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dropsofletters · 3 years

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though you weren’t mine [kmg]

—summary: new in town, with judgement following after every step she takes in life, the least she expects is to find a box filled with cd’s that reads ‘throw away’ written in messy handwriting on its cardboard surface. when looking at the videos, she realizes there is a highlight to her day—as if he was part of a sitcom, and his name is kim mingyu.

the downside? she doesn’t know where to find him. once existing in the same house as hers, no one knows where he went, but his smile remains petrified inside her head.

—title: though you weren’t mine —pairing: kim mingyu x reader —genre: photographer!au ; musical actress!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; videocamera!au —type: fluff ; angst ; suggestive ; romance ; drama ; humor ; slowburn —word count: 25,891 —warnings: mentions of alcohol, death (though briefly), and past relationships.

Three onions. One head of garlic. Lettuce, clinging to the space in between his teeth and still, her seat companion in the train doesn’t close his mouth for the slightest bit.

As far as she knows—and it has been two hours of conversing with this man, so she’s knowledgeable enough to speak—, he worked in refineries. A little bit over seventy, with a white chemise cladding his body, tucked inside a pair of beige pants. The rounded glasses on the bridge of his nose keep falling, but he keeps playing with them as he speaks about the most miniscule of matters. For one, in 1997, his wife left him for his best friend, and secondly, his youngest is starting to look more like his (please, say ex) best friend with the passage of time.

Now, she is not a DNA expert, neither is she a fortune teller to be able to foresee the future when she got in this train, against her will, only to fulfill her biggest dream.

The city awaits her entrance, and when she gets there, she hopes to take a big bite of the world, mix dance and singing, along with acting, in order to further emphasize her spot in the industry. Break the malicious curse that follows everyone in her blood, only destroying their careers under the weight of their actions.

“And, you know what she did?” Licking the mayonnaise off his thumb after taking a big bite of his sandwich, the older male continues with his story as she lulls her head against the window. For one second, her eyes divert towards the pink clouds accompanied by lilac skies. Trees swing with the harsh wind, three days-worth of spending her time with Jinho over here sounding like the worst of experiences. “My daughter told me she doesn’t want to college after all. Can you imagine that? I paid for her education in four different majors, and she dropped out of all of them…because she wants to be, and hear me out,” As if she hasn’t been doing that for the entirety of the train ride. “A YouTuber.”

“Oh no.” Acting is her forte. Fake crying without a single droplet of water thrown at her face. Elongating words. Dramatics. All of the like—it’s what theater means, but at this point, her tiredness trails after her sentence. “Yeah, all that money…gone to waste…sir, that’s terrible.”

Just as terrible as the way he is eating this sandwich.

Smacking his lips once again, the man shakes his head. “What was your name again?” He asks, for the umpteenth time, and she lets her lips wrap around her name. She may change at this point, something easier, just so this man stops talking about himself and starts to be a proper companion instead. “Yeah, always be sure of what you’re going to do. There are millions of people you can disappoint, and they will tell you they will support you through everything and anything, but it’s a lie.”

“Ah-ha.” She drags, trying her hardest not to scrunch up her face. Instead, she rummages through the pocket of her black coat, looking for the perfect distraction that is her phone. “I think someone is calling me, Mr. Jinho, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Yes, yes!” The old man speaks quickly, taking the last bite of his sandwich only to speak with his mouth full after. “I hope it’s good news!”

After moving his legs from the side, she makes a bee-line towards the bathroom. Brown leather seats on each side of her, with people talking normally, softly, and yet, seemingly happier than her with her train ride. Her friends insisted on this—something of the like of ‘humbleness’ in their whole speech when giving her the train tickets that would take her to her newest pursue in life. Away from her well-known family, and the judgement that weights her down even when she opens the door to the bathroom and closes it behind her.

An unpleasant whiff of air has her sighing deeply. Great. The white tiled walls and sunflowers decorations do nothing to make her feel less like an outcast in this train. Though, she needs to sit down and look through her phone for a while, perhaps pee before getting out of there, and hoping that Jinho’s sandwich did its job in getting him to sleep. Her feet steps forward, putting down the toilet seat in hopes of not even seeing anything inside to compare to the smell in here, before taking a seat on top of the toilet.

Fuck my life, she thinks.

One day you’re at the top of the world, the next, you’re seated on top of a toilet with suspicious contents. Life, some call it.

As if the afternoon couldn’t get any worse, she unlocks her phone, a series of messages from her best friend appearing on the screen. God, she misses her. Leaving her best friend behind while having a medical emergency is one of the choices, she thinks she will never forgive herself for making. What kind of friend does that? She has no idea. Yet, Miyoung practically shouted at her to go follow that dream. The musical’s rehearsals started this month, and she couldn’t miss the opportunity of finally reaching proper stardom. Not word from mouth, but with actions instead.

Earlier, she had asked:

To: Miyoung.

How’s your foot doing?

Though, probably napping, it took Miyoung four hours to answer.

From: Miyoung.

Still connected to my leg, so far, so good.

But…haven’t you seen the news?

News? No. Well, if she’s not counting Jinho’s romantic history—and family timeline, at that—since 1991.

If the child isn’t really his…why would he be telling some stranger in the train?

To: Miyoung.

I was supposed to know any news?

From: Miyoung.

OMG.

Enter my account. Check your ex’s Instagram.

And tell me where we’re hiding the body.

Miyoung, God bless her, is the purest figure skater she knows. The woman follows everyone in social media without caring if they stepped on her heart with all her might, or did something to her friends. Her ex-boyfriend, a very famous comedian, is not the exception. While she had hit headlines for unfollowing him on social media—and vice-versa—, Miyoung does wonders on keeping her updated. Two weeks it has been since their break up, and she has never been readier to move on.

Though, upon opening his social media, she’s welcomed by the usual—parted black hair, curved eyebrows, downturned and bored eyes, with slim lips and a tall frame that bends against its will forward, his stance normally accompanied by baggy, stylish clothes that more often than not rake the smell of alcohol and weed. On this occasion, however, someone else clings by his side and the man does not have the utmost decency to make the picture a little bit less like it belongs to some raunchy college student’s Instagram profile.

His big hand, that linked with hers, and touched her skin in promises of forever, splays on top of the woman’s butt. Gorgeous in more ways than one, with long curled hair and a smile on her lips as he kisses her cheek. The worst part? That she dated someone who captioned this picture, with God-knows-what-kind-of-model, in the worst of ways.

Her stomach churns when she reads: “Here with the main bitch.”

Ugh. Delete all the kisses. Erase all the memories of ever sleeping with him. Create a time-machine so she can slap herself across the face and tell herself ‘he’s not even that funny, wake the hell up’.

To: Miyoung.

Ew.

From: Miyoung.

You don’t care?

To: Miyoung.

Of course, I care.

I kissed that.

I made out with that.

I let that fuck me.

From: Miyoung.

Sid-looking ass.

Fuck him.

All those times Miyoung told her not to date him, and there she was, making a fool of herself.

To: Miyoung.

We don’t judge people by their appearance here.

But he’s trash.

From: Miyoung.

Two weeks, girl.

It took him two effing weeks to get over you.

It shouldn’t hurt, right? Though, her heart contracts a little at the touch of disappointment. Never had she trusted someone as much as she did with her ex, and there she is. Forgotten. Mocked. Poked fun at.

The second bitch.

The ‘no-one-cares’ bitch.

Fuck.

To: Miyoung.

I’ll get over him too, just watch.

From: Miyoung.

Oh, babe, I know.

And you’re on your way to it.

With certainty, even in this goddamned train, with a smelly bathroom and a talkative seat companion, she can do it. Reach her dream. Get a name. Never need a man ever again.

Everything is going to be fine. It always is for her, and this won’t be the exception.

###

Everything is not fine.

Brick walls clad the building in front of her. Tall enough for it to even be considered a skyscraper, creating shadows across her body. The world is much bigger than hers, and yet, sometimes she thinks she is the center of it all. A white screen with black lines showcases the name of one of the newest musicals to be performed tonight at nine, but she can only imagine how her debut in the musical world will look like on her first night. Twinkling lights from the night falling in love with the title of her play—When The Kids Fall Asleep.

When she read the script, she was actually aiming to find some small spot in a TV series, waving in the back or saying three lines. Instead, she came across this piece of magic because of her manager, whom was once her mother’s manager. The story read almost like a book, the demos filling her ears when she asked for a demonstration for her audition, the story of four families that conjoined when trying to reach their dreams without telling the children about the hardships of the real world. For them, everything must be perfect.

Her character, she had fallen in love with. Poor yet leader-like through everything, trying to raise a three-year-old without making her miss a single meal. When she falls asleep, she has to live off earning money by selling meals and, continuously, finding it harder to feed her little family and working as a stripper.

Doing justice to such a role may erase the mistakes lingering in her past.

With a push of the door, the cold metal handle meeting her fingertips, a new world is introduced to her. Rows and rows of burgundy seats, all staring towards the not-so-empty stage. People scatter around, some extending their limbs, others taking sips of water, but the swish of the door closing behind her catches some people’s attention.

The director is someone she knows. The strands of her bleached blonde hair are pushed behind her ears, tightened by a hair-tie to keep it in place. A tall nose, plush lips, and a set of thick glasses meet her enigmatic, yet serious face. A black turtleneck covers most of her body, long limbs and stylized slender body making her look more like a model than a director. Practically glued to her chest is the printed version of the script, and the closer she gets, the more the golden lights scatter across Kaleigh’s body.

“Look at that, if that isn’t our fashionably late rock-star.” The chuckle that rips through Kaleigh’s lips fakes every single emotion that could be mustered in this situation. A sharp breath in makes her curse herself internally. Well, she’s definitely not used to having to take the subway…and definitely not use to people not waking her up. Her manager is there for that, but now he’s too far away from her to actually work as a babysitter, as well.

“Sorry,” She breathes out, hands threading with the straps of her hoodie before smiling softly. “I…I didn’t know how to catch the subway.”

“Are you kidding me?” Kaleigh asks, mocking tone in her voice ever-present, clapping her hands together as if watching the most ridiculous of comedies. “Your family isn’t famous enough for you to act as if you’re out and about in limousines.”

Truthfully, yes. A family of rock-stars, like her mother, that happened to leave the band in search of a better chance, only for her first solo album to fail in the charts. Of models that never went past the runways. Of singers that remained as one-hit-wonders and producers that never got to have names remembered in the world of music. It’s always a peak and then a downfall for her family’s curse.

…But, she does have enough money not to worry for the rest of her life, so there is something good about being criticized throughout her entire life for the family she grew up in. “Well…no, but I’m used to people driving me around. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Upon sparing one glance towards the stage, Kaleigh must understand that she wants this conversation to be over. “Whatever,” She instructs, deep voice lingering with tiredness. “This is your team. You can get to know them as you practice. This is the first time the entire cast is together.”

Her eyes scan towards the groups of people, all of which she had studied from the printed version of the script she read when Jinho had finally fallen asleep on the train. Thank God, she almost thought that man was going to get off the train with her and follow her around. One of the male leads, she recognizes as Jaehyo, tall and over his thirties, short brown hair accompanying widened eyes, almost deep-looking. A vibrato to die for, as she saw per his audition.

“You’re Jaehyo, right?”

The man looks up from his script, a crooked smile appearing on his features that perhaps, gives him the attractiveness of that one friend’s young dad that she would look at when she was a child, unaware of why her cheeks would heat up at the mere sight of him. “You know me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Going up the set of stairs, she looks around the room once again. Small woman, black short hair, a rounded face with speckles of brown across her cheeks, matching her orange blush. The best dancer of the team, definitely. “And that’s Sue. She plays Joah’s character.” Of course, how could she not? Joah is one of the background characters, but thrilling in its own way. The owner of the strip-club, and the one that takes care of the children in the house of the four families, trying to paint a perfect picture of broken shreds. “And you are—”

Upon pointing at the woman seated by the edge of stage, the light wood carving against her uncovered, toned thighs, she hears Hyun’s sharp tone. The main star, the oldest child—twenty-one, that figures out that her mother is a stripper and goes on a rampant of wanting to take over the same steps. She’s a triple threat, that’s for sure—singing like a goddess, dancing like she belongs to the stage, and acting like she lived through the same experience.

“Are you over with your little Wikipedia search revising speech?” Hyun says, moving her long brown hair away from her shoulders to look at her with sharp almond eyes, her plush lips pursed, though still beautiful with the blaring anger inside her casting over her features. “You’re late. We don’t have time for you to play the fangirl character.”

Hyun stands up at the same moment that she shares her anger with everyone else in the stage. Jaehyo, on one hand, is the one to speak up first. “Hey, we weren’t even waiting for that long—”

“So, just because she has money, we have to excuse her diva behavior?” Running her hands over her gray shorts, Hyun gets in position, staring at Kaleigh.

“Look who’s talking.” She spits out, looking up and down at the woman that she had once thought was the best addition to the team, now seems to be up and against her, ready to blare Achilles’ cholera all the way towards her. “The only one making a fuss over me being twenty minutes late here is you—”

“Because my time is valuable, unlike what you think.” Hyun responds just as she gets close, sparing one glance towards Kaleigh. “Right? I’m the main lead. If I can get here early, so can you.”

“Shit, sorry.” She whispers, a frown appearing on her features. “I’ll make sure to get here two hours earlier because your character is so much more important than mine.”

“Well,” Kaleigh interrupts at that moment, hooking her fingers around one of her dangling diamond earrings. “It’s not wrong. Hyun is our star. If she gets here on time, so can you.”

Lowering her head just at the same time that a smile appears on Hyun’s face, she sighs. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m sorry.”

Her dream scatters right in front of her, both from her wrongdoings and for the way that Kaleigh looks at her up and down, before nodding. “Doesn’t matter. We can work on various things as you’re here. You have a lot to improve.” Kaleigh answers, a smile reaching her cheekbones. “For now, just stand in the back and watch the professionals do so.” Her hand extends towards Hyun, exclaiming her utmost ambition and hope for her presence in this play.

“For every scene?”

“Yes. You can dance in the back.” Kaleigh finalizes with a tilt of her head. “Ah…does that bother you?”

“Well, if I’m in the back for every scene, I won’t be able to deliver my lines properly—”

“Honey, here’s how this works—” Kaleigh starts, extending one leg in front of her before playing with the edge of her script. Never does she break eye-contact, even when she is stepping on her heart. “You are new, but you aren’t new to the public. You’ve dated a few good names, appeared on magazines since you were a child…and you’re kind of good, but we’re aiming for publicity here. If you’re here with us, we make this play more profitable and, hence, we can continue displaying it for however long they let us. And, with the passage of time, you can step forward and be looked at more…but you’re not as good as the rest, as easy as that.”

Then, why did she get accepted? Once again, the light of her family’s curse casts down on her, creates shadows on the kind of person she can be. Just when her lips are about to part, trying to shelter her pride with the utmost knowledge of how this industry works, Kaleigh claps her hands together.

“In your spots. First scene. The kids are waiting behind the stage, I need you to deliver those lines as if you’re in the verge of hunger. And you better be, we’ll be here the entire day.”

It’s not like how she imagined it to be. So far in the stage that she can’t even see the seats, the light casting down on Hyun even when she is not in the scene. Her voice dulls, every line coming out of her lips with less enthusiasm as the practice passes by. Just a publicity stunt, that’s why she was accepted. Tears weld up in her vision, and they are not exactly her character’s…but now she is here, and she has to make do with her dream.

###

There’s one point of a person’s lives where they can no longer see their friends as much as they hope to. Life gets busy, some create families, others hunt for their biggest professional goals, and then, she’s left in solitude, carrying the boxes that were left outside of her new house by the moving truck. Spacious, perfect for two to three people, and yet only there for her to live in. Somewhere in a suburbs-like spot, with plenty of families staring at her as a groan leaves her lips upon the lumbar ache on her back. Whatever. If normal people can do it, so can she.

The trees on her front yard move with the wind, same as her hair, trying her best to go up the set of white stairs that lead to her gray doorstep, the ‘welcome’ rug in front making her feel less like this is her home. Her friends and family are not here, and the friends that she has here are too busy with their own lives to help her unpack as much as possible. Along with that, she has to go over her lines and avoid delivery in order to use the kitchen as much as possible.

When she drops the last box on the living room, the gray tiles and the white doors giving an elegant vibe in contrast to the cardboard, her hands rest on her waist. The only thing she has managed to do after getting home from practice three days ago was construct some shelves for her TV, and put a bed in the bedroom to sleep in, but other than that, the house is empty. The couch welcomes her weight when she throws herself over it.

Okay. It could be worse. She has a ceiling over her head.

…And a mattress, a kitchen, a TV and a shelf.

But she has worn the same clothes at home for the past four days.

Lifting the white sweater up to her nose, she sniffles deeply. Clean, apparently, but that’s something she has to deal with as well—laundry as soon as possible, because of her amount of outfit changes during practice. Her eyes close tightly, as if she would be able to ease the headache appearing inside her head in the matter of seconds, but when she opens them again, she’s welcomed by the same white shelf she constructed, and the little wood shelf by its side that came with the house.

Though, it’s more like a cabinet, there’s a door to it, and it’s not locked, swinging back and forth with a squeak. Maybe, she should get rid of that before actually starting. Standing up again, each muscle hurting from endless hours of practicing and now for carrying around seven boxes inside her house, her slippers clank against the flooring until she kneels in front of the cabinet, opening the door and sighing out of glee of not having to hear the movement of the wind against it.

A box is inside, the words ‘throw away’ written in capitals and blue marker ink. Better follow what the owners wanted, it could be some haunted doll that she has to get out before it eats her alive at night. Though, just as she lifts the box in between her hands, ready to throw it away or recycle it, the bottom portion opens, letting a bunch of CD’s fall on her feet.

Ouch, but also, huh?

Is this the old owner’s porn stack?

She should just throw them away, but when her fingers wrap around the CD’s, she reads the titles written in the same blue ink. Anniversary. Date. Bed. New York.

Ooh, bed sounds kinky…

Is it an amateur sex tape?

Better check it before she throws it away and people look through it, right?

Thankfully, numbers are scattered across the CD’s, small enough for her to almost ignore them, but upon grabbing her laptop from the coffee table, she slides the CD in. All in order, she starts with number one.

Maybe, a sex tape would be better…it wouldn’t have captured her heart quite like this.

###

01: NEW YORK.

“Ah, Kim Mingyu, don’t leave me behind like that!”

Groups of people scatter in front of the recorder. Tall buildings, in colors from grays, blacks, whites to browns, read out the typicality of New York, as per the title. Bustling, with barely any space from one person to the other, like lovers marching on their way to success. The person with the camera lets it shake a few times with her steps, the tone sweet and melodious as she calls out the same name again. Kim Mingyu. Kim Mingyu. Babe.

Definitely her boyfriend.

Upon reaching a wide back with a navy-blue thick coat thrown over it, the person with the camera expands her free hand on his back, sharp breaths leaving her lips, trying to regain her composure. She moves over to the side, finally showing the face of the culprit of her distress. A car passes by so fast that it swooshes his hair, the brown strands moving away to showcase his gorgeous golden skin. Not only is that gorgeous about him, but the fold of his romantic eyes, one squinted as he holds a camera up his face, taking a few pictures of the Times Square, accompanied by his defined nostrils, straight nose and dried, thin lips that he licks in the matter of seconds before looking over towards his girlfriend.

God has favorites.

“Log number one of the lives of Mingyu and Yoona. We are out here in New York to celebrate our second anniversary, isn’t that right, Mingyu?” Her voice is dulcet enough to compete against popsicles and candy. Mingyu seems to sense that, a twinkle in his eyes when looking down at the person recording him.

But he’s a camera person, she can tell that much. When he turns towards the camera, he extends his arms as wide as possible. “We’re here to celebrate two years of me standing Yoona and not dying in the process.”

Yoona slaps him in the arm for that comment, laughter ripping from his lips. “No, say why we’re really here.”

Mingyu looks around for a second, grabbing her hand before dragging her along through the busy streets. “I’ve always wanted to come to New York, so I thought that coming with you would be the best way to experience it.”

“And why are we recording us?”

“…Because I plan to audition for Hollywood so we can be like Brad and Angelina.”

“…They divorced, Mingyu.”

“They didn’t.” Mingyu replies, though he is clearly in the wrong. “Why would they—?”

“Because people get divorced, Mingyu.” Yoona reasons, far more knowledgeable than her boyfriend. “But be honest, why are we recording ourselves?”

At last, he looks away, the timer of the video growing smaller and smaller as he stares ahead. Slowly, a smile takes over his features, filling his cheeks when he says: “This is log one of the videos we’re going to show our children once we become a family in the far future.”

“Or not so far.”

Staring into the camera, Mingyu shrugs. “You never know.”

And that’s how it ends. With that precious smile of his giving hope to those who don’t believe in love, for it’s clear that he’s in love with whoever is recording him.

###

02: BED.

The door of what is now her bedroom opens up in the video, the same recorder not knowing how to keep the camera upright as she moves toward the spacious bed. Her knees hit the bed, stealing a huff away from the man thrown on the bed as his hands come forward just as his body does, grabbing the culprit that interrupted his sleep by jumping on him.

“Morning, morning, birthday boy!” His face is much more swollen than in the last video, his dark hair tousled everywhere as his eyes squint, try to look at the camera before closing entirely, throwing himself back in the mattress with a sigh.

“I’ll go back to sleep.”

But, Yoona keeps pushing, resting her weight on top of Mingyu, showcasing the pictures of them splayed on their respective bedside tables, before patting her hand against his cheek. “Wake up, it’s April 6th.”

“I know that day it is…” His voice drags, pressing his cheek to the white, comfortable pillow that seems to include a dampened spot created by him.

“Okay, kids. You may watch this ten years from now or something, let’s hope your dad isn’t as grumpy in the mornings as he is right now.” Yoona instructs, jumping a bit on his abdomen only to watch him not relenting at all. “Your dad was born on April 6th, 1997—” Oh, same year that Jinho was left by his wife. What a coincidence. “Shall we sing happy birthday for him?”

The video ends with a smile appearing on Mingyu’s face the more the song goes on in that lulling voice, reaching upwards to steal a kiss from her only for the camera to cut short.

The guy’s charming, she’ll give him that.

###

07: DRUNK.

Mingyu’s flushed face seems a bit older, his hair pushed away from his face as he rests his forehead against the refrigerator. It’s not the same one in her kitchen right now, but the division is the same, so it’s technically still in this house. Only when Yoona comes close to him, stumbling a bit on her steps, does he look up, waving his hand at the camera, the sleeve of his white and red sweater coming down his hand.

“Min…gyu…” Yoona has trouble forming coherent sentences, though Mingyu’s smile is ever-present. Happiness bleeds through him when being with her. “Mingyu, dance for the camera. Make that money worth, baby.”

The man chuckles, lifting his hands in the air and swinging his hips from side to side comically, earning a few whistles, howls and cheers from some people, perhaps equally as drunken as him, only to end up getting close to the camera and saying, with his handsome features pressed up close to the device:

“I wanna throw up.”

This video definitely has a smile plastering on her face. Funny.

###

10: ANNIVERSARY.

“Kim Mingyu, welcome to our log. We haven’t talked here for a while.”

Mingyu looks away from the scenery outside of the car, perhaps a taxi given by the position, moving the hood of his black sweater away from his head and fixing the sunglasses on his face to rest just at the tip of his nose to look at the camera. “You’re recording again?” Mingyu asks, though he is already waving at the camera and by the lack of response, she must have nodded at him.

“It’s October 13th, that means we have been together for three years.” Yoona starts, just at the same time that Mingyu grabs her hand, brings it up to his lips and presses a petal of a kiss to her knuckles. God, she should really stop watching this if she doesn’t want to feel lonelier. Why does she always pick the bad ones? Yoona has good tastes! “What are your thoughts on love, Mr. Kim?”

Mingyu leans his head back, though he looks at her from the corner of his eyes. “Stop calling me Mr. Kim.”

“Okay, go on Kim Mingyu.”

“It’s alright to just call me Mingyu.”

“I’m the one with the camera, shut it.”

Though, the man in question tries to find the right words, a goofy smile appearing on his features before extending his hands, as if further help himself explain. “Love is comfort? It’s what you expect, really. Ah…everyone thinks, at least once in their lives, that they are going to find someone and then, you just do.”

“Mingyu,” Yoona threatens, somewhat of a hiss to her tone. “What a bad answer.”

“It’s an answer!” He replies, widening his eyes and lifting his tone comically.

“And how did you know it was me?”

Mingyu pauses for a second, his lips joining together to give a tight-lipped smile before shrugging. “I just knew.”

###

13: RING.

“It’s recording.” A joyful voice, though belonging to a man, speaks from behind the camera before Mingyu lowers his weight to stand in front of the camera, taking off his black hoodie to wave.

“Hi,” Mingyu instructs, though the busy exterior must be getting him nervous, looking around before smiling sweetly. For one second, he looks like the modern version of a Prince. “I’m here today to buy Yoona an engagement ring. Seungkwan is recording me…and…yeah, I’ll just show you the process of me finding the perfect ring.”

Though, the man recording is more given to being on camera, turning it around and moving to Mingyu’s side so they are both in camera. His bright red hair and innocent features match his overexcited nature. “Welcome everyone. I’m here because my ring size is the same as Yoona’s. Mingyu and Yoona—”

Mingyu chuckles, hiding his hands behind his back before shaking his head. “This is not a broadcast, dude.”

“What do you know, Mingyu?”

The rest of the video displays memories of Seungkwan speaking into the camera and recording Mingyu as he picks the perfect ring. Rose gold with five diamonds, one that says costs him more than he even has and made him ask for money from all his group of friends.

Love has a meaning then.

###

14: I SAID YES.

This video is much shorter, though she can already recognize Seungkwan’s lively voice as he records the lovely couple. Yoona, with her bangs falling across her forehead, thin lips and big eyes stares up at Mingyu when she hugs him, his knees dusted because of his kneeling position in front of her. The ring dazzles against the light of the salon they all find themselves in—perhaps, some event, with pink balloons and golden decorations.

Mingyu, as happy as ever, wraps his arms around her waist, lowering his lips until they connect with hers. Not missing a bit, a smile appears over his features, as per usual with Yoona, but the woman only displays her ring to the camera.

“It’s finally happening!”

###

31: DELETE.

Yoona spends two good minutes talking about the wedding, the decorations, the elegance of her designer dress that she paid too much for. Definitely not in their ordinary room, the city twinkles darkly on the opened, spacious windows of the hotel they are staying in, the beige desk and the champagne curtains matching. Her hair is shorter, her voice different, fixing her eyelashes and her bangs as much as possible whenever she speaks.

Mingyu lowers his weight beside her, resting his cheek on her shoulder just as she is speaking, but she cuts herself off to look over her shoulder. “Mingyu…” Her voice lowers, taking his face in between her slim hands to look at his features. Ready for bed, he seems to be, dark bags surrounding his eyes and the figure of a shadow around his lips making Yoona shake her head. “You haven’t shaved and the wedding is tomorrow. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

For someone’s whose language had been lively and lovely throughout the recordings, this surprises her. What happened to Yoona? Mingyu stares up at her, pushing his hair away from his face. “I’ll shave tomorrow,” His smile falls then, frowning up at her. “If I shave now, it’s not going to be perfect tomorrow.”

“You look disgusting with that rat on your face.”

“It isn’t even noticeable, come on.”

“Of course, it is!” Yoona complains, huffing when she leans back on her seat, bringing her knees up her chest as she has a stare-off with Mingyu. Before he could say anything, she interrupts him. “I don’t even know how I’m going to kiss you tomorrow with that thing—”

Mingyu stands up then, pointing at the camera as he snaps, getting away from the main screen. “It’s not like you do anything remotely nice anymore unless you’re recording us.”

Yoona looks over her shoulder, talking to Mingyu. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The only moment you’re truly happy with me is when you’re talking to these nonexistent children of ours—”

“You said you wanted children, Mingyu.”

“…I do, but it’s—it’s not—to have children, you have to do more than just record the good parts of your relationship to show them just how perfect their parents were.”

Yoona scoffs, rolling her eyes while looking at the camera. “Well, I thought I had a perfect boyfriend, you see, but the more comfortable you get, the stupider you become.”

Mingyu stops on his tracks, moving over to the camera before placing one hand over it. Though, by the ministrations and the movement, Yoona seems to flick it off. “Turn that shit off.” He threatens, voice levelled, only to have her shaking her head. “Yoona, I said to turn that shit off. I’ve recorded every time you wanted, but it’s enough. We already—”

“Did I ask for your opinion, Mingyu?”

“I—”

“I didn’t ask, so keep it to yourself, okay?” The man actually listens, biting down on his bottom lip before rushing his hands through his hair a few times, grasping at his scalp one last time before moving over to the mattress. Yoona checks if he is around one more time before leaning her weight forward, resting her elbow on her desk. “Like I said, my dress is by Belle Epoque—”

Though, she can’t bring herself to watch any more of the last log, meant to be deleted.

###

In the middle of the night, lacking sleep yet raging insomnia like it is her job to blare thoughts inside her head as per musical notes, she figured out something. Nonsense is timeless, and staying in the far back of the stage, along with her companions, only to make Hyun shine the harshest is not what she imagined when moving out here. It’s not what she desired, and it’s not going to happen.

The instrumental of Jaehyo’s first solo runs through the empty stage, three hours earlier than Hyun could ever get to the practice room. The man gives a few steps forward, extending his arms on each side of his body as if to ask for instructions.

When calling her name, he adds: “I don’t know why we’re here.”

Though she pauses the instrumental, there is certainty in her voice, pushing her messy hair back, trying to unglue her eyelids that remain touched to the other because of her lack of sleep. One sip of caffeine should be enough for now. “It’s not fair that we’re getting pushed to the back when we have solos. Hyun shouldn’t be the main dancer of your solo.” She instructs, staring at Jaehyo’s surprised expression. “So, we’re preparing something else to show to Kaleigh.”

Jaehyo chuckles at her words, rubbing his hands against his face. “I don’t think she’s going to accept it.” He tells, letting go of his cheeks to add. “Hyun is, also, too much of a strict main for me to go against her just like that—”

“You’re thirty-five Jaehyo, grow up.” Her words come out harshly, days of standing Hyun’s verbal stabs catching up on her. Take for example Kim Mingyu, the God made Prince in the videos she watched. Gorgeous, elegant, somehow sweet, and yet, following through with a marriage that probably made him unhappy in the long run. She doesn’t have the time to lose the opportunity of shining. “…You’re excellent with choreography, and I can help with some of the vocals—”

“I think she’s right.” Sue says after slipping out from the back of the stage, the red curtains dragging over her body, much more energized than anyone in this room. “Hyun is the most talented of our team, but we are not Hyun and her little group of backup dancers. We are also characters.”

Nodding, she agrees. “Exactly.”

Jaehyo looks back towards Sue, then up again at one of the youngest of the team before rolling his finger in the air. “Okay, start the instrumental again. I think I can make up some new moves.”

Jaehyo’s body moves with precision, professionalism at its finest as he makes every step count into the road of heartbreak that his character finds himself to be in, driven by addiction, stopped by his reality. One arm forward, fingers curling with each word he says, notes hit at the same time that his lines are delivered. The talent in the room palpitates with what Kaleigh can’t see, a trio of people who would love to work with Hyun but end up down-casted by the light of her endless talents.

Hours pass by, and she is reminded why she started liking musicals on the first place. Seated on her grandmother’s lap, on the first row of Broadway musicals, staring at the dancers and the actors, the way a story could come to life with the three best versions of art. A nod of her head, a hum of her voice, a vibrato or two, a falsetto when she’s feeling brave…it all comes together with a version of When The Kids Go To Sleep that the world deserves to see.

