this year.

The smell of dinner drifts from the kitchen and your stomach growls viciously, reminding you that you only had cheese and crackers for lunch. You rub your eyes, entering the open concept area with the kitchen facing the living room and the dining room tucked on the side of the kitchen against the glass-paned windows that look out into the yard.

Your mom sets something on the table and straightens, gesturing to something on the island countertop as she says, “Will you bring those potatoes over, Yoongi? I keep forgetting them on the counter.”

Two things happen at once. 

The first thing that happens is the slow-blink turning of your head, suddenly aware that a man is standing in your kitchen looking at you. Your feet glue themselves to the floor and your mouth parts a little in surprise and confusion that there is another human being in your house outside of you and your mother. 

The second thing that happens is the surge of panic and curiosity slamming into one another, two rogue waves at war as they unsteady the sleeping waters of your mind post-nap. You feel the urge to turn on your heel and run back up the stairs, but you’re stuck staring at Yoongi, both terrified to see him and... well you haven’t seen him in a while. You’re curious. 

Yoongi’s hair is blonde - a color he hasn’t had in years - with silky lowlights that look really good on him. Though most of it is tucked behind delicate, round ears that are decorated with his signature silver hoops, a few rogue strands fall endearingly over soft cat eyes. He’s broad in the shoulders, the material of his shirt pulled taught over the hint of biceps.

And Yoongi’s face – devastating as always. You always thought that he looked like a child of the moon goddess, smooth, milky skin with a rose-flushed mouth. His mouth as always looks soft, and as it breaks into a smile now when he sees you, it feels like the entire world might spin out of control. 

“Have a good nap?” Yoongi questions. His voice is so much deeper, raspy, and soft, and nothing at all like what you remember. But it’s been how long since you’ve seen him? At least four years. Maybe five. 

“Huh?” you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, your brain unable to connect the dots and form anything else.

Yoongi chuckles and ducks his head a bit, pink in the cheeks. He picks up the glass dish of potatoes that your mother asked for, rounding the island and putting it on the dining room table. He moves in your childhood home with ease, returning to the kitchen and popping up a drawer for a serving spoon.

“Jet lag, much?” that teasing tone of his is still there and you suddenly remember being in the ninth grade, hiding your face in your hands because he was poking fun at you for something innocent. “I don’t bite.”

“Why are you here?” Again, you’re unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth. This time, however, you have enough sense to realize how rude it sounds. Swallowing past the rapidly forming knot of anxiety, you move toward the table. “You don’t have a headache from all that hammering you’ve been doing?”

Yoongi shrugs and sits down at the table across from where your mother has seated herself, pouring a glass of red for herself. “You seem to have slept through it fine.”

“Yeah, well.” You sit down next to your mom, suddenly feeling defensive. “A five-hour flight will do that to you.”

Yoongi hums, agreeing as he glances up at you again. You’ve had dreams about those damn eyes, written about them in childhood diaries. Wondered about them late at night, when your ex was fast asleep next to you.

Thoughts and memories of Min Yoongi paint several parts of your life. Childhood crush. Close friend. The subject of your dreamy sighs. The crush had worn off around college, but there was always that something when you looked at him. Perhaps the acknowledgment that he was impossibly beautiful and charming. 

Or maybe the inescapable fact that you might always harbor something extra for him.

Averting your gaze, you clear your throat and grab the bottle of wine from your mom, pouring a healthy amount. “Why are you ripping out the cabinets anyway?”

“There was mold in the back of them.” He accepts a plate of meat from your mother. “I came over to help your mom pull down that bone china she keeps hidden away and found it.”

You glance at your mom. “You couldn’t use a ladder?”

“You try having old hips,” she huffs. “Yoongi isn’t that far. He’s a doll and he’s always a phone call away.” 

There is nothing wrong with Yoongi helping your aging mom. At least, that is what you tell yourself as she asks Yoongi about a TV show both of them have been watching. You fill your plate and listen to them, hovering on the edge of a conversation you can’t contribute to.

“And then she had the nerve to act like she was holier than thou,” your mother agrees, shaking her head. “The Greens are going to get theirs, now that Alicent was exposed for a snake.”

Yoongi snorts. “I don’t know, no one ever gets punished the way we want on that show.”

“Who is Alicent?” you ask, dubious.

Both of them look at you. Your mom waves you off with a roll of her eyes at Yoongi. “She doesn’t watch TV. I’ve been begging her to watch for weeks now. Thankfully you caved in.”

“I just don’t have time for TV.”

Your mom pats your hand delicately. It doesn’t feel comforting like it should. “I know. Thankfully I can gossip about it with Yoongi.”

They seem comfortable. Your mom laughs as Yoongi rants about some character arch you have never heard of. You watch as your mom cuts into her steak alongside him, handing him sauce for his diced pieces. He thanks her easily, not missing a beat as he uncaps it.

Suddenly, you feel like a stranger in your own house. All this time you’ve been living on the other side of the country, Yoongi has been here doing... whatever it is that he does. Making himself comfortable in your home. Filling a space for you. And now that you’re here, it’s like you don’t exist.

No one asks you how you’ve been. No one asks for a single detail about your life. Whether it’s out of pity because they know you’ve been left out in the cold with no home, no fiance, and leave from work because... well they felt bad that you were cheated on and booted from your apartment.

It's like you don’t exist anywhere. You don’t exist in your mom’s life. You don’t exist in Yoongi’s.

And it drives you mad.

You get up abruptly from the table, startling both of them. “I’m feeling ill,” you mutter tightly. You’re moving away from the table as your mother sputters, surprised. “I’ll try to eat later, I’m going to lie down.”

“Do you need help up the stairs?”

Yoongi’s question and concern seem genuine. It makes the sudden gnawing feeling inside of you even worse. “No,” you snap. “Enjoy your dinner and conversation.”

They both call after you as you turn and hightail it out of the kitchen and toward the steps. Everything feels blurry and the tightening of your threat is the only warning of sudden tears. It feels silly and pathetic, to suddenly be worked up into a frenzy over – well you’re not really sure over what. But it doesn’t sting any less, whatever this sense of feeling left out is.

Crawling into your bed, you pull the covers over your head just like you used to when you lived here last. The tears burn hot down your face and you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, as though you can grind the tear ducts to dust. 

You hate being home. You hate that it doesn’t feel like home. But most of all, you hate that at the height of your misery and embarrassing life, Min Yoongi now has front row tickets.

Somehow, you manage to sleep.

-

The sound of thunder wakes you up in the morning. No, it’s not thunder. Thunder comes and goes in slow rolls of sound, fading, and building in a gentle percussion. This is the constant booming of something bang bang banging in a repetitive pattern. 

Irritation drags you from sleep. You peel the covers from over your face, blinking and groaning in the morning light that filters through the curtain. Crust forms in the corner of your eye. You rub furiously until you see colors explode behind your lids.

Blinking until your room swims into view, you stare up at the ceiling a little longer until you remember that you’re in your childhood room. And that the loud banging sound coming from downstairs is probably Yoongi.

The sticky, nasty feeling from last night curls inside of you again. Less potent, but still there. Looking back on it, you feel a little dramatic. Watching Yoongi and your mom exist in a space so easily without you while you were there triggered a sliver of guilt you had been nursing since you decided to move home. 

Even now, you ignore the feeling as you slip down the stairs and toward the kitchen. The hunger is demanding and ever-present, and though you’re unsure you want to face Yoongi again after last night, you can’t ignore the dizziness from lack of food. 

Sunlight filters in through the kitchen window. Dust motes float in the air, suspended in gold light. There are pieces of wood and metal piles of hinges and knobs, screws rolling across the counter, and plastic-wrapped pieces of hinges and bolts, but it’s still your kitchen.

There’s still white backsplash against the sink with a yellow duck soap dispenser. There’s a black fridge with chip-clip magnets holding up pictures of your family, your graduation photos, and drawings that you created as a child. The island countertop is buried in Yoongi’s supplies, but you imagine that if it weren’t, there’d be fake fruit in a basket with mugs full of tea gone cold.

Today, Yoongi is in a black, oversized t-shirt, and a beanie. There’s a small speaker next to him, Michael Bublé singing clearly through the kitchen as Yoongi slides a shelf into one of the newly constructed cabinets. 

“You really like Bublé.”

Yoongi flinches, turning around to see you hovering and hesitating near the kitchen counter. He grins a little, wiping his hands on his pants. His blonde hair just barely peaks out from underneath the beanie and his face is flushed red as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the counter. There are dark circles under his eyes, but he otherwise looks beautiful first thing in the morning.

“I like Christmas music,” he offers with a shrug. “Tis the season.”

“Hmm.” Your eyes scan the kitchen. “Is there a way to make coffee in this mess?”

He nodes and moves a cabinet, revealing the coffee maker. “Ta-da.” You huff once in laughter before going to your fridge in search of creamer. You sense Yoongi’s dark gaze on you as you do. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm?”

“From last night? Feeling better?”

“Oh.” You shut the fridge and avoid his gaze. “Yeah.”

He hums. You flick the lid on the coffee and pause, looking around the kitchen for one of the pods to make the coffee. Yoongi leans over with a chuckle and pulls open a drawer, revealing rows of neatly placed Keurig cups.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. 

“Mhmm.” You pop it in and turn the machine on. “How long is your cabinet project going to take?”

“I’ll be finished by tomorrow. Why? Want me gone that bad?”

“You’re loud.”

“Comes with the nature of the job. Sorry, usually no one is here in the morning. Your mom is at the park.”

“Since when does she go on walks?”

He shrugs, dubious of your confusion. “She always goes on walks. Jeez, you have been gone a long time.”

“So what?” You snap, arms crossed. “You know everything about my mom now?”

“I spend a lot of time with her. I help her around the house and she brings me lunch and makes dinner sometimes. I keep her company.”

Tension creeps into your shoulders and neck. Pressing your mouth into a firm line, you turn your back to him, unable to make eye contact as the little sliver of guilt in you strikes at him, viper quick. “Cause I wasn’t here to do it, right?”

“That isn’t at all what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Your name leaves his mouth with a sigh. “Have I done something to upset you? You haven’t seemed keen on me being here since last night. I was excited to see you after all this time and catch up.”

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“I mean it’s been five years-”

“Sorry I left town because I had a life. I get it, I left home and left my parents here and my mom has been lonely since my dad passed. You’re a knight in shining armor, I get it.”

“What?” You ignore looking at him, despite shuffling closer to you as you pour creamer into your coffee. You feel a nasty tension in your throat. Somewhere, you know that you’ve launched a hate campaign against Yoongi within twenty-four hours of being home. And yet you don’t look at him. “I - wow. Okay, I didn’t think that of you at all. We seem to be on wildly different pages, why would I ever think that?”

Before you can answer, the front door opens and closes. Your mom's arrival has you slithering toward the kitchen’s exit, throwing Yoongi a glance. His frown is deep and genuine concern flickers in his eyes. “I don’t think that,” Yoongi ventures again, trying to keep you in the conversation. “I think a lot of things about you, but that isn’t one. This conversation has really gotten away from me, can we start over?”

“It’s fine,” you mutter. “Sorry for assuming.” 

Your mom waves, shrugging off ice-covered boots and a jacket at the door. You wave and rush out that you’re going up for a shower to wash off the airport funk. She waves you off and grins, heading down the hall and launching into a conversation with Yoongi. 

A nasty feeling trails you up the steps. You don’t even make it to the top of the stairs before you already know you’ve been irrational, emotional, and completely out of line. But seeing Yoongi after all this time, seeing the way he’s there for your mom in ways you aren’t, and nursing wounds of moving home against your will and plans… it’s a lot to swallow. 

In your room, you sit on the bed with your coffee on the nightstand, head dropped into your hands as you cry. It’s been coming all night. It’s been coming since you caught your ex in the apartment with another person. It’s been coming since you were no longer what they wanted in mind, body, and soul. It had been coming since you were asked to leave the apartments because you had moved in - not the other way around. 

The pain festering inside of you for the last two and a half weeks isn’t Yoongi’s fault. In fact, part of you is surprised that your grief and guilt at dedicating the last five years to someone who you didn’t even like that much and who has now cheated on you has surfaced in the face of Min Yoongi. 

It isn’t his fault that you rarely came home to start. It isn’t his fault that after Christmas two years ago, you didn’t want to come home at all. Didn’t want to be in a home without your dad. Didn’t want to be in a home that wasn’t in your new city, away from old failures, away from old hurts. Didn’t want to be in a home down the street from the Mins.

“Jeez,” you laugh at yourself, no mirth evident. “What better way to kick off seeing Yoongi again?”

-

Yoongi finishes the cabinets the next day and you manage to avoid seeing him again, unsure how to fix the weirdness. 

A few days later, you come down to see your mom on the couch, tucked into a flannel-patterned blanket, and watching Hallmark movies. You cringe at the thought of poorly budgeted, badly scripted movies. Your mom, however, has always loved them. And your dad always watched them with her.

Something softens inside of you. You can’t remember the last time your ex willingly watched anything they were uninterested in for your sake. Perhaps because they had long been fucking someone else. 

Shaking the thought from your mind, you trail to your mom, slipping wordlessly onto the couch and pulling an extra blanket over your legging and socks. Your mom shoots you a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the edges. She reaches over, patting your hand and squeezing it before settling in, keeping her hand on yours. 

Though you turn to the TV, your eyes sting as you try to focus on the plot of a newly single woman who has moved back to her sleepy hometown during the holidays. Naturally, there is a storied past with the beautiful but sensitive male lead who owns a failing bookshop. It’s unsurprising when the female lead takes a job there unwillingly, and you watch 

“These are very cheesy,” you observe, watching as the two leads fall in love over clumsily spilled coffees, one full of Christmas cheer and one that hates Christmas. “Why do you like them so much?”

Your mom shrugs. “They always have a happy ending, they’re easy to follow along, and they fuel that little hope that the holidays have something a little special.” She looks at you when you grunt and she sighs. “I know you haven’t had very good holidays the last few years. But you used to really enjoy them.”

“They’re just… too much. It’s just another day.”

“Hmm. They mean a lot to some people, though. Take Yoongi for example - he’s doing extra work at the shop selling wares, making pieces for Christmas, and trying to finish making toys for the children’s home this year. He hardly sleeps.”

You think about the dark circles under Yoongi’s eyes that morning. “That’s a lot.”

“He could use the help.” She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You know where the shop is.”

“Yeah.”

Morning fades into afternoon. You find yourself shaking your head around a mouthful of a sandwich with crunchy chips in the middle as your mom settles next to you, placing a glass of iced tea on the table. Your legs are crossed and you lean forward to press greasy, chip fingers into the paper towel you’re using as a napkin.

“She is so stupid if she doesn’t believe him,” you mumble around your mouth full of food. “Like hello? He has no reason to lie to her.”

Your mom's laughter fills the room and she shrugs. Somehow, you’re on your third Hallmark movie, and you haven’t managed to move or do anything productive with your day, like unpacking your bags or looking at the computer room full of the shit that the movers delivered to your mother’s house now that you don’t have a house. 

“If she believed him,” your mom says with a sip of tea, “Then there wouldn’t be any drama. And without drama, there would be no movie.”

“Ugh, all of these movies are the same.”

And yet you make no move to turn it off or leave. 

When you finish your sandwich and settle back, full and bloated, you realize that you’re rather enjoying just a day watching cheesy movies with your mom. Even if they hit a little close to home on the narrative of your current situation. 

But no - you’re different. Your life is real, and you’re stuck without a home and without a place to go. Clenching your jaw, you force the memories and the words to leave. You don’t want to think about the way your ex gently asked if you had somewhere else to go. You don’t want to think about the words I’m sorry. I love you but I’m not in love with you anymore. 

I mean, you weren’t either but… marriage still seemed like an okay option. A good social move. Something you’d be content with, even if you weren’t head over heels in love.

“Here,” you hold your hand to her for her empty plates. “I’ll do the dishes.” 

Getting away from the TV gives you a second to breathe. The rush of the faucet drowns out the sound of the TV, warm water rushing over your fingers as you run the plates underwater.

Outside, the world is a blanket of snow. You can see Mr. Park across the street shoveling the drive as his wife gets into the car, the taillights kicking on. The grass is frozen, a sea of ice and frozen Christmas decorations.

In the drive, your car is parked next to your mom’s sedan. She hadn’t mentioned that it was delivered, but you don’t know where you would go anyway. You don’t really have any friends to visit. At least, not anyone you’ve kept in touch with enough to call up and go to lunch.

The absence of Yoongi’s truck reminds you that he had been working on the cabinets, drawing your eyes to his craftsmanship as you flip the sink off. With dried hands, you brush your fingers over the lightly stained wood. It’s smooth and cool to the touch, the curves and indents artfully done. 

Yoongi had always been an exceptional artist. His passion has been in buildings and even interior design, but you’re not surprised to see that he’s as easily a handyman and woodworker as he is anything else. 

You think back to what your mom said about him, alone for the holidays and working hard. A sour taste sits heavy on your tongue as you think about your barbed words. 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you lean against the counter and pull your phone out, flipping through social media until you find his page. There isn’t much in the way of family and friends, but there are plenty of photos of new projects and a beautiful black cat. 

I was excited to see you after all this time and catch up. 

Heaving a sigh, you push off the counter and announce that you’re going to get dressed to run a few places, telling your mom to make you a list if she needs anything. 

Getting dressed is harder than you expect. The urge to crawl back into bed and go to sleep almost wins out, but you somehow manage to pull on the jeans and thick sweater, followed by a scarf and jacket.

There is something empty and strange about the motions. It feels like you’ve forgotten the movement, the slide of clothes foreign to your skin. After two weeks of making phone calls and arrangements for an over-priced hotel bed, you supposed you haven’t gotten dressed much recently. 

Picking up the list from your mom and giving her a kiss, you’re out of the door, glancing down at her slanted script. You huff, laughter cut short by the bite of cold wind. Of course everything she needs is from Min’s Hardware, though you had been planning to go by there anyway.

With a deep breath and squared shoulders, you get in the car and think about how the hell to apologize to Yoongi.

-

Min’s Hardware had its first building expansion when you were in tenth grade. You remember how excited you were when Yoongi told you that his parents bought out the recently emptied arcade next door to add a lumber department. Even in tenth grade, Yoongi had sketched out aisles and systems for the store, layout after layout of the most functional way to accommodate the expansion. 

Before opening day, the two of you and some other kids in the neighborhood had run through the aisles, the smell of cedar and pine and fresh sawdust so wonderfully potent it made you dizzy. Yoongi specifically had shown you the different types of wood and pliability, explaining what he would use each for. 

By then, it was summer heading into eleventh grade and he had already decided he wanted to be an architect. He had insane drawings for new shopping centers the next city over, and wild renderings of his dream buildings full of avant-garde but functional structures. 

From the parking lot, you can see that Yoongi still occupies the same two spaces Min’s has stood in since tenth grade. Except now it shares a parking lot with a Starbucks and Chipotle building, melded together. The line for coffee snakes around the building into the empty parking lot in front of Min’s, a mismatched creature of metal and purring engines. 

Icy ground makes you slip a bit before you steady yourself on the door handle, gasp stuck in your chest before you can breathe out slowly, confident that you won’t slide and bust your ass. 

From the outside, Min’s looks both the same and different. There is a new sign above the store, now with its own light humming in the dark, gray winter sky. Tinted windows prevent you from seeing inside entirely, but you can see the faint outline of racks as you approach. 

Standing in front of the double doors, you suddenly feel the urge to spin on your heel and run in the other direction. If the inside still looks the same, though, the counter is right next to the door, which means if Yoongi is there, he can see you.

Standing. Staring. Looking at the cold, metal handle of the door and not doing anything. 

“Rip the bandaid off,” you mutter to yourself. 

Yanking the door open startles you, the bell on the door chiming wildly with the force of your pull. It’s the same bell that was here when you were a teen, and a tingle slithers down your back at the memory. 

It's warm. The smell of mixed wood hits you, soothing and fresh. To your left is a counter with an elderly gentleman reading a book. He looks up behind the POS system, grinning at you. He’s dressed in a long sleeve shirt with a festive sweater to match the Christmas soundtrack playing over the speakers. 

Your eyes flicker to his badge and you fold your lips to stop the giggle that threatens to escape when you look at his name tag: Elf Ian. 

“Good afternoon, miss!” he greets, shuffling behind the counter. There’s no one else in the store as you crane your head away from the register, looking at the rows and rows of hardware and things for sale. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi?”

“Mr. Min is back in the carpentry section. I can take you there.”

You wave him off with a smile. “No, that's okay, I know the way.” 

“Really? You’ve been here before? You look like a new face.”

“It’s been a while,” you admit, admiring the layout of the store, each of the towering metal shelves marked with aisle numbers and departments: electrical, flooring, lighting, hardware, paint, heating and cooling, and so on. It’s not as comprehensive as a Home Depot or a Lowe’s, but Min’s has everything that a small town needs. “Back and to the right?” 

He nods with a smile. 

The Rockettes play overhead as you wander toward the back of the store. You take the paint aisle, admiring all of the colorful paint swatch papers. Your shoes scuff on the floor, speckled with some paint splatter near the spray section as though some kids got into the supply. 

You distinctly remember Yoongi accidentally spraying a bright pink into the air once. 

All of the pricing is written in neat, slanted handwriting on thick brown pieces of paper. You pause at the end of an aisle, reaching out to press a finger against one to trace the letters. You recognize the font from years worth of scribbled and pressed flat architecture designs. 

The carpentry section has rows and rows of wood of different shapes, sizes, and variety. Behind all of that is a sizable desk for specialty services, and you know that the door leads to a room that houses Yoongi’s woodworking shop. It had once been the bowling alley section of the arcade before Old Man Min bought out the unit. 

No one mans the tall, L-shaped desk. There are several binders with types of wood, types of stains, project ideas, samples, and frames. You smile when you see some you recognize, the peeling plastic of the front evidence of old age. 

A large counter behind the desk has a few wrapped items that Yoongi must have to be shipped or picked up. There’s a cup of coffee that looks like it’s gone cold, a jar full of wrapped mints for the taking, and a small button that says ‘push for service’ next to the POS system. 

Swallowing thickly, you press the button. An automated chime echoes from behind the wooden swing door that leads to the woodshop. Before Yoongi took over, his father used to make furniture, fill custom orders and make repairs. It’s no surprise that Yoongi has opted to take over this portion, especially if he’s making custom orders for the children’s home. 

The door swings open, breaking your trance. Yoongi pulls up short, eyebrows raise as he wipes sawdust from his apron. He’s in a sweater and jeans today, the sleeves pushed up to his elbow to help him work and his blonde hair shaggy and a little unruly. The pink sheen on his cheeks and nose is all you need to know he had been working pretty hard.

“Hi,” he offers tentatively, looking you up and down. You hate that he looks so guarded. “Coming to custom order a rocking horse?”

You grin. “Actually I was wondering if you did chairs?”

“Hmmm.” He shuffles toward the counter, dropping his hesitance as he leans on his elbows, a sideways smirk on his face. Despite everything, it makes your stomach flip. “We do all kinds of chairs. Rocking, dining, bar stools, even church pews.”

“Wow, Min’s really is the best and where expectations are beyond the Minimum.”

Yoongi groans and covers his face with his hands, flushed pink as you laugh at him. “That’s not even our jingle anymore, okay? I was a kid when I came up with it.”

“I thought it was cute!”

“Yeah, you thought Jackson was cute in the fifth grade too.”

“Isn’t he on his third kid?”

Yoongi gives a loud laugh. “Sixth, Miss I Failed Algebra Twice. He and Jiah have their hands full, I just dropped off a new crib yesterday.”

You whistle, crossing your arms over your chest. Yoongi looks at you, eyes glittering as he smiles. It does something to you, to see your childhood crush here and happy. It’s at such odds with where you are in your life that you don’t know what to make of it. Even Jackson is married and happy with kids. 

“Impressive. You do a lot.”

He hums in agreement and stands up to stretch. “Holidays are always a demand. I’m just trying to keep up to make everyone’s Christmas magical.” You scrunch your nose at that and he frowns. “What?”

“Why does Christmas have to be extra special? It’s just another day.”

He beckons you to come around the counter and to the back as he turns to head for the swinging door. “Come on, Scrooge. Let me spread the magic of Christmas and lead you on your journey to redemption.”

Ignoring the ‘employees only’ sign on the waist-tall swing door that leads to behind the counter, you scoff and roll your eyes. Yoongi stands in the doorway leading to the back, propping it open with a foot for you. As you pass him, the bright light of his shop and the smell of wood stain and chemicals hits you instantly. 

“What do I need to redeem myself for?”

He lets the door swing shut and follows you in, taking the lead as he heads towards a table filled with goods. “For whatever you feel like you need it for.”

Yoongi’s words feel ominous and tug at your heartstrings. You suppose you do feel the need to make up for picking a fight with him. Which is why you ended up here in the first place, despite your mother’s list. 

The shop is a little different than you remember it, but some things are the same. There are giant slabs of wood to choose from in neat shelving, massive wood-cutting machines and saws with warning labels and plastic cards over serrated metal, tubs of chemicals to cleanse wood and shelves of bottles of different liquids for all of Yoongi’s processes. 

At a young age, you were never allowed back in the woodshop. The first day Old Man Min had finally let you come around the corner was just as magical as it feels now. It’s large and daunting, with all of the unfamiliar machinery and the loud hum of an air compressor near the back of the shop. 

A wireless speaker stands on a cluttered counter, blaring holiday tunes over the whine of the compressor until the machine kicks off and it’s just the echo of Grandma Got Ran Over by A Reindeer. 

“It’s weird being back here again,” you murmur, eyes sweeping the toys and pieces of furniture Yoongi has on a table with a laminated sign: children’s home. “You’re really making all of this yourself?”

“Mhmm.” He leans against the table, crossing his arms. “Someone has to. They needed extra toys this year but specifically, some serious upgrades to the rooms of the residents. I’m doing what I can, free of charge, of course.”

“You’re a saint.”

He puts his hands together in mock prayer and bats his eyes before you break out into laughter. He shrugs and murmurs, “Just someone who wants to help. They deserve good furniture year-round, but especially on the holidays.”

“Since when do you like the holidays so much?”

“Since I’ve started spending them alone.”

The answer hits you in the gut. Hard. You stop admiring the shop to look at Yoongi. There’s a soft openness to his face that unnerves you. Brutal honesty offered in exchange for nothing. No expectation for you to share, but proof that he has enough trust for you - however unearned - to just admit what he feels out loud.

That kind of introspection and understanding of self terrifies you. So instead of sharing something of yourself or offering a gentle word to communicate that you get it, or you’re sorry, you gesture to the table where he has carving knives and pieces of wood. “What are you working on?”

If your shift in conversation bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Yoongi rolls with your stilted punches, turning and walking to the table. “Working on carving some designs into the drawer faces for these nightstands I made.” 

“They’re beautiful.”

And they are. Flowers and vines curl on the edges of the wood, perfectly placed in the four corners of the slab. You reach out a hand and hesitate, looking at him to ask permission. He nods and you press your fingers along the grooves he’s carved, following the rough cuts, careful not to get a splinter. 

“You’re still artistic as hell.”

“Thanks. It’s hard on my hands and then I have to sand them all with paper to get into the small details which is hell.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. His words about redemption echo in your head: for whatever you feel like you need it for. 

“Need help?” He looks at you, surprised by your offer. You’re a little surprised too, but the way that you snapped at Yoongi haunts you and there’s something… else that is gnawing at you and has been since you saw him in your kitchen that first night on your return. “I’m serious.”

“If you want to sand some of these down…” 

You nod. “I think I remember how. Do you still keep the sandpaper in that Husky drawer?”

He gives you a crooked grin and nods. “Oooo she remembers. I’m honored.”

You feel warmth in your cheeks. “Tell me what needs to be sanded. I’ll do my best.” 

With a smile larger than what you probably deserve, Yoongi quickly rehashes how to hold the sanding paper, the technique he wants you to use, and assigns you a pile of drawer faces. With your project in front of you, Yoongi goes back to his own thing, the steady hammer against his carving tools drowning out any thoughts swirling in your mind.

At first, it’s slow going. Your shoulders are tense and you keep glancing at Yoongi, a little nervous and wondering why you offered to help. It wasn’t what you had intended to do when you walked into the store, but it feels like the best way to say sorry.

It also means you don’t have to audibly admit that you were being weird and embarrassing with him in your kitchen. 

Time passes and the tension in your shoulders begins to bleed out. The scritch scritch scritch of the sandpaper in your hands is soothing, the repetitive motions creating a soft buzz in your ears as you zone out on your task. 

Focusing on small things has always been a good thing for you. Even when you were little, having something that you could throw yourself into and let your anxieties and thoughts drift away to somewhere far away where they could not hurt you was paramount. 

Now, as the time passes without you noticing, thoughts of your cheating ex-fiance and old apartment melt away like ice on a snow drive. it’s just the pressure in your fingertips, manipulating the sandpaper into different folds to get into the creases of the design. 

Yoongi’s presence stirs your stomach and heart as you look up. He looks over your shoulder at your work before leaning in close to pick up one of the slabs of wood. He’s removed his gloves and runs his fingers over the designs. 

A shiver brushes up your spine as you zero in on Yoongi’s fingers. You have no idea if it’s your newly single status or the fact that it’s Yoongi that makes you stare open-mouthed and hypnotized. His fingers look a little callused from working wood, but you wonder how they’d feel if-

“Not bad,” he hums, giving you a grin before setting down the wood. “I’m pretty impressed. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Please,” you mutter, looking down at the table and picking at splinters. “I helped you for hours when we were kids.”

“That’s cause I helped you with your math. It’s getting late and I’m a little tired. You hungry?”

You realize that you are. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you flip it over to see a few texts from your mom and realize that it’s almost seven at night. A sound of surprise escapes you and Yoongi laughs, tapping your elbow gently before walking away.

“Come on,” he insists. “We close early on Sundays. Help me turn all this shit off and close up and we can get food. My treat for helping out.”

“Yes to food, but you don’t have to-”

He waves you off. “Let me do something nice for you, yeah?”

Closing the store feels oddly familiar. While you have never watched Yoongi do it as the owner and operator, there were times as a kid when you finished your homework at the woodshop counter with Yoongi while you waited for his dad to get off and take you home after school. 

The Min’s don’t live far from your home and based on your mom calling Yoongi for every little thing, you assume that he lives in his childhood home now that his dad is in a home for elders. 