Though, the middle of the morning hits with the entrance of another person. The doors open, closing harshly behind the culprit, interrupting the line that she is breathing into the air continued by elongated, quickened steps. When she stares ahead, past the rows of empty seats, she sees Hyun’s small face, her typical sport-like outfit cladding her immaculate body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, newbie?” Hyun asks, not even conscious of her steps as she goes up the set of stairs and stands in front of her. The music comes to a halt thanks to Jaehyo, whom rushes down the stage with a jump and pauses the Bluetooth speakers, but she isn’t back down. Not with this bitch.

“Practicing, babe. What do you think I’m doing?”

“Ruining the musical, for example.” Her reply has her balling her fists. Not that she has ever been part of a physical fight—oh, but she has been close, and she thinks that if she can land a fake punch for a scene, a real one shouldn’t be that difficult. “…This part of the stage…” Hyun steps forward, tapping her shoes against the spot she was in, jutting her chest outwards to bring her back. “This is mine, and you have to earn this spot—”

“Stop it with the dramatics, God. We’re not in High School Musical, stop acting like a child.” She groans out, throwing her head back at Hyun’s antics.

“You say that because you’re just used to things going your way. So, the pretty little princess can’t get used to being shadowed for once.”

Sue takes this moment to step forward, placing her hands on both of their chests. “Hey, let’s stop this—”

“Fucking whatever celebrity passes by you didn’t work for you, and that’s your fault. Now, this is my dream, and you don’t get to ruin it because you feel like the attention is not on you for once.” Hyun continues speaking, lifting her voice with each moment that passes. Pushing Sue to the side, she gets closer to her, breaths mingling with the nonsense she is speaking into the air. What does she know about her past what the media says? Judgmental bitch.

“You don’t know me. Stop talking as if you do, bitch.”

“Oh, baby, a bitch?” Hyun asks, placing one hand on top of her chest before chuckling. “Ouch. What level of bitch? The usual, level one bitch or level ten, horny bitch like yourself?”

“Regret that.” She pushes, wrapping her fingers around Hyun’s shirt to bring her closer, only to watch the woman chuckle.

“What? You’re going to kiss me like you do with every little celebrity friend of yours?”

Fire bursts within her vision, not counting her breaths when her free hand comes forward and slaps the woman across from her straight on the cheek. Two steps back make her realize exactly what she did, Hyun’s smile faltering with the gasp that leaves her lips. Her chest heaves up and down, hand tingling and burning under the weight of her ministrations…but fuck, it felt good to shut her up for once.

The media has portrayed every mistake, blown it out of proportion, and made a mess out of her life. She was never judged as a normal person, but as the daughter of celebrities instead. It’s not fair for whatever the media portrayed to continue to follow her even when she’s trying to earn a name for yourself.

Sue exclaims at that moment. “Stop it, you two!” Resting one hand on Hyun’s shoulder, she helps her up only to have Hyun walking forward, ready to retreat the precious gift of pain. “Hey, no! Stop it!” Sue tugs Hyun by her small waist, trying to keep her in place.

“Who’s the bitch now?”

“I’m going to fucking kill you—”

“Stop it!” Jaehyo screams from his spot, coming towards the stage again. For someone who avoids arguments, he seems to be angered. “Let’s just…let’s just wait for Kaleigh to get here, practice, and forget this ever happened, okay? We’re a team, we’re not here to harass each other.”

Though, not a single word comes out of her lips, but a glare from Sue tells her that she needs to speak up. “Okay, I won’t do it again.”

Yet, when she turns around, tears weld up in her vision. A broken dream, her pride shattered, and a past that will follow her whether it is true or not…that’s what her life will always consist of, no matter where she runs up to.

###

First month in the new city, and the only thing that keeps her sane is the box filled with CD’s that she keeps inside her shelf, watching Mingyu’s face and smile whenever she needs to remind herself that there are good people in this world.

Sure, flowers don’t bloom in everyone, and what is shown on the recordings could be a bettered version of Mingyu. She knows what it is like to be portrayed as someone else in front of the cameras, after all. Yet, the rosiness of his tanned cheeks and the smile on his features speaks about something inexplicably thrilling. It makes her care about what happened after. Why would they leave all those CD’s behind, and had their marriage work?

Out of her thirteen neighbors, twelve don’t know a thing about him.

It’s a cycle, with the harsh sun confusing the endless wind falling on her back. One door opens, they welcome her into the neighborhood, ask her how she’s doing and they answer her questions.

Do you know who Kim Mingyu is? Yes, of course, he lived where you live right now.

Do you know what he does? No idea.

Do you know what happened to him, per chance? He left one day without saying a thing.

At this point, she may believe that Kim Mingyu was a ghost, and that was the reason why no one ever saw him leaving, or knew why he left. Confusion takes over her—for once, she doesn’t know why she is looking for the man that has brought her comfort for the past month, because nothing would come out of it. It’s not like she’s a fan of him, and will eventually end up meeting him and say: ‘Hey, watching your videos before your relationship fell apart made me feel better because you have such a welcoming, goofy personality’. Yet, there she is, standing in front of the final house of the block, ringing the doorbell on the pristine white walls.

A cat purrs once the doors open, escaping the confines of the home to twirl around her legs. The old woman in front of her, however, does not seem to mind her pet being so sweet, tugging at the edge of her long flowery dress, hunched over as she barely walks, a gray braid falling on her shoulder. A dulcet face, though much older than ninety, accompanies the lonesome woman who smiles at her presence.

“Oh, you’re the pretty girl that just moved in here, right?”

Well, that’s something new. She hasn’t heard much compliments ever since she got here—burn after hit, hit after burn, all coming from her endless hours of preparing for the first night of her musical, and the ones to come. “Depends on who you ask.” She jokes around, extending her hand to greet the woman in front of her. She outs her name into the comfortable atmosphere around them. “Yes, I’m the new neighbor. Nice to meet you…you have such a pretty home.”

“The smallest of the block, but the sturdiest.” The old woman gets out, able to capture anyone with her words. She leans her weight against the doorframe, a tired sigh leaving her lips. “Hye-Eun, that’s my name…and that’s my cat Rose.”

Kneeling down to scratch Rose right on her neck, she hums. “She’s so pretty.” The orange-furred cat seems to understand her, pressing her cheek against her knee before she looks away from her. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Hye-Eun, but I have some questions about the previous owners of my house that no one has been able to answer me—”

“You’re not interrupting a thing. I was just watching TV.” Hye-Eun admits.

“I’m glad.” It’s all she seems to be doing these days, too. Not going out. Definitely not spending her time inspecting the city. Instead, she’s either practicing or tiredly lounging around the house. “…Do you happen to know what happened to Kim Mingyu, the owner of the house?”

Hye-Eun stops for a moment, bringing her hands up her nose to rub at it before smiling. “He was a cute one, wasn’t he?”

Heat takes over her features, for she does not shy away from any man…but the stranger has something in him that puts her heart inside a carrousel and gives it a million twirls. “Indeed.”

“He left the day after his wedding. I’d say…about a year ago.” Hye-Eun, for seemingly being so old, captures the date well. One squint of her eye keeps her going, trying to recall the details. “He didn’t leave with Yoona, though. I remember because he brought me some food before he left. Such a caring boy…”

Her judgement may not be the slightest bit wrong about him. A smile appears on her features when she takes Rose in between her hands, looking at the cat’s face for a second before continuing to rub over her fur. Very calm for a cat, actually. “What was he like?”

“Enchanting, really. He used to greet everyone, play around with the kids when he could…he is a photographer, so he took lots of pictures in our neighborhood.” Mingyu sounds much like the man in the recordings so far. Had Yoona been the only one pretending, or was that just a little fight in their relationship? “A little bit dumb, but the sweetest of men are like that. Though, forgetful, too, he never came around after leaving.”

She doesn’t know him and yet, at times, when she doesn’t see his videos for days, she starts to miss his smile. People around the neighborhood, or the ones that truly intertwined with him, must long for his presence. “Seems like his wife was a lucky one.”

“She was.” Though, Hye-Eun says something else about the woman… “Pretty, but too controlling. Mingyu was just too stupid to notice.”

Those words have the smile on her face faltering. “…Really?”

The relationship that she had judged as normal on the first place, now seems to fall on the weight of Yoona’s wrongdoings. “Yes.” Hye-Eun finalizes, nodding her head before smacking her lips together. “But I know nothing else. Sorry, honey.”

“No worries, Mrs. Hye-Eun.” She finalizes, giving Rose back to her owner before resting her hands inside the pocket of her jeans. A photographer, brand-new feelings blossoming with his marriage, Mingyu sounds like one hell of a picturesque man. “Thank you for your help. I’ll get going now.” With a bow, she turns around, ready to take off to her house, when Hye-Eun speaks from her spot.

“He’s a pretty one, isn’t he?”

She stops on her tracks, looking over her shoulders. “Pardon me?”

Hye-Eun rests a kiss on top of Rose’s old cheeks before she chuckles. “A woman doesn’t go around asking about a man through a neighborhood just because.” Though, she has some reason there, if Mingyu is a married man, why should she care? “…Watch out for that heart, honey.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Hye-Eun, I’m afraid you have misunderstood—”

“I haven’t.” The sweet woman says, a smile appearing on her rounded features. “…Just, be careful, okay? Mingyu is the kind of man anyone easily falls for.”

Crossing her fingers across her heart, she replies: “I promise those are not my intentions, ma’am.”

With a chuckle, Hye-Eun takes a hold of her door, ready to close it when she finalizes this conversation. “It’s not what you intend to do, but what you’re actually doing.” The door closes, and she watches Hye-Eun retreat with her cat.

Why is she looking for Mingyu on the first place? Perhaps, a part of her wants to meet him—see that smile from up close and ask what happened to his relationship.

But that’s not her issue, not her position to be in, and that’s the reality of life.

###

“How many times do I have to tell you not to add new steps to the choreography?”

The baby wipe rubbing against her skin stops her motions along with her hand, looking at Kaleigh’s reflection on the mirror, right next to hers. The white lights cast down on the entirety of the face, one half sporting the bruises and dirt on her character’s face, the other completely void of makeup. Kaleigh, however, looks as put-together as always, moving her glasses, holding her script to her chest and pursing her reddened lips when she raises her eyebrows.

“I thought it’d look better, sorry.” Though, Jaehyo and Sue do it at times as well, choreographies and lines that they have worked on behind Kaleigh. They never get repercussions, aiming to be the very best brand of musical actors, but in her case…it’s always a bad move. With the passage of time, her confidence in her talents has deflated. “It won’t happen again.”

“You say that all the time.” Kaleigh answers, looking down at her script with a sigh before flicking a few pages. “And you, still, can’t go to the front. Hyun has worked on her dancing and her physique more than you have, so…stay back.” Though words hurt her more and more each time, digging against her heart like a sword twisting and twisting, opening the wound with more force than the last time. Yet, she only nods, knowing better than going back home and proving everyone right about the curse that follows her family.

“I will.”

“…I don’t want to tell you this, but another mistake, and I’ll kick you out.” Kaleigh, always strict, finalizes with those words, not knowing how to be softer. Little did she know that she left her figure skater with a broken foot at home, only pushed into the train because everyone insisted on her following her dream. Miyoung is much better now, but she can’t follow after her dream anymore. She keeps going, but at what cost? Showing the people that love her that, for once, she is not just some celebrity’s family member?

More often than not, she wants to package her bags and go back home. Wrap her arms around Miyoung and cry for both of their dreams. Buried deep, aching, bleeding. Instead, she watches Kaleigh retreat towards Hyun, sharing a smile with the woman and words of endless praise that should be for her.

Not to be misunderstood. Hyun is as talented as a person can get, but her outward hate towards her and the rivalry she started out of nowhere affects her. What was once admiration towards Hyun now translates into anger, pulsing envy that has her looking to the side as Hyun downs her fifth energy drink of the night. Her pupils dilate, eyelids blinking rapidly, chest heaving for a second as her fingers twirl one against the other. She stares at herself in the mirror, far away from taking off her makeup, before releasing her lines once again under her breath.

She’ll give Hyun that she’s a hard worker, but more than five energy drinks in just one afternoon practice?

The recital is getting closer, pamphlets thrown around, social media presence starting—and the interviews will inherently come soon. Yet, Hyun seems to be under a lot of pressure, the strain of one of the notes she whispers into the thin air coming from endless hours of rehearsing. Main lead but still very much human.

She shouldn’t give a shit. Hyun can start peeing orange like the color of the energy drinks she is having, and she shouldn’t mind, but what does she do instead when leaning against her seat and looking to Hyun’s lonesome speech?

“I don’t think you should be drinking that many energy drinks.”

Hyun looks different when she looks over to her. Her eyes seem to be unable to close, bottom lip stuck in between her teeth, dragged across the surface before tilting her head to the side. “How about your start minding your own business?”

She shrugs. This is a woman, after all, and they may be miles apart personality-wise, but she can’t bring herself to look at Hyun ruin his own health just to function a few more hours on stage. “Well, it’s minding my business. I don’t want to be the one to take you to the ER when one of your kidneys explodes.”

Hyun scoffs, moving her hair away from her face before looking back at her reflection in the mirror. “I’d rather die than share a car with you.”

Why does she even try with this one? It’s clear that she won’t ever let herself be pampered, even when she worries about her health. “You know what? Invite me when that happens. The happiest day of my life, for sure.” She replies, rubbing on her face harshly, not caring if she takes off the entirety of her makeup before tossing her bag over her shoulder and getting off the chair.

When she gets out of her second home, the city welcomes her. Bustling lights, passing cars, the speech that never stops…and yet, she can’t bring herself to like it. She’s one hair away from losing it all—the opportunity of being in this musical, that is, bringing her character to life, but if she doesn’t lose that…her pride as a person will be stepped on.

God, she really needs to stop caring about the musical for once. Her character is different from who she is, and too much practice is about to make her turn out crazy.

Her phone comes up to her ear as she starts walking to the subway, calling one of her friends that live in the same city as her, hoping for an answer when she says:

“Drinks tonight, babe?”

“For sure!”

###

For once, she feels like herself. Stepping out of a taxi, with the night biting at her naked legs, and fashion cladding most of her body. A tight red skirt rests under her bright pink coat, the low neckline of her white shirt showing a sensual side of her that only the cameras had seen, back when she went out partying in her hometown. Lowering her sunglasses from her head to her eyes, she takes a bite of the pizza in between her fingers when her friend closes the taxi’s door behind them.

“This is the best lounge in the entirety of the city, trust me.” Dasom’s pink hair swishes with the wind in inexplicable ways, but the smile on her mischievous features only highlights when she wraps her arm around hers. Dasom had been having dinner with her just a few minutes ago, over some bottles of beer, when she decided a lounge would be much better for them. Music. Dance. Perhaps some people to talk for the night. “Besides, there’s a lot of high-end people here.”

She met Dasom while in high school, where the woman peaked thanks to a viral video on the internet. To this day, she is remembered for it, but her fame hasn’t gone much further. Education aside, she seems to just enjoy the moment. “Wait, can’t I finish my pizza?”

Taking the slice of pizza from her hands, the cheese and sauce concoction ends up on the sidewalk, thrown there by Dasom. “Stop eating. We’re going to have fun and help you forget about your image for once.”

Upon entering the lounge, clouds of red and blue merge together, music boosting the bass through the walls, people cheering with their glasses up in the sky, bodies clinging to one another in a dance. Somehow, it feels like a party, and Dasom never misses one of those. This night doesn’t seem to be the exception, her heels clicking against the black flooring with white speckles as Dasom moves her through the masses of people.

“You didn’t tell me it was going to be a party.”

“Never trust a Gemini.” Dasom instructs about herself before smiling softly. “We’re going to be fine,” She instructs, wrapping one arm around her shoulder before extending her hands to one of the tables. “My friends are over there. We’re going to grab some drinks. And we’re going to have a good time, isn’t that right?”

“…Well, I guess.” Finally, the hazed nature of her happiness comes through, following after the steps of someone more knowledgeable about nights like this. She needs to let go, feel as though she doesn’t care for one night, and if a few shots and shared laughter aims to do that, so be it.

Motions blur one with the other, alcohol passing by her throat, numbing it with each taste. She winces most of the time, but the smile after the hiss is worth it. Pictures come from the night, though she doesn’t know who she is posing with, loving the pineapple in cocktails and the way her body swings as though the denim never restricted her legs. The night casts its light on her, the starring role of a movie that she doesn’t quite remember—but damn, it’s a good time. For once, she doesn’t have to think.

The bad thing about sudden, palpitating happiness is that it dissipates in the matter of seconds. Shots of alcohol are a distraction, not a source of dopamine.

“Dasom!” She shouts her friend’s name, stomach hunching as she steps away from the groups of people. There are a bunch of people with rosy hair in here, or maybe, she is too drunk to tell who her friend is. Her hands wrap around a handle, apologizing when coming in contact with the steady and strong body of the body guard before stepping on the sidewalk, hurling forward until she empties the contents of her stomach.

Yeah…alcohol is not her thing.

One of her earrings falls down, a wince following the action before she spits on the floor. She doesn’t feel any better, and she imagines she’s going to be here for another second. Her hands rest on her thighs, letting the world see her and the cars passing by on her worst of states. Worst of ideas, it was, but she can’t quite regret it when she’s beyond tipsy.

Someone rests their hand on the sleeve of her coat, pulling it up her shoulder before patting her back. Sobs rip from her mouth, lungs contracting and breaths suffocating with the sickness that revolves her stomach. A soft, yet somewhat confused, voice talks to her, rubbing circles on her back in the process.

“Hey, everything is going to be alright. Just breathe.”

Tears mix with her mascara, touching down to her worn-out lipstick as she breathes out: “I—I can’t…I feel so sick.”

This is a man that is talking to her, she can tell that much, but when he fixes her tangled hair from her earrings and continues to speak words of comfort to her, she can’t figure out anything else. A lisp is there, that’s all she can tell. “Oh no. You’ve drank too much.” Unsure of what to say or do, from her peripheral vision, she can see the man looking around the streets. Brown hair, glasses, and a black cardigan, but she doesn’t remember anything else. “I’m here with you. Calm down.”

Before she could say anything else, her stomach lifts its contents and she brings her weight forward once again.

From the faint distance, she can hear a small ‘ew’ from the man.

“Shit. Are any of your friends here?” With the smallest of nods, the man complies with another question. “W—What’s her name?”

“Kang Dasom.”

“Kang Dasom. Kang Dasom. Okay. Okay, I can do this.” More-so talking to himself, the man retreats from his spot beside her. Gone, like everyone, leaving the drunken, sobbing mess that is herself at this moment, it’s not a surprise that he left her to go find her friend. However, his actions say otherwise. “Hey, guard! Can you go look for Kang Dasom inside? I can’t leave her alone.”

Once again by her side, she wraps her fingers around his taut forearm, lifting her gaze for one second, but unable to make out a figure of his blurred features. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t be.” The man in question instructs, slipping his backpack off one shoulder before taking out a bottle of water, flimsily giving it to her. “Take a few sips, please.”

She does as he says, letting the cold liquid go down her abused throat, the man’s warm fingertips rubbing the tears away from her cheeks before she sighs. “…Thank you. I must look so…wacky.”

At the adjective she uses, the stranger chuckles. “It’s a new fashion trend, don’t worry.”

Smiling lazily, she hears the sound of the door opening, her name breathed out by a worried tone. “Oh my God, sweetie! I couldn’t find you anywhere!”

Dasom’s arms wrap around her body, not caring that she is smelly, just vomited, and that she’s head over heels drunk. “It’s okay…” She breathes out, feeling her stomach calm down at the touch of the lulling water, but Dasom pulls away to look at her.

“It’s not okay! God, anything could’ve happened to you…”

The stranger speaks in a low tone, playing with whatever is hanging from his neck. A necklace? A camera? A bag? She can’t tell. “I have to go back to work. Is everything going to be alright?”

Dasom looks at the man for one fraction of a second before humming. “We’ll be fine, thank you.” Though, she doesn’t get enough time to say anything to the stranger with the familiar voice, instead sucking in a breath when Dasom takes her by the waist and drags her towards the edge of the sidewalk, eyes already trained on her phone. “I’m going to call our taxi. We need to take you back home.”

The night wasn’t so bad, at least, for she realized there are still good people in this world.

###

All her life she has lived in the backseat, now she realizes.

Shadows of mistakes, people in other cars able to see her, but with the motion, she never captured a glance of them. People judged her, but they never stopped to see the real image, the driver and where it was taking her, how the road was and how the breeze could change the trees, the weather, and the time when everything happened. It’s not what she signed up for, but it’s the only thing she has known.

She knew the media before she even knew what a friend was. Learned how to look at the camera even before she learned how to speak to someone while staring at them face-to-face. Her name was said by other people, strangers at that, before she even knew how to spell it or write it. It’s not what she desired, but she keeps going. Her hands extend to continue with her dance routine, stepping forward just for one second, knowing that this is the only moment to shine. One of the few moments she is not the little girl everyone expected the worst from.

Look at what you’ve become, she wants to tell herself. You’re halfway through being an artist.

One day until her first performance in front of the crowd, and she’s ready to take it like a champion. Good or bad reviews, whatever happens is the source of her hard work—rather, it’s outcome. Her sneakers dig into the stage. Her stage that she shares with amazing people, and if twenty seconds of singing is all she gets, it’s what she is going to hold onto.

Upon reaching her mark, she feels a log—a leaf in her road to autumn. Her body proceeds to fall upon losing her balance, knees digging into the wood, creating dents in the skin, burning at the touch when her hands expand to stand her weight. Her chin hits the floor, but the masked laughter that comes from the person by her side shows the culprit. Baby blue sneakers, toned legs, and that malice that conceptualizes.

Kaleigh stops the music, fixing her glasses before sighing deeply. “Are you trying to kiss the floor?”

She sits up at that moment, her fingers pointing at Hyun by her side. Supposed to be her companion in this scene and yet, destroying everything that drives her to her dreams. “Ask the one that jutted her leg forward so I could trip.”

“I didn’t do such thing.”

Kaleigh, as always, backs her up. “I didn’t see her putting her leg forward.” Before she could defend herself any further, let the fire of the stress burn through Kaleigh’s serious expression, the woman is already looking behind her, speaking to the dot of a man that she can’t perceive at the last row of the practice place. “Are the pictures coming out fine? I don’t want people to see our cast on the floor.”

The more she proceeds in life, the more she realizes she is the only one that can bring herself up, dust her knees before anyone could even put a finger over her. It’s better this way. The photographer gets away from the shadows, lowering the Canon from his face before nodding slowly. “I’m getting good shots. Thank you for worrying.”

That lisp. If she moved her head any faster, she would have gotten whiplash. Upon watching the man’s face, she feels as though the Earth swallows her whole. Rounded face, toned body, his ears hidden by his beanie, glasses propped on the bridge of his nose, thin lips and that melodious smile. A bit silly at times, but yet, so enchanting on him.

“Ah,” Mingyu gets closer to the stage, standing by the edge before extending his camera towards her. Yes. Her. Why in the hell can’t she move? Men shouldn’t have this kind of effect on her. Anyone, really. “I want you to check your pictures with me, just in case you don’t like…the way you look or something. The expressions! Yes, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Good, because she almost thought for a moment that he was trying to say: ‘Hey, your pictures are looking ugly. Can you check and tell me if you’re alright with them?’.

Finally, she steps forward, her legs dangling when she rests her bottom on the stage. “Sure.” Mingyu stands by her side, looking at her profile for a second before returning his gaze to his thick Canon camera, flickering through the pictures he had taken. Bright, with good poses, the angles fitting for every subject of his camera. “I like them.”

“This is the one from when you fell,” Mingyu instructs, making a circle around Hyun’s stuck-out leg. “And she did stick her leg out.”

“Well, I’m not crazy.” She says, rolling her eyes in the process before linking her hands over her lap. Mingyu looks at her, and for some reason, she feels like she knows him. After all, she saw a portion of him not a lot of people got to see—more mature, he seems to be, void of a glistening band around his finger. Perhaps, he just doesn’t like rings at all.

Mingyu looks up and down her features, long eyelashes fluttering against the underside of his eyes before smiling briefly. “Not crazy, but very drunk at times.”

Huh?

Drunk?!

“Excuse me?” She asks, because there is no way in hell Mingyu has seen her or gotten to know her, much less be aware of her when drunken—

Mingyu leans his weight against the stage, elbows propped back as he talks to her. “You don’t remember me?”

From the CD’s? Yeah. From a drunk night? Hell no. “…What do you mean?” She won’t quite in fact confess that she does remember him.

Roses grow on his cheeks, shaking his head when looking down at his camera. “Well, we were at the Urban Lounge. I was taking pictures, and just as I was about to head inside once again with my new film, I saw someone throwing up in the sidewalk. Crying, too.” Oh no. Oh please, don’t let this be the truth— “I decided to help you find your friend Kang Dasom, and then, I returned to the party.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh, yes.”

What are the odds that the sweet man that had rubbed her back when vomiting, was also the same man that helped her with her anxiousness each day when getting home from practice? There can’t be that many good people in this world, but Mingyu couldn’t be two of the nice people she had gotten to know in this city.

Or, rather, he was.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. We have all been there.” Mingyu stops for a moment, pressing his lips together, rubbing them, before releasing his words. “Me more than others, but it’s nice to be the one helping for a change.”

More souls like his should exist in this world. “Ugh, I can’t believe you saw me like that.” She groans, lowering her head until her neck hangs it. Mingyu chuckles from his spot, only to build the tension inside of her. The man in the recordings had seen her like a whole mess, and found it funny at that. Wow. “…You know, not a lot of people can say that they have seen me like that.”

“Not a lot of people see someone throw up before they actually know their names, but alas, here we are.”

“What a way to make a lady feel better.”

Mingyu’s smile falters the slightest bit at that, extending his hand before saying. “Hello, I’m Mingyu, but in this occasion, you can call me a dumbass.”

Funny, he is, enough for a smile to rake over her features even when her elbows and knees hurt. She speaks her name out, letting his professional and soft fingers caress against her own in a shake. Long digits, perfect for photo-taking, but horrible to think about when she remembers he is possibly married.

“I was joking. Don’t worry about it.” Instead, she hears her name being called, Kaleigh with her hands on her hips, waiting for her to return to the stage. “…Uh, I kind of have to get back to work.”

Now, she realizes the thing that dangled from the man at the lounge’s neck was his camera, the strip giving him more leverage when he nods at her. “I do, too.”

“Nice to meet you, Mingyu.”

Nice to meet you, again, maybe.

“Likewise.”

Though, she feels someone stare behind her when she turns around and gets back on her spot, she tries not to think much of it. He may be trying to get a good picture of the one figure in the shadows that is her.

###

Fourteen hours for the first performance of When The Kids Go To Sleep.

Fourteen hours and in the solitude of that stage, with only one light on, everyone from the staff gone to their homes, she feels the most like a star. In this stage, right at this moment, it feels like a star will be born.

The lyrics to the final song repeat themselves from her lips. She knows them by heart, the reason as to why she moved here on the first place, and with her hands gathering all the emotions in the air only to press them to her chest, she feels like she is five percent more ready for the night after. Or, actually, tonight—midnight, it is, and she still hasn’t left the practice room.

Everyone is gone, what is the worse that could happen?

Just as she moves to another spot, keeping the tempo and the rhythm of her feet, a thud interrupts her. Loud, clear, as if someone had opened the door and jumped on the floor. She halters her step, watching the locked doors with a frown on her features. If that door wasn’t open, then how had the sound appeared on the first place?

Her vocal cords close, swallowing thickly as she looks around the stage. If this is a robber, she needs to find something to defend herself with. An umbrella rests at the edge of the stairs, the one she had brought with herself on the rainy morning, cladded in Winnie The Pooh logos on a baby blue background. One step down the stairs and she hears it again, that thud, followed by the incomprehensible set of words the robber says.

Fuck. Someone’s here.

Someone is here and she had not even noticed.

Precision in her walk, she goes over to the hallway to the left of the entrance door, where the noises get louder as she gets closer to the storage rooms and bathrooms. One step forward, followed by her next leg, keeps moving her towards the culprit of the noise, both hands grabbing onto the body of the umbrella with a plan inside her head. She’ll knock this motherfucker down for scaring her that way.

The robber has some sense of humor, however. When she stands in front of one of the storage rooms, the door half-opened, the sound of one Eminem song escaping his lips becomes the main source of speech in this room. Who the hell sings an Eminem song when stealing?

The world is made out of colors and opinions. Maybe, this robber found it fitting.

She opens the door with one swing, lifting her umbrella well up in the air before knocking it against the robber’s head, the smack welcomed by a groan and a whine from the stealer.

“I’m going to call the police—” The robber turns around, both hands cladding his head, his brown hair sticking out at certain spots, a confused glance in his eyes. Well, so that is why the robber was singing Eminem…because it wasn’t a robber at all. “Mingyu?”

Blame it on her sleep deprivation. Yes. That’s it.

“Ouch?” Mingyu utters out, separating the word in syllables just as she reaches forward, rubbing the portion of his head that she just hit.

“I’m sorry. I thought it was someone trying to steal from me and kill me—”

“Who sings while stealing?” Mingyu questions, finally lifting his gaze and straightening his body. His eyes connect to hers, and she finally realizes just how much of a bitch paranoia is.

“I don’t know. I’m sure they enjoy music, as well.”

Mingyu looks at her for a second, blinking, silenced, until laughter escapes his lips. Shortened, at that. “You should consider changing your career path. That arm?” The man flings his arm back and forth, as if pretending to receive the ball from a pitcher in a baseball game. “Perfect for a baseball player.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she grins. “What were you even doing here, oh-so-funny-man?”

The man in question waves his camera in the air, clearing his throat soon after. “Checking the pictures and the videos to see which ones I should take tomorrow.” Right, he probably was preparing for the big night as well. “You’re doing great, by the way. I could hear you from here.”

It’s been a while since she has believed she has done great. Her umbrella becomes her axis, resting it on the floor as she leans on it, a sigh leaving her lips. “I still have a long way before I get to Hyun’s level.”

A bright star under a roof, that’s how Hyun was going to be perceived, while she was going to be one twinkling firelight passing by. Mingyu bites the inside of his cheek, moving towards her with careful steps. “Hey, it’s not a competition…” He tries to make her feel better, as per usual with Kim Mingyu for what she has realized from his videos, but she shakes her head, chuckling in the process.

“God, I’m making it too serious.” She rolls her eyes. After all, Mingyu is a complete stranger. It’s not like he knows that she has seen one of the most private portions of his life in video. “But yes, you’re right. It isn’t supposed to be a competition, but it’s what Hyun has made it so…”

“Then, win.” Mingyu concludes, his lips lifting to the left in a smirk.

She quirks one eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. “Easier said than done.”

“Like everything, but just wait, people will see the same thing I did today.” His eyes trail down her features, chuckling a bit to himself out of awkwardness before clearing his throat. One step back, and the electricity is cut short. “Your pictures came out fine, too. I’ll make sure to do a great job tomorrow.”

“You’re going to be the photographer for the rest of the play?”

“From time to time. As long as I’m not gigged, I’ll be here.” Mingyu replies, placing the strap of his camera’s bag on his shoulder before sighing. “I’ll go catch up on some sleep now. You’re staying here until the morning or do you want me to call you a taxi?”

Tiredness lingers on her body, but she can’t bring herself to sleep. Not when she is one step closer to either fulfilling or destroying her dream. Opening the door for him, she shakes her head. “I’ll stay here until the morning.”

“You sure?”