Outside, the world is winter-dark and bitter cold. it’s not snowing, but it’s that dreary in-between that makes everything feel heavy and cold-wet. Yoongi shuffles you toward his truck, both of you shivering and cursing as you slide into the cab and he turns it on, cranking the heat and turning on the seat warmers.

“Nice truck,” you comment. And it is nice. “New?”

“New-ish. Being the owner of Min’s Hardware really has its perks.”

You hum. “So you do own it? Just you?”

He nods, putting the car in drive and heading toward an unknown destination. Yoongi keeps his dark eyes on the road as he says, “Bought it from the Old Man when he decided to go into a senior living facility. He’s up at Retger’s - he loves it - but he wanted to put everything in my name before his mind started slipping.”

“I see.” You pick at the hem of your jacket, something heavy settling in your stomach. “How is he?”

“Happy. They have a great staff and a lot for him to do. His memory is on the downside of things. He always remembers me but he gets confused about his days and when I last saw him or what we talked about.”

“Is that hard?”

You almost kick yourself for the question. It slips out before you can ask, and you think of course it’s fucking hard. It’s his dad.

“It is,” Yoongi admits with a drawn-out sigh. Dead air hangs between the two of you as he navigates the backroads of your home, little streets and turns stitching into your very being. “Not sure what’s worse, though,” he adds, glancing at you. “Knowing that the days are numbered and being able to prepare, or losing him suddenly.”

It’s like a constrictor squeezes your windpipe as you look out the window. You can’t see the stars through the tops of the trees, but you get a glimpse of a swollen moon for a second. It’s beautiful and bright, your new point of focus as you nod. 

“I think we can agree that losing a parent is hard,” you offer. “Doesn’t matter how much notice you had.” You hesitate, then go for it. “I haven’t really figured out how to navigate life post-dad. It’s part of why I never come home. I think… I think my mom suffers from it a little.”

For a few moments, Yoongi is silent. You sink further into the seat. Though the admission weighs heavy on you, pressing you down down down into the leather seat, it also feels… good to admit it. Like running a burn under freezing cold water, the sting poignant but soothing at the same time. 

“I think that it’s okay to have your own life.” His voice is very quiet and he looks at you sideways. “And that we all deal with grief in a manner of ways. No one begrudges you for it, least of all your mom. I think you should cut yourself some slack.”

“Hmm,” is your only reply. 

Orange parking lot lights come into view. You chuckle a bit when Yoongi turns into Mars Diner. It’s something out of a Jetson’s episode, with large metal pieces like Saturn’s tilted rings arching over the building and a sun-bleached rocket blasting into the sky.

The lot is full and through frosted windows, you can make out shapes of people in booths. A few kids hang around outside, leaning against their cars and sitting on tailgates, breath misting in the cold. 

Yoongi parks the truck and hops out. You’re quick to follow, shutting the door with a firm click and hiding your hands from the cold in your jacket pockets. The door opens and the bell dings, sound pouring out as a family deposits themself onto the sidewalk.

“Hey there Yoongi,” one of the men says, backing up to hold the door open as the two of you approach. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Scott, it’s going well. How are those new stairs treating you?”

“Sturdy as can be. Thanks again for swinging by to help out.” The man - Scott Ledgfield, you realize - looks at you and squints before he says, “Holy shit kiddo, I haven’t seen you since you were a teenager.”

You look at the town’s local pharmacist with a tight grin, immediately feeling the eyes of his family and friends turn on you, ears pricked by the sound of someone old-but-new returning to the neighborhood. You give a small wave to the people you know.

“Uh,” you stammer. “Just got back. It’s nice to see you, Mr. Ledgefield.”

Your mom’s friend opens his mouth to perhaps ask more but Yoongi shuffles you toward the door and throws a hand in a farewell wave. “Jin will kill us if we keep this damn door open.”

Just as you step into the restaurant in full,  the door clanging shut behind you, a familiar voice hollers behind the counter. “Yoongi, don’t keep that damn door open!”

Inside the diner is exactly how you remember it. A round kitchen sits at the core of the building with two large serving windows facing the door. A full, 360-serving counter circles the kitchen with red vinyl stools in front of them, and booths with planet chandeliers over them are full of people looking over laminated menus.

At the helm of it all is Kim Seokjin standing at the register as he rips a receipt out of the machine, grinning as he hands it over to the woman he’s ringing out. There’s a chrome-color apron tied around his waist and he has a rocket ship name tag that says: Captain Kim.

“Wow,” you mutter as Yoongi waits patiently for the couple in front of him to pay. “Jin running this place with his parents now?”

“Mhmm. Kim Senior is in the back still making everything and his mom does all the billing and admin now. Jin does… well, what doesn’t he do?”

“Yes,” Seokjin agrees as the couple leaves and he leans on the counter, a plastic grin on his face. “What don’t I do?” His eyes slide to you. “Huh. I heard you were coming back to town and thought they were bullshitting me.”

“Who is they?” 

He waves his hand, before telling another server to jump on the register before he opens a swinging piece of counter open with his hip. “You know, the collective they everyone uses when they’re referencing the entire town.”

“I see.”

Seokjin looks the same as he did in college - broad shoulders, narrow waist, beautiful face and dark eyes that shine with trouble or mirth, depending on who you ask. He gestures to you and Yoongi to follow and you do, heading to the back corner near a frosted window that still has plates and baskets on the table.

“How have you been?” Seokjin asks as he begins collecting the previous diners' things. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you back here.”

“I’m okay. I think it’s just temporary, I haven't worked it out yet.”

“Hmm, we always say it’s temporary and now look at us - Yoongi is running Min’s and I’m one burnt hash brown from being spatula’d by a customer.” 

The vinyl covering sticks to your jeans as you try to slide. You’re forced to hop your way into the booth as Seokjin places the dirty plates and dishes on a round platter and grabs a bottle of cleaner from behind Yoongi’s side of the booth.

“Well,” you venture awkwardly. “There’s nothing wrong with being home, right?”

“No,” he agrees and gives you a look that you can’t read. “There’s not.”

Awkward silence hangs in the air at his tone. You chew on your lip and can’t help but feel like somehow you’ve offended him. You weren’t really friends with Seokjin growing up, but he was a friend of friends, and you knew him well enough to attend birthday parties growing up.

Now, you reach for a menu and busy yourself with it as Yoongi clears his throat and asks how business has been with the holiday only a few days away. Seokjin’s tone with you melts away as he answers Yoongi’s question, slinging a towel over his shoulder while chatting. 

A girl who looks in her late teens comes over with an order sheet and pen, sending Seokjin back toward the register where someone has a gift card that no one knows how to ring up. He leaves with a roll of his eyes as the server takes your order before scurrying away.

“Don’t let Jin make you feel weird,” Yoongi says airly, looking over the menu. The dim light from Saturn and Uranus reflect in his dark eyes when you peek at him over your menu. “He thinks you have a chip on your shoulder.”

You smack the table with your menu. “Why on earth does he think that?”

“Have some respect for the decor. We’re not on earth, we’re in space.”

“Yoongi.” 

“Look,” he sighs, putting his menu down. “When you graduated, you were very hellbent on letting everyone know that you didn’t want to come back. Then you got a very nice job in the city, and did just that and never turned back. Which is fine, I respect the hell out of you for it. But you didn’t talk to anyone, and now that you’re back under… whatever circumstances, you act like being here is going to hurt your reputation.”

“I’ve barely seen anyone while I’ve been here.”

“It’s… the posture and the way you look at everyone.” You frown and he grins, reaching over the table to poke the space between your eyebrows. “It’s that,” He insists. “You look at everyone with a very intense scowl and like you have better things to do. That’s all.”

“Do you think that?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

He looks up at you, expression soft. “I think a lot of things about you. Having a chip on your shoulder isn’t one of them.”

Before you can unravel the weight of his words and the rush of something you feel in response, the server returns with your glass of hard cider and Yoongi’s dark beer. You mull over his thoughts while he places his order and you rattle off your favorite, which you’re pleased to see is still on the menu. 

Quiet settles over the booth as you sip your drink, averting your gaze. He thinks you have a chip on your shoulder. 

When you think about it, you realize that you sort of do. 

Back when you had graduated high school and went to college just an hour away, you swore you wouldn’t go back and take up a job just to stay close to family and what you always knew. Coming from a small town, you felt like you had yet to see the world or experience anything real.

Even in college, it always felt like you were too close. All the same kids you went to high school with became your apartment neighbors and your university classmates, and everyone went to the same parties and fucked the same people.

It was like watching high school repeat all over again. Bringing home drama from college to the holidays, and then hearing what so-and-so did while they were home from school. 

The thought of ever coming back was suffocating. So you took the first job you found that felt like it was lightyears away, stuck right in the middle of corporate America in a screaming city that you could hardly sleep in for the first few months because you were overwhelmed and a little afraid.

City life had become addicting though, and seeing all your little hometown friends go back to mom-and-pop jobs while you climbed the corporate ladder, got engaged and sent really nice presents home as an apology for going to Aspen for Christmas instead of seeing your parents felt powerful and liberating. 

And then your dad died on Christmas. While you were out with friends at a resort. That had been the first blow, the first reason to start thinking that the holidays weren’t for being cheerful, or for celebrating or for… anything, really. 

With that mindset, you spent the next Christmas with your fiance tucked away in your apartment, just the two of you. It had been your anti-Christmas, doing everything that was the opposite. You watched horror movies and ate popsicles, you decorated your house for Halloween and Valentine's day, you did everything possible to forget that you weren’t home opening presents with your parents - no just your mom now - and it worked. 

Now, you’re sitting in your hometown diner across the table from the one person who has always been the exception to the rule, with Christmas music blaring over the speakers and every person wishing you a happy holiday that walks by the table. 

A pit opens up inside of your stomach as you stare at the bubbles rushing to the top of your cider. The same, nasty feeling that made you snap at Yoongi in the kitchen rises up instead of you, a hydra ready to grow more heads and become an untamable beast.

“Where did you wander off to?” Yoongi’s question startles you from your thoughts and you look up at him. “You were so caught up I thought you might make your cider explode like Professor X.”

You laugh, surprising yourself. “Did you just make an X-Men reference?”

“Yeah, I still like comics, okay?”

You hum. “I was thinking that…” You take a large swig of your cider to press the tightness in your throat back. “I was thinking that maybe I do have a chip on my shoulder. I just… the holidays honestly bring out the worst in me, and I think I was already sour about being home.”

Like your admission of guilt on the way over, you feel lighter admitting your thoughts to Yoongi. There’s a pause in the conversation as your server puts down a burger in front of him and your chicken sandwich in front of you. 

“I think,” Yoongi says slowly as he pops a fry in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “That it’s really easy for the people here to write off anyone who dares to do a little bit better than what they grew up with. For people like Jin, he always knew he’d come back home. I think it’s equal parts jealousy and wanting respect.”

“I don’t mean to make anyone feel disrespected,” you murmur. “Honestly, my distaste for coming home is more to do with the time of year than anything.”

“How so?”

Between bites of your dinner, you tell Yoongi about how your holidays have been over the last few years. How you stopped going home for them because it felt suffocating to be in a house with parents who didn’t understand anything about your love for being somewhere far away. How you stopped going home because if you stayed away with your friends and coworkers, you didn’t have to see how much they missed you.

All this time, you’d been running from guilt. Especially after the passing of your father. Even the sound of holiday music and the pressure to make plans to visit and buy gifts for people you were now somewhat unfamiliar with was enough anxiety to make the thought of Christmas and all of its bullshit unbearable. 

Once your dad died, the thought of the holiday season was even worse. It meant going home and crying on Christmas because it was just you and your mom. It meant getting thinking of your pity text messages instead of well wishes and happy holidays. It meant forgetting a pair of scissors to open gifts because that was your dad’s job, and it meant that there was an inescapable void in your home. 

Yoongi settles against the booth, looking at you with sad eyes. But what’s more, there is empathy there. Understanding. You don’t feel pitied or judged by Yoongi and the relief that washes over you as you spill your guts out at your favorite dinner is overwhelming.

You get another round of cider and you tell him about your cheating ex. How you were kicked from the apartment that hadn’t been yours from the start. How it’s one more negative feeling associated with Christmas, and how it was forcing you to go back to a place you wanted to see least of all, during a time you hated. How you… didn’t even care so much that the relationship was over. That you were just angry about having to find somewhere else to live and a little embarrassed that everyone saw it coming but you.

Sipping his beer, Yoongi sighs. “I’m going to say something that I want you to consider, and not take personally.”

You push around a cold french fry on your plate. “No promises.”

His smile is fleeting. “The holidays didn’t steal these things from you.” 

The words hang heavy in the air between the two of you. 

Elsewhere, the music has turned down a bit. It’s getting later and the dinner rush has faded to a soft hum in the background. The bell on the door chimes less and there are more empty booths than there are full. Seokjin disappears to the back for a much-earned break. 

It’s a simple concept that Yoongi has given you and yet you want to fight him on it. 

The holidays didn’t steal these things from you. Well no, they hadn’t. But it seemed that your bad luck was recurring, cycling back at the same time every year. Doomed to make your dread stronger and stronger with each passing Christmas. 

“That might be true,” you admit. “But it’s not like I’m the only person who hates the holidays. I mean, at least I have a reason and it’s not some sort of anti-corporate America speel.” He opens his mouth but you cut him off. “Which, by the way, is a very valid point. Hallmark makes all of its money on being a Christmas vampire feeding off the people like me who have trouble going home for the holidays. Except I reject it.”

“There is another alternative.” 

“And what’s that?”

“Embrace that life fucking sucks but eventually we can figure it out. If we want to and if we have the means.”

“What if we don’t have the means?”

Yoongi gives you a severe look. “Does your insurance cover therapy?” You nod. “Good, you have the means. If healing from this anxiety and guilt is something you’re interested in. Come on, I want dessert.” 

-

Later that night, when you have had an overwhelming amount of fudge and talked to Yoongi about anything and everything that doesn’t involve Christmas or any of the horrible feelings you’ve spilled to him all day long, you lay in bed flicking through your phone on one hand while you hold a thin, plastic card in another.

Squinting as the phone brightness increases when a new webpage is loaded, you manage to find what you’re looking for, typing in your insurance information and answering a few questions before you hit send. 

Once done, you set the phone on the nightstand and settle in your bed, heart pounding as you stare up at the ceiling and wonder how fast you’ll hear back on a request for a therapy consultation. 

All the while, Yoongi’s words circle round and round in your mind: Embrace the fact that life fucking sucks, but eventually we can figure it out. 

You roll on your side and squeeze your eyes shut and dare to hope that maybe Yoongi is right.

-

A routine nestles its way into your life before you’re aware of it. You get up and go downstairs for breakfast.

Once in the dining room, you have breakfast with your mom, trying not to get queasy over the fact that your dad’s chair remains empty at the head of the table. Sometimes, Yoongi is there in the morning and has breakfast with the two of you. Those days are much easier to fill the silence.

After breakfast, you shower and pick through your belongings, trying to rearrange your old room and make it somewhat adaptable to the lifestyle you had at your apartment. Adjusting to the fact that your mom is up at six in the morning on the dot and is ready for lunch by eleven nearly drives you to the edge, but you manage.

Most days you find yourself wandering to the back of Min’s Hardware and asking if Yoongi needs help. He always seems surprised to see you back, no matter how many days in a row you find yourself there, chewing on the corner of your lip. 