“I have to practice.”

“If you say so…” He trails, stepping out of the door and walking alongside her before speaking up again. “You know everything is going to be fine, right?”

One look at his profile and suddenly, the warmth that makes place inside her body lets her feel so. Being alright is something she hasn’t considered in the past month of pushing herself to utter perfection, but maybe, it isn’t so far away.

“I think so, too.”

Sprinkles of rain patter against the sidewalk when Mingyu opens the entrance door, swirls of air moving his hair before he places his beanie on top of it once again. Before he could step outside, his hand grabs the handle of the door, sharing a glance with her when saying:

“I hope to see you again.”

With that, just like a leaf through the wind, he flies away.

###

Success tastes like honey.

The magic of being on stage in a musical is that she doesn’t see anybody, but she feels them. The silence that merges into cheers, the faint gasp from someone on row three, or the flash of a camera from someone who wants to capture this moment for when they feel like going back down the stage of nostalgia. Critics scatter around the place, but she can’t vision them, maybe for the better. With shred clothing, bruises and tiredness painted on her skin, she is her character, and whatever her past said about her no longer exists here.

The only thing that lacks are her loved ones, somewhere else in the country, living their lives while she constructs her own. Jaehyo does an imminent job in catching people’s attention with his dance, though not in the center, and Sue does not fall behind with her immaculate acting skills. Hyun, the star of the night, receives attention as deserved. Sure, she is not the most beautiful of people on the inside, but her talent is outraging.

When her bare feet come in contact with the center of the stage, sharing it with Hyun, she spares one look towards the groups of people. First row, with his dark hair absentmindedly pushed away from his face, a black, oversized t-shirt cladding his body and matching his ripped jeans, Mingyu is squatting down to get the perfect shot. The dimmed lights do not let her see the beauty of him, but the camera is pointing towards her, and she relishes on it.

Mingyu’s camera does her justice, after all.

By the time the musical is over, a smile takes over her features, backstage and hearing the standing ovation, blood pumping, hands jittery, and heart on her sleeve when she goes over to Jaehyo and wraps her arms around him with emotions bubbling up on her bloodshot eyes. She really needs to sleep.

The older man’s arms end around her waist. “We did it, Jaehyo! It was a success!” Jumping up and down on his hold, Jaehyo chuckles at her antics.

“Calm down, calm down, it’s only the first night.” Jaehyo whispers, pulling away with a lazy smile on his face. “…But it was one hell of a good first night. Pizza for celebration?”

“You know it!”

The next fifteen minutes consist of taking pictures, trying her best not to concentrate on the photographer or on the hunger that creeps up her body, unable to smile as brightly if it wasn’t for Mingyu. Lacking sleep, needing a nice, fulfilling meal, it’s no wonder that she had not slept a single minute in the past forty-eight hours. Maybe, that’s why she is a bit bummed when Mingyu doesn’t say a thing to her, continuing with his job with utmost professionalism.

Some children gather to take pictures with the cast, unknowingly filling her heart with pride. In one point of her life, she was like them, eager and excited to get the attention of her favorite characters. The magic of theater is that characters, and actors alike, are not unreachable to the watcher. It’s a live source of magic.

Jaehyo is off to greet the deliveryman outside by the time thirty minutes have passed. Her makeup wipes run across her skin, ready to take off the excessive amount of makeup on her skin and exchange it for breathing pores and comfort. She stops looking at her reflection to hunt for someone with the mirror, scanning the room unbeknownst to the rest of the people there. Mingyu’s thighs extend when seated at the edge of one of the vanities backstage, clicking through the pictures as one of the children talks to him. Mingyu seems to be intently listening to the child, but when he looks for something from the corner of his eyes, she feels his gaze on hers.

Her eyes trail down his toned arms, the expansion of his thighs, seeking for the art in him as if she is DaVinci and he is the Mona Lisa. A smile appears on her features, straightening her back and leaning her weight forward to continue to rub her makeup off, not forgetting to make herself look the best as possible. At least, he’s looking.

Yet, she shakes that thought away—he shouldn’t be looking. As far as she knows, he could still be with Yoona.

A hand extends on top of her shoulder seconds after, rubbing at the skin softly, as if giving her a massage, before breathing out her name in that somewhat deep, harmonious tone of his. “…Wasn’t so difficult to steal the show, wasn’t it?”

For someone who is not a good talker in most occasions, the line has her beam widening. “You’re joking.”

“No,” Mingyu says, dragging one seat to her side, the plastic chair making him look smaller next to her, for her artist’s chair is much taller. His legs expand, interlocked hands settled in between his thighs, and she really should stop looking at those—

Her eyes go up.

“Want to look at your pictures?”

She puts the makeup wipe down, running her fingertips on top of her eyelashes to check if there is any leftover mascara there. Clean. All the makeup is off. “Is that the only conversation we are ever going to have? My pictures?”

“We should.” Mingyu mumbles out, frowning his features in confusion before his eyebrows shoot up, realization falling upon him. “Not that I don’t want to talk to you about anything else! Shit, that sounded like such—. Yes, we can talk about something else.”

The smell of thick sauce, melted cheese and corn has her turning towards the red curtains, watching Jaehyo slip inside before giving her the box of pizza that belongs to her. Thanking him softly, she opens it on top of the vanity, pointing at it as she talks to Mingyu. “Help yourself. I haven’t had one of these since the night at the bar.”

Mingyu stands up, hovering over her to be able to get a piece, and she tries her hardest not to bite her lip at the vision of his profile. Definitely crafted by an artist, he is a sculpture made person. “And yet, here you are, eating it again.”

“It may be our thing now.” She replies, leaning back on her seat to watch Hyun downing yet another energy drink, hands contracting against each other, her expression turned somber. “Hey, Hyun!” She calls out, only to have the woman frowning at the sound of her voice and turning her head to the side.

“What do you want?”

“I asked Jaehyo to bring you some pizza. Tell him to—”

“I won’t have it.” Hyun finishes, picking up her purse and throwing it over her shoulder. “…Thank you.” She utters, though she doesn’t stay for long, opening the red curtains and getting away from the actors’ spot.

She doesn’t know why she tries. Maybe, because she thinks the tension between Hyun and herself could be the downfall of the musical, but Hyun is just too thick mentally. “How did this whole rivalry start?” Mingyu says, taking the first bite of his slice before he huffs slightly, trying to cool down the piece that is inside his mouth. Even with his lips half-parted, eyes widened, there is some cuteness to him.

Pressing the pizza up to her lips and biting on it, she shakes her head. “I have no idea.” She replies. “…Are we playing questions now?”

Mingyu shrugs. “Only if you have some.”

“About you? Endless.” She says, leaning forward until she is face to face with Mingyu, taking all in her not to look down at his lips. “When did you start taking pictures?”

“When I was seventeen,” Mingyu says, not backing down the slightest, yet chewing on his meal with expertise. He must have been hungry, as well. “One of my best friends needed some money, so he was trying for modelling gigs. Needed a portfolio and all…so I took pictures of him.”

“Did modelling work for him?”

“Almost.” Mingyu says, finalizing his pizza with one big bite, taking a napkin and pressing it to his lips before continuing after swallowing his food. “Soonyoung is good, my friend. Just…he’s shy, I guess? He didn’t see his potential then, doesn’t do it now. That’s just what happened.”

“Something good came out of it, though. You’re a great photographer.”

“Thank you.” With heated cheeks, he answers. “What about music for you? Or acting…or dancing? Like, musical stuff is just too much. I don’t know how you do it. I can barely walk and talk at the same time.”

Chuckling, she sighs, taking another slice of pizza. A string of cheese follows her first bite. “Uh,” She starts, pondering on exactly what to say. “My family has always been…well, famous. For the longest while, I thought I was going to be anything but famous, like…I don’t know, a teacher or something.” She may like children, but patience is not her biggest of virtues. “But I had no option than to be in the spotlight. Got my first acting gig in a doctor’s show, and I started to like it since then.”

“You were in TV?”

“I was patient number three. That was my character.”

Mingyu laughs joyfully, like he doesn’t care the slightest bit about what the world thinks of him—every particle of this world belongs to him and gives their attention to the beauty of his existence. “Oh, look at that, that’s my favorite character of all time.”

“Want me to give you an autograph?”

Pretending to take off his shirt, Mingyu replies: “On my boobies, please.”

“You did not.” She counterparts, doubling over in laughter at his behavior. “You better have a good set.”

“A good set of what?”

Curling her fingers in the air, she replies: “Boobies, as you called them. I call them titties.”

“Look at me ruining my own joke.”

“Lost the comedic timing, but don’t worry, that happens.” For one second, she inspects the glisten of the cheese on top of pizza, licking her lips with curiousness guiding her actions. “…Your girlfriend must like your jokes, Mingyu.”

Now, let’s see exactly what happened with Yoona. Or Kim Yoona. They should be married at this point. Mingyu runs his free hand through his hair, leaning back on his seat and crossing one leg over the other. “My friends do, but I don’t have a girlfriend to tell my jokes to.”

“…Huh?”

“Surprising?” Mingyu questions, though there is not an ounce of cockiness in his words.

“Very.”

“Why’s that?”

Pointing at the mirror, she says: “Take a look there and then, you’ll know why I wonder you don’t have someone with you.” Also, because he was one day from getting married in the last recording of the box. What had happened? Perhaps, he had been stood up, or they cut the wedding short. Or, even worse, Yoona had been the one left at the altar—

Mingyu chuckles at that moment, grease glistening on his lips, licking them to press them together. “Thank you.”

Sue comes around at that moment, sporting much more simplistic clothes and holding her box of pizza in between her hands. “We’re going to grab dessert and drinks, want to join us?” Jaehyo stands by her side, munching on his meal, and they are two angels at that moment. Kim Mingyu is single, wanting to get to know her, and maybe, hiding the fact that she knew about his relationship a little bit longer won’t do her any wrong.

She looks over at him, shrugging. “I wouldn’t mind. Want to come with us?”

“I have to take care of you if you drink, don’t I?”

“Oh, don’t be too confident.” She says, standing up and picking up her coat, closing the box of pizza in the process. “I may be the one taking care of you.”

Imitating her tone of voice, Mingyu says: “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Mingyu repeats, looking down at her lips before returning his gaze towards Jaehyo and Sue. “Let me grab my camera.”

###

Exquisiteness is divine. Pearls in the bracelets around her wrists, a nice dress cladding her body, and the taste of the most delicious of meals, washed away by the concoctions of a chef. The summer nights passed long ago, but the newest era of success has come to her now. Third night, not in a row, of her introduction to the musical world, and each time she sees Mingyu, they end up hanging out after. At first, it was with Jaehyo and Sue, then, it was backstage…and now, she has brought him to a four-star-restaurant, one of the most expensive in the city.

The white ceramic of the plate she is eating from leaves imprints of Ratatouille on its wake, interrupting her speech about one of her childhood memories in order to catch a glimpse of the source of the flash hitting her face. This is familiar—whenever she held hands with one of her family members as a child, someone would take the opportunity to bring a camera up her face, judge her for how she was going to turn out to be without really knowing her. Basking in money, she thought she’d never care—but she did. Having people comment on her from the moment she was born played with her mind far more than she comments.

Beauty of the soul is never enough for them. In a world like this, people can’t be pure.

But with Mingyu, she feels the purest. His eye squints as he takes a picture of her, barely touching his food, as he’d say…embarrassed that she is paying for such an expensive meal. Yet, he deserves it. Sent from heaven, bathed in the golden speckles of destiny, bringing light to the most mundane of activities. He petrifies memories, and what an irony it is, that what she ran away from the most as she was growing up is his biggest passion.

She licks her lips, half-laughing at his antics. “Did you just take a picture of me?”

“You get a very pensive look on your face when you think about the past.” Perhaps, because it hurts her. Racing cars, lovers that didn’t last more than a week, memories of self-love that plaster on what other people thought of her. Young, rich and pretty doesn’t cut it in this world. “S—Sorry, I interrupted you, didn’t I? You were talking about the last time you went to Los Angeles—”

“It doesn’t matter.” She whispers, rubbing her fingers together to take the perspiration away from her skin. “Life is monotone when you’re somewhat famous. You do the same thing over and over again, pretending like it makes you happy.”

“Is that why you moved here?”

In reality, it was the addition of a few things. Her break-up. Her dream. Her opportunity. And running away. “What’s funny is that I didn’t even know what I would do once I moved here,” She replies, shrugging her shoulders after. “My best friend, Miyoung, I talked about her with you…she’s a figure skater, and she was supposed to attend the Olympics this year, but she broke her foot two days before I left. I thought that was the big sign for me not leaving.” Thoughtfully, she thinks back to the phone call she received in the middle of the night above a month ago. Miyoung had not rested the slightest, leading to an injury and sooner than later, a broken foot. Turns out that she would not be able to perform the same way she did before. “…But Miyoung told me it was quite the contrary, that it worked as a push-over for me to get here. According to her, it was my only chance to get a name for myself.”

“You’re on your way there.” Mingyu says, though her rests his camera on his lap, tasting the meal in front of him. “…I didn’t know about your family history or about you before, but I think people will start to recognize you as your own person soon.”

Hopefully, she can only think. “You know what?” She questions. Throughout the entirety of her time there, through the videos she had seen with Mingyu starring in them, an idea had crossed her head— “I think I’d be my happiest if I was just another person into this world. Like you.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “You’re crazy.” He tells her. “Exchanging money, power and success for…being like me?”

“I happen to think you’re a very good person.”

“Kind of.” Mingyu confesses, covering his mouth when he laughs: “But the day I’m gone from this world, no one will remember me. You can leave a mark on people’s lives.”

“So can you!”

“Probably to my children in the future, but not—”

“Listen, Mingyu—” Her words cut short then. How can she say this without outing what will inherently make him mad? “You’ve left your mark on people, I am sure.”

“It’s not the same.” His eyes shine under the golden chandeliers. Young ambition takes over him. “You’ll be legendary. I’ll be remembered by my neighborhood.”

“Maybe, we could exchange.”

“Or we could meet in the middle.” Mingyu conquers, and she likes that even more. Two souls that are clearly different but dance in the middle. Her leg extends forward, brushing against his skin, because she has seen this scene a few times in her life—romance in the form of getting to know each other, but for now, she doesn’t want to care about the outcome. Fuck the introduction or the conclusion, the development is always the best part.

“You know what I want to do?” She asks, the music in the background changing into some typical jazz tune, just as she hovers over the table, face to face with him.

You, she wants to tell him, instead, she looks into his eyes, Mingyu’s expression turning serious, cutting the tension with one of his smiles. “I don’t read minds.” He says. “Tell me?”

“I want to take pictures of you.” She replies, hang reaching for the camera on his lap, trying to understand the garment when she goes back to her seat. Pulling it up to her face, she squints one eye just like he does. She only needs to focus on him, right? “And keep them.”

“Why?” Mingyu asks, though, she can see him softly changing his pose, as to look more relaxed and camera-ready. Well, he does like a bit of attention.

“I want to remember the person that makes me believe there are still good people in this world.” The camera flashes when she takes a first picture, leaning back on her seat to capture more of his body in that black turtleneck and the necklace that wraps around his body. Tanned skin, brown hair, and a beautiful smile when she says those words.

“You haven’t known me for long enough to judge that, you know?”

“Then, give me the benefit of getting to know you more.”

A glimpse of his eyes connecting with hers on the camera has her smiling. “I’ll gladly give it to you.”

At the mention of those words, she lifts her eyebrows, another picture and her mind wander towards to possibilities. “What will you give me? The benefit of getting to know you? Just that?”

“You want more?”

“…It’s enough.”

Mingyu leans forward, his face coming in full view in the camera when he snatches it away from her hold, before whispering. “I was going to say I could give you everything you want, but seeing that just knowing me it’s enough…I’ll accept it.”

God. This man will be the death of her.

###

Two weeks in and not seeing Mingyu feels like it’s almost impossible. They gravitate towards each other—polar opposites that meet in the middle. His steps are heard as she keeps her hand to his, dragging him along over the lineal rug of the hotel they visited—for the pool, which Dasom said was the best—, baby blue doors compared to white walls, the faint swish of the pool nearby making music for the two of them to hear.

“Mingyu, hurry up!”

The fabric of her yellow dress caresses her legs, needing nothing more than to feel like she is living in summer, while the wind clashes with its coldness. Hopefully, the pool warms her body. Mingyu pulls her backwards by the white cardigan draped over her body, connecting his chest to her back. With each breath he takes, her own lungs shake, his voice lowering to speak against her ear.

“What’s the rush?” He asks, the few buttons opened of his floral shirt meeting her contracted muscles. “If I really went as fast as I can go, you wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

That’s the thing with Mingyu—he says the worst of things, in the situations that have her skin heating up, her mind going to places it shouldn’t. Not when he makes her feel like nobody else has done, as if scalding her fingertips to touch him would be worth it. Just before he could apologize, like he always does, because Mingyu just can’t say one thing without fucking up, she looks at him from over her shoulder. “Try me.”

A huff escapes his lips, wrapping both arms around her waist when picking her up and starting to rush through the hallway to get to the swimming pool.

“Mingyu—” Cackles leave her lips, legs flaring because he is just not looking forward. At least, not properly. “We could fall!”

“I’ll catch you if that happens—”

“You don’t know that!”

Floating in the clouds, somewhere beyond the universe, she lets her laughter speak for her. Never would she trust someone with this, but this is Mingyu she is talking about. The man that opens his heart without much thinking. “I promise I won’t let you fall. Just tell me when the swimming pool is close.”

Patting his arm, the toned skin coming in contact with her hand, she says: “Now, now! We’re close—”

Mingyu lets go of her after releasing her on the floor with a thud, turning around to watch the smile on his face when he puffs out his chest and adds: “See? I would never let you fall.”

“Not scientifically proven, so I’m not sure if I can believe you.”

“…You’re so annoying.” Laughing, she places her hands on each side of Mingyu’s body. She needs to get back to him, steal chuckles from his lips, so with one step back, she prepares for the biggest surprise of all. “Do you want me to turn around so you can take off your dress or—?”

Another step back and they are both falling inside the pool, dragged by her own weight.

Warm water bubbles around her, unable to open her eyes until her lungs receive air when getting to the surface. There, the droplets of water cling to her eyelashes, watching Mingyu merging up about at the same time that she did. His shirt clings to his body, thankfully wearing his bathing suit, strands of brown hair pressed to his gorgeous skin when he splashes water her way, though she’s already laughing.

“Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Yet, Mingyu keeps splashing water at her, getting closer and closer until he is just mere centimeters away.

“You think it’s funny, don’t you?”

“I’m a musical actress, not a comedian. Sorry.” Taking the damp cardigan in between her hands, she tosses it to the side, landing at the edge of the pool with a clanking noise from its buttons before jutting her chin forwards towards him. “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

“You just wanted me to take it off.”

“You would’ve even if I hadn’t thrown you into the pool.”

“So, you brought me to this pool for that on the first place.” Mingyu says, brown irises darkening when her fingers reach for the edge of her dress, pulling it up until she is left in a one-piece. That’s the magic of him—making her feel like there is not a competition, as if she’s the most gorgeous woman he has seen in a while. Her assumptions about herself are not seen by him.

“So,” She says, letting the dress fall to the side and trying not to cling to her own body, shrinking in order to hide away from him. Mingyu’s fingers hook around every button of his shirt, taking it off little by little to showcase his slim, yet toned body. “Swimming competition and whoever gets to end of the pool buys dinner?”

“I’ll buy dinner either way, but sure—” She needs to look away. The least she needs is that lingering voice inside her head that tells her that she’d do absolutely anything to get a taste of Kim Mingyu. It feels wrong, how he doesn’t know where she lives, what she found out when being there, how the lines of their stories always seemed to connect…but maybe, he’d feel taken off guard if only he knew the truth. That, in retrospect, she had seen the beauty of him before he even knew about her.

Her phone rings from the bag that she had left at the edge of the pool when Mingyu dropped her on the flooring. Incessantly. Even when she starts swimming with him, laughing along and splashing him on the face at the same time he does, it continues ringing.

Mingyu spares one look at her, pointing at her phone when saying: “Want me to get it for you?”

“No,” Worry rises up inside of her, swimming quickly until she got to the edge of the pool, the third call appearing on her screen once again. Mingyu’s presence is felt right behind her, but she can’t concentrate on him when she reads the contact.

Miyoung.

Something happened to Miyoung.

“Hello?” Fear clings to her chest. Miyoung, her best friend, the apple to her eye, could not have her life any worse than what it is right now. She doesn’t deserve it and as her best friend, she won’t let it happen. “Miyoung, are you okay?”

“Of course, babe. I’m fine.” Miyoung speaks in her typical purred out tone. A breath trapped inside her lungs lets go at that moment, leaning her weight forward just when Mingyu presses his hand to her back, rubbing those soothing circles that she knows so much.

“How is your foot?”

“Healed, thankfully. You already know that.”

“Goddamn it, Miyoung, I thought something had happened to you—”

“Haven’t you checked YouTube? I’m not the one you should be worrying about. Worry about yourself.”

YouTube? One or two videos about her musical had appeared, but she hasn’t been in the headlines for a bad reason. “Why should I worry? What are you talking about?”

Mingyu moves over to her side, and she can feel his eyes penetrating into her side profile when Miyoung utters out: “Haseul released his newest comedy special, and the motherfucker mentioned you. People are going crazy with the memes, you need to check it out.”

“What?” Her ex-boyfriend hadn’t crossed her head in a while. After all, remembering what hurt her the most—the obsession of always being right, the lies, the friends that he said he had nothing to do with and the way he passed her every opinion over his ass as if it didn’t matter…is not what she plans on doing. Not when she’s moving on. Yet, it seems like he doesn’t want her to do just that.

“Check it out. I’m—I’m talking to my PR team man to make a statement. I’m tired of his bullshit.”

“Don’t, don’t!” She says quickly. Miyoung’s career has already fallen down, she doesn’t need unnecessary drama. “I’ll fix it. I—I just need to look at it, okay?”

“Babe, promise me you’re not going to feel bad.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Horrible.”

“Then, I can’t promise anything.” With a sigh, she looks down. “I’ll call you later, okay? Let me see what all of this is about.”

When putting her phone down, it takes less than a second for Mingyu to speak, worry dripping from his every tone. “Wh—What happened?”

Well, time for a fraction of the truth. “Before I came here…I was dating some guy. Well, we had been dating for three months at a maximum. Cheated on me. Went out partying. The typical stuff someone of power does in most occasions.” Turning to her side, she takes the phone in between her hands, looking up the comedian’s name. “He’s a comedian. Eo Haseul. I don’t know if you know him but—”

“Yeah, I know about his comedy.” Mingyu’s frown deepens, extending one hand when leaning on the edge of the pool. “Isn’t he the guy who can only make sex jokes?”

“The one and only.” There it is, the video that Miyoung had been talking about, with over six hundred thousand views in four hours. Well, there goes her reputation. The title of his comedy set is shown there, but nothing else is added. “…We broke up before I left. He broke up with me, basically. Miyoung just called me to tell me he made a comedy set about me.”

“No way.” Mingyu whispers, leaning over her shoulder to be able to look at the loading screen.

“I mean, it shouldn’t be that bad, let’s see what he says.”

It was even worse than she had imagined.

Haseul, in what she had once thought was perfection, stares at the laughing crowd as his lips rest against the mic. His hair is sleeked back, thick eyebrows pursed together when he says: “And yeah, man, I learned last summer that you shouldn’t date a famous bitch. Or a semi-famous one. Normal, average women are fine but give someone some money and they think they can do whatever the fuck they please.” A few sets of laughter follow his statement, and he scoffs a bit for dramatics, trying to make himself sound more interesting. “I’m sure you guys know who I’m talking about, but…now that I’m out of that relationship, I can say that she was crazy. Eyes rolled to the back of her head, greedy as all shit, type of crazy.” He says, as if she is not human—as if she had not done everything in her power to make that toxic relationship work. “I would show you all the videos we had of each other fucking, but man, it’s just too crazy. I’d have to be filling all holes, even the bellybutton. When women are given power? They don’t get pleased by anything. I’d have to contort my body and shit, just to be able to make her moan for one second.”

Tears well up in her vision. The intimacy they had, exaggerated and highlighted for the world to see, torn to shreds because she is a woman with apparent power. Why is it that she can never have some source of happiness before it gets taken away from her?

“And the issues, man. God, I would have to hear her sigh on and on about her issues after sex. Just had my dick and she still had the time to think about how her rich, immaculate life was just not enough for her. See what I mean?”

Laughter, even though it’s not funny, people seem to enjoy it. Trying to turn the tables around, Haseul shrugs.

“I can’t even show you the videos because…I have to be honest, I’m not the biggest of men when it comes to that but—” For once, he targets himself, but the smirk on his face says he is not over with it. “It doesn’t matter. I have to cover my back. The bitch blocked me with the same hand she used to jerk me with.”

The subject changes, but her ears are ringing. Burning anger, impotence, and the tears that escape her eyes as she puts her phone down and rests her forehead against the tiles of the pool.

What was she thinking when she got with him?

“None of those things are true…” She whispers, covering her mouth as if to stop herself from talking. Mingyu, however, maneuvers his body to be able to wrap his arms around her. Her face rests against his chest, the cold skin touching hers, too afraid to look him in the eye. What will he think of her after watching that—?

“I know it’s not true.” Mingyu’s voice has turned serious, pulling away only to have her further pushing her face to his chest. “Do you have his number?”

Mind whirling, overheated, she hums. “I do, but I have it blocked.”

“Give it to me.”

“Mingyu—” Finally, she pulls away, bloodshot eyes staring up at him. “I’m tired of the problems around me. I’m absolutely done with people caring about my whereabouts and what I do. I don’t want more drama—”

“I just want to put him in his place.” Mingyu whispers, pushing her wet hair away from her face before breathing out a small: “Please?”

In the light of the pain caused, her lips are paralyzed, unable to connect her tongue to her mind in order to let some words out. Instead, she reaches for her phone, going through the contact list before seeing it:

Eo Hanseul (Do Not Respond).

Mingyu takes his own phone from her purse—he asked to have it there—, jotting down the numbers before bringing the device up to his ear. He gets out of the water, droplets following after his steps to be able to talk in private. Standing by the clear doors of the hallway, Hanseul seems to pick up his call, because his eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth to speak.

Kim Mingyu doesn’t seem like the type of man to get angry, but he does that night.

Much of what he says is not understood, unable to disconnect her eyes from mixing the water of the pool with the waterfalls of her feelings, but Mingyu’s voice raises, speaks into the void when he says: “…I don’t care, man, you either grow some balls and start respecting her or you’ll have to have a talk with me.” Now, he seems much taller, buffer, as if his words may be able to deflate the softness of him. Rolling his tongue through his teeth, he hears to what the other man has to say, just as she’s getting out of the pool, only her calves pushed inside. “You think I’m some fool you can play with?”

Well, in comparison, Mingyu is much better than Hanseul. Less of a fighter, more of an empath. However, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he swallows, a frown taking over his features.

“You either take all the bullshit you’ve said back or I’ll make sure you pay for it, okay?!” Before Hanseul could retort, the man shakes his head. “I don’t know, release some statement, get your tongue up your ass, but you’ll never talk to her or about her ever again, understood?”

Then, the call comes to an end. Radio silence.

Mingyu puts his phone down, extending his arms just to say: “Come here.”

And she does cling to him, feeling his heartbeat against her eardrums as she cries someone else’s ignorance away.

Though, for Mingyu, the picture is different. “You’re more than whatever people judge you for. Don’t forget that.”

###

Act twenty-four. Twenty-fourth time performing the same character. The critics are getting worse.

Perhaps, it’s her fault. Seated on the wooden floor backstage, while wrapping her legs in bandages to be able to stand the aches, ignore the blossoming memories of the falls she has done while practicing, she sees the most destroyed person in the room staring at herself back in the mirror. Hyun looks way more tired than she did when they were practicing, curling her hand against her stomach—perhaps, suffering by the number of products she puts in her body to be able to keep herself energized—, eyes void of the glint of pertinence that had once coated them, bathed in shadows.

Once again, she takes another energy drink, and it’s about this time that she speaks out the certainty in the room. The one spoken secret that she whispers to herself at night. “I’m worried about you.”

Hyun stops at that moment, not even sparing her a glance, and the shutter of Mingyu’s camera comes to a halt when she finally outs the obvious. Hyun may not like her, but she was a fan of her before she even got here. Talented, she is, and her stomach must not be doing good by the number of energy drinks, caffeine and whatever else she has. Her stress is getting to her, cohabiting inside of her body.

The woman lifts her eyebrows, sucking her cheeks in when she says: “You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

“Even I’m not fine.” She confesses, standing up from the floor with wobbling legs. Too overworked. “Hyun, stop drinking this. If you aren’t sleeping or you can’t keep up, it’s okay. We’re here to help each other—”

When her hand comes forward to take the energy drink from her, Hyun pushes her body backwards, the anger in her features dissipating. “You don’t get it.”

“Of course, I do.” She says, only to have Hyun bitterly scoffing.

“Yeah, right.” She concludes, putting the can down before resting her slim hands on her hips. “If this musical keep going like it is, on its downfall, I won’t get any other chance to shine. I won’t get a starring role, and I will definitely see my dream die. You don’t go through that. You have a home to go to, and money to spend—”

An inexplicable feeling embargoes her. While Hyun had gained this position with hard work, a part of her existence there was just for publicity—and her mere presence is what is bringing the musical to its conclusion. “Hyun, I promise…you’re too talented to ever do shit wrong. You’ll get a chance when needed.”

“You don’t know that!” Hyun shouts, running her fingers through her hair before sighing. “Mind your business, okay? Stay out of my way, and stop playing the victim here. I’m fine. I just need to practice more.”

“Go home, Hyun.” She tries to reason, taking the woman by the forearms. “I know you hate my guts, and I would, too, if I were you…but please, just…rest for tonight. The show’s over. We can go home.”

“You do this because you don’t want me to practice so you can be better than me, huh?”

Shaking her head, she tries to reason with her. “I would never. Really. I’m over that.”

“Who are you kidding? Yourself or me?” Hyun questions, taking the filled energy-drink can before tossing it in the nearby trashcan. “Happy now?”

“Hyun—”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go home.”

Her body brushes against hers when passing by her, the clicking of her shoes a sound that she doesn’t want to ignore. Hyun, in that moment, becomes a heroine to her. Image of hardships and hard work, someone who would rather tire herself out than disappointing her vision of herself. Perhaps, she had judged everything wrongly, imagined herself to be this immaculate being that did not deserve to be hurt.

No one does. Hyun didn’t either.

Mingyu accompanies her outside, like he always does, ready to go out with her after another show. However, as the wind bites her arms under her dark denim jacket and the taxis pass by them, ready to be called by her, she feels his hand resting over her shoulder, turning around to look at him. Peaceful, yet worried.

Tugging at the sleeves of his pink sweater, the strands of his hair swirling against his forehead with the movement of the breezy night, Mingyu admits: “I think you need to drop out of this musical. Kaleigh does not care about any of you.”

That much she knows. The leader, the director, only cares about the image she wants to portray of the character, not about the actors that play them. Still, letting go would mean going back home…and back home, she’d go back to the same routine. “What if I don’t find another chance to be on the stage?”

Mingyu sighs. “You and Hyun aren’t so different after all.” The more she sees herself projected in that vanity backstage, the more she sees herself turning into Hyun. Though talented, a portion of herself will get lost down this path. The one that hopes for a happy ending. “Sometimes, we have to realize that what we dream of is not always going to be our reality. And this is not to tell you your dream is not valid, because it is, but the more you stay here…the more it will hurt you to leave. You deserve better than what Kaleigh is giving you, and even if you end up with a small role in some show, or get back on stage again…you’re still you.”