The silence that comes with helping Yoongi has become an addiction. You notice that he no longer plays Christmas music in the shop when you’re around, opting for just general pop. You’re both thankful and a little embarrassed, but you say nothing as he gives you projects to sand or stain. 

When you’re both tired and your fingers are cramping and worse for wear, you break for lunch. Sometimes you go to your house where your mom has fixed you both a meal. Other times, you pop by the diner where Seokjin gives you lunch on the house.

Seokjin comes around, the more he sees you with Yoongi. You’re still a little extra nice around him, trying to prove that you don’t think you’re better than him. You just… don’t know how to be him. Don’t know how to settle into life like everyone else so easily has. 

It’s two weeks in that Yoongi upends your carefully crafted routine by leaning against your workstation - you don’t know when it became yours - and says, “What are you doing for Christmas Eve? I know your mom is volunteering and she said you weren’t but I don’t want to assume you’re… not doing anything.”

Today, Yoongi is in a green sweater and jeans, the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his hands as he works. His hair is unstyled, showing just how long it’s gotten. It’s darker at the root where his natural color grows in, but even so, he looks beautiful as ever. Unsettlingly beautiful. The kind that makes you a little shy when he puts his full attention on you these days, especially when he shows you how to do something by gently touching your elbow or your wrist. 

“Ummm.” You race to think of a response, but the words are sticky in your brain with his proximity. Usually, he does his own things, but every time Yoongi comes close these days, your brain gets a little out of sorts. “I was going to do like my little anti-Christmas thing and watch Halloweentown, I guess.”

“Maybe one day I’ll join you on that. For now, I wanted to see if you wanted to um - join me.”

“Join you what?”

He presses his lips flat and raises his brow at the poorly articulated question. “For Christmas Eve. It isn’t very exciting or anything, but I usually have dinner at the home with my dad. They make a great honey ham and then Seokjin has a party at his house after everyone leaves their family dinners. Alcohol is encouraged.”

“Oh.” You blink once. Twice. “You want me to have dinner with you and your dad?”

Blossom-pink blush spreads over Yoongi’s cheek and nose. You chew your bottom lip as you watch him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he picks at stray splinters on the table. “I just thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone.”

Yoongi’s words from a few days ago echo in your mind when you asked when he started being such a fan of the holidays: when I started spending them alone. 

The thought of spending time with Yoongi with his dad, tucked into a corner of an elderly home with cheesy holiday decorations and staff that talks too gently, and putting on a show for those who feel alone and sad is dizzying. It terrifies you. It makes you want to run. 

Which is why you swallow past the stone in your throat and say, “Um. Sure. Yes. I would like to go with you.” 

He bites his bottom lip, trying to fight a smile. You clench all over, seizing up at how cute he is when he does that. “Really?”

“Yeah, Min. Really.”

“Wow, you haven’t called me Min in… a min.”

“God that was so cheesy.”

“Mhmm. We’re closed tomorrow because I’m helping out at the children’s home but I’ll pick you up at five Saturday. They serve dinner really early there.”

“Okay.” 

Yoongi grins, all gums and round cheeks and shining eyes and for a moment, you forget that you’re supposed to be heartbroken and sour and pitiful. His smile stops everything and you immediately want to say something clever to make him do it again.

Instead, you just nod awkwardly and say, “Okay.”

-

Piles and piles of clothes litter your floor as you yank on an oversized peacoat and rush to the bathroom to check your outfit. You’ve been through at least fifteen different combinations and messed up your neatly place hair, and you still are unsure what the fuck you’re supposed to wear to a Christmas Eve dinner at an elderly home with the Mins.

You are very out of your depth.

When your phone dings and you see that Yoongi has arrived to get you, you scream in frustration and decide that wide-leg jeans paired with black combat boots, a black turtleneck and an oversized coat will have to do. It’s something you would have worn back in the city, but you’re unsure if it’s a little too casual for this.

Outside, the wind snaps against your face, stinging your nose and lips. You fight the urge to lick your lips and remove the very faint, pink lip stain there as you rush to the truck where Yoongi waves enthusiastically. 

Yoongi’s gummy grin warms you more than the heated interior of the cab when you jump into the passenger seat, shuffling the crinkling gift back in your lap as you shiver and stick your hands in front of the air vents to warm them. 

“You look nice,” Yoongi says as a greeting, putting the truck in reverse and looking in his mirrors. “What’s the gift?”

“Um-” Embarrassment heats your cheeks immediately. “I uh, got your dad something? I felt sort of weird showing up without a gift. I don’t know. Is that stupid? I can leave it-”

Your name is soft on his lips as he pauses in the middle of the street to look at you. You stop your rambling, staring at him. His eyes are dark pools, glittering in the dying afternoon sun as he smiles at you. His hair is shaggy again today like he air-dried it and the tawny colored coat makes his hair even more vibrant. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Yoongi says gently, smiling. His lips look soft and pink today - well they always look like that, but you notice a little extra today. “That’s not stupid. It’s incredibly kind.”

“It’s - um - I know he used to really love reading all those mythology books and he was fond of the stuff with Odin and Thor? So I got him a Norse mythology one? It had a cool tree on it.”

For a few moments, Yoongi stares at you, unblinking. The truck is in drive, but he has his foot on the brake so it just sits in front of your house collecting little bits of snow. The weight of his gaze threatens to make you melt into the seat. You drop your gaze to the red and green package in your lap, trying to figure out how to explain that the idea was dumb.

“You are incredibly thoughtful.” Yoongi’s voice is so soft you’re almost sure you imagined him speaking at all. You glance up and he has a look you can’t unpack on his face, but it’s something like fondness, perhaps. “He will absolutely love that. I got him an Egyptian one.” 

“Are you sure?”

Yoongi takes a hand off the wheel and reaches over the center console to squeeze your hand where it’s gripped tight on the present. His fingers are calloused and rough from the years in the shop, but his touch is soft. Reverent. Your hand feels like it’s tingling even after he lets go and says, “I promise. Thank you. It’ll mean a lot to him, but it means even more to me.”

Still a little nervous and dizzy from the simple touch of his hand, you nod. 

Finally, Yoongi pulls into the road and starts driving, quiet as his eyes focus on navigating to the center of town. Music plays softly in the background and you glance out the slightly frosted window. 

Outside, families unpack themselves from cars, hurrying in bundles of jackets and loaded with presents to the doorsteps that are cast open for other family members and friends to help them in. Your heart squeezes at the thought and you look away from all of the houses and lights, instead focusing on the lines painted on the road. 

It feels like forever ago it was your family casting open your doors to house Christmas Eve with your extended family. But your uncle and his wife had long since moved away, and their kids had their own kids to celebrate with, and though the invitation was probably there for you and your mom to visit, it felt weird being with your dad's family when your dad was… not around. 

“Dad may or may not remember you,” Yoongi hums as he drives. “I think he will because he’s good about people from the past, but he might not get your name right. I don’t correct him because it can confuse and frustrate him, so just go with whatever if you can.”

“Of course. I’ll just follow your lead.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he drives with one hand on the wheel, one hand hanging off the center console where he leans on his elbow. “He has a little trouble with train of thought, just let him get it out. He hates when you try and finish sentences for him.”

You smile. “He’s always hated that. You were the most impatient son ever.” 

“Well, practice has made perfect. I’m a changed man.”

“Uh-huh.”

The home is covered in holiday decor as you expected. Cars line the lot of what would look like apartment buildings if the sign out front didn’t indicate that it was a senior living center. Honestly, they look better than most of the apartments you’ve had in the city, a single reminder that everything is so much more affordable when you step out of your self-made comfort zone.

Ice and snow crunch beneath your boots in the parking lot. The two of you hurry along, shivering and laughing in the cold. Yoongi surprises you when he pulls you in by the waist, pressing you to his side to walk in a quick, albeit warmer, huddle to the main building. 

Warmth hits you in the face and melts back the cold as you step inside, a shiver racking up your spine. There’s a massive Christmas tree in the lobby with a ‘donated’ sign in the front thanking a local company for the tree, and there are hand-crafted ornaments that from another sign, inform you they were made by the children in the orphanage on the other side of town.

Christmas music tinkles lightly overhead as Yoongi leads you to a counter where a woman with a Christmas vest and a bright smile greets him enthusiastically. It’s obvious that she’s familiar with him as she rattles off how his dad has been doing, scribbling his name on a tag with a candy cane heart and handing it over to him. 

Tag in hand, Yoongi awkwardly shuffles to the side to reveal you to the woman behind the desk, whose name tag says Esther. Her eyes go round and her mouth forms a small ‘o’ when she sees you, surprised that Yoongi has brought a guest. You hate to admit that you feel a little pleased if it’s not common for him to bring other people here. 

Ignoring that, you give her your name and she hesitates, glancing at Yoongi. He nods his head with a tiny frown before she scribbles your name onto the tag and hands it over to you, an unreadable expression now on her face. 

“Enjoy.”

Sticking the tag on your jacket, you glance at Yoongi as he leads the way toward the common room where they’re having dinner. “Well, I don’t think she likes me.”

He hums noncommittally and you say nothing more, following his twists and turns until you’re in a large common area nearly bursting at the seams with Feliz Navidad and tinsel. There are people of varying ages inside sitting around pop-up round tables and folding chairs. Red and green plastic table clothes cover the tables, little gift-wrapped boxes act as centerpieces. There’s another tree donated in the corner by Min’s, making you poke Yoongi’s side and gesture to the tree.

Shy, Yoongi shrugs and scurries away from you, spotting his dad sitting on a sectional looking up at the glittering tree. You hesitate to follow, a little lost as you watch Yoongi call his dad’s name gently, catching his attention. They look so much alike that it’s dizzying to watch as his dad stands up, bringing Yoongi into a tight hug.

You clench your jaw, willing the sudden burning in your eyes to go away. You feel your palms sweat and your throat constricts, making you look away from them as they hold each other by the shoulders, exchanging greetings that you can’t hear from the middle of the room.

All around you are people with their moms and dads. The room is crushed with holiday cheer, held hands, kisses on cheeks and tight hugs. You start to realize this was a terrible idea, excuses and ways to leave flipping through your mind like a Rolodex when Yoongi calls your name. 

Turning to face them, you feel like a deer in headlights. Eyes wide, mouth agape, frame tense. Yoongi gives you a nod as he leads his dad to you. Old Man Min walks well enough, and is a little shorter than Yoongi with peppered hair, kind eyes and a knitted scarf that looks like something perhaps your mom made. 

“You look just like your father!” His dad greets, throwing open his arms when he sees you. Your stomach drops to your ass at the declaration, but you force a smile, bending down a bit to hug him quickly. “I haven’t seen you since… I last saw you!”

That makes you laugh. “It’s nice to see you.”

“I’m just glad Yoongi finally brought you! I’ve been asking to see his girlfriend for two weeks!”

“Dad,” Yoongi admonishes giving you an apologetic look. “She’s… not.” 

Old Man Min waves him off as he heads towards the serving line where there is an array of holiday-themed catered food. “I’m starving. I’ve been waiting here all damned afternoon!”

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispers as he goes by you, upping his pace to keep up with his dad who has his sights set on food. “He does remember you very well, by the way.”

Ignoring hot coal burning in the pit of your stomach at the comparison to your father, you shuffle in line behind Yoongi. All of the workers behind the table serving recognize him immediately, brightening and greeting him with dazzling smiles and heart eyes. 

Next to him, you raise your brows and watch as he shyly interacts with them all, answering the same questions over and over and thanking them for putting on a wonderful dinner. They bask in the shower of his praise until he leans over to you and insists you get the mac and cheese. Yoongi doesn’t notice the shift, but you do, the staff immediately stiffens and goes quiet when they see you interact.

At a table tucked in the corner for just the three of you, you dig into your meal, answering all of Old Man Min’s questions he throws your way. They’re easy to answer: what do you do now, how is your mom, when did you come back. Some of the questions he repeats on accident or drifts off when asking, but you don’t mind, chewing around mac and cheese and waiting for him to get it out, or repeating your answer with the same vigor as before.

Yoongi seems nervous at first, neglecting his food to look back and forth between the two of you. You nudge him gently under the table and his dark eyes fall on you. You give him a face, trying to convey that you’re okay and he grins sheepishly, looking down at his meal and deciding it’s safe enough to start eating. 

“So how did my son finally start dating you?” his dad demands, sipping his sweet tea. “I thought he would finally ask you out in high school and then… uh college, but he never did!”

“Dad,” Yoongi starts gently, but you’re quick to cut him off, touching Yoongi’s arm gently as you smile at his dad. “Recently,” you explain. You glance at Yoongi with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t know he had a crush on me in high school, though.”

“Ha! Of course he did! Why do you think he always wanted you over at the shop? Sure were over there than uh… what’s that girl's name? Jan’s daughter.”

“Jessa,” Yoongi offers softly, not meeting anyone’s eye as he becomes interested in pushing honeyed ham around his plate. “Dad you’re embarrassing me.”

“Yeah, Jenna! She was never at the shop nearly as much as you. Nice girl, not you though.” He stabs a piece of ham and shakes his head. “Always knew you’d be the one. Your dad and I were always sure of it.” 

Yoongi tenses but you smile at Old Man Min. “Really?” 

“Mhmm. Your dad was a hell of a guy! I remember back when we were in high school…”

Yoongi’s dad launches into a tale of when he and your father were kids and you’re shocked to discover that the unsettling feeling in your stomach starts to fade. You listen, chin in your palm and elbow propped on the table as you sip on cider to the adventures of your dad in his youth. 

The wound stings a little but… it’s bearable. And it’s nice, to see Yoongi’s dad come alive and recall so many things from his own childhood. The color on Yoongi’s face and the way he keeps trying to hide his smile in the collar of his jacket says everything about how pleased he is to see his dad happy and healthy. 

Almost without thinking, you reach over under the table and take Yoongi’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He looks up at you, brows raised. You can’t help but smile, really glad that he brought you here. Somehow, it is exactly what you needed. 

Yoongi squeezes your hand back, making your heart pick up. As you start to pull away, he snatches your hand back, lacing your fingers and squeezing. You stare at him, surprised and flustered and feeling a little breathless as he settles in his chair, refusing to look at you as he holds your hand in his lap, engrossed in the tale his father is weaving. 

With a nervous exhale, you lean back in your chair, content with the warmth of his hand and whatever the hell sparks with his touch.

-

Seokjin is very drunk and very happy to see you when he throws open the front door to his incredibly nice home in the new, gated community just beyond your old high school. The two-story home is full of warmth, people from your high school and college, and a lot of booze. 

Immediately you’re uneasy, smiling awkwardly at the shocked faces of your old peers. Yoongi is heedless, though, keeping a hand on yours as he leads you through the party. You’re distracted by the firmness of his hold on you, the way it makes your head spin, the way that you don’t know what holding his hand means, but it’s nice. 

And then you’re in the kitchen, pressed close to his side as you field questions from old friends that aren’t as much friends as they are nosy people from your past. No one asks about your handholding, but the way they glance down to where Yoongi has your fingers laced with his is enough to know it’s all anyone is going to talk about in whispered circles and for the next two weeks. 

If Yoongi is bothered by this, he doesn’t show it. You however, are very in your head. The loose, happy feeling you had at dinner with his dad is replaced with stiff movements, quiet murmurs of hellos and asking how are you to people you don’t really care about, and cringing when a group of people pass by caroling room to room.