“Well, maybe I’m tired of being me.” She replies, letting her weight lean against the side of his body, his arm cradling her shoulders, eyes looking down at her while she connects her gaze with his, down to his lips.

“I like you.” Mingyu rasps out, though, if he knew where she lived…what she saw…what she knew about his past, would he still be open about those words? “Please, never stop being you.”

She thinks, at this moment in her life, she’ll never stop being his. Yours, she wants to tell him, even if this doesn’t work out, my soul will always be yours.

Though, she fears. What if he isn’t hers? Though he wasn’t hers at the beginning of it all, she kept seeking—

And now, mere centimeters away, with his lips parted, she has him. Breaths mingling when she softens her lips against his, drapes a silent confession that she can’t quite get out without feeling guilty. If he knew more about her, perhaps, he wouldn’t like her. The issues of not knowing how to differentiate what people perceive of her and what she perceives herself, but right now, as she’s with him, she likes who she is. Her truest version, delicate, not aching to feel more, to have more of him, just letting their lips meet softly, knowingly, as if she knows every portion of him and yet, to him, she’s only a shadow.

Her arm hooks around his neck, tilting her body to the side to taste more of him, relishing on his perfume, his hands, the way he always seems to make her feel unique, and not to outcast her, but to blend her into the groups of people that fall for each other. The romanticism that falls into monotony, but it’s oh-so-perfect in its own way.

“That’s my answer for you.” She replies when pulling away, awestruck brown eyes blinking back at her when she smiles.

I like you too, Mingyu.

###

When looking at Mingyu, she would have never believed their first official date would come in the shape of a rock concert. Much less would she have imagined that, upon entering Mingyu’s apartment, much smaller than the house he once shared with Yoona, he’d have collectables of memories that he doesn’t have the time to explain, rushing to get out the door and get to the concert. A local band that she has no idea about, but try their hardest to leave their imprint in this world.

Kissing in cars is how the date ends. In some taxi, with sneaky touches and stolen kisses that promise for a better night. Hazed in his smile, in the tight black shirt that clads his body and the way his big hand splays across her thigh, claiming a portion of her body as his. After a month, even more, of seeing each other, Mingyu feels closer than ever, seated on a portion of her heart as if it is his throne, and it may be. A King of Hearts, as she likes to call him.

The band t-shirt he had bought when getting out of the venue rests over her body, halfway pushed inside his jeans as she twists her head to the side and rests fleeting kisses on the side of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs, a sharp intake of his breath coming with the tightening hold on her tight.

“Something you should know…” He starts, only to have her humming, teeth digging into the skin of his neck as she hums. “I—I’m not really patient, you know?” His voice wavers, enough to have her chuckling when she pulls away from him and rests a kiss on his shoulder.

“I’ve noticed. Quite childish if you ask me.”

“It’s hard to be patient when you’re around.” She looks at him from the corner of her eye, smiling.

“I’ll have to teach you how to wait, huh?”

Though, when Mingyu had gotten on that taxi, she had not thought about the address she gave. The taxi driver parks outside, thanked by Mingyu as he gives him counted bills and gets out of the yellow car. Much to her distaste, however, when she gets off as well, Mingyu is staring ahead at the white house that had once been shared with the love of his life—

Yoona.

The woman who almost married him.

The one person he had never talked about.

Mingyu opened up about a lot of portions of his live. Childhood. Cousins. Parents. Music. Photography. Collections. Love from teenage years, but Yoona was never touched. Never talked about. She never pushed it, knowing better than getting that information out of him, but when she stands by his side, watching his face turn somber, he softly asks:

“You live here?”

Warning signs appear inside her head, blaring red lights leaving her with no emergency exits. The line has cut short, no longer letting her lie to him in order to keep her secret intact. She knew him before he actually knew her, and she had thought of him as charming then. “Mingyu, yes. I didn’t want to tell you because—”

“Wait, why wouldn’t you want to tell me?” His face turns towards her, and she knows at that moment that she had fucked up. He had not assumed that she knew anything, only asked absentmindedly as memories flashed before his eyes. “Do you know something I don’t?”

She swallows thickly. She could lie to him, come up with lines and improvise, but Mingyu is one of those people that doesn’t deserve that. Instead, she tugs at the collar of the t-shirt on her body, sighing deeply. “Listen,” She starts. “When I got here, I found a box that said ‘throw away’ and it had a bunch of CD’s inside…”

Mingyu pulls back at that moment, shaking his head. “No—”

“And I watched them. You were in all of them with your ex…Yoona.” She whispers, looking over to the side, watching the house that had both introduced her to the person she feels like she is falling for, and that may take him away at that moment. “I didn’t want to pry, I swear. I just…I just did and I kept on watching because of you, and destiny did its thing and it brought us together at the bar, and with you as my musical’s photographer.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mingyu asks, and she comes up with nothing. Because she didn’t want for him to close up with her, of course. “You knew more about him than I knew about you, and you didn’t even think about giving those CD’s to me…or just…or just tell me that she had kept them there!”

“Well, I just didn’t want you to think I was stalking you or something. It was all a coincidence!” She replies, only to have Mingyu running his hands through his hair, chuckling at the sky before groaning deeply.

“That’s my privacy!”

“Well, it’s not like I knew it was private before!” She argues back, frowning at him. “Besides, why is it so deep for you? You know about Haseul, why does it matter if I know that you almost married Yoona? It’s not like I’m jealous of a woman of your past—”

“Because you have no idea how long it took me to get over her!” Mingyu replies, voice rising, chest heaving. Then, a pout takes over his features as he explains himself, retreating the tone of voice he had just taken up on.

“If you’d let me know what happened, maybe I could understand—”

“Turns out I had a toxic relationship. She wanted me to be her little puppet, make her fantasy come true of a perfect man, and a perfect family, and possibly a…I don’t know…a social media presence where we showed how perfect we are but…I’m not perfect.” He breathes out, biting his bottom lip as he looks at her. “Can you blame me for not wanting to remember all the turmoil I went through because of her?”

“You can just not talk about it if that’s the case. I don’t mind. But you can tell me about these things—” She entices. “I’m not going to judge you, Mingyu. Our pasts are there for a reason—”

“Don’t give me that.” Mingyu answers, smile lines intensified by the purse of his lips. “You always say you want to change your past, to start again, to not remember—”

“But my past and my mistakes made me meet you!” She exclaims. “I can’t turn back time and change things because, maybe, I wouldn’t have met you if that was the case. I like you, Mingyu, almost married or not. I like you for who you are and who you were.”

“If you liked me so much, you could’ve just told me.” Mingyu mumbles, blinking softly.

“…I was afraid, okay? I get to be afraid, too. Just as you were.”

Mingyu falls silent for a second, deep in thought, walking backwards as he says: “I—I just need some time, okay? I get you, but I need…I need to process this.”

She tries to go after him, shaking her head. “Mingyu, don’t do that. We have to talk about this. I didn’t mean to remind you of a bad time—”

“Just…burn that fucking box and…and I’ll talk to you about it later, okay?” Mingyu whispers out, goosebumps going up her arms when she watches him go. Never had she seen him so shattered, hands shaking as he remembers that one portion of his life he never wanted back.

He had seemed so in love.

And now, he can’t fall in love as easily.

Yet, a new beginning is necessary, so when she retreats to her home, she picks up a lighter, walking far down the street with the box in hand to light it up.

The past makes who they are, but it doesn’t define them. From now on, she is the only one that can decide her future, and so can Mingyu for his own life.

###

“Care to tell me why you ruined every single one of my pictures?”

Last show, but Kaleigh doesn’t know it. Just as she’s applying another layer of purple onto her eye, as if to indicate the bruises from her character, Mingyu speaks to her. Over one week of not talking to each other, texts going ignored, time asked whenever they meet, and she has met more than the middle of the situation. Now she wants to go forward, know more of him than of herself, movement more eccentric in order to fuck up his work.

If that’s what it takes to get his attention…

She shrugs her shoulders, patting the makeup sponge against her eye. If he doesn’t want to talk, she won’t talk either. “Just some new dance moves. I added some popping because the character felt like it needed it.” It’s utter bullshit, and the way Jaehyo snorts from his spot tells her that no one believes her. Even Hyun seems to chuckle at her antics, Mingyu’s lost expression mirrored in the vanity.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Kim, I don’t think you can talk to the cast like that.” She answers, mischief painted on her face when she connects her gaze with his through the mirror.

Scoffing, he says: “You didn’t think that when you ruined all my shots from yesterday’s night.”

The makeup sponge now rests against the table, her fingers interlocked as she talks to him through the mirror. Today, Mingyu props some pink sunglasses on his head, a leather jacket placed on top of a white t-shirt. “I’m sure they look fine, Mr. Kim. They always do.”

“They’re all blurry.”

“My apologies. You may have to take some pictures tonight, then.”

“…If you even let me. You’re moving around like you have pinworms.”

“Oh my God!” Sue says from her spot, elbows pressing to the back of her chair to be able to look at the scenery. “Is this a pre-marital issue?”

“I think so.” Jaehyo conquers, but she only throws a look at them.

“He’s the one that doesn’t want to talk to me.” She says, standing up from her spot to be in front of Mingyu, in all his glory, staring back at her with a stoic expression. “So…in order to get his attention, I had to find other ways to do it.”

Mingyu breathes out softly, staring around the room before wrapping his hand around her arm. “You want to talk? Let’s do it in private.”

The storage room in which they had met initially, memory of the umbrella that she hit against his head, now becomes the spot for them to meet in. Far more cramped than she remembers it for, with a tiny chair that Mingyu used to take up on to check his pictures. The man in question locks the reddened door behind him, giving one step forward and hence, ending up pressed to her body, hands placed on his own hips when he asks:

“You have something to say? Speak.”

Maybe, she had tried the worst of ways to get his attention. Annoyance, for once, is not something that pairs up with Mingyu’s face in most occasions. Yet, she finally gets to hear his voice. Angered. Cut short. Yet, unknowing of the reality that breathes through her pores.

“I’m sorry…for not telling you I had seen those videos. It was your privacy and I shouldn’t have looked, but after I did, I should’ve told you and given them to you to get rid of them. I did, but yeah…” Her voice falls into a softened tone, looking into his brown irises, down to his straight nose, a few speckles of facial hair on top of his lip, barely noticeable and those rose-colored lips that she has been missing for the past week. All of him, really, from his voice to his thoughts, to the impatience that takes over him. “Mingyu, I would never judge you for your past. Not when you weren’t the one at fault. We all make mistakes and I don’t think any less of you for being naïve enough to involve yourself in that situation. I like you with or without Yoona in your life. If you want to talk about it, I’ll accept it…if you don’t—”

“I want to talk about it.” Mingyu says, breathing out in a way that has the warmth of him touching her lips. His chest expands, flush against her breasts, when he explains his truth. “I met Yoona when I was seventeen. She was friends with Seungkwan, a friend of mine, and he got us in this blind date thingy because…I don’t know, I was bored, I wanted a date.” He shrugs, though his eyes show that he really cares. “So, we started a relationship…and we started living together soon enough. I didn’t care. I worked two jobs, all to be able to move from our apartment to a bigger house, and then she got other jobs…and we made it. She said she wanted to have a family soon, that she’d start recording us…whatever. You know that part.” His life seemed so much easier than what he described, but that’s just what the video-camera showed. “Turns out that she got out of all her jobs, expected me to pay for everything, and lived the most exotic of lifestyles. If I ever told her we couldn’t buy something, she’d take it out on me…” Mingyu sighs, shaking his head in the process. “We’d fight all the time, but I loved her, so I proposed. Turns out that it didn’t work, and I cut off the engagement the morning of our wedding.”

“As you should have…” She elongates, only to have Mingyu chuckling darkly.

“Yeah. I was reassured that it was a good decision when three days later she started dating a famous YouTube guy and she started vlogging for real.”

“I’m so sorry, Mingyu.” With all the sincerity she can muster, locked away in the depths of her heart only for him to see, she sighs. “…You deserve better.”

“I know I do.” He finalizes. Looking down at her lips before smiling softly. “Glad we sorted that out.”

“Sorted that out? I acted like a spoiled brat just to get your attention. I’m sorry for that, too—”

“Ah, don’t worry.” Mingyu replies, wrapping his arms around her waist before pressing her back to the wall. The dry paint clings to her clothing, rubs against it when his fingers rub against her skin over the fabric. “You always have my attention, even if you ruin my pictures in purpose just to get me to talk to you. I needed some time, that’s all.”

“Yeah…I’m so sorry.”

Mingyu doesn’t utter another word, lips conjoining in a smile before they rest over her own. Much of the like of the type of kisses they had shared in that taxi ride, hands folding the fabric of her clothing when he brings her clothing, breathing against her skin as he slowly takes over the kiss. His lips part, his left hand going down to his hips, towards her thigh before lifting it over, pulling their bodies closer when he settles himself between her legs, head turned to the side just as her fingers rake through his hair.

He doesn’t care. Doesn’t mind having his hair messy, his camera pushed away from his neck and put carefully to the side as she continues kissing him. Though, he does care about her, only pulling away to ask: “How many minutes you have until you go up the stage?”

Staring at the clock on the wall, she breathes against his lips. “Like thirty minutes.”

“May I…?” Mingyu asks, eyes joining desire with worry, pressing his hips forward, abdomen contracting when her hand caresses his jaw, touches his neck and lets her thumb rub over the column of his throat.

“…Of course, Mingyu.”

It’s not the most romantic of places, but it happens with a soul she doesn’t want to exchange. For once, his name becomes a poem, and she will never find a rhyme better than him.

###

Two set of judgmental eyes watch her as she slides the folded piece of paper in her hands towards Kaleigh. Always sporting an all-black outfit, those glasses that hide the malice in her gaze, and before her lips could part to utter one of her simplistic sentences, she bathes on the glow of getting out of her last show. Of trying her best, and yet, not having the best outcome.

“It’s over.” She says, sighing deeply with joined lips as she rests her hands in the depths of her jeans’ pockets. “I don’t want to be part of this musical anymore. Thank you for the opportunity, but I feel as though I don’t fit this team…or your vision of me, whatsoever.”

There, while the rest of the team are taking off their makeups, getting rid of their clothing, children bustling around, overexcited from the sceneries, Kaleigh is speechless. Hyun, on one hand, steps forward, eyes widened.

“She can’t leave.” Turning to her, she shakes her head. “You can’t leave, you’re one of the main characters.”

“I don’t think I will continue down a path of happiness if I stay here. My mental health comes first, and Kaleigh can’t bring me that as a director.” She adds, pointing at the paper in between Kaleigh’s hands, still unopened. “Right there, you can see my resignation letter. I don’t want to be part of this team anymore, and Kaleigh can choose to talk badly about me as an actress if she so pleases.”

Kaleigh scoffs from her spot, nodding at what she says. “Of course, I will. How unprofessional do you have to be to leave the musical like this?”

What hurts her the most is leaving her cast. Leaving her character, ever, that wants to give out such an important message about the reality people live. Instead, she has to let go. Better opportunities will come for a dream that is not yet set in stone. “Very. But I think it’s the best decision.” Pushing herself away from the situation, she starts walking away from the stage. Her home, really, but one that will fall to shambles if she doesn’t leave now.

She doesn’t expect to hear someone’s voice then. “We need you.” Mixed with her name, Hyun speaks. The woman that hates her the most, yet, when turning around, seems to look at her with a plea in her brown eyes. She smiles, because Hyun deserves it. The woman is given, that much she can say.

“You don’t.” She answers, sighing deeply. “The stage needs you, but it doesn’t need me. As long as you keep this story alive, I can be replaced. That, you don’t have to worry about—”

“But you won the audition—”

“No, it was given to me.” Truthfully, the more she thought about it, the more she realized Kaleigh never wanted her there for her talent. “And I don’t want to be there for publicity. I don’t need that pressure on me. So, the real talent should stay.”

With that, she turns around, giving the last few steps until the coldness of the night bites at her skin.

Seated on the sidewalk, Mingyu rummages through his phone, unaware of her presence as he listens to music with his earphones plugged in. The cars pass by, gray concrete matching his dark outfit. Just a few hours earlier, she had seen him without him, but not sedated yet, she kneels until she is hugging him from behind, pressing a kiss to his cheek and humming in delight at the heat of his body.

Not hers. A person can’t be hers. And though he isn’t hers, she doesn’t mind it.

Mingyu takes off one of his earphones, turning around to look at her and asking a silent question with his eyes.

“What?” She puzzles, only to have Mingyu widening his eyes.

“How did it go?”

“Badly. It hurts.” Her heart aches at the idea of not getting another chance, giving all her might into acting tonight…and perhaps, the only night that she will get to act again. “But it’s what I had to do. I’m going to find a better opportunity later on.”

His smile widens, leaning forward to steal a kiss from her lips before joining his free hand with the ones conjoined over his stomach. “I’m so proud of you.”

“If you’re so proud, let me invite you to dinner.” Standing up, she watches as he follows after her steps.

“Let me pay for once!” He whines, only to see her shaking her head.

“Nope. I’m your designated sugar mommy.”

“You’re totally not.” Mingyu denies, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“Come on, let me live the dream.”

Though, hers will remain paused for now…until a better chance comes about. A real one, perhaps.

###

Bad news always come like a train-wreck. Life is silent for a second, too eerily silent, and the moment she opens her eyes, everything is shattered. This time around, it wasn’t any different. Seated on the counter, Mingyu working on making a set of pancakes, taking his precious time on heating them to utter perfection, she doesn’t think anything when turning on her phone. If anything, she is staring forward, at the way Mingyu’s back muscles contract with the movements of his arms.

Kim Mingyu has this magic of appearing in someone’s life and never giving the person the benefit of asking themselves if they want him to leave. She doesn’t, and that’s factual. A little above a month after she left her job at the musical, she has tried to avoid all contact with everyone from her cast—from Jaehyo to Sue, obviously with Hyun, trying her hardest to show to her family and friends back at home that she can stay here and fulfill a dream. So far, nothing has worked.

But Mingyu has.

Not spoken into the night but fallen into place, Mingyu spends more time at her place than he does on his, giving a piece of his heart to her, while he has all of hers. With each passing day, the comfort of him becomes the sunlight of her days, though the clouds seem to gather in her personal life. Mingyu finds gigs, but the tabloids have forgotten about her after the viral video of her past relationship.

This time around, the headlines in her phone—from the notifications of her favorite magazine—inform her something more.

Han Hyun dies while practicing for new musical. Doctors confirm gastrointestinal bleeding.

When standing up, the chair falls behind her. Fear. Petrification. Perhaps, regret. Hyun had so much life within her—a pulsating need to be the best, and she was. Then, stress took up all of her life. So young, yet now not existing in the same world as them.

The room seems to rotate by the time Mingyu speaks her name into the dense air. “Hey, what happened?” He moves towards her, but she gives a few steps back, uttering the words that hurt her just by hearing them.

“Hyun died.”

One never really thinks about an enemy dying. A rival, really. The fear starts to become palpable when people think of their loved ones dying, but when it comes to someone that they can’t stand…it almost seems favorable. To have them away from this world. Yet, she can’t even utter another word, entering her room and throwing herself into the bed. The sheets are crumpled between her palms, tears blinding her vision as she thinks of all the times, she bumped hands with Hyun.

She was so talented.

It almost felt like she had to take care of her. Each and every single time she told her to mind her own business, she never did.

The door opens softly, her name called once again, though she doesn’t want to listen. Never has she liked Mingyu seeing her crying, but at this point, when he rests his weight next to her on the bed, his elbow resting adjacent to her body as he horizontally leans his weight on her back, she can’t help but let out a little weep.

“Hey…” His fingers trail down her spine, speaking softly. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” She turns around, hair done a mess as she stares into his eyes, trying to stop the hiccups that shake her frame. “She had so much to give, and look at what happened to her. I couldn’t even—I don’t know, say goodbye to her?”

“You don’t have to think about what you didn’t do.” Mingyu replies after a few seconds of silence, bringing his body forward until he is hovering over her, kissing the tears away before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “…You can only think about what you’re going to do now. Not take people for granted. Get to know people better. Avoid rivalries. That’s all you can do.”

Staring up at him, she realizes one thing. One day, we’re here, the other, we’re not. We don’t belong to anyone—not even ourselves—, but to the world instead. Life plays with us like marionettes, puts us in places that we think we can never get out of, but the road ahead is so much more surprising. Living in a labyrinth, looking for people who understood her, new beginnings and thrilling stories, she found someone. A person that she doesn’t want to lose, and someone whom hasn’t heard the truth. The full and heart-wrenching truth.

Because Mingyu is there. Belongs to the universe, and never to her. One day, anything could happen. He could get tired, bored, could simply move on and call it quits. He could come home one day and say that he doesn’t want to be with her anymore. But now, as his sleepy gaze stares at her with worry, she realizes that she doesn’t want him to belong to her. She wants to be with him. Aches and desires to spill her truth out and enjoy him for the time that life plants him there for her to enjoy.

May the flowers bloom of the seeds her words leave. They could die, but they will get to grow first.

“…I have to tell you something. Before it’s too late to actually say it…” She mumbles, rubbing her eyes and her nose, sniffling softly before looking into his eyes. There has always been this understanding in him, even when he doesn’t always say the proper thing—as if he knows, deep within him, that they understand each other. That no matter how many times mistakes settle on their hearts, they know their deepest intentions. “It may be too soon for you and I know I said I’d wait until you’re ready but—”

“I love you.” He says it first, aware, not shying away, savoring the taste on the roof of his mouth before stealing another kiss away from her lips. “I don’t want to wait. Good things can’t wait.”

He always said he wasn’t the most patient, but perhaps, she was the one that would wait a thousand years just to have him.

There is not an exact reason that she can think of as to why he would love her. Why, out of all things, Mingyu would open up his heart again—and why she does, too. They have been broken, but they grew two new, stronger hearts. Not fixing the old ones, but helping each other craft a new organ. One where he made a home for her, and she has made a throne for him.

“I love you and I want you to know that I’m here for you. For anything. Whatever you need me for.” He breathes out, rubbing his fingers on her cheek before looking down at her. “…If it wasn’t that what you were going to tell me, I’m sorry. Again, my second name is dumbass so—”

“I love you, too, Mingyu.” She tries to chuckle through the tears, though her bottom lip pouts out and Mingyu sighs deeply, wrapping his arms around her and relishing her with a kiss.

Though love is not perfect, it’s much better to meet in the middle. Two people who will either end up together forever, or for whatever long ever decides to stay. Never can be an option, too, but she knows that whatever the outcome is, Mingyu is the one portion of her past that she would never want to forget.

And it’s time for her to learn that the hours of the life clock are ticking, and she wants to spend all of them with him.

#mingyu scenarios #mingyu #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #mingyu au #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #photographer!au #musical actress!Au #this is such a slowburn fic like lord help me #also i've had this idea since last year and didn't know who to write it for but #mingyu seemed fitting so #here goes

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frostedfaves · 3 years

Text

Repercussions (15)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda search for their printsessa with the help of Tony.

Warnings: dark themes, gun use, blood mention, serious injury

A/N: am I devastated that this is the final part of one of my favorite things I’ve ever written? absolutely! but I’m also really happy with myself for being able to turn the images in my head for this ending into coherent words. I’ve been holding onto this idea for weeks and I’m ecstatic to see everyone’s response to it. I’ll be letting you know later on this week what’s coming next! 👀

Previous part

With Clint’s assistance, Natasha and Wanda were able to quickly create a plan and make their way to the last base, using the fear and anger of their girlfriend’s disappearance to barrel through anyone that stood in the way of intel collection. They wasted no time in waking everyone up when they returned to the safe house.

“Is there a security breach?” Steve questioned as the group gathered, and Natasha tossed the hard drive at him.

“We got everything, and we need to get back--”

“Oh, I get it,” Sam cut in with an eye roll. “They rushed through the mission to get back to their girlfriend so they can cuddle and all that cute shit--”

“She’s missing!” Wanda growled as her eyes began to glow, causing Sam to step back a few feet with wide eyes.

Everyone aside from Clint started asking questions all at once, and Natasha shut them all down with a stern command to be ready to fly out in ten minutes. Bags were packed and bodies were dressed as the team rushed to get to the jet, afraid of what might happen if they delayed the two women any longer.

“While we’re checking out the house, I need someone looking into Wesley L/N,” Natasha ordered, nodding as Tony volunteered and sending him all the information she had.

“Who is this, her brother?”

“Her cousin, if that’s even true--”

“It is, we checked the family history,” Wanda insisted, grabbing Natasha’s hand with a shaky breath. “They’re really close, he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“We don’t know that! Anyone can do something terrible if they’re pushed far enough--”

“Stop! Just fucking stop!” Wanda cried out as she covered her face with her hands, and Natasha moved to wrap her arms around her as she sat in the seat beside her.

“I’m sorry, Wan. I’m just worried and my brain is wired to go to the worst case scenario instantly.”

Wanda simply sniffled as tears started spilling down her cheeks again, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder as she accepted the comforting embrace. After a few minutes of silence between the pair, Wanda dropped her hands into her lap as she glanced at green eyes already absentmindedly staring at her, lowering her voice as she spoke.

“I want to ruin his mind before we kill him.”

The house felt empty and colder without your presence, every step on the carpeted floor of the front room seemed to echo around the building. Tears threatened to build in Wanda’s eyes again but she held them back, intent on believing that they will find you and bring you back where you belong. Only they could take care of what you needed.

A heavy feeling washed over their hearts when they entered your solo room and discovered some of your clothes and shoes were missing, along with the travel bag you’d first arrived with. The guest room Wesley resided in was also void of his presence, and anything that could clue them into where he’d taken you.

“Tash, look.”

Natasha followed her gaze to the security room, cursing loudly in Russian when she noticed the door left wide open. She stormed inside, clenching her fist in anger when she noticed the tiny plastic baggie holding the miniscule tracker that was supposed to be in your leg right now.

“He’s a psychiatrist, not a fucking surgeon!” she fumed as she showed the object to Wanda. “How did he get this out?!”

Wanda walked around her to get to one of the computers, logging in as fast as her fingers would allow her to type and bringing up the security footage from the last several days. For the most part, the two of you acted normally, doing all the things you’d told them about like playing games and watching TV, but the sight of the two of you emerging from the TV room in the basement and entering the game room brought something to her attention.

“Did you see that?” She backed up the footage and switched over to slow motion. “She’s limping.”

“Isn’t that the day she hurt her leg in the backyard?”

“Yes, but…” The backyard footage is brought up next and skipped through until the moment of your ‘injury’. “This happened almost two hours later, meaning--”

“It was a cover for the tracker removal.” Natasha cursed once more as she released a frustrated sigh. “She’s getting locked in her room as soon as she gets back here.”

A notification similar to a phone ringing went off on one of the monitors, and the two women scurried over to answer the incoming call from Tony.

“Everything you had on this Wesley kid checks out, no criminal history or secret ties to any Hydra related groups, or anything else you have to worry about. However, I tried tracking and hacking into his phone and it seems to be wiped clean. So I got into his phone records with his cell company and his last call was made to an unsaved number connected to someone named Kendall, last known address in Nebraska.”

“Send it to us, please.”

They were on their feet as soon as the call ended, grabbing the mission bags abandoned in the doorway and heading off to their respective rooms to repack for the trip.

In nearly the same moment, you were in your safe house in Nebraska, rounding the corner to enter Wesley’s room. He knew something was wrong by the way your eyes watered and your shaky hand held onto the bugging device.

“They found us.” There was no questioning tone in his voice, but you answered with a nod anyway.

“Pack everything you brought and get out of here, drive toward the west coast until you run out of gas and hide wherever you stop.”

“What?! I can’t leave you here! They’ll just take you back and it’ll be worse than before.”

“I’ll be fine, Wes,” you assured him with a gentle squeeze of your hand over his. “I planned for this too, and if I know them as well as I think, I’ll be free to come find you.”

Wesley was packed and gone within the next hour, and you worked quickly to transform the space, make it seem as if you’d been the only one to reside in the home. Once that was set, you changed clothes and positioned yourself in an armchair against the wall in the front room, a gun resting in your lap. You didn’t move when a knock was heard on the front door that night, simply waited until the visitors got impatient and picked the lock to force their way in.

“You worried us, printsessa, disappearing like that,” Natasha addressed you in a chilling tone as the two of them stopped a few feet away from you. “And we’ll deal with that later, after you tell Wesley to come out so we can punish him first.”

“He’s not here,” you told her calmly. “His only job was to bring me here--”

“And take the tracker out of your leg, which we will be putting back,” Wanda interjected with a stern expression. “Now, you can either come with us to the car willingly or we’ll drag you.”

“I won’t be doing either of those things.” You stood slowly, lifting the gun to your temple as you went. “Your only choices are to leave me here and go back to the way your lives were before I came in, or you can let me die. If you take me again, I’ll just fight you every day until you wish you’d killed me yourself. No matter how you manipulate my mind, my true self will never love someone who wants to control me. I’ll tell you how much I hate you for ruining my life every second I’m able, and I’ll kill myself the moment I get the chance to do so.”

You noticed the glassy look in their eyes as they faced each other, and you knew they were having a silent conversation in their minds. Seconds felt like minutes as they seemed to discuss their options, eventually turning back to face you. Wanda was fully crying now, and Natasha seemed to be physically holding back her own emotional break.

“We always thought we’d be able to love and care for you until our dying days.” Her shaky voice filled the quiet room. “But we understand if you don’t want that, and we’re sorry that you’ll never be able to love anyone else.”

Before you had time to react, Natasha was pulling a gun out and aiming it at your heart, the sound of the shot echoing and triggering Wanda’s instant sobbing. Natasha was quick to pull her into her arms, facing her away from you as you tumbled to the ground, your own weapon sliding away as your free hand weakly pressed against the oversized sweatshirt that covered your wound.

The two women hurried out of the house as you began to choke and cough up blood, not able to stomach hearing or seeing anymore, and the sound of a car speeding off echoed throughout the neighborhood. Waiting another minute or two to be sure they left, you got up to walk off to the bathroom, wiping the fake blood off your palm the best you could. After slipping the bulletproof vest off your torso and washing your hands, you quickly rinsed your mouth and brushed your teeth to get rid of the red stains, lifting your head to look in the mirror with a smile when you were done.

You looked pretty good for a dead woman.

Tags: @littlegasps @nat-km-mh @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @imnotasuperhero @creepingwolfberry @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @bebe404 @seventeen0 @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @fayhar @becka107 @wannabe-fic-reader @beforeoursecrets @cosmicbrownies7 @messuhp @mjaudrey @sxphiaswitch @trikruismybitch @muted-stoneheart @multi-images @just-a-normalpersons @want-to-watch-it-burn @stop-drop-and-drumroll @stickystudentlightmug @pianogirl2121 @welcometothepeanutgallery @witchxaf @natashadeservedmore @sakurat123 @darkangelxoxo @haiiiloeee2

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wastedyouth-wasteddreams · 3 years

Text

Part 4

Standing at the door of her apartment, he could feel sweat fusing his shirt to the top of his pecs.

*there's someone I want you to meet*

He thought about what she had said, and practiced introducing himself

"Hey, I'm Vik, the Ripperdoc" he murmered under his breath, feeling both ridiculous and lacklustre.

He wasn't used to being flustered and he didn't know how to hide it. Last time he had been here, he had a bag full of supplies, this time just a lump in his throat.

In his clinic today, she was so excited. She threw her arms around his neck. She gave him the same kiss she gave him on his birthday. Deliberately placed, with parted lips, and she let her mouth linger for a second, close enough electricity could be be felt between the two of them.