Yoongi senses the way you freeze up, the way you press yourself into the pantry as though you could melt into the wood and remain unseen. He tugs you toward a glass sliding door where there is a patio filled with smokers, all of them shivering and breathing smoke and steamed breath into the string lighting. 

Going past them, Yoongi tugs you down into the back of the yard and to a gate. People whistle behind you and Yoongi throws a middle finger over his head, uncaring. He throws the latch and squeezes through the gate, so you follow. 

Behind Seokjin’s house is a lake with a lit fountain, frozen and off for the winter season. He trudges toward it and sits down on damp grass, patting the spot next to him. Tentatively, you sit down and look over at him. 

“Sorry.” His breath fogs in the cold. “I didn’t think about how shitty that might feel for you before inviting you.”

“It’s okay. I just… don’t really know how to answer their questions.”

“What do you mean?”

You pull at frozen grass to distract yourself from having to look at him. “I mean, I just broke up with my fiance a few weeks ago because I caught them cheating and now I show up to a party where everyone thinks I’m a stuck up holding your hand.”

“Not everyone thinks that.” You give him a look and he amends, “Okay, a lot of people do but not everyone.” 

“Great.”

“If they saw you the way I do, they definitely wouldn’t think that.” You shoot him a questioning look as your heart beats a little bit faster. Your nerves start to tingle as you watch him figure out how to phrase what comes next. “You have no idea how nice it was to have you with me tonight. I’ve been doing that alone for years and I love spending time with my dad, but having someone else there to take the pressure off and to see him happy was… fuck it was really nice.”

The icy core around your heart that began to scrape itself together once you entered the party melts just a little bit. You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure what to say. Thankfully, Yoongi continues. “I know you don’t like the holidays because it reminds you of being home and everything you want to get away from, and of the bad things that happened to you. I didn’t like them for… fuck, for years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They sucked without my mom, but it wasn’t so bad because we’d come to spend time with you guys or go over to the Kims. My dad made it work, and even though it felt like a fucking gut punch those first few years after my mom died, I sort of adjusted.”

“And then?”

He sighs heavily, looking up at the moon. “And then dad’s old age happened. The man you got tonight was… man, it was good. He was great tonight, happy and present and vibrant. It’s not always like that though - it’s usually not. There are a lot of times when he might forget my mom is gone or might forget that he sold the shop to me and thinks he has to go to work and… it was really hard at first. Trying to make that adjustment.”

“You’re so patient, though.”

“I wasn’t always. Around the holidays I was trying to run the shop and visit him so he wouldn’t feel alone and deal with my own grief about how fucking alone everything felt. There wasn’t anyone to relate to and I was just…” Yoongi shrugs and runs a hand over his brow. “Honestly, I wasn’t very nice for a bit. It was really frustrating to learn new ways to talk to him and I just… hated everyone.”

Fuck you know how it feels. You look at Yoongi as he stares out at the frozen lake. You would never guess that Yoongi, who makes so many different things in his spare time for the holidays could be mean. Yoongi, who eats something different every time you go to Jin’s diner. Yoongi, who chased a stray cat around your backyard until he could bring it in and warm it up inside before taking it over to the shelter. Yoongi who has been unwaveringly kind, and invited you to Christmas Eve dinner so you wouldn’t be alone. 

When you were teens, you could have bought that story. He had always been a little standoffish and hard around the edges. You were always in his inner circle, a rare witness to the way that he could melt for the people that he cared about. But the Yoongi of now does not seem like someone who hates the world like Yoongi of then had the potential to - and did.

It doesn’t make sense, this Yoongi that he talks about in the past and the Yoongi that you see in front of you. The Yoongi in front of you is gentle, kind, and soft with those around him. He never raises his voice, he is gentle with customers, and he often pulls more weight than he should at his own store to take the pressure off his employees.

“What changed, then?” you ask, desperately seeking an answer. In him, you see what you want to be. The calmness, the confidence in who he is and what he’s doing. He’s not drowning in his grief, or trying to reconcile a cacophony of feelings. At least, it doesn’t seem like it. 

“Therapy, for starters,” he laughs and gives you a look as he lays back in the grass. You join him, feeling the cold sink into your coat, but you don’t care. You like laying here with him under a blanket of frozen stars with the muted sounds of the party just beyond the wooden gate.

He continues, “But also a lot of introspection and a lot of self-hate. This version you have of me now? It’s gone through a lot of pain and suffering and reconciling with myself. It’s not an easy process, but it is worth it. And it started with me not blaming Christmas for things  that were just… beyond my control.”

“Fuck, so I have to apologize to Santa? I’m not even religious.”

Yoongi’s breath turns to fog as he laughs. You watch the way his eyes crinkle, shining with mirth under the gray light of the moon. He glows under the night sky – cheeks frozen-blush, lips chapped a little from the winter wind, nose cherry read. Droplets of dew cling to his long hair, a crown of diamonds on a prince spun from moonbeams.

At least, that’s what it feels like as you watch his laughter settle. Yoongi smiles up at the sky and that tight feeling constricts in your chest again. This version of him is so much softer than the teenager you remember. Warm at the edges, melted with a lifetime of experiences that have thawed that hard exterior.

Something like envy slithers through you. Envy that Yoongi has long healed from his hurts. That he seems to have settled here he is now, in happiness and knowing his path. He doesn’t have everything but he has enough, and as he turns to look at you, dark eyes sparkling, you can’t help but avert your gaze.

You don’t want him to see the inside of you.

“It’s more about Christmas as a concept,” Yoongi sighs, looking back up at the sky. Marshmallow clouds drift across a midnight canvas. You can only make out the brightest of stars here, the light pollution dimming the effect. “I’m not religious either, but the effect that the holidays can have on people is touching. Heartwarming. People love others a little extra.”

“Yeah, well they should do that year-round.”

“Small steps, small steps. Maybe it’s an open conversation at a dinner, or maybe it’s someone seeing family they haven't seen in a while. There are so many opportunities for love and warmth and chances to open your heart.”

“You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Make fun of me all you want,” he chuckles. “I know it sounds idealistic and a little bit naïve. But I’ve experienced too much sadness to keep thinking that’s all there is, and I’ve seen people’s lives change around the holidays. It’s special.”

You hum. “Why wait until the end of the year for all of that so-called happiness, then?”

“Life is hard - like really fucking hard. Sometimes when the end of the year is staring you right in the face, or when you're realizing it may be your last Christmas with an aging loved one is the push people need to brave that first step to being happy.”

“You’re celebrating procrastination.”

Yoongi sighs. He rolls over on his side and props his head up with his hand. You feel a flush of warmth curl through you under the weight of his full attention. Suddenly the cold hard ground you’ve opted to lay on doesn’t feel so bad.

“I’m celebrating people being moved to do something.” His tone is gentle. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He seems thoughtful, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “I’m celebrating that sometimes the holidays are the worst time for people. But something small will happen to make them feel even a moment of happiness. Just one small second of relief from the fucking madness.”

You think about everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. A tightness constricts your throat and you try to swallow past it. It takes you a few moments, but you imagine what it would be like to have just a fucking second to catch your breath. To have a moment of pure, unfiltered happiness.

“I just…” Yoongi’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I want people to be happy. And it feels like maybe this time of year has more potential than most. So that’s what I celebrate. Not the gift and the capitalism and the hypocrisy of it all. But the little seconds in between.”

A long, slow breath of air leaves you. You watch it steam and curl toward the sky before fading. “Well, Yoongi. I wish I was nearly as optimistic.”

“Maybe you can be.” You glance at him and see him smiling. “Just give me a chance to persuade you, yeah? My work seems to be paying off so far.”

“It is. I have an appointment to talk to a therapist in three weeks. It’s just an introductory thing, but…”

“That’s great, honestly. I don’t want to say I’m proud of you because that’s pretentious and you’re not doing this for me, but I really hope it helps.” Silence settles between you. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you are cold, despite the warmth that blooms when he studies your face. “Wanna go inside and drink a fuck ton of wine and then Irish exit?”

“Fuck yeah,” you laugh, letting him help you to your feet. 

Back inside of the party, you do just that. Yoongi plies you with sweet, red wine until there’s a cotton-soft buzz in your body. You’re a little bit nicer to people who still whisper when you walk by, and you even let Seokjin drag you into a single karaoke performance of Baby It’s Cold Outside. 

It’s already embarrassing to show how horrible you are at singing, but to make matters worse, you cannot stop glancing over at Yoongi who leans against the wall of the living room, a plastic wine up in his hand, dark eyes focused only on you. 

Heat pools in your lower stomach at his gaze, watching it darken by the minute. You do not miss when Jessa - who Old Man Min has dubbed Jenna - approaches Yoongi tentatively. And yet he is dismissive, the overly-warm and kind exterior replaced with something sharper. Hungrier. 

And his focus is entirely on you.

When you finish the song and wander over to him, breathless, he keeps his eyes pinned on you. Fathomless pools that draw you in until you feel like you’re falling falling falling, weightless and breathless. No one has ever looked at you like that. Not even your fiance. 

“What?” you ask, voice shaking as you lean against the wall, face tilted up toward him. You feel warm and wine-slow all over, limbs heavy and comfortable. Your lashes flutter when you slow blink at him. His lips are stained red from wine. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What way?”

Embolden by sweet wine, your talk on the lawn and your innocent hand holding, you huff. “In a way that makes me want to be stupid and kiss you.”

“That would make you stupid?”

You drop your gaze and press the rim of your plastic cup to your lips. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I kind of want to do it, but I don’t… know?”

His voice is lower and deeper, soft against your sense as he leans in a little. “So you want to kiss me?” You nod. “But you don’t know if you want to kiss me?”

“I don’t want you to think it’s… I haven’t been single for long. I don’t want you to think that of me. It isn’t because of that. I’ve wanted to for like years and - yeah.”

“I already told you. I think a lot of things of you. That isn’t one.” His gaze flickers around the party. You don’t realize how close he is until he turns back to you, warm breath fanning against your head. “How about we do our exit now and talk about that kiss where there’s not so many eyes, hmm?”

Mutely, you nod at him. Now you definitely want to kiss Yoongi. He’s gone from the soft, gummy-grin man full of holiday cheer to a darker, calm version of himself that is new. Confident. And quite frankly toe-curling. 

Yoongi wraps his fingers around yours and leads you to the exit, saying nothing to anyone that you pass by. Then you’re out in the cold and he’s unlocking the truck, popping open your door and pulling you toward it.

“Are you okay to drive?”

“Very,” he promises, voice raspy. “I only live across the stoplight, remember?” 

“Ohhh.” You get into the passenger seat, leaning your head on it and looking at Yoongi, who is momentarily propped against your door. “You’re taking me home?”

He leans forward, eyes dropping to your mouth as he mutters, “Uh-huh.”

And then he’s kissing you and the entire world fades into the background.

Yoongi’s lips are just as soft as you imagined. You sink into the kiss, leaning forward into the heavenly press of his mouth. Everything shifts, the dizziness of the wine mulling into dizziness of Yoongi - the way he smells like cedar and rose, the way he presses your mouth open with his, the way he tastes like sweet notes of wine. 

The soft brush of his tongue against yours makes your thighs squeeze together. He’s slow as he kisses you, taking his time to suck your tongue into his mouth, rolling his over yours languidly and fuck you’re going to die from just a kiss. 

Yoongi pulls back and you whine, hands going to the collar of his jacket and pulling him back, missing the warmth of his mouth, the gentle pull of your lip between his teeth. “More,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his.

His chuckle buzzes through your mouth, a gentle tingle as you pull at his bottom lip with your teeth playfully. He groans as he kisses you, a little sloppier, with a little more tangled tongues and spit. The wet smack of his mouth against yours is interrupted when someone’s dog starts barking in one of the yards, startling you. 

“Fuck,” he laughs, voice husky. “In your seat, come on. Let’s go.”

“Meh.”

He grins and pushes your leg back into the cab of the truck. “Greedy.”

Yoongi shuts the door and rounds the hood. Your eyes are glued to him as he gets in, your heart pounding in your chest as he starts the car. It occurs to you that you just kissed Yoongi. Min Yoongi, the one person you’ve been spending time with since you got back. The one person who you thought about late at night when your fiance was asleep and you were chasing thoughts of your past. 

The one person who seemed to be willing to look a little deeper. To see that the poison inside of you wasn’t because you didn’t like anyone, or because you thought that you were better. It was because you were afraid and sad and didn’t know how to deal with anything. 

Wordlessly, he reaches over the center console, placing his hand on your thigh and giving it a squeeze. You shut your legs, stomach clenching at the feeling of his fingers brushing gently over your jeans. When you look at him, there’s a sideways smirk on his face and you know he knows that your stomach is flipping over the simple touch. 

It feels like the drive lasts a thousand years. You’re squirming in the seat as Yoongi’s thumb brushes back and forth, giving you a squeeze now and again accompanied by a grin. You can’t help but smile back, heart in your fucking throat as you see all of the familiar houses pass you by. 

The Min home is exactly like you remember it but with less cars. Yoongi parks in the drive, popping open the garage with the press of a button to reveal a workshop of tools, shelves for storage and a flickering overhead light that has been faulty since you were in middle school. 

Outside, Yoongi reaches for your hand, pulling you close as you pass under the garage and toward the door that opens up into a white-tiled kitchen. The hum of the closing door follows you in as he flicks on a light, revealing a large kitchen with oak cabinets and a counter full of mail, a catch all, and various containers of sugar, and coffee and other items. 

Yoongi chucks his keys and shuffles out of his jacket, tossing it on the counter and turning to you. He gives you a cunning smile and beckons you. There’s no denying his summons, your feet pulling you toward him automatically as he catches you by the waist, pulling you into his chest as he brushes his mouth against yours again. 

Somehow, it feels normal to be doing this. To press your palms against his chest as he lounges lazily against his kitchen counter, one hand on your waist and one hand on the side of your neck as he tilts your mouth to his, kissing you hungrily. Like he’s waited an entire lifetime to do this. 

The thought makes you pull away suddenly. You look up at him, his face flush and lips kiss-bitten and spit-slicked. His eyes flutter open, looking down at you half-lidded and dazed. “Hmm?”

“Did you really have a crush on me?” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes, tilting his head backward until it hits a cabinet. The hand on your neck is firm, a steady weight that sends your thoughts wild when his thumb brushes back and forth across the skin of your over-warmed throat. 

“Of course I did. You paint so much of my life, you have no idea.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Cause I was terrified. I wasn’t very honest with myself back then, there was no way I could be honest with you. Then after college you got that nice ass job and I realized I was coming back home and I couldn’t go with you.”

“Even in college?”

“Yeah,” he whispers to the ceiling. “Even in college. I had this big idea to maybe tell you when we graduated. I was going to work at that new startup I told you about - it was only thirty minutes away from you. And then that didn’t happen and…” He shrugs. “I realized we weren’t on the same path. It seemed pointless.”

You stare at him for a few moments, thoughts flicking through your mind at a blinding pace. Yoongi had liked you in high school. In college. Had put off telling you because he didn’t think you’d be interested enough to stay, or to figure it out or to-

“I’d have dated you anyway,” you murmur. Carefully, you move a strand of blonde hair from his eyes when he looks down at you in surprise. “Yeah,” you laugh when you see his face. “Yoongi, I was totally head over heels for you in high school and in college. And then you dated Jessa and I just figured it would be embarrassing to tell you later so I just didn’t say anything.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Those first few months when you never texted me that you had settled in at your new job I figured you had new friends or just didn’t have time for me. I didn’t even…” You sigh. “I didn’t realize you didn’t move there. I was too nervous to look at your social media.”

“I barely update it anyways.”

“I know. It’s all your cat.” That piques your interest and you pull away from him, looking around. “Where is your kitty? I want to see.”

“I love that you are excited about my cat, but I would like to request that we look for him later. I have other things I wanna do.”

“Oh?”

Yoongi’s gaze is dark when you look back at him. Your fingers tighten in his shirt, going still under the razor-sharp look he gives you. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I want to show you how fucking bad I wanted you - do want you. And I don’t want you to think I’m just saying all this, or that I’m using a moment of weakness. Since you walked into the kitchen that night, I have not been able to stop thinking about every second of my life that I liked you. That I wanted to kiss you. That I wanted to fuck you until all you could think about was the way I felt.”

“Yoongi.”

“Hmm?”

“I would like that very much.”

Yoongi’s smile is dazzling, completely at ends with how he just said he wants to fuck you but you don’t care.

Especially when he gives you a chaste kiss to the mouth. Once. Twice. And leads you through the home that you already know. His bedroom is on the opposite side of where his parents slept, and when he opens the door to reveal a room lit by a single salt lamp, you almost expect it to be covered in drawings of buildings and filled with canvas prints of famous buildings around the world and sheets designed like graph paper.

Instead, you’re surprised to see an elevated room with newly painted, limewash walls, a heavy desk tucked into the corner with leather portfolios and neatly stacked papers, dark linen sheets folded neatly on the bed with several pillows - including decorative - against a beautiful headboard with a keen design you know is his.

The room looks lived in and elegant, and it smells like the sage and jasmine reed diffuser in the corner. 

“You’re fucking hot,” you blurt, startling yourself and Yoongi. “Like your room is - adult. And you made that desk and headboard right? Fucking-” You look up at him and shake your head. “It’s really hot that you do all of these things.”

“Wow. Just the room does it for you, huh?”

You shove him playfully and he falls back on his bed, sitting with a soft bounce. He opens his legs and leans back on his palms, eyes drifting up and down your frame. He smirks, cool confidence making your hands shake as you take a step forward, suddenly feeling far more nervous than you ever have around him.

“Come here,” he purrs, lifting a hand and patting his thigh.

In a trance, you compy. Carefully you crawl into his lap, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his waist as you settle your ass between his legs. His hands wrap behind you, pressed into the small of your back as he leans forward, catching your mouth with his. He pulls your coat from your shoulders, dropping it to the floor as you settle your hand around his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair.

Kissing Yoongi makes the world stop. Here, in his bedroom, in his lap, nothing else matters. It doesn’t matter that you’re living in your mom’s house again. It doesn’t matter that you have to figure out what to do about a new place to live. It doesn’t matter that a teeny-tiny part of you was relieved to find your fiance cheating. It doesn’t matter that you were more mad about being kicked out of the apartment than anything else.

All that matters is that something slides into place when Yoongi leans back, letting you fall onto his chest. You giggle into his mouth, letting the slide of your tongues and lips lull you into a sense of longing that you’ve harbored for years without realizing it. 

You’re drowning in Yoongi. Your lungs are full of him, sending you gasping into his mouth when he rolls your hips against his, the friction sparking a fire in you. You’re completely lost in him, drifting further and further his mouth places hot, wet kisses on your jaw and neck.

It never occurred to you that you could want someone - Yoongi - this badly. You tremble on top of him as his fingers pull your shirt from the waistband of your jeans, fingers seeking the warmth of your skin. 

Breathing becomes difficult, your lips ghosting across the tender skin of his neck, nipping lightly as his calloused fingers brush across your hips, digging in as he rocks you against him. You can’t help but shiver at the feeling of arousal in your stomach, fingers quaking as he lets out a soft moan next to your ear. 

Gently, Yoongi rolls the two of you over, slotting himself between your legs and pressing his clothed hard-on where you want him most. You look up at him as he pushes his hair out of his eyes, skin flushed and full of warmth and want. He is beautiful.

Something in you blooms, hungry and feral. You grab his hands and pull them to your chest, squeezing his palms under yours. He grins, getting the hint as he gives your tits a gentle squeeze, working a light moan from you. 

“You always had great tits,” Yoongi admits, thumbs circling the gentle hint of nipples through your shirt and bralette. You squirm under his touch and his grin grows wider. “Yeah? Sensitive, hmm?”

“Yes.”

With a pleased hum, Yoongi removes your shirt. It’s cold in his room, but he’s quick to bend down, his hands rubbing up and down your sides, chasing away the goosebumps as he looks up at you, mouth hovering over a peaked nipple. 

Slowly, Yoongi flicks his tongue over your nipple. The sensation makes you kick against the mattress, the stimulation something but not nearly enough. You want more, your hands shooting to his forearms and digging your nails in. 

Yoongi huffs, warm air gusting over your skin as he gives you what you want, lowering his mouth and wrapping it around your nipple, soaking the fabric of your bralette. Your eyelids flutter shut, one of his hands holding himself up and the other ghosting along your ribs back and forth, making you shiver repeatedly. 

Pulling away, Yoongi plucks your nipple playfully with his teeth, making you squeal from a pinch of pain but a flood of pleasure. You feel lightheaded, teetering on the border between present and somewhere far away and he’s barely even touched you. 

“You okay?” Yoongi asks. You realize his lips are ghosting against your chin. “You look a little dazed. We can stop.”

“No.” You shake your head, trying to dispel the fog and blinking down at him. “No it’s - it feels good. It’s hard to think when you touch me I just-” The words are stuck in your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut.

He kisses your nose gently. “You just what?”

“I’m just really into it and it makes me feel all floaty and out of it but present. I don’t know. It’s overwhelming but good.”

“Do you want to keep going?” You nod. “Okay. You can stop at any time, okay? You ever used safe words?”

“No.”

He kisses you sweetly on the forehead, mouth drifting south until he’s nosing you lightly. His next words come out mumbled against your mouth, the hum sending a soft buzz through your lips. “Tell me a word we can use if you need to stop. No matter what we’re doing, the moment you feel uncomfortable, you use the word.”

“Christmas?”

He snickers and presses his forehead against you. “Fine, Christmas is fine.” He pecks your lips. “Okay.” He pulls your hand from your face, giving you a gentle, innocent kiss to the lips. It helps settle you a little. “Tell me what you like.”

“Umm.” Yoongi places butterfly kisses along your jaw, teeth nipping you lightly. You curse and feel your eyes roll back in your head as he sucks at your skin greedily, one of his hands coming up to brush a thumb back and forth over a nipple. “I don’t know.”

“No?” He pinches your right nipple and you moan loudly, earning a smile against your kiss-slicked neck. “You must like something. Do you like it slow? Rough? Messy? Do you like being choked? Hands above your head? Or in control?”

You shake your head. “Want me in control?” You nod. “Got it.” His hand drifts up to your neck and gives the sides a gentle squeeze. A thrill shoots through you and you lean up into him, nodding. “Yeah? Like having my hand around your throat?”

“Yes. I like…” Your words trail off for a moment as you think through the haze of Yoongi’s rasping voice and mouth. “Umm hard but sort of slow?” 

“Mhmm.”

“And messy. Messy is good.” 

Yoongi gives a satisfied hum. His hand leaves your nipple, brushing down your heated skin toward the apex of your thighs. He presses his fingers firmly over your clothed pussy, not nearly enough friction with underwear and jeans in the way. “And what about being eaten out? Do you like that?”

“Yes.”

You feel his smile against your throat. “Thank fuck. I’ve been dying to taste this fucking pussy.”

Suddenly you’re glad you have a safe word. Yoongi’s words send a fresh wave of arousal straight to your core, a moan leaving your lips as he worships your skin with his mouth. It feels like you could fall headfirst into him and never stop falling. The tension in your stomach is so tight you nearly snap when he unbuttons your jeans, everything he does is so overwhelming that there is almost an urge to cry. 

It’s hard to piece together why you feel like this. Why there is an inferno screaming inside of you, begging to be let out. Why the press of Yoongi’s fingers over your damp panties nearly sends you into a blackout, why when he circles your clit through the fabric you let out a strangled noise.

But you think… maybe you know what it is. 

Instead of thinking too hard about it, you focus on the way you’re short of breath. The way that your entire body is vibrating with energy. You look down to where Yoongi is on his knees between your legs, dark eyes looking up at you intently. His hands skate up and down the soft flesh of your inner thighs, squeezing periodically. 

Way back when, you were always nervous letting people between your legs, letting them see the most intimate parts of you up close. It was anxiety-filled and you were constantly nervous about being wrong - or just. Anything. 

But when Yoongi drops his gaze down to where your underwear sticks to your folds and lets out an appreciative curse, there’s no anxiety at all. Just a desire for Yoongi to make you his. For you to dig your fingers into him and make him yours.

Flashing you a wicked grin, he leans forward and gives a slow, wet lick over your panties. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, back arching and thighs twitching shut a little. The stimulation is more, but not enough. “Please don’t tease me.”

“Hmm, no? Want my mouth on this perfect pussy?”

“Please.”

He tucks his fingers under your underwear and pulls them down slowly, pressing a kiss to your knee absently. “You’re so much more pliant than I expected. Just want to be taken care of?”

Something inside you squeezes sharply and you shut your eyes, nodding. Realizing he can’t see you nodding, you whisper, “Yes.”

Firmly but slowly, Yoongi presses his palms into your thighs, spreading you wide. The stretch pulls your muscles but it’s a pleasant burn that is immediately forgotten when you feel his hot breath skate over your aching hole. 

You have never wanted someone’s goddamn mouth this bad. Yoongi laughs and you realize that you’re squirming, wiggling your hips a little toward his mouth. You immediately stop, hands covering your face as you groan, realizing that you are pliant for him. 

Embarrassment morphs into surprise and white hot pleasure when Yoongi licks you slowly from dripping hole to clit. Your breath gets stuck in your chest at the sensation, his tongue languidly rolling around your clit before he slow-drags it back down, dipping into your hole teasingly. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasp as he repeats the motion, the flat of his tongue dragging upward. “Fuck, Yoongi.”

He hums contentedly, flicking his tongue back and forth over your clit playfully. Your thighs tighten and shake, and you’re only able to let out the breath you’ve been holding when he pulls away and gives a soft chuckle.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, shuffling and sliding his hands under your ass. His fingers grip you firmly and he pulls you to his mouth, using the grip on your ass to anchor you to him. “Can you look at me, baby?” 

The new endearment makes your fingers clench in the sheets. It’s dizzying when you shift to your elbows, barely able to prop yourself up. The room tilts as he grins between your legs, lips glossed with your arousal. 

“Want you to watch,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. It leaves a sticky mouth print. “Such a sweet little cunt.”

Yoongi’s words have no time to land. He leans forward and you watch with acute fascination as he sucks your clit gently between his lips. Your nerves turn to molten lava and though he wants you to watch, your head falls back and you feel your eyes roll, a whimper escaping your mouth as he suckles greedily. 

Everything Yoongi does has always been art. He eats you out no different, alternately between eagerly tonguing every inch of you and sucking gently on your clit. You somehow manage to lift your heavy head, swimming with no thoughts but Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi to watch as he closes his eyes, humming delightedly as his greedy tongue slips into your clenching hole.

“Holy fuck,” you squeak. Your legs threaten to close as the knot in your stomach tightens. You know you’re going to come soon, knees squeezing his shoulders as he hums and sucks and licks, not letting a drop go to waste. “I’m gonnnaaa-” 

You can’t finish the sentence. He knows you’re going to come, his tongue firmer, his mouth hungrier. His mouth is loud and wet against you, which might gross you out if you weren’t babbling, twisting your hips under him as the pressure in your stomach shot upward. You’re panting and nearly delirious when one hand slides from your ass to your hole, his thumb applying just enough pressure to relieve a bit of the ache. 

“Fuck,” you squeak.

You come hard, eyes squeezed shut, Yoongi sucking your clit harshly and humming, the hum of his mouth sending you over and his thumb dipping into your hole to apply pressure. Under the force of your orgasm, you collapse to the bed, full-body twitching as his gluttonous mouth sucks at you, not letting up.

A numb-like tingle settles into your veins. You feel drunk, and not from the wine. Something headier that makes your thoughts white noise and your limbs heavy-soft. Yoongi gives your clit a kiss before squeezing your ass playfully, kissing his way up your stomach to your chest. 

“How are you doing?” he asks gently. 

“I think I just saw god,” you croak, voice hoarse from overuse. “Fuck. Fuck.”

He hums and licks into your mouth. You taste yourself on him, sticky-sweet and heady. He moans, dropping his hips to press against your slick thighs and still-dripping cunt. “Let me,” you mumble against his mouth, hand dropping between you and squeezing him over his jeans. Fuck. Your eyes flutter open, your hand feeling the full size of Yoongi’s cock. “Oh my god, do you have a big dick?”

Yoongi bursts into laughter, groaning and burying his head in your neck. He busies his mouth with placing sloppy kisses, more tongue than anything, against your pulse point. “I mean, yeah.” 

“I mean, yeah,” you mimic in a high-pitched voice. He laughs and you squirm. Even his laugh is hot. “Well show me. I wanna suck you off.”

“Can I be honest?”

“You just made me come from tongue alone, so yeah.”

“If your mouth comes near my dick I might come. I was close to busting in my fucking jeans like a teenager just now. I’d love for you to suck me off another time, but I am living my dream right now and I might bust a nut immediately.” 

You look at him owlishly. “Living your dream, huh?”

“Shut up,” he growls playfully. “Roll over on your stomach for me and put that perfect ass into the air, hmm?” 

With sluggish limbs and your head spinning, you do what he asks. He snaps the back of your bralette and you let it fall down your arms before tossing it aside. Leaning on your elbows, you put your ass in the air, wiggling it for effect. He huffs out a laugh behind you and you turn your head to watch him pull his shirt off.

Underneath his clothes, Yoongi is flushed pink and smooth. You watch, dazed and appreciative as he undoes his jeans swiftly. There is something alluring about watching the way his hands work his pants off. His strong thighs flex when he straightens, tucking his thumbs underneath the waistband of his briefs to slide them down and -

“Holy fuck,” you blurt. Yoongi looks up at you, blonde hair sticking to his forehead and cock bobbing heavily against his stomach. He does have a big dick - thick and long with a flushed tip leaking precum that makes your mouth water. “You’re joking.”

For a moment, the confident Yoongi from a second ago wavers, face red as he shyly gets on the bed. “If we have to stop we can-”

“Please fuck me,” you beg. You don’t even hesitate, shuffling your knees so that your ass is higher. “I don’t care if it hurts. Please.” 

His hands are on your ass, making your heart hammer in your chest. You think it might give out as Yoongi shuffles behind you, his thighs brushing against the back of yours. You feel the sticky crown of his cock against an asscheek, making you press backward to apply pressure. A sharp smack lands on your ass, earning both a cry and a moan from you. 