She was playful, and perky and asked him to come over after work. He had accepted of course, but then she said it.

"Preem! There's someone I really want you to meet"

His throat felt hollow, and his stomach took the form of an elevator with the cables cut.

He had tried to get out of it. After she had left he called her on the holo and told her he was working late. He wasn't lying, he worked very late tonight. He booked 2 extra appointments just to make sure he did.

Then she broke him a little more

"No problem Vik, he's staying here anyhow, just come by when you're done?"

And before he could weasel his way out of it, she pulled her move. The move that always gets her what she wants.

"You're the best Vik, you never let me down"

Yes. He was a fool for her. And what an old fool he was. The kiss, the present, the wondering fingers. It was all on his birthday, and she was being herself. She was covered head to toe in chrome, and he was a Ripperdoc. He was business with a side of friendship, not romance. And tonight he would be meeting someone who could sweep her off her feet, someone young. Someone who would take her for dinner, kiss her as she woke, be passionate with her, and all the other things he wanted to do for her. All the things he knew he couldn't give her.

He raised a hand and adjusted his glasses before placing his forehead snuggly between his fingers and thumb, massaging out an imaginary headache through sulking eyebrows.

Before he left he made sure to shower and change into his spare work clothes, if he was to meet this guy, he was going to make sure he made some kind of impression.

He took a deep breath and pulled his shoulders back, exposing his broad ex boxer physique to anyone who saw him. He lifted his chin and swallowed, attempting to push down the ball of heavy emptiness that had grown around his Adams apple.

He lifted his hand to knock and noticed the tremble from his forearm to fingers, once again reminding him of the walls between him and the girl behind the door.

Her door opened and she lifted a finger to her lips

"He's sleeping, and he looks like an angel" she hushed and ushered him in to her apartment. The room was dark, with only the light from the bathroom and the city outside her window to illuminate. He had seen her like this before, dropping off essential med supplies. Well, bandages and antiseptic creams that he insisted she needed after seeing how clumsy she was. He had kept this image in his head since then. Small lose shorts clutching the the top of her ass and thighs, just covered by a baggy singlet that was obviously not created to hug her physique like her day wear. The arm hole of her cut off top hung down just past the bottom of her breast, allowing his gaze to trace the curves and shadows.

"Sleeping?" Vik asked, his eyes parting from her only momentarily to see if he could catch a glimpse of someone on the bed.

"I can come back another time, Kid. I know its late"

She closed the door behind him, seeming to ignore his proposition, instead remarking on his fresh clothes.

"Why don't you smell like the shop?"

"Well, you said I was meeting someone special. Can't turn up in grease and sweat can I now?" He whispered back, fully aware of the irony after pulling his shirt from his near sodden chest.

"Come on" she grasped his hand and pulled him toward the bed. This is not what he imagined at night alone when he thought of her pulling him to her bed.

"Look!" She squeed under hushed breath.

Vik looked at an empty bed. He was relieved, but so very confused. A lump in the covers suddenly stretched up and tiny claws popped up next to it. She perched on the edge of the bed with a huge happy grin.

"Purrrowl" he heard as a feline head popped up above the covers.

"Nibbles, this is Vik. Vik, Nibbles"

It was a cat. She wanted him to meet a cat. A smirk began to grow on one side of his face, and he let out what felt the entirety of his lungs in a single sigh.

He looked over to her and she patted the bed at him.

"I just knew you would love him!" Her wide eyes fell soft as he nodded in agreement, finally allowing his half smirk to erupt into a full smile.

He sat down next to her, softly rocking his head from side to side but still grinning wide.

"I didn't realise it was cat" he said without thinking.

"It was a surprise" she cheerily declared, cheeks flush and highlighted with a warm tingle.

"That it fucking was" he stretched the length of his muscled torso across the middle of the bed leaning on his elbow, and reached out his other hand to let the waking feline sniff at him.

Nibbles let out a loud snorting purr, and pushed his nose against Viks hand.

She heard a crack as vik leaned over and looked toward his shoulder for the offending joint, but got distracted by his...well, she actually just got distracted by him. He was peering over his glasses at the cat that was blinking his eyes slowly to the human roughly man handling his head. He looked content right now. The neon lights reflecting from his lenses. His shirt sleaves rolled up and clung around his biceps, threatening to rip at the seams if he so much as sneezed, there was a glisten below his neck defining his chest hair. his stethoscope and trauma team holster were missing, and his boxing glove was swinging just under his clavicle. He eyes glanced to her, slowly landing on her neck and following to her breasts. His groin stirred as he began noticing how both her nipples were stretching out the cotton of her shirt. He had to force his eyes back to hers just in time to catch her eyes Sparkle.

"Who did you think you were going to meet?" She asked as she lay down in front of them both, reaching a finger under Nibbles chin for a little scratch.

Pulling in a breath to answer, all he got out was a growling "mmmm" and he watched her rearrange herself.

She pushed out her chest as she breathed in, attempting to lure his gaze once again. Her right arm stretched out as her body lowered to the bed. She pulled her left elbow back tracing her finger tips across the top of her thigh as her left leg slowly swung to brush his leg with her knee, he watched her hips lift and round toward him, asking him a question he desperately wished to answer.

"Vik?" Her finger wrapped around the leather of his necklace. She dragged it toward her softly and slightly tugged twice trying to exploit a response.

"A guy" he looked at Nibbles in coy quandry. "Like that pretty slackjaw who gave you his card in the clinic maybe". He stroked the soft belly that nibbles had now stretched to expose.

"I think I prefer this guy though. Don't have to compete for your attention with him".

An effervescence erupted from her her diaphragm, slowly raising between her breasts, and finally settling as a blanket of electricity on her cheeks.

"I like that" she shrugged, her face aglow. She allowed her fingertips to stroke over his sternum, and watched how his skin reacted to her touch. She ran her finger nails up his neck and back down to the collar of his shirt.

He slowly blinked, allowing his body to feel every part of his skin that was being touched.

A small knee wrapped over his, and a contented short moan left her trembling lips.

"V." He wrapped his fingers around her hand, delicate and slightly shaking with building excitement.

Her touch, it made his head swell at the best of times, but here, like this. Her body showing off its curves. He didn't know how much he could take, and he didn't want to do something to potentially jeopardise her friendship.

Nibbles, having been disrupted by the sudden movement, leapt over viks legs and took up a bath on the nearby couch.

Vik lifted her hand to his face holding the tips of her fingers between his thumb and finger.

"I don't want to step out of line. And when you touch me like that..." he felt his pants getting tight as his dick started to make the point for him.

"Do you want me to stop?" She had edged herself a little closer peering over his glasses into his amazingly blue eyes as they drew up to hers.

"Well that's the problem kid. I'm worried I'm gonna want more" as he kissed her knuckles, he hears her whisper.

"Me too"

#cyberpunk viktor #viktor vector/reader #viktor vektor #viktor vektor fic #cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #viktor vektor x reader #vicktor vektor #cyberpunk fic #cyberpunk fanfic #cyberpunk2077

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

Protective Detail (6/?)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: language, tension so thick you could cut it with a goddamn knife

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: We finally get some payoff, my friends. This chapter is just a tiny taste of what’s in store for 7. That’s when we really get our thirst quenched. So...you know...stay tuned...

Chapter Index

Protective Detail Taglist: @masterlistforimagines @sillygoose6969 @mydaiilyescape @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @the-radical-venus @gemini0410 @garbinge @slutformayansmc @paintballkid711 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @sesamepancakes @mayans-sauce (If you want to be tagged in this fic or any of my other writing don’t hesitate to let me know!)

You had your bluetooth headphones on, lip-syncing along with the songs on your playlist as you cleaned around the house. You hated vacuuming, and you always tried to get it done quickly. The time seemed to pass faster when you were dancing to a good beat while you drowned out the noise.

One of the benefits of not having a large house, was that cleaning it wasn’t as daunting of a task as it could’ve been. Plus, on days like today when you called in and didn’t have anywhere to be, there was no excuse not to get it done. Your brain was still reeling from your interaction with Nestor earlier, and cleaning with loud music blaring in your ears seemed like a welcome distraction.

You were dancing your way over to the kitchen to get started on cleaning all of your counters when you felt someone’s eyes on you. You spun around and gasped when you saw Nestor standing there, looking back and forth between you and your phone that was in his hand.

You felt your face get hot as you pushed the headphones down so they were resting around your neck, “Jesus, Nestor. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Gotta stay alert,” he said matter-of-factly. He held your phone up, “Kendrick is on your cleaning mix?”

You laughed, “What? He’s not on yours?”

“Just didn’t have you pegged as a hip-hop fan, that’s all.”

“You have a lot to learn about me, Mr. Oceteva.”

His brows furrowed, “Don’t call me that ever again,” his face remained serious for a moment before a smirk broke out across it.

You chuckled, “From now on it’s the only thing I will ever call you.”

He didn’t dignify your comment with a response, “Anything I can do?”

You shrugged, “I’m just gonna wipe down the counters and stove. Just trying to keep myself busy.”

You put your headphones back on and got started cleaning up the kitchen. The longer you stood there staring at Nestor, the more you felt like you were going to lose your mind. What you really wanted to do was go for a drive to clear your head, but that was off the table even if Nestor was going to be in the car with you. Carefree cruising was going to be put on hold for the foreseeable future.

Once you were done in the kitchen, you moved on to the bathroom. It was the smallest room in the house but for some reason it was your least favorite to clean. You blamed it on the fact that you hated the smell of bleach, but it was just a lot of scrubbing and crouching if you were going to clean it the right way.

You stood up and were turning around to go grab a fresh roll of paper towels from the kitchen when you ran smack into Nestor. You huffed, looking up at him trying your best to have an annoyed expression on your face, although you knew that he would probably be able to see right through it.

“Quit sneaking up on me!”

He smirked, “I’m not,” he reached forward and gently thumbed a bead of sweat off your forehead before walking away and heading back to his room.

You felt like your entire body was on fire as you stood there stuck in place in the bathroom. He wasn’t much for any kind of contact at all, and that seemed like such an unnecessary gesture. You shook your head and went to grab a clean set of clothes from your room as you tried not to read too much into it. The only thing you could do right now was take a shower to try and wash away all the thoughts that were flying through your head.

You didn’t see much of Nestor for the rest of the afternoon. The door to his room was open, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go and see him. The house was silent and you finally forced yourself to put something on the TV just to keep you from going insane inside your own head.

It was starting to approach dinner time and you figured that you were going to have to talk to him eventually. Taking a deep breath you lightly knocked on the door.

“Yea?”

You stepped in to see him sitting with his back up against the headboard, computer in his lap. You leaned back against the doorframe nervously, “Dinner?”

“I’d like to eat eventually, yea,” he slowly shut his laptop, a tiny grin creeping across his face.

“I’d literally kill someone for a slice of pizza at this point,” you said with a laugh.

He chuckled, “Sure, you’d kill someone, but would you leave the house?”

You huffed, “You’ve worn me down. I am willing to leave the house to get pizza.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Wow. You feeling alright?”

You smiled, shaking your head, “You gotta admit it’s been a long few days.”

“If you wanna call and place the order, we can go pick it up.”

“Can I leave it under your name?”

He sighed, pressing his lips together for a moment, “You’re going to place an order for Mr. Oceteva, aren’t you?”

“Guess you’ll find out when we go to pick it up,” you laughed as you walked out of the room.

You never thought that you’d see the day when Nestor left the house in anything but his dress clothes. But, sure enough, he was grabbing the keys to the SUV still in his sweatpants. He had a gun tucked into the waistband, and you smiled to yourself as he pulled on a baggy hoodie to cover it up. He looked over to you, waiting for you to catch up with him.

The two of you went back and forth earlier about who was going to drive, but Nestor insisted. You were trying to be considerate because the last drive wasn’t the smoothest, but you could see it in his eyes that he wasn’t going to back down. It wasn’t worth an argument, so you let him have the keys.

Nestor walked into the restaurant first, instantly scanning the whole building. The young man behind the register looked at the two of you with a smile, “Can I help you?”

“Order for pickup?” Nestor said as he reached into his pocket for his wallet.

The boy looked over the names for orders that he had, “Are you…Mr. Oceteva?”

You could tell that he was clenching his jaw and you bit back a laugh. Nestor sighed, “Yes, that’s me.”

He was opening his wallet to grab some cash when you reached forward and snatched it out of his hands, stuffing it into your pocket before he could pay. You could see it on his face that he wanted to grab it back, but wasn’t about to start something in the middle of the pizza place. You chuckled as you handed a few bills over the counter to the young man, who looked very interested in how the situation was going to play out.

“Keep the change,” you said with a smile, “Have a good night.”

The kid nodded with a smile, “You too.”

You looked to Nestor, “Can you grab those?” you nodded towards the pizza and wing boxes.

The two of you walked back to the car, and he didn’t say anything until you both were inside of it with the doors locked. He looked over at you with a heavy sigh and held out his hand, “Wallet.”

You smirked, pulling it out of your pocket, “Fine, fine,” before you handed it over you opened it, and your eyes nearly popped out of your head when you saw his license photo, “Oh my god,” your hand flew up to cover your mouth, “Is that…teenage Nestor?”

He reached over and snatched it up out of your hands, “Give me the fucking wallet.”

“Your hair was so short!” you laughed, “Look at you and your baby face.”

He leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling like he was praying to god for patience, “Please stop talking.”

“You were so cute what the fuck,” you laughed, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I’ll leave you here,” he looked over at you, “And I’ll take the pizza with me.”

You pressed your lips together and tried to keep yourself from smiling, but you failed, “Let’s get home before the pizza gets cold.”

He shook his head as he threw the car into drive. For as annoyed as he was making himself seem, you could see it in his eyes that he was amused by the whole ordeal. He’d never admit it, but you knew it was true.

The two of you were camped out on the couch. You had ordered a large pizza, so you decided it was easier to just set the box on the cushion between you and each of you sat cross-legged facing it. It was the first time that Nestor ever drank at home, and it made you feel like you were at a slumber party of some kind.

You took a swig from your beer bottle, “Can I be real with you for a minute?”

He nodded, “Sure.”

“I know that this,” you gestured to yourself and your house, “is not what you usually do. I know it’s probably way below your paygrade, and I know that I give you a lot of shit for very little reward,” you chuckled, “But I’m really glad that you’re here.”

He froze mid-bite, “Yea?”

You smiled, “Yea. I know I gave you and my father both a hard time about all this. But if I’m being honest? I was pretty shaken up after everything happened. It felt like if I gave into this without a fight, I was admitting defeat. But I do feel a lot safer with you here. So…thanks.”

It was clear on his face that he was trying to process everything that you had just said to him. He set his slice of pizza back down into the box, “Can I ask what happened? Your father never gave me any details.”

You sigh, leaning back against the arm of the couch, “It was so stupid,” you shook your head, “I was out with a couple friends, bar-hopping. I stepped outside to get some fresh air, and this girl runs up to me in tears, saying that her friend was sick and she didn’t know what to do. Like, alcohol poisoning sick. And she was freaking out saying that her friend wasn’t breathing and she already called 911 but she didn’t know what else to do. So, I went to help, because I’m not gonna let someone choke on their own vomit and die or something. But when I got to the end of the block—”

“No friend.”

You shook your head, “Nope. Just two dudes trying to grab me and take me away. I really don’t remember exactly what happened, how I didn’t end up dead or at least hog-tied in the back of some sketchy-ass van. But when I tell you that I have never run away from something so fast," you took a long drink from your beer, “But anyway, yea. That’s the gist of it. Obviously, I had to tell my dad about it. He freaked out. He had no idea that he had been stirring up so much shit with business lately. And I’m assuming you got your new employment notice shortly after that happened,” you half-smiled.

He shook his head, “Sorry, Y/N.”

You shrugged, “I know better than to go anywhere alone, even with a distressed girl coming to me in tears. Just had a lapse in judgment and I paid the price for it. Just sorry you’re paying for it too,” you managed a laugh.

“I’m paying for my own lapses in judgment, don’t worry.”

You paused—that was the closest you’d ever gotten to hearing him talk about what happened on his end of things to land him in your house with you. “Sorry purgatory for you is this little two-bedroom house with me,” you smiled at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head, “Who knows, I might’ve ended up here anyway. But I definitely made the call a lot easier for them.”

“What was your crime?” you tried to keep it light but you couldn’t hide your curiosity.

His expression sobered as he contemplated whether or not he wanted to let you in on that part of his life, “Nothing as good-natured as trying to help someone with their drunk friend.”

“Not that I don’t totally dig the whole spiffy, braided, mysterious vibe you always have going,” you gestured to his whole body for a moment before continuing, “But you ever gonna not be vague with me about your deal with Galindo? I know I don’t particularly like him, but still. I like you. It’d be nice to know a little about you. I mean, c’mon, I doubt anything you say to me is going to be surprising. You know who my father is.”

He chuckled, unable to make eye contact with you for a few moments. He took a deep breath, “You remember the last Santa Madre festival?”

“Fuck, who doesn’t? Shit went sideways so fast,” you shook your head slightly, “Rebels killed that nun, right?”

His eyes were glued to the box between you, “Not really.”

There were a few moments of silence before it all clicked inside your head. Your eyes grew wide, “You…?” when he nodded all you could do was ask, “But why?”

He sighed and shook his head, “Rebels had been making the cartel catch a lot of shit. Galindo was convinced that the only way to put himself back on the right side of things was to flip the script—turn the Rebels into the problem. Put their name on the dirty work instead of the cartel’s,” he leaned back against the arm of the couch, “He was not thrilled with the call that I made on the specifics of the method.”

It was hard to picture the Nestor that you had come to know, the one who burned through entire pints of ice cream, and roughed up men who disrespected you, was capable of that kind of carnage. You knew better than to put anything past anyone, though. You could see the tension in his body as he waited for your reaction.

You let out a small sigh, “Listen, no one in the Galindo family has any room to talk about cruel and unusual punishment,” you waited for him to look at you, “And for better or worse, you did exactly what he needed. LO took a major hit in the court of public opinion after that. Don’t place a vague order if you’re gonna complain about all the details of it once the plate is in front of you.”

He let out a surprised chuckle, “Damn. If I had you around earlier maybe I wouldn’t have gotten demoted in the first place.”

“I’ll talk to him for you,” you laughed, “Just say the word.”

His laugh was genuine, “Absolutely not. I’ll be completely fired if you do that.”

“But,” you smiled as you toyed with the beer bottle in your hands, “if that happened you would get to stay with me all the time. Does that not sound amazing to you?” he remained silent for a few moments before his face broke out into a smile and you shook your head, “Shut up you could have it so much worse.”

The two of you didn’t talk for a few minutes, the television filling the house with quiet noise. You finished what little was still in your beer bottle before starting to clear up what was left of dinner. As much as you hated leaving the house compared to delivery, you had to admit that the trip was worth it.

You saw Nestor open his mouth to say something as you reached down and collected his beer bottle, but he stopped himself. You lingered for a moment, hoping that he would change his mind and say whatever it was that he was thinking, but he just reached and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Once you finished cleaning up, you decided that you were going to try and get to bed at a somewhat decent hour so you could try to get back to your usual schedule. You walked up behind Nestor, gently resting one hand on his shoulder.

“I’m heading to bed,” you squeezed his shoulder lightly, “Goodnight.”

He didn’t look up at you as he rested his hand over yours for a brief moment, “Goodnight. See you in the morning.”

You were lying awake in bed for what felt like an eternity. In reality it had only been a couple hours, but that was a long time to lie awake staring at the ceiling. You finally caved and took your phone out. If you were going to be awake anyway, you might as well look at something.

That’s when you heard the television shut off. Shortly thereafter the lights in the living room turned off as well. You realized that you had never been awake when Nestor went to bed. You heard soft footsteps in the hall and you didn’t know why but you were holding your breath when they got close to your door.

There was a light knock as he leaned in the doorway, looking at your face that was lit up by the screen of your phone, “Still up?”

You sat upright, eyes focusing on his silhouette in the darkness, “Can’t sleep.”

“Need anything?”

Your entire body felt like it was overheating. You gnawed at the inside of your cheek, “I, uh…I think I’m…I think I’m good.”

He chuckled, “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

You laughed, fingers twisting nervously in your blanket, “Not sure how much you could help me with what I need, Nestor.”

He crossed the threshold into your room, and you were very aware of the fact that he had never done so before. He came and found a seat on the edge of your bed, “It’s what I’m here for. Try me,” his hand found its way to yours and the warmth of it caused you to release your vice grip on the blanket as he slipped his fingers between yours.

Your heart was pounding inside your chest and your breath felt like it was caught in your throat. You set your phone off to the side with your hand that wasn’t entwined with Nestor’s, and you wondered if he could feel the way your body was trembling.

“I can go, if you’re alright,” he went to stand up.

“No,” you squeezed his hand, giving him a slight tug to keep him from getting up.

“What’s up?” you could hear the smugness in his tone—he knew exactly what was going through your head.

“I,” you paused, taking a deep breath, “I’m not looking to make this more difficult for you.”

He chuckled, “Since when?”

Your whole face was hot and you were thankful that the darkness of your room hid the nervousness that was surely showing on your face, “That’s…that’s fair.”

He was halfway through a laugh when you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. There was a moment of stillness when you were waiting for him to pull back, to get up and leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he leaned into you. You felt the tension fading out of your body as your free hand came up to rest on the back of his neck, keeping his lips against yours.

When he finally pulled away to catch his breath, he finished the laugh he had started before you kissed him. He cupped the side of your face in his hand, “We do not have the same definition of the word difficult.”

You giggled, biting down lightly on your bottom lip, “No?”

He shook his head, “No.”

He didn’t give you the opportunity to come up with a smart remark as he pulled your lips back to his. You smiled as you melted against him. Your heart was beating so hard inside your chest you were sure that Nestor was going to be able to hear it in the silence of your room. He pulled you closer to him, his hand sliding to rest on the back of your neck. The feeling of his hands on you sent a wave of heat throughout your entire body and you let out a shaky moan as you kissed him.

He pulled back just enough so that his lips weren’t on yours, “You good?”

You nodded, “Yea,” you smiled, your voice soft, “Don’t stop, please.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. A smirk crossed his face for a moment before he kissed you again, harder this time. His fingertips pressed lightly into the nape of your neck and for the first time you could feel the neediness radiating off of him—it pulsated through his fingers and into your skin. His touch was magnetic, and you knew that you wouldn’t have been able to pull away from him even if you wanted to. Luckily, though, pulling away was the farthest thing from your mind.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva imagine #protective detail #chapter 6 #multichapter #fanfiction #my writing #drabblesmc

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jeonsjiddies · 4 years

Text

Certain Things (m) | myg

original photo by snowmari on picsart

summary- you were in love with min yoongi, because he was a good person. You never thought he’d feel the same. F2l

rating- explicit 18+

word count- 5869

pairing- yoongi x reader

genre- fluff, smut

Warnings - oral (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, daddy kink, slight rough sex

Title inspired by Certain Things by James Arthur. <3

You did not fall in love with Min Yoongi because he was the dreamiest man you’d ever laid eyes on.

You did not fall in love with Min Yoongi because he was skilled in just about everything

You did not fall in love with him because of the way his body moved when he danced, almost like telling a story.

It wasn’t the way he remembered your coffee order or the way he stuck his tongue out when he was concentrating. It wasn’t the look of concern in his eyes when you had a rough day. It wasn’t the way he could (almost) always tell what you were thinking.

No.

You fell in love with Min Yoongi because he was a genuinely good person. The kind of person who made you want to be better too.

The way he’d do good things, the way he’d help people, especially when he thought no one was watching. You couldn’t count on all your fingers and toes how many times you’d sat at your window and watched Min Yoongi help an elderly woman carry her groceries up the stairs, or insisted on taking the single mother's trash to the dumpster as she wrangled her child in the other arm. The times he’d fix things the apartment complex neglected to get around to, not even leaving a note. He never asked for any glory.

The only time Yoongi sought out recognition was with his music.. His kind words and actions often went unnoticed or unappreciated by others. Yoongi didn’t mind that no one noticed, except you did. You noticed everything he did.

The day Yoongi moved in next door a year ago, you noticed his minty green hair and his contagious, gummy smile. You’d smiled back and welcomed him to the neighborhood, offering to help if he needed it. Yoongi had politely refused your offer, telling you he did not wish to bother you. Hours later when you showed up with freshly baked cookies, he did not refuse those. That was the beginning of your friendship with Yoongi.

After that, you two were almost inseparable, you were in his apartment or he was in yours. You talked and laughed and watched movies and got to know each other. The few moments you didn’t spend at each other’s side, you found yourself watching Yoongi every chance you got.

Just last week, you had perched yourself at your window and watched with a fond smile as your neighbor and now best friend comforted a little girl who’d approached him with tearful eyes and scuffed up knees.

Yoongi looked around for her mother, the single mom with too much on her plate, and when he didn’t find her he scooped the small girl into his arms, and gently distracted her with stories of a princess he once knew who fell off her bike too. The little girl snuggled into Yoongi’s chest as he walked around looking for her mother, telling her how the princess got a special band aid that made her booboo stop hurting immediately, like magic.

The mother darted over to Yoongi, spewing out apologies and thank you’s. She’d only turned her back for a moment and her toddler had disappeared. Yoongi shook his head, telling her it was nothing to apologize about and that he always enjoyed the young girls company. Min Yoongi was, in your opinion, a literal angel.

You smiled fondly, walking away from the window and stirring the soup you'd begun cooking earlier in the evening. You often shared your food with Yoongi, knowing that if you didn't, the stubborn idiot would exist on nothing but instant noodles and americano coffee. As you stirred the pot, you let your mind drift off with thoughts of Yoongi. He had texted you late the night before while he was struggling to compose lyrics for his new song.

He sent you voice clips of him rapping verses and asked your opinion on lines for the chorus, and you'd helped him get through his little slump until he was so in the zone he forgot to reply. You'd woken up this morning to an apology text and hugged your phone to your chest, reveling in how sweet he was and thinking it was just as good as a good morning text. You knew it was stupid to pretend these interactions with Yoongi were more than friendly, but sometimes you couldnt help yourself from getting lost in the idea of being his.

You wanted so badly to wake up to good morning texts from him. You wanted the hugs to last longer. You wanted him to hold you. You wanted to kiss those shiny, plump lips. Feel those veiny hands on your skin. You wanted to stay with him always, every time you parted from him a part of you seemed to dim. It was as if Yoongi was the sun and you were the moon, his warmth and energy reflected off of you and fueled your own.

Your entire life didn't revolve around Yoongi, not in the least. You had other interests and friends and hobbies. But it seemed like lately, he had wiggled his way into your heart so deeply, like a budding rose, the roots of your love for him were ingrained inside of you. Lately he had taken up more and more room in your heart, occupied more and more of your thoughts. You sighed, shaking off the empty feeling inside your chest and scooped the soup into two bowls.

You made your way over to Yoongi's apartment and balanced the soup so that you could knock. Yoongi opened the door a few moments later, wearing only grey sweatpants. Your mouth went dry and your grip on the soup wobbled as you stared at his exposed chest. Yoongi reached out to steady your hands and took the bowls from you, setting them down on the coffee table by the couch.

''Sorry I just got out of the shower. Let me go put a shirt on.'' Yoongi blushed, scurrying down the hallway and leaving you speechless at the entry.

You collected yourself, slowly shutting the door behind you and grabbing two spoons from his kitchen before sitting down on the sofa. Yoongi reappeared, fully clothed. You weren't sure if you were thankful or disappointed.

''This smells amazing!'' he praised. ''I was just about to make some instant noodles but this is so much better. Thank you!''

''How many times do I have to tell you that you can't survive on instant noodles and coffee?'' you rolled your eyes.

''I don't know how to cook.'' he shrugged.

''I have offered to teach you a million times.'' you threw back at him.

''But if I learned how to cook you wouldn't cook for me anymore.'' he pouted playfully , knocking his shoulder into yours.

''Big baby.'' you muttered, not bothering to hide the smile on your face. ''What would you do without me?''

''Probably die.'' he laughed. ''You're my best friend, I kind of need you.''

''Awww, Yoongi!'' you hugged him.

''Yeah yeah.'' he laughed, wrapping an arm around you in return. ''Just don't go anywhere, okay?''

''I won't, I promise.'' you grinned. ''Who else is going to feed you?''

''My point exactly.'' he winked, spooning more soup into his mouth and closing his eyes happily. “Ugh. Marry me.” He joked.

“You wish.” You laughed, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks.

You wished.

You chucked your coat off and threw it haphazardly on the coat rack then flopped onto the couch with a loud groan. You should have called in. You'd woken up late, your alarm didn't go off. You didn't have time to do your makeup if you wanted to shower, which you really needed to. So you'd gone to work looking like a troll, and things only spiraled downhill from there.

Your boss had called you out in front of everyone at the staff meeting for being late to work, using you as an example for the new attendance point system. Snide remarks were tossed your way from various grumpy people which you attempted to take in stride. Then, in the breakroom you'd spilled coffee all down the front of your peach colored dress.

You had texted Yoongi about your less than stellar morning and asked if he was having a better day. He talked you through your meltdown, trying to convince you that the universe wasn't out to get you and the world wasn't cruel and unjust. He'd been the reason you made it through the work day, albeit by the skin of your teeth. Your whole body dragged on the way home and all you wanted was to see Yoongi's smile but he had promised a friend he'd go drinking with them.

You flung yourself off the couch and changed into a baggy t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. You put on your favorite avocado face mask and relaxed with a lavender candle burning on the coffee table. You'd taken about two deep breaths when you heard soft tapping on your front door. You whined out loud and got up, padding over to the door and flinging it open.

The poor teenager standing at your door jumped in surprise, almost dropping the pizza he was holding. Eyes wide, he stepped back a bit. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Sorry. Can I help you?” you asked as sweetly as you could, guilt flooding your chest.

“Large pizza for Y/N Y/L/N? ” he questioned nervously.

“But I didn't order any-” you began to explain before you were cut off.

“Sorry! Sorry I thought I'd be back in time!” Yoongi huffed, jogging up to you and the poor delivery kid.

Yoongi took some cash out of his wallet and paid the young man before thanking him as he took the pizza and turned to you with a smile. He was also holding a white paper sack you couldn't identify and you shot him a quizzical look.

“Hey there Shrek.” he laughed at your bright green face mask which you had honestly forgotten about.

You were thankful it hid your blush as you swatted at his arm in protest.

“I thought you had plans.” you stated, ignoring his comment.

“I cancelled them.” he shrugged, moving past you to enter your apartment and set the pizza down on the coffee table.

“Why?” you asked, shutting the door and following him in.

“Sounded like you needed some cheering up.” Yoongi smiled, opening the paper bag and pulling out your favorite wine.

“Ugh, a man after my own heart.” you joked.

Yoongi just chuckled and uncorked the bottle, walking into your kitchen and pulling two wine glasses from the cabinet like he lived there. He poured you both a glass and sat next to you on the couch.

“I am fully aware that I am going to regret this decision, but I have decided that to cheer you up, we can watch whatever movie you want.” he told you.

Your eyes widened in excitement.

“Any movie I want?” you confirmed, “you won't complain?”

“One time only offer. Whatever movie you want.” he grinned at the childlike response.

“Harvard here we come!” you giggled, snatching up the remote and selecting Legally Blonde.

You glanced over at Yoongi, waiting for a snarky comment. He only gave you a pained smile. You snuggled into the couch with your wine in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other, feeling content and happy. Yoongi had turned the worst day into one of the best, simply by being who he was: kind and thoughtful.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” you said softly.