“Don’t fucking start,” Yoongi growls. Both of his hands grip your ass as he slides his shaft between your sticky folds. Your forehead rests on sweaty sheets as you pant, feeling how hard and long he is. “Gonna fuck you open with my fingers a little.”

“Yoongi.” 

“You said you wanted me to fuck you, baby. So let me.”

Yoongi’s hands drift from the apples of your ass to your fluttering hole. There’s a pit in your stomach, butterflies going wild as his fingers brush around your ring of muscles, hole twitching. His cock is pressed against your ass as he slides a finger in, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as he presses against your front wall, the smooth glide of his fingers addicting. 

“More,” you whisper. “Please.”

He hums in agreement, sliding in another finger. It’s a stretch, but it’s good. Pleasure whites out everything else. There’s just the tight glide of his fingers, pressing against that soft spot in you. Everything he does, your stomach lurches, the pleasure turning you boneless as you continue to melt into the mattress, letting Yoongi slow-fuck you with his fingers until he decides you can take him. 

Slowly, he removes his fingers, a line of arousal sticking to your ass as he uses both hands to spread you open. He moans, shuffling so that his cockhead catches your entrance, holding the blunt tip there for a second, letting your hole clench and unclench at the pressure. 

“Holy fuck, please.”

“What was that?”

“Min Yoongi, plea-”

Your words turn into an embarrassing sound as he sinks deep into your pussy, so wet that he slides almost to the hilt. The wind gets knocked out of you and for a second, you lay there in white light, unable to think about anything but the painful stretch of his cock reaching deep deep. 

There’s nothing else but the feel of him, hips pressed to your ass, hands rubbing up and down your back, letting your walls flutter around him as you adjust to the girth. And you do have to adjust, remembering to breathe through it. When the slight sting fades, you swivel your hips, making both of you sigh. 

Taking the hint, Yoongi pulls out, using his hands on your ass to control both of your movements before he sinks back in, finding a smooth, steady rhythm that has stars exploding behind your eyelids. You’re gone in seconds, thoughts replaced by the livewire feeling in your stomach and the way Yoongi fucks you hard and deep, though his movements are slow. 

Yoongi makes sounds behind you that make you fall apart that much faster. His hands are reverent and careful as he pulls you onto his cock, fucking you like you asked. Slow. With purpose. Every thrust is weighted, Yoongi putting his entire frame into each stroke as he fucks you into the mattress, punctuated by his stilted breaths. 

“Fuck,” he swears. “You have no fucking idea the way I dreamed about this. Fucking-” he breaks off with a growl, fingers gripping you with bone-shattering strength. “Wanted to do everything with you. For years.” 

Something inside of you snaps and you let out a muffled cry, realizing that you're near tears. Because yeah. You know what he means. You knew it when you saw him standing in the kitchen making a home with your mom. You knew it when you saw him carving rocking chairs and brushing sawdust out of your hair. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasp as he adjusts the angle, hitting your spot on the upstroke. It nearly sends you into space. “But me too.”

He smacks your ass, the sting almost sending you headfirst into your orgasm. “Yeah? Thought of me even when you weren’t here, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Thought of me even when you were lying awake at night in a city without me?”

“Yes.”

He slaps your ass again and you feel your orgasm, so tight and intense that you think you might die if the pressure doesn’t pop. “Come on,” he grunts, a hand sliding around your waist and reading down to press tight circles on your clit. Your vision goes white. “Come for me, then. Fucking show me.”

It’s all you need. You come around Yoongi, squeezing him so tight and screaming viciously into his sheets. He grabs you tight and curses loudly behind you, immediately coming deep in your cunt, shivering against you as he pants through it. You’re barely aware that his weight is on top of you, your entire being somewhere else far away.

For a while, there is just gasping breaths and tangled limbs. You’re unsure how to string together words, your mind and bones melted. Your body twitching with post-orgasm tremors. 

Strings of thoughts begin to pull together. The twine to make coherent ideas. Memories. Things. You feel the weight of Yoongi, who is only half on top of you as he tries to catch his breath. Tries to piece himself together, both of you collapsed and tangled in something beyond just bodies. 

Whatever it is that just happened is more than just fucking and you know it. Know that Yoongi knows it. You’ve been dancing around an inevitable thought for weeks, while watching him hunched over his workstation, painting stain on a cabinet with his sweater sleeves pulled over his hand. Watching him shuffle boxes of dreidels that he hand-carved for the synagogue down the street. 

The dread of coming home during the holidays was always about the association to your family. To your dad being gone. To the guilt gnawing at you for leaving your mom. But now, as he pulls the rest of himself off of you and rolls onto his back, hands grabbing you and pulling you to his sweaty side, you think that maybe being afraid of home was a little bit about him too. About the memory of him. About the little inkling of a crush that you never got over. 

“Your mom is gonna give us so much shit in the morning,” he mumbles, words a little slurred. You curl into his side, tucking your face in his neck. He smells a little like cedar, a little like sex and sweat. “She might never let me in the house again.”

“Untrue. She loves you.”

“Hmm. It’s a start.”  He sighs, words drifting off. “And no safe word needed. I could barely choke you out if I wanted. I thought I was gonna come as soon as I put it in. Holy fuck.”

“Fuck Christmas,” you laugh. “I want you to do that again. However you want to.” He snorts. “Also, I want to suck your dick in the morning. I didn’t get you a gift.” 

“Fine,” he mumbles. “Sleep, yeah?”

You hum. “Yeah.” 

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut

[ken-dom]

Take Me Home

Officer K x gn!reader

2.1k words

∘₊✧ Summary: K is learning to understand the new feelings you've brought into his life. There is one he quickly learns to understand completely. Understands, and needs.

∘₊✧ Author's notes: This was written for the Morning Sunshine Collab with my friends on Goosecord, and is dedicated to the anons who have been asking me for more K. Here he finally is! Thank you Lily for organising us, answering my K questions and coming up with the perfect name for his neon cum! Sascha, Tucker and Clam for giving me confidence to write him, and my bestie/sister K for, as always, being my sanity and my beta reader! Title from Home by Daughter.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, sleepy morning making out, blow job, Luminescum (like Ken's glizz but make it BR2049)

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

K appreciates nothing more than these blissfully warm moments, waking up with you laid half on top of him, weighing him down like a… what was it you’d called it? Ah yes, a comfort blanket. And comfort, it most certainly was.

At first he’d likened being close to you with realising the sensation of snow against his skin was actually kind of pleasant if he paid attention to it. Both filled him with a soothing sort of wonder after an initial period of apprehension. The kind of feeling one might experience upon discovering there is more to life and being able to start actually experiencing and enjoying it.

But the longer this went on – that is, you, staying – the more it began to feel like something else that K couldn’t quite place. Over time, you’d helped him recognise that the new, satisfying feeling he was being faced with was called home. Feeling at home. He liked the sound of that. It sounded permanent. And safe.

And he does feel safe with you. He feels safe to explore who he is, rather than what he was expected to be. He feels safe sleeping with you pressed to him in only his underwear, otherwise exposed, yet waking up calm and relaxed as rain beats down against his windows, distorting the neon glow from the city outside that lights up his room far more than the dull glow of morning sun. He wishes these moments could last forever, and in some ways, he supposes, they do.

There were other feelings you’d helped him to fully grasp too, of course. Some of them were difficult to sit with, and K had been glad to put a name to them and to know he wasn’t alone in experiencing them, that you were there to support him. And some were rather more… physical. Thrilling. He was exceptionally glad you were there to help him explore those feelings too.

And sometimes, all these intense and newly tangible feelings combine into a rush of emotions and sensations and it’s the most alive K has ever felt.

This morning, he feels alive, too. And he feels content.

He’d slept as well as ever with you draped over him, his arms resting comfortably around your torso with one hand up in your hair, fingertips stroking soothing circles against your scalp as you fell asleep first and then, as your breathing slowed to a steady snore, he fell too.

He has no intention of rushing to do anything today, or of thinking ahead to what might need to be done. For now, K just wants to enjoy you. He absentmindedly begins to drag those affectionate fingertips in gentle patterns over your skin, unknowingly leaving shivers in their wake.

When you eventually stir against his chest, your fingernails scrape pleasantly at his sides – he feels alive, he thinks again – and you shift yourself to look up at him with a soft smile, he feels his heart beat just a little faster in his chest and his lips curl into a smile, too. He all but stops breathing when, without a word, you pull yourself up to press your lips to his, beginning what feels like a blissful eternity of slow, languid kisses and tender touches.

At some unknown point, his limbs and yours tangle, and your fingers find their way up to comb through his hair, too. You couldn’t be very much closer; K’s whole world spins and reduces to just this bed, just you, and him.

Something else K appreciates more than he could say is how there is so little need for words between the two of you. Especially since you’ve become a regular fixture in his life, he needs you more than he dares to ask. More than he dares to believe he was meant for. He tries not to think about that.

You understand him, you see, and he’s not sure if that’s unusual or not; whether other people in love (another new experience for him that he isn’t entirely sure he fully grasps yet) just get one another like that without a necessity for constant explanations. But he likes it because it only adds to that feeling of home, of being safe, and, he supposes, of being wanted.

When you kiss him, quick and chaste or intense and passionate or somewhere in between, his stomach seems to flip. Butterflies, you’d called it. You’d said it would probably subside over time and to enjoy it while it lasted, but it never did subside. Not yet anyway.

Your current kissing, although never reducing in intensity, slows gradually to an almost stop. In honesty, you’re still sleepy and not yet ready to face the day, but not tired enough to lie completely still either. And you can never resist him with his hair slightly mussed from sleep and that coy but loved up sparkle in his eyes.

Your lips break apart and you find yourselves face to face on one shared pillow that smells like him — lightly industrial like he carries the air of the city with him, a subtle hint of rain, and musk from the heat of your bodies pressed together while you slept. You take a deep breath to savour him while you’re laid here, just feeling one another’s hot breath against your damp, kiss-swollen lips.

K’s eyes slip closed as you lay tangled together and he feels a pang of embarrassment at the familiar heat pooling in his lower belly. He isn’t sure if you intended this to turn into anything more, and whilst he was truly and completely lost in the pure intimacy of it all, sometimes, he finds, he can’t quite control his arousal. You’ve assured him that it’s perfectly normal plenty of times, but he still feels his face heat up each time he recognises the signs.

You press forward and join your lips to his once again, with a little more vigour than before. Still, it’s semi-weightless and playful, and he feels your lips curl into a smirk against his.

He doesn’t close his eyes, just furrows his brow as concern begins to edge into the periphery of his conscience, ready to consume him. His cock stiffens some more against his will, too, and deep down he knows he can’t actually will his erection away. Especially not with you so close and relishing in him the way you do, lavishing him with affection.

You slide your lips to his jaw, and his eyes flick downward, almost suspicious, trying to follow your movements despite being mostly out of his field of vision, but they finally slip shut again when you move lower and suck lightly against the pulse point in his throat while your hand glides down from his shoulder, tingling over his bare arm and dropping to rest on the soft contour of his waist.

You shuffle yourself further down, beneath the duvet, just the top of your head exposed to him now as you circle a nipple with the tip of your tongue and, feeling his otherwise slow and steady breath catch in his chest, you smile up at him from beneath the quilt, biting your lip. Anticipation, and a question. Sheepishly, K nods, and you slide yourself lower still, hearing a quiet little, ‘Oh,’ escape his throat as you disappear beneath the covers.

It’s warm under here, and you feel the pull of sleep tugging at your consciousness, but you’ve no intention of succumbing to it. Instead you push his hips to position him on his back and settle between his thighs. It's an easy manoeuvre; muscle memory by now, but even so he’s trembling slightly, just like the first time. You can picture his face, burning with desire and uncertainty as to why you’d want to do this with him.

As your fingers curl around the elastic of his plain grey underwear, your eyes are drawn to the small luminous patch of blue that’s formed at the tip of his bulge, leaking beautifully through the thin fabric.

You’d never seen a replicants’ cum before K. He'd blushed profusely when you’d praised him for how pretty it was that first time you brought him off with your hand, pulling your sticky, wet palm out of his trousers with delight and awe written all over your face. When he caught his breath he ashamedly told you it’s a substance called Luminescum. A flavourless, harmless lubricant secreted during sexual encounters and ejaculated at the climax. Although all replicants are built with the ability to produce Luminescum, few ever actually use that ability – aside from pleasure models, of course.

You remember that night with a smile, planning to tell him how pretty it is again later. Maybe you’ll see if he’s got more than one orgasm in him this morning so you can stroke him to another release, talk him through his oversensitive pleasure and see that handsome blush colouring his cheeks again as his eyes squeeze shut and his body shakes through another release he doesn’t think he deserves.

But for now you lazily mouth at his length over the fabric in no hurry at all, taking your time just as you had when you’d made out in almost slow motion just minutes ago. And as much as K is on the same wavelength this morning, he can’t stop his hips bucking up in response to your warm tongue, or his breath turning heavy at the thrill running through him, or his cheeks feeling hot at how eager to please him you always are.

Pulling his underwear down, you clean up his pretty neon precum quickly with your tongue. Despite its impressive glow and colour it really does taste of relatively little. Slightly synthetic is the only way you can think to describe it, but you can never get enough all the same, because it’s him.

You hear him whimper as your palm slides down his length, muffled slightly by the duvet, and you feel him searching for you over it, fingers strong enough to tear the fabric if he wanted to. The thought causes a fresh wave of heat to rush to your core. He’s always so gentle when he touches you, so careful and tender, but he can fuck like a rabid animal when you ask for it, too; can make your toes curl with the snapping of his hips and his low growls and possessive, grabbing fingers.

You lick a warm, firm stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, eliciting another thick pump of that impressive blue, and then take him into your mouth, moaning around him as you suck, slow and steady.

K is feeling far from slow and steady above the covers, however, and he’s thankful you can’t see his face from where you are because he’s a mess; hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed, mouth agape. He's sure you’d tell him he looks beautiful just like you always do, but it doesn’t stop embarrassment making his head spin. And he knows you can hear him gasping and humming and letting out choked little groans which only adds to the heat spreading over his cheeks.

He’s completely lost in a haze of pleasure until your tongue flicks so deliciously over his tip, and again, and again, before swallowing him back down, and as incredibly sensitive to your touch as he usually is, he just can’t hold off any longer.

He feels his muscles begin to tense and his hips, rolling in time with your movements, stutter, and with a desperate whine, he cums, lukewarm neon spilling down your eager throat as he writhes in the blissful agony of his release above you.

Devouring every last drop of his tasteless, harmless, gorgeous Luminescum, you tuck his softening cock back into his stained, glowing underwear with care, joining him back on the pillow where you immediately let out an involuntary moan at how gorgeously fucked out he looks, his palm still poised at his mouth where he’d bitten down on his knuckles at the height of his pleasure.

He averts his gaze when his eyes flutter open, timid under the heat of your gaze, and for the hundredth time you’re glad he’s not a pleasure model, because where would the fun be if he wasn’t so needy and receptive to you?

‘Good morning,’ you mutter sleepily, lips glowing with a tinge of neon blue that makes his heart race. 

He simply curls back into the warmth of your embrace without a word, your arms wrapping around him once again.

Safe and warm and sated. Home.