“No need to thank me. That's what friends are for.” he smiled, throwing an arm around your shoulders and leaning in for a quick squeeze.

Yoongi left his arm around your shoulder while you two watched the movie, and you had never been more comfortable than you were snuggled into Yoongi's side with your wine and pizza and strong leading female character centered movie. With Min Yoongi by your side, maybe the world wasn't so bad after all.

Today was Yoongi’s birthday. He’d gone to lunch with his family the day before and had planned to spend the day with you once he got off work. You looked over at your coffee table, grinning at his gift that you’d wrapped perfectly, even put a pretty bow on top. You’d baked him a cake, which was iced and ready for candles. You opened the drawer, but did not find candles.

Cursing under your breath, you checked the time before rushing out the door and running over to the small shopping center across the street from your apartment complex. You gave a friendly wave to the cashier, a college aged girl who worked there three days a week. You grabbed candles and a lighter then made your way over, making small talk with her and asking about classes.

“Thank god finals are almost over. They’re killing me.” She whined as you swiped your card.

“Hang in there, it’s almost over!” You encouraged her and she groaned but laughed.

You made your way back to your apartment complex, thinking about Yoongi and his face when he inevitably saw what you’d bought him. You didn’t notice the clouds turning an angry gray. You did notice however, when the rain immediately started pelting down, drenching you in seconds. You squealed, holding your shopping bag above your head and jogging towards your apartment.

Suddenly, the rain stopped assaulting you, and you looked up to find Min Yoongi laughing as he held an umbrella over both of your heads. Despite his eyes being the darkest color you’d ever seen, they shone with kindness.

“Yoongi.” You grinned in surprise, “you’re home early!”

“Yeah, they let me go early for my birthday.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“Well let’s party!” You beamed up at him.

The two of you ascended the staircase and made your way into your apartment. You shrugged off your soaked jacket and hung it up. Yoongi cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at you.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“I-uh... your shirt.” He mumbled, apples of his cheeks dusted with a light pink flush.

You looked down, cheeks burning as you realized your white t shirt was soaked through, revealing your lacy pink bra. You squeaked, arms darting out to cover your chest. You disappeared into your room, embarrassment flooding your face as you changed. Reappearing in front of Yoongi fully covered, you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t be embarrassed.” He comforted you with a hand on your shoulder.

The skin there burned. When you didn’t say anything, Yoongi pulled you into a hug, strong arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his warm chest. You let the warmth of his embrace comfort you for a moment before pulling away and putting the candles in his cake and lighting them before walking it over to him.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Yoongi! Happy birthday to you!”

Yoongi’s gummy smile graced his lips before he closed his eyes and blew out the candles.

“What did you wish for?” You asked, leaning in and wiggling your eyebrows.

“If I tell you it won’t come true!” He chuckled.

You sighed dramatically with a smile and cut the cake into slices, handing him the biggest one. Yoongi took one bite and threw his head back with a groan.

“This is delicious, Y/N. Thank you so much.” He praised.

Your heart skipped a beat and you grabbed the neatly wrapped present from beside the couch, holding it out to him.

“I told you not to buy me anything.” He glared jokingly at you.

“Just open it.” You giggled.

Yoongi took his time opening the gift, carefully peeling back the paper in an attempt to keep it whole and make less of a mess for you, thoughtful man that he was. He froze when he saw the box.

“You didn’t.” He gasped.

Your giddy laughter was your only response.

“These are... they... theyre too much, Y/N. I can’t accept them.” He sighed regretfully.

“You can and you will. You deserve something special on your special day! It’s about time someone pays you back for everything you do.” You smiled encouragingly.

“The cake was more than enough.” He argued, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the box in his lap.

They were the wireless noise cancelling headphones he’d been drooling over for months, ever since the promo came out on Instagram. He’d been salivating when he showed you the ad for them, and you started picking up a few extra shifts here and there to put back money for them. They were a couple hundred dollars but you would’ve saved up thousands just to see the look that adorned Yoongi’s face in that moment.

“Thank you... so much. I’ll pay you back for these. I’ll take you to dinner. I’ll-“ he began but you cut him off.

“Don’t even think about it. Just take them. If you really wanna pay me back, write me a song.” You grinned.

“I will.” Yoongi promised, engulfing you in a tight hug. “Thank you.” Left his lips in a whisper over and over. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

He pulled back and held you at arms length, eyes trained on your face. His gaze roamed over your features, drinking you in. His eyes searched yours for a moment before his gaze flicked to your lips. You waited with bated breath.

“Y/N?” Yoongi's voice was barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?”

“Can I kiss you?” He questioned quietly, carefully.

“Please.”

His hand came up to gently cup your cheek. He angled his head and closed the distance between you. The moment his lips pressed against yours, it felt like coming home. He held you close, and you’d never felt so safe. Your heart hammered in your chest as your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers gently threading through his hair. Yoongi’s arms found purchase on your hips and he pressed himself closer to you, his tongue sneaking out and gliding along your lips. You parted them, and he deepened the kiss. You weren’t aware that your grip on his hair had tightened until Yoongi pulled back, resting his forehead against your own with labored breathing.

“I’m trying really hard to be respectful and not to push you, but you’re making it kinda hard pulling on my hair like that.” he admitted breathlessly. You could feel the thickness of him pressing into you.

“What if I want you to?” you asked quietly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

Yoongi sucked in a surprised breath, his eyes searching yours almost frantically for a sign of doubt. When he found none, he interlaced his fingers into yours.

“Are you sure?” he pondered.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything or anyone.” you admitted, biting down on your lip nervously.

“Is this- Are you- I don’t think I can do this if it’s just a one time thing.” Yoongi sighed remorsefully.

“I don’t want it to be.” you reply, gently running a hand up and down his arm comfortingly. “Yoongi I want you. In every possible way. You’re my best friend. I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a while.”

“I’m in love with you too.” he whispered, like a secret he’d been dying to tell you. “Be mine?”

“Oh Yoongi baby, I’ve always been yours.” you giggled, pulling him in for a tender kiss.

Yoongi kissed you back, slowly. He took his time, exploring your mouth, relishing in the taste of you. You tasted a bit like the cake you’d both consumed not long ago, but also just distinctively...you. Yoongi loved the way you tasted, and he wondered idly if other areas of your body tasted just as sweet.

Gripping you by the hips, Yoongi pulled you up against him and you wrapped your legs around his torso as he carried you towards your bedroom. Your hands gripped his biceps and he barely had to look where he was going, so familiar with your apartment since he practically lived there. He hoped to become as familiar with your body and how you ticked as he was with everything else about you. You could feel him pressing up against your core as he carried you, the friction causing arousal to pool.

Yoongi placed you on the mattress gently, his body moving to hover over yours. He gazed down at you with longing in his onyx eyes, but it wasn’t just longing. He yearned for you, needed you, you knew this because you felt it too. The way he looked into your eyes mirrored your own expression. You were so desperately in love with Min Yoongi, and by some miracle, he felt the same way.

“I have dreamt about this moment for so long.” he admitted sheepishly, “I almost can’t believe this is real.”

“Me either. I can’t believe you’re here.” you giggled, letting a hand come up to softly caress his face, then push his hair out of his eyes.

“I’m not going to lie, I thought I was going to have to leave when your shirt was wet and I saw your bra. I didn’t want you to see my hard-on.” he laughed.

You covered your face and giggled in embarrassment, but Yoongi’s hands covered yours and pulled them away from your face, holding them on either side of your head.

“Don’t hide from me. Don’t ever hide any part of yourself from me. You are so beautiful, Y/N. I adore everything about you.” Yoongi cooed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Did you know…” he ghosted his lips to the other cheek. “That…” his tender assault moved to your forehead as he placed a kiss to it. “I…” his lips brushed the tip of your nose. “love you.” he smiled, kissing your lips.

“I love you too, so much.” you giggled, kissing him back and moving closer to him, his warm embrace cradling you.

Something shifted, and Yoongi’s kisses got deeper, needier. His body lowered to lay flush against yours, but he was careful not to squish you. His erection pressed firmly into your core as he slowly rutted his hips into yours. A quiet moan left your lips at the swivel of his hips against yours and Yoongi’s kisses began to descend, his lips now working against the skin of your neck, sucking and nipping at the flesh.

His fingers crept up to the hem of your dress, and he tugged gently on it. You lifted yourself, tugging it off and tossing it across the room. Yoongi had seen you in bathing suits that had covered the same amount of skin, but this was different and it had heat flooding your cheeks. You took a deep breath and willed all of your courage and unhooked your bra, letting it slip down your shoulders before tossing it aside as well, leaving you only in your panties.

Yoongi’s jaw went slack as he stared at your breasts. You wanted to cover them, wanted to hide, but this was Yoongi. You trusted him with every part of you.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” he stated in awe.

His head dipped down and his mouth wrapped around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the nub. Your back arched and your whimpers got louder when he began to suck. His large hand reached up to knead and tweak the other breast. Your body responded immediately, hips bucking up into Yoongi’s. You gripped his shirt and tugged, mumbling “off.” Yoongi obliged, tearing the fabric off and tossing it away in one fluid motion.

Your mouth watered, eyes roaming his ivory skin, the smooth planes of his flat stomach, poofing out just a little. He was perfect. Yoongi’s cheeks were dusted pink again and you leaned up, placing soft kisses to his tummy. Yoongi wound his hands gently in your hair, watery eyes watching you as you worshipped his body the way he deserved. Your lips ghosted over his chest and you could feel his heart racing beneath your touch.

“You’re so perfect.” you cooed.

Yoongi covered his mouth to stifle a laugh, and you grinned up at him. His hands came down to cup your face gently, and you leaned into his touch before urging him backwards until he was lying on his back. You made quick work of his belt and zipper, pulling his slacks down and tossing them haphazardly away. You watched his face for a reaction, and he bit his lip to conceal a nervous smile. Your heart fluttered in your chest at how adorable he was.

Despite the fondness filling your chest, you couldn’t help but feel warmth farther down when your eyes roamed over the tent in Yoongi’s boxers. You reached out and cupped your hand over his hardened member, palming him over his boxers. Yoongi let out a low groan at your actions, his hand gripping at the duvet cover. You slowly pulled the boxers off his body,

Yoongi’s length sprung free once his boxers were removed and it rested against his stomach, thick, hard, and leaking. You peppered soft kisses along the vein, bringing a groan out of Yoongi. Your tongue snuck out and cautiously slid across the tip of his penis, and his breath stuttered. You smiled to yourself, then took him in your mouth. Yoongi couldn't tear his eyes away from you, mesmerized by the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock. He'd had a million dreams about this very moment, but none of them compared to the way it felt to have his cock in your mouth.

It was almost too much for Yoongi, the way you were bobbing your head along his length, twirling your tongue around, massaging his balls with the perfect amount of pressure. It wasn't all sensual, he could see the adoration in your eyes. It made his heart swell with joy. Other parts of him were swelling as well as he neared his high. His hips involuntarily jerked, apologies tumbling from his reddened lips but you didn't slow down. You wanted to make him feel good, reward him for all the things he did for everyone else.

“Y/N, I..I'm gonna-” Yoongi warned.

You took the opportunity to take him deeper down your throat, swallowing around him. That sent Yoongi over the edge, echoes of your name falling from his lips, his body twitching as he spilled his seed down your throat. Yoongi took a shaky breath and gazed down at you in awe as you licked your lips clean after swallowing his load.

“Your turn.” He smiled, guiding you to lay on your back while he settled himself between your thighs, placing teasing kisses along the skin there.

He pulled your panties down your legs and licked his lips at the sight of your soaking cunt presented to him. Yoongi didn’t waste any time, bringing his lips to your folds and letting his tongue dart out to lick at your clit. You gasped, spreading your legs further apart, inviting him in. He slowly slipped one finger in your heat, working it and curling to hit that sweet spot that had you drooling.

His lips wrapped around your clit and he sucked before using his tongue to attack the sensitive bundle of nerves. You knew Yoongi could move his tongue quickly based on every rap you’d heard him recite and you’d daydreamed about how that would translate to eating you out but his skills surpassed your imagination and he had you close to cumming in under a minute. He slowly worked more fingers in, stretching your tight hole while he seemed to recite spells on your clit with his tongue.

No sooner than Yoongi added a third finger, you were careening off the edge, pleasure washing over you and Yoongi worked you through it, drinking up all of your juices and leaving a soft peck on your clit as you came down, which had your body jolting. He reached down to his jeans and pulled out a condom.

“Are you still sure about this?” He asked tentatively.

“Yes, I’m sure.” You said with absolute certainty.

Yoongi crawled up your body, leaving sweet kisses as he made his way to hover over you until you were face to face. He bit his plush lip, looking into your eyes with so much longing it almost hurt to return his gaze. He reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, leaving his large hands on your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth. You leaned up and captured his lips with your own, and he melted into the kiss, immediately deepening it. His hands travelled down your neck, his fingertips tenderly brushing against the skin of your arms until he found your hands, resting beside your head. He interlaced your fingers together as he finally, finally entered you.

You gasped into his mouth, squeezing his hand while you focused on the feeling of finally being filled by the man of your dreams. Yoongi felt perfect inside of you, filling you up perfectly as if he was made for you and you were made for him. He stretched you in all the right ways and feeling him pressed up against your walls had your head spinning.

'' You okay?'' Yoongi asked, stilling inside of you.

''Yes.'' you whispered breathlessly. ''You feel so good, Yoongi. Please.''

Yoongi began to slowly move inside you, taking his time and making sure not to hurt you. His hips met yours as he bottomed out and he let out a shaky breath, watching your eyes for any sign of discomfort. You smiled up at him, pecking his lips quickly. Yoongi was amazed at how brightly your eyes shined when you looked at him. His thrusts started picking up pace, your soft noises spurring him on.

The two of you shared sweet kisses as he thrust in and out of your aching heat. Your noises gradually got louder, the faster his thrusts got. The louder you got, the harder it was for Yoongi to keep his composure. While he'd been picking up the pace, he’d remained fairly gentle, but something in him snapped when you groaned his name, sounding particularly needy as you begged ''more.''

His hips snapped into yours in a harsh thrust , knocking the air from your lungs. Gone was the sweet love making from moments ago, instead Yoongi was plowing into you with everything he had within him. Everything he'd held back this past year seemed to be pouring out, driving him to fuck you harder, faster. If you thought Yoongi's slow passionate strokes were maddening, you were absolutely ruined by his relentless, unforgiving thrusts.

Your soft cries of his name were now loud moans, he had you writhing and screaming as he drove you closer to the edge with every brush of your sweet spot.

''Fuck, you take my cock so well baby. I have dreamed about fucking you like this for so long.'' he growled in your ear, leaving hot, wet kisses along the skin below it.

''Me...me too.'' you whined at a particularly good thrust.

''Hmmm, I bet you have.” he smirked, bringing his hand between your bodies to rub lazy circles on your clit.

“Did you touch yourself here?” he asked, applying more pressure to your sensitive bud. “Did you play with this pretty pussy thinking about my cock?”

You nodded, overwhelmed with pleasure while Yoongi played your body like an instrument he'd practiced all his life. He knew exactly where to touch, how to rub, how to bring you to the brink of oblivion with a single stroke of his thumb. He was a damn sex wizard.

“You're cute, baby girl. But I need you to tell me. Tell me how desperate you were to feel me inside you. How you thought of me while you fingered yourself.” Yoongi coaxed, bringing one nipple into his mouth and making it impossible for you to think as his tongue rolled over it.

“Cat got your tongue?” Yoongi purred, licking a bold stripe across your hardened nipple, then the other. “Who makes you feel this good?”

“You.” you moaned, walls clenching around his cock as you got closer to release. This response did not seem to satisfy Yoongi and he shook his head.

“What's my name?” he prodded.

“Yo...Yoongi!” you cried out as he rolled his hips harshly against your own.

“Close... but you can do better, baby girl. ” his words were muffled by the hickeys he was sucking along your skin.

“Fuck… daddy.” you whimpered.

“What was that princess? Louder.” he commanded.

“Daddy!” you groaned.

“Cum for daddy.” Yoongi demanded.

And you did. Your orgasm crashed over you, the most intense you had ever experienced before. You body arched off the bed into Yoongis and you let out the most pornographic sound Yoongi had ever heard. Your vision went spotty and your head felt light and your face contorted in pleasure. The combined feeling of your pussy clenching around him and the sounds you were making threw Yoongi over the edge and he came shortly after you, spurts of hot cum filling the condom. Yoongi didn't think he had ever cum this much in his life. He tied the condom and threw it in your trash can.

His savage streak gone, the energy drained out of Yoongi and he fell beside you panting. You looked over to meet his gaze and you both burst into giggles. His arms came to wrap around you to pull you into his chest. You sighed contently and nuzzled into his warmth. He stroked your hair softly, leaving soft kisses anywhere he could reach. You pressed chaste kisses to the skin of his chest, too exhausted to aim for anywhere else.

“I can't believe it took us this long to get here. We're pathetic.” you giggled.

“Better late than never, I suppose.” he grinned.

“Always a bright side, that's one of the things I love about you.” you admitted with a shy smile.

“Oh?” Yoongi smiled, kissing your blush filled cheeks.

“There's certain things that I adore about you.” you explained. “Like how kind you are, and how determined and focused. How you always treat people with respect. How you scrunch your nose up. God its adorable.”

Yoongi covered his mouth to stifle a laugh, his own cheeks now turning a shade of red.

“I love you too, baby. I love how you take care of me. How your eyes light up when you smile. I love how passionate you are. You’re perfect to me.” Yoongi's voice was low and soft while he confessed.

You hid your face in his chest, willing your racing heart to calm down, but Yoongi always made your heart race, it seemed to beat only for him. Soon, exhaustion got the better of both of you. You drifted to sleep in Yoongi's warm embrace, listening to your favorite sound in the world, his heart. And it beat only for you.

#min yoongi #yoongi #suga #bts #bts smut #smut #agust d #bts suga #friends to lovers #bts au #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #neighbor au #neighbor!yoongi

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secretshinigami · 3 years

Text

routine and soft eyes

Author: @hazblogs For: @beyondplusultra Pairings/Characters: nearmellomatt, mention of lawlight Rating/Warnings: T, mentions of Mello’s scar Prompt: Wammy House kids sleepover (A, B, L can be included, can be AU) Author’s notes: I had so much fun with this !!! soft bois…. thank you to anyone who reads it !!

Mello is positively fuming. Someone (who shall not be named, though if you want to know it starts with “N” and ends with “-ate River”) just got on top of Forensic Science and Investigative Skills and History of Crime and the Justice System. Those are Mello’s topics. They’re the best at these and they always have been (in the two years they’ve studied here. But that’s long enough, right ?), so the fact that Mister Nobody just came in and stole their turf… That’s infuriating. To top it all off, the dean did them dirty and assigned someone to the second bed in their room, knowing full well that they need that second bed for Matt. This week is just a pile of flaming shit.

As they swing the door open they are greeted by the beeping sounds usually coming from Matt’s bed, a comforting electronic melody. Matt doesn’t even turn around to raise his middle finger to protest against how loud Mello is, but that’s also common practice around here, so no worries.

“Heard you got your ass beat,” Matt says a while later, Mello’s hand carding through his strawberry-green hair. “By the newbie no less. How’re you taking it ?”

“Matt, my hand is dangerously close to your eyes and you need those to play on that stupid console. Better not risk it.”

“Like you’d ever hurt me,” Matt grumbles, and the certainty with which he speaks makes their heart pulse just a little faster. Mello is hopelessly in love, aren’t they ?

The rest of the evening is quiet save for that same musical background, a welcome white noise as Mello finishes their essay for Writing Comedy. The teacher seems to have some trouble with their rather macabre humour so they try to tone it down for once - rather unsuccessfully.

“Also heard you’ll have a roommate,” Matt continues a few hours later as they prepare for bed - gotta put some moisturiser on that scar like a damsel doing her skincare routine, the doctor said, “or you’ll experience how actually painful it can be”. Talk about being threatening…

“I heard. I can kick them out.” Mello would do it. Without remorse, even.

“I can sleep in your bed too,” Matt offers. “But only if you promise not to kick me out from under the covers every single night.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck off, and secondly, why the hell would I want someone else to room with me ? You’re already here. You’ve always been here.”

“And I always will be, Mels. Just… I think it’s time you get out of your shell a little bit, you know ? You can’t keep pretending that talking to me twice every day and ignoring Linda a couple times a week is enough friendly interaction for the little pea inside your coconut.” Mello turns away from the mirror, moisturiser in hand, and sends a glare to Matt who sighs and raises his hands in defeat. “Don’t say I didn’t try ! Think about it, okay, Mello ?”

They do think about it. The whole night. They don’t sleep - it’s not because Matt snores but that’s the excuse they’ll use. Ever since the accident and the scar, people have usually been too impressed - or scared - by them to even consider starting a casual conversation. Matt was there even before, and he probably always will be, Linda is a weirdo who wants to draw them with a ponytail, and… Well, that’s it. Mello lives for schoolwork, to be the best and hope to right some of the wrongs in this world.

“Yo, Mihael,” the dean says when he sees them in front of his office the following morning. Lawliet is a TA at their university, still haunting the dorms. He has a creepy smile under his stupid raccoon eyes and he keeps using Mello’s birthname, like it makes any more sense to call them with that than to call them “xXx_sexy_blondie_xXx”, or however you pronounce that out loud.

“Lawliet. I saw you assigned me a roommate.”

“I did,” he smiles still, like there’s a joke Mello doesn’t get.

“Why ?” Mello would actually like to know - Lawliet never does anything at random.

“You’ll see when he arrives later today,” is the cryptic answer, and Mello sneers at their stupid fucking dean as they leave for their 8am lecture.

Because yes, multiple things are out to get their skin - though they won’t be deterred.

The day goes by in a flash, Screenwriting and Poetry being two of their most interesting classes, and by the time they’ve finished their Crime Prevision and Prevention homework at the library, the sun is well on its way down. Mello walks slowly to the dorms, enjoying the warm air - it’s still only September and winter hasn’t come yet. The music blasting from their headphones is a perfect background to the chill atmosphere, a few bird silhouettes dark against the wonderfully peach clouds. In a few minutes they’ll kiss Matt and they’ll eat a bite, and they’ll sleep knowing they’re safe now.

When they arrive in front of their room, a few cardboard boxes occupy the entrance. Shit fuck hell, they’d forgotten the roommate arrived today. All they can see from where they’re blocked from entering is a white blob of hair on top of baggy clothes, perched on the desk and looking at whatever Matt is playing.

“Uh, I’m supposed to be able to enter my own room,” Mello kind of yells. Only kind of. “Would you please not be a giant stupid bother before I even get your name ?”

“Sorry,” the snowball says, not looking sorry at all. “I’m Nate River.”

“But you can call him Near ! He plays retro games, which isn’t… let’s say it’s not my strong point, but I’m sure it’ll go well, we’re three whole weirdos with weirdo nicknames !”

Mello blinks. Near is still here. They blink again. Near is still here, looking a little like a frog with his lopsided smile, a hand playing with one of his curls. Mello blinks a third time and doesn’t expect Near to have packed his things and go, but that was a close call.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” they mutter. “Lawliet is gonna get killed.”

“You actually know enough about criminology to not be caught, so go you.” Near is smirking. Mello wants to cry. “But I would advise against it, because he’s dating that twink Light Yagami, the alumni who came last week to give the presentation about the War on Drugs and its consequences. He’s a police lieutenant now.”

“Called it !” Matt raises a fist in victory, taking five years from Mello’s lifespan. “Anyway, now that you’re here, please do help us with the last boxes. We’ve been setting up Near’s compy and it’s revoltingly difficult.”

“I will not- how can you ask me to- I’m gonna commit arson and this time I promise I’ll succeed !”

“Dramatic bitch,” Matt says jovially. “Just come in and drop your stuff, apparently someone from the ADA thing comes tomorrow to make sure the room is accessible with a crutch and to help Near settle in.”

Mello just now notices that Near isn’t fully standing up - he’s propped on the desk, a mechanical knee peeking through the bottom of his shorts. This changes nothing - though Mello feels the both grim and hopeful sense of community that disabled people get when they meet. Their ear still works wonky and their eye ? Not the sharpest either. Without talking about all the skin damage, the phantom pain, the- hell no, they won’t get into “reflective mode” without having eaten dinner first.

Reluctantly, Mello spends the rest of the evening avoiding Near as Matt and them help him settle in, surprised by the small amount of belongings he actually has - most of the boxes he brought are board games and hundreds of little kapla sticks. Is Near planning to recreate the Golden Bridge ? He looks like a nerd, maybe it’ll be the Death Star.

Routines are a persistent thing, and before they know it, Near has managed to get a small space - small, they insist - in Mello’s well-oiled machinery. He eats breakfast with Matt, a meal that Mello forgoes entirely, and he goes on unfortunate walks to his PT appointments, because he’s out of money from whatever government organism gives benefits to disabled people and can’t afford a cab. Mello thinks they should get into it a little more, maybe call their case worker, because ramen tastes worse and worse when you have it for every meal of the week. And then Near and Matt start talking about something or another, especially topics that annoy Mello, or Near gets a little too close to them while they both work on their assignments at their desk, his elbow barely brushing Mello’s side. It makes them shiver, but they will ignore that, thank you very much.

Another routine - bedtime - has gotten a little different. One single bed is enough for “one person and a half”, according to Matt, so the obvious solution to them being three in a two single beds room is to push the beds together.

“And now you have a perfect three people beddery !” Matt triumphantly declared. “Mello, you sleep in the middle.”

“Why am I in the middle ?” they protested. “It’s the least comfortable !”

“Oh well, we can take turns,” Near had snarked, knowing full well that the first one of them to sleep in the middle would have to accept defeat.

Mello does end up in the middle, Matt cuddled against their left side where the burn is, and Near an ever-closer presence against their right arm. It’s not as uncomfortable as they expected. Near doesn’t snore and he smells like minty toothpaste, a strangely comforting scent that lulls Mello to sleep way more easily than the five thousand melatonin pills they take before going to bed.

Oh well, maybe Lawliet can live a little longer. His boyfriend - Matt saw them kissing through the peephole, it’s official now - won’t have any (more) reasons to put Mello behind bars.

Near gets on top of International Law and keeps wearing strangely baggy clothes everywhere - or well, everywhere but in the dorms. Mello has time to get used to that mechanical knee, even asking a few questions about phantom pains on the days Matt is away and the itching gets unmanageable. Near is quiet like snow but they’re nothing alike in warmth, grey eyes like molten metal setting on Mello’s face and crinkling in a smile.

And it works wonders. One time they get a bad mark (for their standards) and they even study with Near for extra credit, a presentation about the death penalty that lasts about three quarters of the two hours class. The teacher gives them both full marks and Matt celebrates by crushing them both against his chest, the smell of motor oil and mint so comforting that Mello closes his eyes, just for a little while.

It’s winter before they have time to think about it, and finals go by in a blur of “no sleep, no food, no distractions”. They even manage to end up at the nurse’s office when they faint during the Criminology Theory exam, forced to drink sugar water until the world stops exploding in a million tiny stars when they move their head.

Mello thinks that surviving their last winter exam session ever - they should be able to find a job with a double Master’s degree in Criminology and Creative writing, right ? - deserves a celebratory nap and they sprawl on the bed as soon as they’re back from the last stupid oral presentation they have to do about stupid Foundations of Criminal Justice. Near is not in the room - which is weird, because he finished five minutes and thirty six seconds before them - and Matt is away for the day to try and get his internship at the garage, so they have the full three-person bed, and they fully intend to enjoy the luxury.

They enjoy it so much that they fall asleep, only noticing that time has passed because before they blinked, it was day, and it is now very much nighttime. Light giggles fill the room along with the muted light from Near’s bedside lamp, and Mello takes the time to relish in the quiet atmosphere. Hushed conversation rises from near the desk, giggles and the smell of hot chocolate both making Mello sit up at last.

“Lookit you ! Sleeping beauty arises. Though I haven’t kissed you yet,” Matt smiles, and he climbs on the bed to press his lips against Mello’s. “Love you,” he whispers as he pulls away and goes back to slump on Near’s shoulder.

At first, Near felt like an intruder each time Matt kissed them, but he’s become so embedded in their life that Mello doesn’t feel any awkwardness anymore - to the point where not including him has become the cause of their inner turmoil.

Because yeah, uh, there’s that. Near in a tank top and booty shorts, prosthetic being painted on by a very enthusiastic Matt, has become the new image they conjure up each time the need to strangle someone arises. And poof, instant peace. Discreet touches, Near sleeping fully cuddled against their right side now, Matt nosing through Near’s hair just after he’s washed it because his strawberry shampoo smells divine, Mello even going as far as ruffling Near’s hair without warning, just to see his little nose scrunch up… All that has become routine too, and suddenly the change is too big to go by unmentioned.

They’ve managed to hold on to their feelings until then but as Matt starts talking again, Near’s smile is a little too tight - though his eyes sparkle, it’s like… something’s missing.

“Emergency mee-ee-ting,” they yawn, the skin around their left eye crinkling up painfully. Near notices and doesn’t even ask before grabbing the petroleum jelly tube and throwing it rather inaccurately at their face. See, that’s what they were talking about, Near has just become… there, in the way Matt is there even when he’s asleep in another part of the universe where Mello can only hope to ever go to. “We gotta talk shit out.”

“Are you over your gay crisis yet ?” Matt asks, eyes calm and open, sipping hot chocolate with noisy slurps that Mello doesn’t bother mentioning anymore. His green hair looks more and more red as time passes, which is a strange feat of hair dye conspiracy. “Can we go back to playing ?”

“I haven’t even talked !” Mello protests. “I just really think it’s necessary to mention that…”

They don’t know how to continue that sentence. Near is looking at them with something strangely akin to hope, and Matt still has that infuriating openness about him like he just knows Mello so well he doesn’t need to be told what they feel.

Near doesn’t, though, and he matters enough to Mello now for them to want to include him in the little bubble as well.

“I just think it’d be cool if we shared the secret chocolate stash with Near,” is what comes out of their mouth.

Well done caporal, please die of shame now.

“Mels, wow, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said !” Matt’s voice drips with amusement - devoid of any mean spirit, they should add, because Matt is the one thing Mello knows is good in this world. And well, maybe there’s a second one they’ve stumbled on, and they want Near to know that he means a lot to them too.

“I mean it !” Mello whines. “He’s one of us now. I think we can share.”

“Mello. Please realise that I’ve been flirting with you this entire time,” comes Near’s deadpan answer. “The time I told you I wanted to braid your hair ? The time I made you sleep and finished the presentation alone because you’d gotten the flu and I hate being sneezed on ? The fact that Matt literally sits in my lap half the time, and only half because the other is spent on your lap ?”

“Okay, first of all, fuck off with me getting the flu.”

“You’re avoiding my question.” Near looks stubborn, and it’s a good look on him.

When did Mello start to think Near looks good ? “I, uh. I may be slightly romantically obtuse. Has Matt told you the time when-”

“-he kissed you and you thought he wanted to practice smooches for his secret best friend, because of course you wouldn’t be his best friend ?”

Utterly mortified, Mello can feel their cheeks become bright red. “Well, uh. Enough mushiness for tonight. Just pass me the chocolate, Matt, I’m starving.”

Matt giggles and throws a Kinder Egg at their face. Near munches on the leftover shell while Mello assembles the toy, and it’s peaceful - and happy, too, so when Mello raises a hand to their scar they smile still, in spite of their involuntary shiver.

#fanfiction #death note #submission #nearlymellodramattic #nearmattmello #lawlight mention #near #matt #mello #hazblogs #beyondplusultra #Mello's Birthday Mayhem 2020

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bby-ahgastay · 4 years

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Smoking Buddies (pt.2/?) - H.J.S.

a/n: this is pretty long ig huh. sorry it took so long, i had like three different versions for a second and it took a while to actually end up with this. anyways, can y'all tell i've been in a very soft mood lately? this might be fluffier than you guys (or i) expected but i miss my crush and i just want to hug him again, so i showed it through this i guess :(. hope you enjoy it thank you for reading!

member: han jisung (stray kids)

summary: after a heated make out session right behind chan and changbin you and jisung go back to his apartment for soft and sorta sleepy sex.

word count: 3.5k

(1) / (2) / (3)

warnings: mentions of smoking weed, oral (female receiving), soft cuddly sex.

when jisung and you arrive at his place he doesn't hesitate to push you against the door as soon as it closes. he still manages to be so gentle with you, staring lovingly into your eyes. the two of you have come down from your highs considerably by now, a sleepy feeling beginning to come over you both.

"god, i'm so happy this is actually happening... i can't wait to get to know every part of you," the words are mumbled and make your face heat up. he moves down to kiss you, slow and passionate. his lips move over yours tenderly, everything slowing down around you as you fall further and further into just him.

as you lose yourself in his touch it's hard for you to remember the point in time you would go back your dorm and see your roommate still up, waiting up for you to get home from hanging out with changbin, han, and chan. this was when you had started getting more comfortable around the boys and were just starting to spend more and more time with them.

ryujin always knew when you'd be coming home late and had no doubt that you would be ready to go on about jisung. so she waited up to let you talk to her about him, knowing you needed someone for that. and one time she told you that, too.

"start coming home earlier, y/n-yah! i miss that extra two hours of sleep!"

"hey, no one said you have to wait for me! i have a key, too, you know," you pouted back her. she had given you a dramatic eye roll and sigh in return, deadpanning back to you afterwards.

"you know it's only because i know you're getting a crush on that jinyoung kid, right?"

"jisung, he’s older than us and therefore not a kid, and no i'm not!"

"yes you are, like i'm so sure you are. and i know how much i usually want to talk about my crushes too. so i'm just helping you out, love."

after that night you had stopped talking about him so much. you still thought of him plenty, but no one had to know that. ryujin is still your roommate, and your best friend. you can’t help wondering what she’ll say when you tell her about all this. she's older than you but not even by much, you two were still born in the same year. but something about how she carries herself made her seem so wise and made you feel like her opinion matters a lot for some reason. maybe you could say you'd admired her a little.

when she told you this though, you were definitely a little embarrassed. all three of them flirted with you by then so you had figured that it all meant nothing. and with that decided, you thought han would never like you.

but now his tongue runs over your bottom lip, taking it in his teeth playfully. you look up at him smiling when he pulls away. "i feel so lucky that you’re kissing me right now, sungie... it’s like a dream come true," you giggle, one hand on his bicep and the other combing through the front of his hair tenderly.

his heart flutters at your words for sure, especially with your eyes sparkling up at him like that. he's wanted this for a long time, too. as long as he's known you. he never would have thought that he could actually have you alone and in his arms, letting him kiss and touch you.

there were many nights he would go bother either of his hyungs to talk about you, laying his head in chan's lap or laying on top of changbin’s back. he’d sigh wistfully as he spoke about how you found stupid things funny, and how you seem like a good dresser, and how he thinks you do your makeup nice, and just about anything else he could think of. at first they just thought their hannie was excited to have a new friend, but when they saw it wasn't just that they immediately turned it into a joke.

"you like her! you like our little baby y/n?!" they exclaimed on the day they had cornered him. the two elders were discussing not only how jisung talking about you had started to seem almost constant, but also how he was sounding a bit smitten too.

his denial was what had caused them to start flirting with you in the first place. "if he won't admit it, we'll break him into admitting it," chan and changbin had shared many giggles and many blunts while going over the matter together. after so long they both began to wonder if it was almost a little evil, forcing their younger friend to watch them flirt with the girl they knew he had liked. but hey, it worked right?

jisung knows that he's the lucky one here, he has no doubt about it at all, and hearing you say that you really think otherwise could probably break his heart. but no way would he let you know that you're affecting him like that. not right now.

so to recover from the moment he just shakes his head and kisses you again. he doesn't even have to say anything, his lips on yours speak a thousand words and it's enough for you. then you're both just focused on each other again. his lips are back on your neck in no time, only adding to the seemingly endless collection of hickeys you've gathered from him today.

"fuck, i just remembered how bad i wanted to taste you earlier... come on, baby, let's go to my room," he whispers in your ear, and you feel as if you were in a trance. when you look at him, you see a harsh and demanding demeanor barely hidden behind the sweet facade his eyes hold. just the look he gives you is enough to get you to nod and follow him eagerly to his bedroom.

not that you’d even need any guidance to the room. you’re as familiar with this apartment as you are your own childhood home. and there were definitely many nights you would have to text ryujin that the boys had once again convinced you to stay the night. sometimes the four of you would set up a huge bed of blankets on the floor in the living room, watching movies and smoking and talking until you knew you had to go to sleep. but other times, if maybe one of the boys had something to take care of early or if you had a morning class, you would all agree not to go all out.

so instead you would always end up staying in jisung's room, him just usually the first to offer. the first few times you slept in there he insisted on sleeping on the floor, a fight you were never able to win. then there was eventually a night where he gave up easily, a bad day leaving a strong craving for his bed that night, and being close to you sounded like a huge bonus.

you had let him fall into your arms, soothingly running a hand through his hair as the other rubbed his back. he still thinks about how you sat and listened to him, making soft sounds every once in a while to show you were paying attention. he’s pretty sure that’s the night he realized he loves you. and after that it was no longer weird for you to cuddle and share a bed, something that he was proud of even though it was purely innocent in his mind.

once the door is closed behind you guys, jisung stands in front of you to look down at you with fond eyes. you're both in a daze, the drowsy feeling from coming down mixed with just touching each other leaves your eyelids hooded and chests heaving. one of his thumbs brushed across your bottom lip, his other hand rubbing your hip underneath the baggy sweatshirt.

you can't look anywhere but at him, everything else dulling in comparison to the way his eyes are sparkling even with how the fatigue is beginning to darken the area around them. his hands run across your body on top of the fabric as he moves up to unzip your sweater, pushing it off of you completely and sliding his hands over the skin on your sides. stepping away for a seconds he slides his hands under your tank top to move it up, watching the way your boobs bounce slightly when they’re freed from the thin material.

his hands don't stop wandering your body; groping your ass over your sweatpants, digging his fingers into your hips to drag you against his clothed bulge every once in a while, running up and down your back, brushing against your boobs attentively. the way his touch makes you light up gives you the urge to touch him as well, wanting to feel all of him you can.

your hands go under his shirt and he's nearly amused by the cute little pout you get as you push the material up, your eyes asking him to take it off. thinking about you in the way he's gotten to know you so well, it's really quite funny to think about how needy you're getting for him right now. the only thing that keeps him from laughing is just looking at you. it kills him how you still manage to look so innocent, your small figure staring up at him with your bottom lip out and your eyes wide.

you're glad when he pulls his shirt off, but he doesn't give you much time to enjoy it as he begins pushing your sweatpants down. your panties go down with them, jisung letting you hold his hand while you step out of your shoes and pants.

after you kick the pile aside on the floor his hands are on your hips, guiding you backward towards the edge of his bed. he lowers you onto the foot of the mattress and kneels on the floor in front of you. gazing down at him in excitement, you feel his lips on your thigh already start to make you feel so, so good.

he places his hands on your stomach and gently pushes you back to have you lay back as his kisses inch closer to your heat. you breathe heavier in anticipation, aching for him to touch you. his hands go to your thighs, pulling your legs over his shoulders so he can get closer to you.

jisung has a hard time taking his eyes off of you laid out for him like this. he's imagined this for a while now, and he couldn't be happier that he's finally going to be the one who gets to please you. he has take a second to appreciate it all, like how you're already breathing so heavily just thinking about him touching you. or how your hands are so naturally resting on your tits, not even realizing yourself gently kneading and pinching at them.

you look more beautiful than he could ever imagine, and having you laid out waiting for him to do something to you has his cock aching in his boxers.

when you first feel his tongue run over your folds a moan falls past your lips before you can even realize it. you blush a little and one hand goes to cover your mouth but jisung just smirks against you.

"no one is home yet, baby, don't worry... let me hear your pretty sounds, okay?" you look down at him, his lips glistening with your juices. you nod slowly as he licks his lips, head falling back when he returns to your core. the way his tongue works on your clit and moves to push inside you has sounds pouring from your mouth, only encouraging him further and further.

you slightly roll your hips up, wanting more. one of his arms falls across your hips to push you down and the other hand goes to push two fingers inside you. you gasp at the feeling, clenching around his digits.

it doesn't take too long, and maybe it is just a little too quick. but with the way it feels to have his long fingers inside of you and his mouth so deliciously attached to your clit, not to mention the drug still amplifying every sensation, you know you're already close. you don't usually cum so quick, but han jisung just knows how to make you feel amazing apparently. how did you not do this sooner?

"oh, fuck, y/n," his head comes up, hair in his eyes as he looks up at your whining figure. "you're gonna cum already, huh? i can fucking feel it with how much you’re clenching around my fingers, baby," he groans, watching his fingers moving in and out of you.

he speeds up and seems to hit that perfect spot every time his fingers are pounding back into you. all that's heard in the room is the sound of his fingers moving in you and his name leaving your mouth repeatedly as you're pushed closer to the edge.

once he ducks his head back down to suck at your bundle of nerves you know that's it, and you're letting out high pitched moans as you come around his fingers.

"you're so hot, i swear," he groans while watching you. his eyes linger a moment on how your walls are gripping around his fingers. you look up at him as he slows down for a moment, meeting his eyes and seeing the cocky glint in them. "and so tight, jesus... if you're this tight around my fingers, i don't even know if you can take my dick, jagiya," you can tell he's half kidding, but a smug expression is stuck on his face as he chuckles a little.

and the joking undertone reminds you for a moment that he's still the same jisung you've gotten to know. the one who has always been there to make you laugh and who you know you'll always be more comfortable around than anyone else in the world. the one who you think you may have come to be in love with.

your thoughts are mushy and way too sweet for the way he looks up at you so sure of himself, the wetness from your pussy still glistening on his lips and chin. he looks hotter than you could ever process, you almost feel flustered. but you don't want him to feel the satisfaction of that fact, so you roll your eyes and look down at him again. "i'm so sure," you tease him. his eyebrows go up a little, fake shock and hurt on his face.

"are you saying you think i'm small?" he gasps, standing up. you crawl further up the bed, sitting near the pillows and shrugging. your eyes don't leave him as he goes to his dresser, pulling open a drawer and taking out a condom. he tugs his pants off to roll it on. you watch and take in every detail you can, noticing one vein that’s especially prominent on the side. well, he's definitely not small.

and then in a second he's hovering over you, eyes still just as confident as he looks up and down your entire body. he's good at playing the whole smug guy character, but you can still see the sweet look behind it all. 'i guess you really are good at hiding it, han jisung,' you think adoringly to yourself, 'but i still know you're just a smushy little shy boy.' it will be a cold day in hell when you don't let him take control over you, though. and you already can tell there's going to be many levels to his dominance all to be explored eventually, an exciting thought for sure.

"well then i'm just gonna have to shut you up," he brings his hand up. you know exactly what to do for him, opening your mouth to take his fingers in and sucking them clean of your own juices. and then he's pushing into you without warning, your mouth falling open as he does. stopping for a moment, his fingers are pulled from your mouth as he looks down at you.

your jaw is taken in one hand to make you look at him, his touch ever so gentle. concern is written over his face, silently asking if you're good. you hum and nod, smiling from the satisfying feeling of him stretching you out. as he rocks into you slowly, sweet kisses are left all over your forehead and cheeks and nose and lips and anywhere else he can reach.

you look up at him as his member drags against your walls delightfully. he really does look sleepy and you're sure you do too, but his fluffy hair and swollen lips make him look so soft and cuddly in the most charming way. his hands pin your hips to the bed, one of yours going to run through his hair and the other going to his cheek.

while the pace is slow, it still feels better than any you've ever had. the fact that the first time you two are having sex is so mushy and loving like this definitely makes it better in your mind, you know it will always be a heartwarming memory no matter what happens between you two.

"sungie, oh my god... shit, you feel so good," you breathe out, head falling back into the pillows. he leaves a kiss on your neck before bringing one hand to lift your head back up, pressing his lips on yours as you clench around him.

he was right before, you really were so tight around his cock and it was driving him crazy. that and the sight of himself moving in and out of your wet pussy had him already close, but no way was he going to miss seeing you cum again.

"you feel good around me too, baby. i guess i did fit, but you are so fucking tight y/n. jesus," he gives an extra hard thrust, forcing a moan from you. you let out a low, pleased hum as he begins pounding into you harder and deeper, your eyes rolling back as he hits unimaginable spots. the smirk never leaves his face as the way you moan his name is almost unintelligible, your words slurred from pleasure and the sluggishness starting to take over. fortunately his dick is more than enough to keep you awake.

one hand goes down to rub circles into your clit, his hips speeding up slightly. him drilling into you just right has you pulling him closer to you to attach your lips again and moaning against him. his other hand is tangled in your long hair, elbow near your head to support himself. you know for a fact that you're still a little stoned, your body is tingling comfortingly and it makes you feel jisung's touches twenty times better. your body is on fire and there's no way to keep you from cumming anymore.

jisung has to pull away from the kiss as you release around him, the feeling triggering his own orgasm and pulling a few throaty moans from him. you both clutch each other tightly, your head buried into his neck as he continues to fuck you, sloppier now, just to work you both through your highs.

you whine a little when he pulls out of you, squirming under him a bit. leaving a kiss on your forehead he stands up to throw away the condom.

you catch your breath and watch him as he moves, getting comfortable by curling up under the blanket with your head peeking out on top of his pillows. just yesterday you'd think it would be impossible you would ever get to do that with jisung. but you're beyond happy you did and not a single fiber of you regrets it.

especially not while you watch how he hurries back over to the bed from the trash can near the door, lifting the covers up and diving in with you. he comes up behind you and hugs you close, nuzzling his head into your bare shoulder. a chuckle falls past your lips as you look back him, mumbling a small 'what.'

"i heard my hyungs in the kitchen, who knows how long they've been back," he cringes at you, his nose scrunching up adorably. your mouth falls open and you shift to face him.

"oh my god!"

"i know..."

"aw, no... do you think maybe they might have not heard anything?" you pout hopefully up at him.

he winces and shakes his head. "ahh, they sounded pretty settled in, like they've been here a while. i'm sure they did hear you moaning my name at some point," his tone is purely playful but you still whine, hitting his chest lightly.

"shut up."

"never."

and neither of you say anything else, his arms pulling you tighter against him. he leaves a small kiss on your nose, then he closes his eyes and settles in more. it's not long before you hear his soft snores. and you know it won't be too much longer before you're out too.

no other time you've been in his arms has been so blissful. any other time has always been borderline painful, your mind never letting you forget how he didn't feel the way you did. you're glad you were wrong. 'i definitely love him' you think to yourself.

you nearly feel overwhelmed with how your heart fills to the brim with love as you stare admiringly up at the peaceful looking boy. stopping yourself from reaching out to squish his cheeks isn't easy, but you manage. instead you bring a hand up to push aside some hair that was falling over his eyes, stroking his cheek lightly after.

being in his arms makes you feel just so completely and absolutely safe. it's so hard to remember that this is real. you stop looking at him and rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes and letting sleep take you.

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weirdochick56 · 4 years

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Dress- Dean Winchester One Shot

Jealous!Dean Winchester x Plus-Size!Reader

Warnings: Self-hatred,self-doubt talks badly about self, weight, etc. PLS PLS if you’re sensitive to this please don’t read!

Word Count: 5,155 words

Disclaimer: I don’t own any SPN characters/plots mentioned.

Summary: “I don’t want you like a best friend Only bought this dress so you could take it off” (Loosely based on the song “Dress” by Taylor Swift.)

It shouldn’t hurt this much right?

To watch something that was never yours to begin with get taken away from you, that was.

It shouldn’t feel like someone was stabbing a dozen daggers into your chest all at once then twisting it around once it was well and sunk inside your skin. It shouldn’t.

You have to know by now; Dean Winchester would only ever belong to you in your dreams.

A man like him- tall, gorgeous, charming- would never go for someone like you.

If he hadn’t done so during the many years he’d known you why would he start now?

That slender, big-chested, perky blonde on the other hand- she was exactly the kind of woman he’d go for.

And the way he looked at her, gripped onto her protruding hips and gazed at her glossy lips- it was more than obvious how much he wanted to get her into his bed.

You had spent years wishing that was you. Wishing those rough hands would hold you like that, that those sparkling emerald eyes would ravage you hungrily.

Unfortunately, not only did Dean only see you as a little sister, but you were the farthest thing from his type.

With a sharp inhale, you force yourself to look away from the heinous scene unfolding before you, even when it took nearly all your strength to do so.

Because you couldn’t tear your eyes away from how easily her body curved in that skin tight red dress, the way her long legs seemed to go on for miles in those heels...and then comparing her utter perfection to your own body- only to come up short.

You were always too fat. Your curves were always too aggressive, too vuloptuous and out of control.

Not to mention, you could never pull off a dress like that. You knew this which is why you stuck to baggy jeans, and big t-shirts and flannels.

It was what you felt comfortable in, after all.

Never pretty- you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt pretty, but that was why comfort was what really mattered to you.

Without noticing it, your eyes fill to the brim with tears when you peek back at them and realized the way Dean’s hand fit so neatly in her tiny wasp-like waist, plump pink lips tilted upwards into a tiny smirk as he stares her down with hunger.

You never even stood a chance, did you?

When the sinking feeling settles in you at the thought, like an anchor sinking to the bottom of an ocean, you suddenly get off your stool, slamming a twenty on the bar.

“I’m leaving Sammy,” you inform your best friend, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

“Y/n-“ He opens his mouth to retort something to you but one look at your face and his mouth instantly snaps shut.

You probably looked like a kicked puppy.

He offers a sympathetic little frown, looking like he wants so badly to say something but instead only nods at you without further protest.

You sniffle, shoulders sagging with the weight of your heartbreak as you trudged your way back to the dank motel you’d gotten for the night.

After a long shower and changing into a baggy shirt and shorts, you tucked yourself into your bed and began watching some TV, trying your damn hardest not to burst into tears in case the brothers came back.

This was the way it would always be.

Another town, another night, another hunt.

“Friggin witches man,” Dean hisses with disdain, shaking his head. “I hate them.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. “I, for one, like witches.”

Both Sam and him stare at you like you’ve grown two heads.

“...dead,” you quip with a tiny smirk, pausing right outside the motel door.

Sam chuckles, pressing the key into the slot and pushing the door open for you. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“Second that, sweetheart,” Dean sighs out with a soft smile, ruffling your hair as he walked past you and made a beeline to the bathroom.

Your chest tightens at the tiny gesture as you pause by the door.

And once more it was made clear to you just who you were to Dean; a kid. A sister.

That’s all you’d ever be, you keep reminding your crushed hopes everytime they resurrected.

You wanted to stomp them out and keep them that way, but you just couldn’t help but let a tiny part of you hope for something more.

Despite how impossible it was for that to happen.

Sam presses a gentle kiss to your forehead when he gently pushes past you and sees your conflicted expression, rubbing your back comfortingly.

“We’re going out tonight- somewhere special to celebrate. You’re coming right?”

You shoot him a look as if to say ‘really?’.

Ever since the last time you’d seen Dean with that blonde woman, you refused to go with them to any more bars, opting to stay home in your pjs, eating ice cream and binging TV.

“No,” you instantly reject the offer.

Of course Sam knew exactly why you were refusing, but whenever Dean asked, you had to make up excuses so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

Most of the time you just acted like you were too sick or too tired from the hunt and although you could tell he was concerned for you, he fortunately never pushed for more than you were willing to give him.

“But why not?” He whines. “It’s gonna be fun I promise. Plus we get to dress up for once.”

You laugh. “You say it like I wanna dress up this whale body of mine.”

“Y/n,” he enunciates sternly. “Don’t talk like that. You’re gorgeous.”

You instantly scoff, rolling your eyes. “Okay.”

“He ain’t lying,” Deans gruff voice chides in.

A towel hangs low on his slim hips as he steps out fresh from the shower.

His tan skin glistening with fresh water, sparkling green eyes, damp dirty blond hair clinging to his forehead and that manly scent are all entirely too much for you.

“I never got why you feel the need to bring yourself down, sweetheart. You’re pretty.”

You have to force yourself to snap your gaze onto your duffel bag, aimlessly ruffling through your clothes to make yourself look busy.

“I-I’m too tired,” you manage to stammer out, trying to control your pounding heartbeat.

Dean clicks his tongue with slight irritation. “You always say that.”

“Well I am,” you insist. “Plus guys, it’s not like some fancy night club is really my scene anyways.”

Sam huffs. “Yeah, it isn’t ours either. But we deserve a night out, don’t you think?”

“You guys can go. I’ll just stay here and-“

Dean cuts you off. “And what, Y/n? Wallow in self-pity?”

“Dean,” Sam warns.

“No, Sam. I’m right and she’s knows it. Look at me, sweetheart,” he commands and acting on pure instinct, you obey.

His breathtaking gaze bores straight into you, unwavering. “You think I haven’t noticed how strange you’ve been acting lately? How you refuse to share so much as a beer with us? You’re sad and I’m worried about you,” he breathes softly.

You swallow the lump in your throat, but your brain is still unable to form anymore words. You just stare at him, watery eyed, praying to whatever will listen that the truth doesn’t burst out of you.

That you don’t blurt something like “it’s because of you dummy. Because you break my heart everytime you leave with a new set of tits. Because you could never love me the way I love you.”

Sensing your discomfort, Sam tries to diffuse the situation. “You can stay if you want to, Y/n. We understand. Right, Dean?”

Even without even looking at him, you know Sam is giving Dean a death stare.

Dean looks at you then back up at Sam, sighing. “Fine. Yeah okay.” And walks towards the bathroom to get dressed.

You instantly relax once the weight of his gaze is off you, shoulders drooping.

“Y/n. C’mon, you need to unwind. At least think about it? Look if you change your mind I texte you the address. ”

You purse your lips, staring at his puppy dog eyes. “Okay,” You whisper softly.

A little while later, the boys are all dressed up and ready to go- meanwhile you’re still in your pjs.

Dean looks absolutely scrumptious and all you want to do is rip that button off right off those broad freckled shoulders and mess up that perfectly styled spiky blonde hair.

The green-eyed five course meal pauses before you, frowning. “Not saying you don’t look good in them, but maybe a change of clothes once in a while wouldn’t hurt, sweets.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, petting your head as he walks out.

You know he didn’t mean it like that with his remark.

Dean would never bring you down like that, but for some reason it still stung like a bitch.

To further confirm that you would never be the kind of woman he’d please endlessly or hell- even look twice at was something Dean probably hadn’t realized he’d done but that stuck with you for the rest of your uneventful night.

At the peak of your boredom, you start looking through old pictures of you and the brothers. The nostalgia that flooded through you at the memories nearly made you cry as you came to stop on a certain one- your favorite picture.

It was one with only you and Dean, leaning on the impala. He was staring down at you with a soft smile and made you laughed gleefully at some dumb shit he’d said.

Your chest clenches tightly at the look in his eyes. It almost looked...wistful. Like he was happy and sweet and tender but also...sad.

It was the same look you’d give him.

You gasp without noticing. What if-

No.

You stop yourself before letting your thoughts get much farther and shove the picture away.

Stop getting your hopes up Y/n.

Maybe Dean was right and it was time for a change.

Because if you were going to forget the Dean Winchester, you were gonna need a hell of a replacement and the only way to get that was to at least try to look good.

You started with your hair, curling it loosely so it fell softly over your shoulders. Then you shaved your legs and went about doing your make up.

You weren’t very good at make up, but you had watched a few you tube videos so you settled for a deep wine lipstick, a bit of a Smokey eye and some mascara. Good enough.

Next was your clothes. You didn’t have very many nice clothes, but at some point Sam had convinced you to buy a few dresses and heels along with your formal FBI suits in case you needed it in the future.

You never did which had made you extremely grateful because you didn’t feel comfortable in anything other than your baggy clothes.

“Today isn’t about comfort though,” you mutter to yourself with disdain, tugging uncomfortably on the tight black dress as it clings to your thick thighs.

You clasp on some heels, walking around a bit for practice. Your ankles bend and your knees wobble at first, but the longer you walk in them, the easier it gets.

When you feel comfortable enough, you head over to the mirror, staring at yourself.

Instantly, a wave of insecurity slams down on you. The dress left basically nothing to the imagination and you were less than pleased.

Your tummy was protruding and your thighs were basically glued together. Your stretch marks were in full view too.

Before you let the thoughts get to you too much, you stop staring at yourself and spin on your heel to walk away from it.

Not today Y/n. Not when you’re this desperate to stop caring for someone who would never care for you in the way you did.

You’re forgetting Dean remeber?

Needless to say, your resolve doesn’t last long once you step foot into the night club bar situation the brothers had opted for.

It immediately feels like everyone is looking at you as you nervously play with your fingers, writhing uncomfortably beneath the itchy fabric of the dress.

You already regret doing this.

It isn’t long before Sam spots you by the entrance of the semi-packed club and comes running over, eyes wide.

“Y/n,” he breathes, eyes trailing over you. “Oh.”

You scrunch you’re nose up. “It looks bad doesn’t it. I knew it did! I shouldn’t have-“

“What?!” Sam shook his head furiously. “What? No. Not at all Y/n. You just look different is all.”

You look down at yourself, pouting. “Is that bad or good?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, tugging you to his side. “Good. Definitely good.”

You’re skeptical of his words, but follow him anyway to the bar where Dean is currently at- flirting with a perky brunette.

Your heart instantly drops, but you hide it behind a polite smile as Sam taps his brother’s shoulder.

“Dean. Look who’s here!”

Dean, looking downright annoyed, turns around, clearly ready to tear Sam a new one for interrupting his current rendezvous.

“Sam what- sweetheart,” the nickname falls from his lips like a curse. Like a “fuck!” Or “holy shit!”, except it’s quiet, breathless.

His mouth snaps shut when those eyes land on you, timidly standing beside Sam.

His eyes widen and his lips part as he inhales sharply. And then his eyes are flying everywhere at once, taking in your full figure with a slack jaw.

You shyly smile. “Hey, D.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and you instantly grow insecure thinking maybe it’s because of how ugly you look.

Was he so shocked to see you being “brave” by showing off your huge body like that?

“...Dean?” You hesitate.

He finally snaps out of it, shaking his head. “Y/n.” He swallows thickly, smiling warily.

Geez. That bad?

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, desperate to leave their judging faces.

In your halphazard attempt to run away, you accidentally bump into someone, nearly knocking both of you on the floor. You topple to the side in your tall heels, letting out a tiny yelp.

Without hesitation, two big hands watch you by your arms, steadying you.

“Be careful there sweetness,” his southern accent is thick as sweet molasses and it instantly attracts your eyes to his dark brown ones.

You flush with embarassment when you realize how cute he is. “Oh my God! I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He lets out a bemused chuckle. “It’s quite alright, hun.”

You smile up at him bashfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks.”

And with that, you start to walk away from him. He stops you before you can get too far, gripping onto your forearm firmly.

“Wait.”

You look cautiously at where his hand was and he quickly takes it away, laughing nervously. “Sorry. I just- I hope I’m not being too forward. You’re beautiful.”

You raise your brows in disbelief almost instinctively, blushing madly. “Me?” you blurt incredulously.

He laughs fully this time. “Yeah. You. Come sit with me?”

You glance over your shoulder at where the brothers were, immersed in flirty conversations with pretty women and decide why the hell not.

So you nod at him affirmitively with a tiny smile. “Sure.”

It wasn’t long before you were laughing full-heartedly at the man, James. He was genuinely funny and cute and for whatever reason, seemed taken by you. I mean, you couldn’t possibly fathom why.

But the more time passed with the easy banter, the more you drank and the less you worried about well, anything.

“You wouldn’t like me in real life. I’m not like this usually,” you confess, taking sip of your matini when he compliments you once again.

He raises a brow. “Oh? I highly doubt that. But tell me, miss Y/n, what do you usually wear?”

You lean forward, smirking confidently. (Yeah the alcohol was getting to you.)

“Well for starters, the baggiest shirts. The biggest jeans. The oldest flannels,” you lean back, laughing loudly.

“You still look gorgeous probably.”

You can’t help but giggle at his remark, touching his arms for a second. “Oh, James!”

Who even are you right now? Giggling...flirting..

You weren’t used to any of this. So when he places a gentle hand on your thigh you freeze, unable to react any other way because you’d never gotten this kind of attention.

He smirks. “Wanna head back to my place? Keep the party goin’?”

You open your mouth to answer but are cut off by another voice- gruff and angry.

“I don’t think so, buddy,” the deep voice bites.

Your head snaps up and you see Dean, flaring deep green eyes glaring holes into the hand which was still nestled neatly on your thigh.

“Take your hand off her before I make sure you don’t have one at all,” he husks without even looking at either of you.

James instantly retracts his hand, looking between you two with his brows furrowed.

Dean doesn’t let either of you say anything before he’s yanking you off your chair by your arm.

“We’re leaving,” he informs grumpily, leaving no room for protesting of any kind.

Then he’s yanking you along behind him, rough fingers wrapped tightly around your forearm as he carelessly pushes people out of his way.

“Dean-” you whine, struggling to keep up with his long and angry strides in your heels and intoxicated state.

He doesn’t stop until you’re standing before baby and you physically have to rip your arm from his hold.

You’re absolutely fuming at this point.

Who the fuck did he think he was, pulling you out of there like that?

“What the hell, Dean?!?” You wrap your arms around yourself to protect your exposed skin from the cool night breeze.

He doesn’t turn around to look at you, but his voice says it all when he speaks. “Get in the car, Y/n.”

He’s one-hundred percent serious. And done. So so serious and done, in fact, that his voice wavers with the weight of his stern.

And if it weren’t for the fact that you desperately wanted answers or the fact that you were buzzed enough to be able to ignore his fury, you might’ve let it go.

Unfortunately, neither was currently the case.

“No. You had no right! James was-”

“Oh, James!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up sarcastically. “Is that his name!?”

You reeled back from his harsh tone, frowning. “What the fuck is wrong with you Dean? You’re acting completely irrational.”

“Nothing is wrong with me, Y/n. Absolutely nothing,” he grits out with a wry smile.

“I’m going back inside.” You shake your head at him.

He laughs bitterly. “And I’m the one acting irrational! That- that ass just had his hand on your thigh and you just let him. Oh. And now you’re going back inside to do what? Continue letting him feel you up?”

“And what’s so fucking wrong with that?!” You yell back, frustrated by his hurtful words.

What was he insinutating? That you were easy? And anyway, what did he care?

He pauses for a split-second before answering in a venomous snap. “Everything! You’re...” he trails off abruptly.

“I’m what, Dean?” you growl, stepping closer to him.

You licks his lips, inhaling sharply. “You’re-” he falters, softening for only a split second. “Just get in the car, sweetheart” he demands once more this time more quietly, apple green eyes shimmering under the dim street lights.

But you refuse to back down. “No. Tell me what the hell your problem is or I go back inside.”

He let’s out a yell, slamming a hand on the hood of the car and leaning his forehead against it. “Dammit!”