#not s f w 💀 #officer k x reader #officer k #officer k smut #officer k fic #officer k fluff #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling smut #ryan gosling fluff #blade runner 2049 #blace runner 2049 fic #ken-dom writes

[scaralvr]

dendrobiums. scaramouche x gn!reader (angst, no comfort, argument)

prompt #14: "you don't love me, do you?" this is an entry for @versadies writing collab farewell love!!

you had known kunikuzushi for a long time, but not long enough, as it seems he holds secrets to himself he doesn't wish to share with you, his companion, his lover. you believe that upon being cursed with immortality, you've seen it all; the woe and joy that the people around you experience.

though, seeing him distressed and quiet as of late caused your heart to twinge with an inexplicable searing pain. living in a peaceful house isolated within the heavenly fields of inazuma, you found it hard not to feel lonely sometimes, with kunikuzushi being oddly silent.

your kimono fluttered in the light wind that blew, causing the blades of grass to bend under its command. despite your lover's strange nature, you decided to be patient with him, as you always are. vibrant dendrobiums filled the basket you cradled in your arm, planning on gifting them to kunikuzushi who's been cooped up in the house.

a lovely smile adorned your lips akin to vibrant flower petals as you walked back to the house. lately, the air was menacing, as if no one lived in the small cottage you reside in with him. the cottage was perched on a cliff above water, cutting off the bustle of the nation from your peaceful life with him. you close the door behind you and peer into the hallway around the corner.

the door at the end was agape, where you assumed he was laying in bed again. entering the shinshitsu, you greeted him with a, "good evening, kuni." before sitting on the futon, back facing his figure. a few moments of silence passed.

"i picked dendrobiums for you. i know you're not a big fan of flowers but they were blooming so beautifully and... i thought you'd like them." you meekly commented, fingertips grazing against the flower's stem. "kuni-" you turned around and in an instant he was on top of you, pinning you to the futon as the basket of dendrobiums fell to the side, spilling its contents across the floor.

your pupils dilated. his grip on your wrists tightened but you didn't mind it at first; he would never hurt you. "kunikuzushi?" you repeated, in a hushed voice this time. he finally looked into your eyes after what seemed like an eternity.

those electric violet eyes that you've come to love, filled with such hatred.

"do not fool me. why are you here?" kunikuzushi interrogated, teeth gritting together. "just to love and abandon me, is that it? are you staying longer for the pleasure in knowing how much it will hurt when you finally leave?" tears released from his angry glare that landed on your cheek. "i'm here because i love you." you simply replied.

kunikuzushi clenched his jaw. "i said, don't lie." his nails began to dig into the skin of your wrists and at that, you felt your heart rate slightly quicken. "why would i be lying, kunikuzushi?" you breathed out. "you never tell me anything."

at that statement, kunikuzushi's eyes widened. "what do you- what do you mean?" he asked, his grasp loosening but refusing to release. "do you doubt me that much?" you queried with a trembling voice, a tear slipping from your eye and falling onto the futon.

"what happened to you, kunikuzushi? what did they do to you?"

"shut up. you don't know what you're talking about." he whispered, more tears beginning to fall from his eyes. he let go and backed away from you as you sat up, following him out of the room. "you need to tell me something! anything!-" kunikuzushi ignored your protests and covered his ears, "you wouldn't understand. you never understand!"

you paused, "you've never touched me once, don't you know?" he stopped in his tracks. "you never look at me. you haven't done a single thing since we began this hell of a relationship where we promised we'd give each other the affection we never had!" you panted, voice straining to keep a loud volume.

you were afraid he would run away from your inquiries again, from letting you know why he's so distant after years of being with you. that's when you realized, there was only one possibility left.

"you don't love me do you?"

he visibly tensed up. your eyes filled to the brim with more tears bound to escape. all he has to do is say those three words you never heard him tell you before, and you'll be fine. you'll continue to live under the same roof with your lover, who may not tell you everything, but still adores you.

if only that were the case for poor you. poor you, who was victim to the hurtful words he spouted at you, telling you that you're right, he doesn't love you. he supposes he just used you as some sort of mental stability from the people he's met in the past. he supposes that he considered none of this real from the very beginning.

you stood there, hands by your sides as hot tears continuously poured down your face with your mouth slightly agape. oh, the truth hurts, doesn't it?

"love you? i absolutely loathe you, (y/n)." kunikuzushi finished off, shoulders rising and falling with each heavy exhale he took.

a little later, kunikuzushi took a walk to clear his mind. his half-lidded hues flitted across inazuma's heavenly welkin, a gut-wrenching feeling weighing within him. the sun was beginning to set, and he comes to a conclusion. he should learn to let go of the past by now and he'll start with you. you, who have been nothing but patient and gentle with him, you, who never left despite the cold shoulder he gave.

yes, it's always been you. you're the source of his happiness, the reason he wishes to arise to another morning. kunikuzushi feels guilty for what he said earlier and decides to make it up to you by picking dendrobiums, much like the ones you gifted him earlier that he so rudely threw away.

with a hopeful smile gracing his features, he walks through the grass to pick very specific dendrobiums all the while making sure they were perfect from top to bottom, fit for his lover.

kunikuzushi's hands were soiled with the dirt from the ground yet he didn't mind, just as long as he had you waiting for him at home. he sighs out with a grin, rushing to the front door. as he opens it, a strange thought settles in the back of his mind.

the aura seemed a little emptier than usual, but he shrugged it off as the fact that the two of you left off at a bad mood. kunikuzushi was more than ready to apologize, his smile faltering to a smaller one as he realizes you'd probably be mad at him, though he'd understand.

because it doesn't matter, because you'll still stay. to think that you'll be the first person that doesn't betray him still takes him aback sometimes and now, he's ready to accept it.

"my love, i've returned." the nickname sounds a little odd at first, rolling off of his tongue; kunikuzushi hasn't called you an endearment like that, ever. he rounds a corner and makes his way down the hall to the shinshitsu. when he slides the shoji doors open, he drops his flowers but quickly picks them back up.

"(y-y/n)?" he stutters out, gaze anxiously darting about the room as he searches for your presence. how long has he been out for? maybe one, two hours? where could you have gone in all that time? this is when he begins to panic.

kunikuzushi leaves the room and searches all over the house. "(y/n)!" he calls again in a more desperate voice. not now, not yet. he runs outside, panting as he tries to get to the city. stay, for just a little bit longer, he pleads within his mind, hoping to catch sight of you.

you promised...

dodging past hordes of people, he catches a glimpse of you at the docks. kunikuzushi's eyes grow wide in realization. he recollects himself and manages to escape the crowd. his hand reaches for your figure.

"excuse me?"

"huh?" you look up at the man before you who called. "o-oh, nevermind. i thought i saw someone." he stammered, rubbing his neck. you nod your head and enter the boat where you cross paths with your close friend, beidou.

you can see the visible frown on her lips. "you sure you wanna' leave, kid? i mean, it's great you want to continue traveling with the crux again like you used to, but-" you stop her short, "it's alright, beidou. but i appreciate your concern."

you sigh through your nose, giving inazuma a sorrow glance. you'll never forget the lovely puppet you met. the lovely, yet misunderstood puppet.

and that very puppet you were thinking of couldn't do it. he stayed behind a wall, akin to a coward. would things have ended differently if he learned to control his emotions? would you still be in the cottage embracing him in your arms?

he clutches the dendrobiums in his hands, his rigid nails digging into the stems as he thinks about all of these possibilities. kunikuzushi returns to the home he once shared with you with a heavy heart.

upon arrival, he drops the flowers. tears start pouring and in just a few moments, does he start crying like he did those countless nights and for more to come now that you've realized what he truly is.

nothing but a ghastly monster that takes your kindness for granted.

kunikuzushi cries and cries, his body failing him as he falls to his knees. the poor puppet's tears land onto the withering dendrobiums as night covers the whole of inazuma. "i didn't mean it, i didn't," he sobs, recalling the way you looked so harmed by his words.

"i didn't mean anything, i'm sorry," he apologizes to no one in particular, but the wind replies, for it tousles his hair and causes his face to dry, only for more tears to continue dripping. kunikuzushi supposes this is the way it was always going to be like. none of those betrayals were really his fault now, were they?

it's because he can't handle abandonment, and all he wants is to be loved. when he enters the empty bedroom and lays onto the futon, eyes sore from crying, he thinks about a specific time.

the time when you loved him, and always fought for his attention.

"kuni, look!" you presented him a dendrobium, "isn't it pretty? it's pretty just like you!" you happily chirped, walking by his side. kunikuzushi stayed silent as he looked around; anywhere but your gaze. you avoided a frown from placing itself on your lips.

"h-hey, what do you think of nature? it's fascinating, isn't it?" you asked, tilting your head as an attempt to view his expression. blank.

kunikuzushi hisses at the memory, resenting himself for constantly ignoring your obvious yet somewhat subtle acts of affection. fresh tears peek at the corner of his eyes.

"kuni, i bought you dango from the market! i don't know if you like it, but you can always try!"

"i don't."

you stammer, "h-huh?" kunikuzushi emphasizes, "i don't like desserts. they rot the teeth." he mumbled the end of the sentence and your shoulders sink, "oh, i see. well, that's perfectly reasonable!" you laugh it off with that signature smile of yours.

kunikuzushi closes his eyes. he'd do anything to go back to that moment. he would've told you that it was his favourite thing in the world to eat; dango. kunikuzushi wishes he didn't pretend he never saw the desserts that rotted in the trash that you bought or made just for him.

at that, he begins to wonder what your baking tasted like. you often did it for him...

"kuni? i only realized yesterday that, um, you never told me your birthday and i feel a bit bad for not noticing sooner. so i made you a cake to make up for all the ones i missed!" you said with a smile. all of the hope in your eyes dissipates when he looks at you in disgust.

kunikuzushi sighed, "eat it yourself. don't you ever listen to what i say? i hate sweets."

the next morning, a dark cloud hangs above the puppet's head. he believes he has no purpose without you. he tends to try and convince himself that he resents you, but can never bring himself to do it when he knows the truth he hides deep down.

when he joins the fatui and becomes scaramouche, there are only two reasons he continues to push on further. to steal the gnosis for a heart of his own so he may finally apply to love you again.

but what use is it when you've already moved on?

© scaralvr.

#farewell-love #[ myst publishes. ] #gender neutral reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #genshin imagines #genshin imagine #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfics #genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfictions #scaramouche #genshin fluff #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #genshin angst #scaramouche imagines

[veryfireenemy]

कोई नहीं कहता !

View On WordPress

#कविता #जिंदगी #Eternal Shine !! कोई नहीं कहता... कोईनहींकहता collab yqdidi YourQuoteAndMine Collaborating with YourQuote Didi Read my thoughts on @Your #life #Quote

[josephquinnswhore]

PEDRO PASCAL Masterlist

Fluff: ☁︎ Hurt/comfort: ❀ Angst: 𖤐 Requested: 𐦍 Smut: ☾

Pedro Pascal:

• cancel culture - people have a lot of nasty things to say regarding the age gap in your relationship. ❀

• relapse - you’re a recovering alcoholic, Pedro sends you spiralling and to your demise. 𖤐︎

• baby, baby! - you’re pregnant with twins and find out halfway through your pregnancy. ☁︎

• don’t listen - Twitter is a brutal place when you post about the lgbtqi community. ☁︎ ❀

• cause for celebration - Pedro’s first Oscar Award show was a success. 𐦍 ☁︎

• settling in - buying your dream home for your family before you give birth to your baby. ☁︎ 𐦍

• finding our way back - after being broken up for two years; you and Pedro rekindle your relationship. ☁︎ 𐦍

• breaking point - in the paparazzi’s frenzy, you’re hurt and Pedro looses his shit. ☁︎ 𐦍

• polaroid - Oscar and Charlie are checking out an intimate photo of you and Pedro gets jealous. ☁︎ ☾ 𐦍

• his girl - unknown feelings between you and Pedro is admitted after some sexual tension. 𐦍

• accidents happen - you’re badly hurt during a stunt in a scene with Pedro. ❀ ☁︎ 𐦍

• family funtime- you’re Pedro’s girlfriend and meet the cast of the last of us. ☁︎ 𐦍

• content - after a hard week you and Pedro have a lazy day. ☁︎ 𐦍

• i’ve got you - pedro takes care of you on your period. ☁︎ 𐦍

• his voice - Pedro is hurt on the set of tlou. ☁︎

• the actor and the artist - the paparazzi make you wonder if you’re good enough for Pedro as a young upcoming artist. ☁︎

• i’ll wait for love - you’re in a bad relationship when you meet Pedro properly. What happens when you’ve healed and are available? ❀ ☁︎ 𐦍 ☠︎︎

Joel Miller: (the last of us)

• all for love - you and Joel aren’t seeing eye to eye, when he opens up he shows you how much he loves you. ☾ ☁︎ ❀

• I’ll be there for you - you’ve become Joel’s soft spot, reminding him of Sarah. ☁︎ ❀

• girl dad - Joel comes to terms with his new reality, finding it hard to accept Ellie isn’t his only daughter. 𖤐

• vanilla - you use your safe word but Joel doesn’t hear. ☾ ☁︎ ❀ ☠︎︎

• bittersweet - part 2 to “vanilla.” ☁︎ ❀ 𐦍

• a mothers strength - you and Joel’s daughter aren’t where he left you, when he finds your house empty, he begins to panic. ☁︎ ❀ 𐦍

• all it takes - you’re attacked by a clicker and it forces Joel to admit his feelings for you. ❀

• her sanctuary - Joel notices you pulling away from him and works hard to fix it. ❀

• little mouse - a mysterious biker saves you when you’re in peril. (a collab with @katiexpunk) ☾

• red wine & reparation - you and Joel are coparenting, but still secretly love each other. ☾

Ellie Williams: (the last of us)

• can(t) do casual - you break the one rule of yours and Ellie’s arrangement; don’t get attached. ☁︎ ❀

Javier Peña: (narcos)

• saviour - you’re captured by Pablo Escobars men as a wager against Javier. ❀

• confessions - you’ve fallen for notorious womaniser Javier Peña, a bad date leads him to confess his true intentions. ☁︎ ❀

Frankie Morales: (triple frontier)

• baby blues - frankie realises just how much you’re struggling with your newborn baby and vows to be better. ❀

MULTI-PART SERIES FICS:

Din Djarin: (the mandalorian)

• walls come tumbling down - you and the infamous Mandalorian go through a series of events that either bring you closer or seperate you. (completed series) ☾ ☁︎ ❀

Oberyn Martell: (game of thrones)

• eternal destiny - reader meets a handsome man at the markets, her destiny set for her once she receives her mark. Join her as she finds her soulmate and they embark on their journey. (ongoing series) ☾ ☁︎ ❀

Dave York: (equaliser 2)

• thirteen days - everyday, you live a life of normalcy; children, a loving fiancé, and an incredible home. Nothing exciting ever happened; until you’re dragged into Dave’s personal business. You’re being held for ransom until Dave is held accountable for his actions; he has 13 days to save you. (Ongoing series.) ❀ 𖤐☁︎

CHARACTERS COMING SOON:

• Jack Daniels “Agent Whiskey” (Kingsmen: the golden circle)

• Javi Gutierrez (the unbearable weight of massive talent)

• Ezra (prospect)

divider was made by @saradika

header & warning made by @cool-iguana

#Pedro pascal #Masterlist #josephquinnswhore #din djarin #Javier Peña #joel miller #Oberyn Martell #Frankie morales #fic x reader #series x reader #din djarin series #Oberyn Martell series