You jolt, startled. He stays there for a few more seconds, back heaving with his audibly labored breaths,

You’re afraid to touch him right now, so you just speak in a soft comforting tone. “Dean. Just talk to me. Why are you acting like this?”

He sighs, slowly turning around to face you. He looks pissed.

“You really wanna know why I’m acting like this?” You go to say yes but before you can, he’s cutting you off. “It because of you,” he growls.

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Y/n. W-with your fucking tight little dress and your heels.” He motions loosely to you, jaw clenched and tight fists by his side. “Flaunting that ass around like-like you wanted James and every damn douchebag in there to fucking come up to you!” He spits the name out like it’s vile in his mouth and you flinch at his accusatory, disgusted tone.

Why the hell was he blaming you for something like that? It made no sense.

You raise your brows, shocked and hurt. “Oh, so because for one night I’ve decided to do what you suggested and actually got some male attention you’re acting like a little bitch?! What the hell is so wrong with that, exactly, Dean? You do this shit all the time, and you don’t see me giving you shit about it!”

He huffs, rolling his eyes and muttering, “It’s different with me.”

You bark out a laugh. “Different how?”

His jaw flexes. “I’m not a kid, for starters!”

You let out an incredulous sound, looking at him like he was out of his damn mind. “I’m not a kid Dean! When are you going to get that? There’s no need to act like a protective ass. I can damn well take care of myself.”

“I’ll get it when you stop acting like some sleazy hooker,” he snaps, green eyes flaring a darker, sinister shade.

You instantly stop, freezing at his words. As if realizing what he’s just said, Dean’s face drops.

He tries to grip your shoulder. “Y/n-“ but you aggressively shove him off of you, holding back tears.

“You’re a dick, Dean.”

He frowns apologetically. “Sweetheart I didn’t mean to-“

“I’m going home Dean. Alone.”

And with that, you spin on your heel and start making your way back to the motel.

Five minutes don’t pass of you first getting inside the motel before you hear the sound of the impala’s engine pulling up.

And suddenly the door is being thrown open, startling even your bones.

Then, before you can even react, Dean is standing in the doorway, chest heaving.

“Dean-“

“It’s because I was jealous,” he blurts as soon as he sees you.

“What?”

He doesn’t say anything as he runs a hand through his hair, stepping into the dark room and closing the door behind him.

The tiny ‘click’ of the door closing is defeaning against the tense silence now settled in the four of five feet between you two.

He licks his lips the way he always does when he’s nervous, cautiously look up at you. “I was jealous of James,” he repeats, the confession quiet but more powerful than if he would’ve screamed it because the raw emotion and sincerity were in clear display.

You don’t know what to say for the first few seconds after he speaks and so many thoughts are spinning around in your head.

“Dean I know I’m like your little sister and you’re protective of me but I’m fully capable of-“

“I know you are,” he mumbles, looking at you with a strange glint in his eyes- something new and unfamiliar. “That’s not...” he inhales deeply, searching around in his head for the right words. “I wasn’t jealous of you as a....sister.”

Still bewildered, you step a bit closer to him. “Dean, what are you trying to say?”

He groans, chuckling softly. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

Silently, he strides up to you, closing the remaining distance between you two. His hands creep up, gripping your face between them like he’d done so many times before, except this time it felt...different.

The air around you cackled with an unspoken electrifying emotion, his fingers felt like pure fire against your skin and you did it understand what exactly was about to happen but it felt like Ike you were on the verge of something big.

You gaze up at him through your lashes, questioningly.

He smiles, swiping his thumb over your cheek. “You look absolutely beautiful tonight sweetheart. Did I tell you that?”

Your breath hitches and you can’t help but blush madly. “I-I thought you didn’t like it,” you stammer out the admission, scared of his reaction.

He chuckles and his warm breath warms your skin. “Of course I do. You’re stunning. I just don’t want...other guys to see it.” He winces at his confession.

You laugh- not because it’s funny but because you’re nervous and all you can do is laugh.

He turns serious. “I’m sorry for the way I talked to you, sweetheart. I just-“ he purses his lips, pausing. “I hated seeing his hands on you. I hated the fact that he made you laugh in that way the makes your head go back and your eyes glimmer. I hated his stupid accent and his dumb hair because I knew you’d find it adorable. And fuck, I hated that he could give you everything I never could or will be able to,” he lets out all in a few breaths.

You just stare up at him, tears building up in your eyes, starstruck.

“I hate you,” you mutter finally.

He frowns. “Wh-“

You pound on his chest harshly, sobbing. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you! How could you!”

You try to get your hands on him ever after he’s easily grabbed your wrists, wriggling aggressively.

“Sweetheart! Calm down. What the hell are you on about?!”

You settle for a second, warm tears rolling down your face and easily answer him because he was being a complete and utter jackass right now.

“The fact that you’d lie to me because you pity me makes you a cruel, vile human being Dean Winchester.”

He instantly shakes his head at you, eyes sad. “I’m not saying it because I pity you, sweets. Why would you even think that?”

You laugh bitterly, pointing to yourself. “Well, isn’t it obvious? I’m fat!”

At your words, something clicks in him and he’s suddenly titling your head up to meet his perfect green eyes.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me very carefully right now okay? You are and will forever be the goddamn most beautiful thing that asshole God has put on this earth. If there is anything I have to thank him for it’s you. Don’t you understand?” He pleads quietly.

You don’t know how you manage to work around your erratically beating heart or the fact that Dean is so close and he smells so much like him, but through the huge lump in your throat you manage to stutter something along the lines of “understand what?”

“That I have to hold myself back from moving my lips from just a few inches away your cheek or your forehead to your lips and kissing the living hell out of you every damn time I touch you. That I love everything about you, even the bad things. Especially the bad things because really, they’re all good.” He laughs breathlessly. “That I wake up and go to sleep with that sweet smile on my mind. That I would do anything to keep it on that pretty face of yours. That I fuck anything with legs imagining that it’s you I’m sinking into. That all I want- no. All I need and fucking ache for every damn day I spend with and without you is the feel of your skin and the softness of your voice.” He swallows thickly, whispering. “That I am so hopelessly in love with someone I can never have.”

You close your mouth after a few long stretched out seconds of having it open. You don’t know what to say at first, still trying to process the emotion in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes and the sudden jolt of electricity shocking your entire body to your very core.

All the same, Dean is looking at you with a terrified expression, holding his breath.

Then, you speak.

“You can have me.”

He looks relieved at first, but then he turn wistful, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear, lingering with his fingertips on your cheek for a few seconds.

“I couldn’t do that. You’re so young and we’ve been practically raised together. I couldn’t.”

“But you could!” You protest, chest clenching. “For as long as I can remember, Dean, you’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You bite your lip, placing a tender hand over his chest. “You’re all I need,” you finish in a breathless whisper, leaning against his touch.

You hear him breathe in shakily before he abruptly takes his hand off you and answers in a quiet, regretful tone. “I can’t.”

His words are like another stab to your chest and before you know what you’re doing-

“Fine. But don’t try to stop me from finding someone who can.”

You angrily walk towards the door, but before you can so much as lay a finger on the door knob, Dean’s own hand is shooting out, grabbing your elboe tightly. And then he;s yanking you back.

“The hell you are,” he growls, crushing his mouth onto yours roughly.

The kiss is enough to freeze you in your tracks and everything stops moving for a split second as you take in the feeling of his lips on yours, hard enough to bruise.

Your eyes flutter shut and you suck in a sharp breath, melting in to his touch as his fingertips glide into your hair, tugging at it gently. You moan lightly into his mouth as it slants over yours, deepening the kiss.

His tongue is warm and wet and silky and he tastes like liquor and apple pie and it leaves you breathless for a minute. You drown in his scent of leather and cologne, kissing back with just as much passion, holding onto his neck and shoulders in order to remain upright because your knees are about to give out beneath you.

The kiss happens in a flurry of heat and passion and anger and ends with unimaginable sweetness.

You peer up at him, chest heaving.

“Dean?” your voice trembles.

He smiles softly. “I love you and I’ll be damned if I let you go running to some other man.”

You laugh unbelievingly. “Really? Y-you love me?”

He nods instantly. “Of course.” Suddenly, he smirks.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just glad you wore that dress.”

***

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader series #Jealous!dean #jealous!dean winchester x reader #Plus-size!reader #Plus-size!reader x dean winchester #dean winchester x plus size!reader

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vibesandwonders · 3 years

Text

loose change

They’re on a road trip.

Those happen a lot in these days of unlikely peace. Sometimes, it’s cause they’re headed to help out on a hunt, sometimes it’s cause Cas finds some weird-ass landmark that he wants to visit and Dean isn’t so great at telling him no.

Cas recently developed a fascination with anything called “the world’s largest” and Dean's pretty sure half the fun is listening to the Angel go off on a tangent about how incorrect that claim is in comparison to "insert rant here."

It's thus that Dean has learned how Cas helped build a couple of the ancient world’s greatest wonders, that King Darius was an asshole and that thee Biblical Daniel was actually kind of the man (minor jealousy there); that Castiel was talked with delivering prophecy during those eras.

Sure, knowing you’re dating an ancient celestial is one thing, hearing him discuss the poor hygiene habits of Marc Antony is another. The Hunter wonders absently how it took him 12 years to ask Castiel about his life.

So they pack up, give the kids a basic hierarchy to follow (Usually it’s Cas standing in the living room saying something about Claire being in charge while Dean slouches adjacent and gives the room full of found supernatural kids the hairy eyeball and adding stuff about not eating cereal for dinner and doing their homework) then they get in Baby and hit the road knowing full well that most of what was said is most definitely going to be ignored.

Cas drives the second shift, always does.

He sleeps more now, since the Empty; growing bizarrely in sync with Dean’s circadian rhythms (a more profound bond).

But he still doesn’t need as much as a human does (2 hours, 4 hours who cares), so, he takes the second shift and Dean lets him choose the music. He’s been on an Etta James kick and Dean doesn’t admit he has trouble falling asleep lately unless Cas is singing softly to whatever song is playing while they drive.

He wonders what Dean and Castiel of 12 years ago would think of their odd little slice of happiness, and finds (to his surprise) that he doesn’t really give a fuck.

He falls asleep in Arkansas (Cas insists on calling it Ar-Kansas and Dean thinks it’s too cute to correct him) and tells him to wake him up when they hit Georgia.

He startles from a dream he half remembers. Blood pooling beneath the skin of his palms, heart racing.

The engine’s off and they’re pulled in to a crappy gas station in the middle of nowhere. It only takes a second to spot Cas— there through the glass window, holding the door open for an elderly man and smiling at something said to him.

Dean takes a minute to watch him, to observe the way his husband interacts with their world and goddamn, it’s breathtaking every time.

Cas wanders through the store and picks out snacks, flipping over every baggy and box to frown at the ingredient list and return it. He’s stubborn as hell when it comes to food these days (fuck you Sam Winchester) and does his best to keep Dean Winchester floating slightly below high cholesterol. Dean can’t quite say he minds it completely. Hell, if somebody cares enough to keep him around longer who is he to really argue. That’s pretty great shit.

It’s when Cas gets up to the register and his brow furrow, silhouette unnaturally still; Dean sees the briefest trickle of panic in his eyes as he frowns down at his handful of change.

Dean’s heart clenches so hard it hurts. A wave of nausea slaps the back of his throat and all he can think is it's the same look.

The same expression he'd seen through a fucking gas n' sip going on 8 years ago when he leaned against the side of his car and watched Castiel go about his business.

Alone.

Dean knew then, and he left him.

He nearly crumples with the guilt of it, out of the car in the space of a breath and stumbling across the pavement before his brain catches up, the bell nearly screams as he opens the glass door with so much force that the cashier looks up in alarm.

Cas is still counting out his change.

Dean throws his card down on the counter with a smack

“He’s with me.” He explains hurriedly; runs a comforting hand down Cas’ back, the cashier looks between them with a frown and takes the plastic with shrug.

“You good?” He asks the angel, shaking his head when the guy asks if he wants a receipt.

Cas blinks a couple times, taking in Dean's harried aura with bewilderment, “I didn’t have enough change.” He mutters.

Dean takes the small bag and guides them out of the station toward the car.

“I’m sorry.” He says, though it sounds a great deal more like, “Forgive me.” And Cas notices (of course he does), his blue eyes curious.

“For?”

Dean turns to pump gas, back rigid, “You put the cash back in my pants.” He says, his voice tight, “I didn’t find it until I stopped for gas on the way back to the bunker.”

Cas’ mouth sets. He leans back against Baby and tucks his hands into his pockets, “You didn’t have a choice.” He says, like he always does.

“That’s bullshit.” Dean snaps, his eyes focused hard on the numbers ticking up on the screen in an attempt to not get emotional out in bum-fuck nowhere Georgia, “I left you. Alone. I knew.” He sighs, sobs, chokes out, “I knew what you were going through and I still…" He glances at Castiel, "I saw the way you looked at me then.” He admits and chews his lip, the gentle breeze tugs at his clothes, “I’m sorry, Cas.” Who, to his surprise is sort-of smiling.

“I was unused to being human.” Cas says softly, unfocused, “You walked in,” A small grin twists his lips, he shakes his head, “I understood why humanity called it ‘falling' in love.” He chuckles, without bitterness, “I stood there, twice-fallen angel: once from heaven, once for you,”

“Aw fuck Cas...” Dean says, the guilt a wave threatening to overwhelm again, “You can’t just say shit like that.” His green eyes are soft and apologetic.

Cas takes his hand and squeezes. “Forgiven.” He says, absolving and kind, seeing Dean’s lack of belief he frowns. “Forgotten.” He insists leaning into his husband’s eyeline insistently.

Dean is confronted by a being who has leveled civilizations; is barely controlled chaos given form and He has no choice but to believe him.

Cas blinks; once more the mussed, soft, odd man in sensible shoes. He pulls the plastic bag from Dean’s tightly clenched hand and reveals his prize.

“I got you beef jerky and YooHoo.”

the series here

#supernatural fic #we deserve a soft epilogue my love #castiel x dean #in this house we ignore 15x20 #domestic deancas #domestic fluff #castiel #dean winchester

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simsadventures · 4 years

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Only Mine: Chapter 8: Introductions

Summary: Bucky takes you to the mansion, to introduce you to the whole crew, but there are a few guys that you aren’t too happy about

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, swearing, mobster au, mafia au

Word Count: 2873

A/N: I just wanted to say that in my fic Peter is 22, so not a canon, just FYI. I also tried a new thing, instead of a gif I created my own collage for this chapter. What do you think? GIFs or Collages? Let me know :) What do we think of the reader’s suspicions? This is also a little filler chapter, and sorry for the long wait. You know, Christmas and all of that :)

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

True to his words, when a month’s mark hit, you were still snuggled against his side in your apartment. You still never talked about his work, and you didn’t necessarily complain. You knew that it was some dark shit, and that was all you needed. He never came to you in such a bad mood as that day you first gave in, but your relationship, if you could call it that, was blooming.

You didn’t really want to go out of your apartment for entirely selfish reasons. You knew what reputation Bucky had in the town, and you didn’t need to be seen as one of those girls. You were in love with Bucky, that much you were sure of, but the world didn’t know that your relationship was much more than running around and showing off. And they would judge you accordingly, for which you weren’t ready. Not yet.

Bucky tried to take you to his favourite restaurants, but until now, you were able to hold him off, telling him that you rather stayed at home and do other things. He was always more than ready to comply with your wishes and stayed, but you could see the confusion and small amount of anger growing behind his eyes.

It was Friday night when he came to you, and while he was wearing a suit and a shirt, looking like a true gentleman, which made your insides quiver, you were sitting there, in your old jeans and a baggy shirt.

“Doll, c’mon, Get ready, and we can have a nice dinner out, enjoy the night fully.”

You scrunched your nose and shook your head. “Nah, how about we order in and have a nice night in, hm? I could even eat naked,” you said seductively and began to strip, but Bucky’s hand stopped your movement.

“Why don’t you ever want to go out with me? Are you ashamed of me and who I am?” Bucky asked, hurt evident in his voice.

You looked at him, and instead of the big mafia boss everyone was afraid of, there was a little boy in front of you, staring at you with pain in his eyes, pouting slightly. You suddenly felt ashamed and stupid. You didn’t even realise that he could think you didn’t want to be seen with him for who he was.

“No, no, that’s not it, James. I just… I don’t want people to think that I’m one of those girls, you know? That I’m with you to gain something of it. That I like you just because you are kind of famous here in New York. People will assume the worst, and I don’t want that. I like that it’s just us, without the pressures of the world. And also, I don’t want you becoming as you were, when we’re out,” you whispered the last part and hid your face in your palms. You knew you were being childish, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

You could feel Bucky moving so that he was sitting nearer, and when you thought nothing was gonna happen, you felt his hand on your wrist.

“Look at me, Y/N.”

You removed your hands reluctantly but kept your eyes trained on the couch underneath you. Bucky wasn’t having any of it and raised your chin with his fingers. His look was much more inviting now, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I didn’t realise that you would feel bad because of my reputation, but you shouldn’t worry about that. You know that you’re not like those girls to me, and that’s all that matters, right? And how exactly am I acting out?” He smirked a little, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“They all see you as this arrogant mobster, ready to kill everyone in his sight, which I know would still happen if someone misspoke about you, but with me, you’re different. You’re my James here, and you have the sweetest touches and just… I don’t want you to treat me, even if it is just for show like I’m some whore. But I realise that you cannot show people your softer side. It just… sucks sometimes,” you sighed, wanting to hide again, but Bucky didn’t let you this time. He picked you up gently, sitting you on his lap.

“You’re right, I cannot be as soft as I’m here, people would use it against me. I think that even some of my men would use it against me, but that’s beside the point. I’ve got an idea. We’ll change the setting a little, but it’ll still be just us, what do you say?”

You searched his face and frowned a little. “I’m not going to your fucking apartment if that’s what you’re implying.”

He laughed and shook his head, winking at you. “I’m aware that you’re not ever stepping a foot there, doll. I’m thinking of a different place. I wanted to take you there for quite some time, and I think I finally got the courage to do so.”

You cocked a brow at him. “The courage? Since when do you need to find the courage to do something?”

He scoffed and patted your thigh. “Shut it, and go get ready. We’ll be spending a night there so pack accordingly.”

You rolled your eyes at him and his bossy tone but got up anyway. You knew better than to fight him on such a small thing. You didn’t really know where you were going, but you hoped that Bucky understood why you had an issue with going out just yet, and so you tried to calm your nerves. It would all be alright.

You packed just a light bag, only toiletries, PJs, even if you knew that you probably wouldn’t need it, with Bucky’s appetite, and a pair of jeans and t-shirt for next day morning. You changed into very flimsy lingerie that you bought just a few days ago. It was red and almost entirely see-through, and the second you saw it, you knew Bucky would enjoy it as much as you did. You put on a tight red dress, accentuated your hips and chest, you two biggest assets. You re-did your make up, trying to look a little more like human than house garbage.

It was almost an hour later that you finally got out of your room, Bucky looking spectacularly pissed. But when he turned his head and opened his mouth, probably to ask you what was taking you so fucking long (you could even hear him in your mind), no sound left his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed dry.

He took you all in, looking like his dream, all sultry and beautiful. His eyes darkened, and you could see that his mind was suddenly less on going out and more on stripping you off your clothes and devouring your body all night long.

Bucky stood up from the couch and marched towards you, pulling you into his defined chest and kissing you breathless. You could feel his hands splayed on your thighs, travelling north. You quickly grabbed his wrist, and he gave you a dissatisfied growl.

“I wanted to stay here and eat naked, but you were dead set on going out. This is my going out outfit, and I wish it stays on me at least till we dined.”

Bucky groaned into your neck and kneaded your ass. “I’m not sure if I can wait that long, Y/N. You shouldn’t have worn something so sexy, I won’t be able to think all night.”

You smirked and kissed his cheek, getting out of his embrace and towards your door. “You can train your self-control, my dear. Let’s go, I’m getting hungry, and not only for food.”

The sound that came deep out of Bucky’s chest was something between groan and growl, and it sent shivers down your spine.

—-

The car ride was joyful. You paid no attention to Bucky and his boring stares, instead, you talked with Peter who was driving you to the place Bucky was adamant not to disclose. Peter was such a sweet kid that you had to wonder why he was involved with the mafia in the first place. You could imagine him going to University. You thought he still had more than enough time to do so, but you knew you had no say in all of that.

Bucky wasn’t enjoying the ride as much as you did. All he wanted to do was to strip you of that provocative dress and have your way with you. But no, he had to be an idiot and insist on going out. He was now sitting in the car, pissed at himself and at Peter, who was being a friendly asshole as always and to top it all you were having too much fun without him for his liking. Bucky was a jealous man, and he didn’t realise what he was doing by bringing you to where he was bringing you.

When a colossal mansion appeared in your window, you stopped mid-sentence and just stared. It was beautiful. It was elegant with huge windows in some of which lights were lit. You were pretty sure your mouth was hanging open, but you didn’t care. You abruptly turned to Bucky and gave him a confused look before you turned to your window again to stare at the beauty.

Bucky chuckled slightly, happy that you were still as confused as when you two left your apartment. There was a little nagging voice in his head, questioning this move of his, but he couldn’t feel more confident in bringing you to his house. Not his apartment, which most of the city saw, let’s be honest. This was truly his home.

He never brought a girl there, not intentionally anyway. There were few instances of him sleeping with women he was supposed to have a meeting with, but that was beside the point. There has never been a woman that he’d willingly and consciously brought to his home, to get to know him better.

His maid, Magda, was instructed to cook dinner for Bucky and his guest, and he knew that the old lady, being with him ever since he was a little child would have her eyes and ears open just to see who this guest was.

“Where-where are we, Bucky?” You asked incredulously, still amazed by the palace in front of you.

“I promised not to bring you to my apartment, and I intend to keep that promise. This is something more for me, this is my home. And I would like to show you around.”

Bucky was watching your every move and change of emotions on your face. He could see the disbelief, the relief, the excitement, he could see it all. Peter, meanwhile, opened your door and the two of you got out of the car. Bucky, ever the gentleman (well… ever with you, anyway) almost ran around the car to help you out, and he held out a hand for you to grab.

The inside of the house was even more spectacular than the outside. Everything was modern but elegant and simplistic. You could see the house was divided into quarters. Down on your right, everything looked a little darker and more office-like. Bucky was taking you through the rooms telling you where was what. The offices, meeting rooms and such (also the dungeons, but you politely refused to see those) were in the down right quarter.

Down left, space was devoted to a huge kitchen where an older lady called Magda was standing and smiling at you. Behind the kitchen and the vast dining room was what Bucky called the common room with multiple couches and armchairs. It looked really comfortable and here were seated first few of Bucky’s men.

They introduced themselves as Sam and Steve, names you already heard from Bucky’s stories.

“We’re glad to finally officially meet you, Y/N. This idiot right here won’t shut up about you, but damn, he didn’t do you justice. You’re one juicy piece,” Sam hollered, and it earned him a jab to his ribs by Bucky. You stifled a laugh, but when Steve punched Bucky stomach, and they all started to hit each other as if they were 5 year-olds, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Could you two idiots act like adults at least this time? I want to show my lady around.”

Whoops and cheers came from the two guys, and Bucky only sent them death glares before he grabbed your hand and dragged you out of there. He didn’t need his friends ogling you any more.

This quarter of the house also had a huge gym, in which few guys were again, and you were introduced to all of them. You could see that the interaction between Bucky and Steve and Sam was exceptional because when he introduced you to Luke and others, his tone and posture changed from friend to mafia boss. You didn’t comment on it, because you knew it was pointless.

The upper floor was much more personal. The people that lived in the mansion had their left-wing, all for themselves. Some of them were standing by their doors, and you greeted each one of them. And then there was Bucky’s wing. It included a luxurious bedroom, his own private dining room, master bathroom, which you thought was as big as your whole apartment with Nat. There was also his personal library and to that connected office, to which only his men had access.

Overall the house was insane, and you knew you’d enjoy spending your time with Bucky there. The bed looked exceptionally spacious and comfortable. Definitely much better than your Ikea queen-sized one.

You were coming down the stairs with Bucky to ask Magda when your food would be ready (Bucky was mainly curious if he had enough time for some fun times), and that was when you met last of Bucky’s men. Both of them were huge and muscly. One of them had tattoo sleeves, and even some tattoos on his neck, short hair and a deathly stare. The other one had no visible tattoos, but his face wasn’t any more inviting.

“Y/N, this is Brock Rumlow and Bob Johnson, probably the last of my men you haven’t yet met. Guys, this is Y/N.”

They both nodded, but the sly smiles on their lips made you shiver uncomfortably. Until then, all of the guys seemed friendly and welcoming, at least for mobsters, but these two gave you the creeps. They were the type you’d be afraid to meet walking home at night. You made a mental note never to wander around the mansion alone because these two seemed like they didn’t care that you obviously came with their boss. They were shamelessly ogling your ass and your breasts, one of them even licking their lips at the sight of you.

Bucky seemed to have noticed how uncomfortable you were, so he nodded at them and continued his way down to the kitchen.

You still couldn’t shake off the weird feeling that settled somewhere deep inside you after meeting Brock and Bob, and even after the beautiful dinner Magda made for the two of you, you were unsettled.

“What is going on, doll? I can hear the thoughts in your mind racing,” he whispered to your ear and put a hand on your bare thigh.

“Nothing, I’m probably just overreacting, you know? Maybe if you took my mind off everything, it wouldn’t be as loud.”

He smirked and pushed his hand under your dress, massaging your hip. “Oh, baby doll. I want you to be as loud as possible, so all the fuckers know that I’m the only one making you feel good. You and your damn dress, trying to either kill me or making me kill every single man seeing you in the dress, starting with Peter. You seemed to have liked the guys quite a lot.” He was growling now, and you smirked.

You would be lying to say that his jealousy didn’t make you even wetter. But you knew that you shouldn’t entertain these thoughts in his head, because he was actually that person who would act on it if he decided so.

“He is nice, sure, but you do know that I’m only yours, right? There is no other man for me, but my sexy bad mafia boss. But maybe, just maybe, you should remind me who do I belong to,” you whispered to his ear with fervour, and it was all that it took for Bucky to push you on his bed and jump on you.

But before you let him have his way with you, you made another mental note, not remember the two guys, feeling like they might not have Bucky’s best interests in mind. And you hated just the thought that the men who were there to protect your James, among other things, might not be the most trustworthy. But you needed more facts than your suspicions if you were to tell Bucky. You just hoped you were wrong and your spidey-senses were wrong this time. Not that they have been that many times before, but still.

/Next Chapter >

Only Mine: @albinotigerpython @brownlee-22 @yennewolf @heywess @bitchwhytho @thegirlwhowritesfics @eteramfools @blonddnamedhandz @everything-is-awesomesauce @justlovelifeblog @scuzmunkie @rohaintahquil @d-jall @cap-just-said-language @readermia @chubby-dumplin @slcvely @thewackywriter @mswinterfalcon @ieshaa96 @calwitch @everythingisoverrated @maggyme13 @sukeraa @new-romanticz1989

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@this-kitten-is-smitten @sebbbystaaan @paradisiacalsparks @crazybutconfidentaf @owlyannah @lassini @s-trawberryv-eins

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@voltage-my2dlove @kneel-begyourpardon @lumar014 @ptrs-prkrs

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone @sasbb23 @p8tn0lish @coffeebooksandfandom @waiting4inspiration @caswinchester2000 @mogaruke @justthatfangirloverthere

If your name is crossed out, tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason, I’m sorry.

If you’d like to be tagged comment/message/send an ask. If you like the story, please reblog :) any comments are appreciated, even the critical ones. Always a space to get better, so let me know what you guys think.

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nerdforestgirl · 4 years

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Hey. I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted a story or anything useful, really. But @milyrita asked me for a story of Sheldon getting a makeover a few months ago. It took me far too long, but I finally finished it. I hope you enjoy. Stay safe. <3

Sheldon looked at himself in the mirror. It was his 40th birthday, and he frowned. Not that it was his birthday or that he was another year older. His life was great. He was married to Amy who was pregnant with their first child. He had a Nobel and tenure at CalTech. The reason he frowned that his clothes made him look like a 40 year old toddler. He was going to be a father in the matter of months, and he looked less like an adult than when he was nine. At least back in those days he wore a button up on occasion. He sighed, but went to find Amy and whatever he had planned for his big day.

It turned out that the big surprise was just dinner with his friends, which was more or less perfect for Sheldon. It was their regular Chinese food with cake at the end. Apparently pregnant Amy didn't have much energy to plan anything more. It made Sheldon wish he had knocked up his wife during all of the previous birthdays he had with her.

Still, Sheldon couldn't help but think about his appearance. Then he looked over at Penny who seemed to know things about fashion. Or at least she was always looking at magazines about it. He decided to pull her to the side.

“What's up?” Penny asked.

“Do you think you could take me shopping this weekend? I would like to have a few outfits that make me look like an adult,” Sheldon admitted quietly.

“Really? I've been waiting for this moment for over a decade,” Penny said with a clap of her hands. She happily agreed to take Sheldon shopping. He regretted asking immediately, but he still wanted to appear to be an adult. He would try this. Even if it was just one day.

Penny knocked on Sheldon's door on Saturday morning so they could head out to the mall. Penny asked Sheldon about what kind of clothes he was looking for, but he just shrugged and said something about wanting to look like an adult. He didn't really have any ideas beyond that. It was why he had brought Penny in on this with him.

“Let's try a few things,” Penny suggested as she handed him a black button up shirt. Sheldon saw a plaid one in a similar style so he added it to the things to try on.

“That will make you look like a dad,” Penny said.

“Perfect. That is exactly the look I am attempting to achieve,” Sheldon said with a smile.

Penny didn't mean it as a compliment, but she let him try it on anyway. She hadn't known that was his motivation, but she still wanted him to look like a stylish dad. The man was a Nobel Prize winner, not just some guy mowing the lawn and barbecuing on Sundays. Either way, no cargo shorts would be allowed.

“How's this?” Sheldon asked as he walked out in a pink fitted shirt and jeans. He didn't actually mind these ones. The shirt showed off his figure better than his normal baggy clothes. Penny forgot that Sheldon had been working out with Leonard a few times a week until she saw that he had put on a little bit of muscle.

“I think you should be ready for Amy to jump on you when you get home,” Penny teased.

“You think she will hate it so much that she will attack me?” Sheldon asked. He was disappointed. This was the first outfit that he actually liked so far.

“No. She will find you unbearably sexy and will want to have coitus,” Penny explained.

“Oh,” Sheldon said. Then Penny caught a little grin on his face. She was going to insist that he get his outfit for sure. They spent a couple more hours trying out new looks.

“I told Leonard I would be home in time for dinner with him and the baby. Let's get these, and then I'm taking you to get a proper haircut. If you want to look like an adult, we're getting your haircut too,” Penny said when they had a decent pile of new clothes picked out. He was going to wear the pink shirt and the jeans out of the store.

“I don't need a haircut,” Sheldon insisted.

“Sweetie, you do. Let's go,” Penny told him.

Sheldon pouted and continued to insist that he was fine with his hair the way it was. He liked this hairstyle. He had had this hairstyle since he was old enough to choose it for himself. Then he realized that this whole point of this exercise was to make him look like an adult instead of a nine year old. His hair would grow back if he didn't like it. And perhaps he could get used to a new hairstyle. It took very little time for him to fall in love with Amy's shorter hair after all. Adjusting to change was what becoming a father was all about. He might as well start now while he had a couple months to go.

The new hairstyle wasn't vastly different. Just a little shorter in the back and on top. Plus a bit of product to give it some volume. Not nearly as different as Amy's new cut had been all those months ago, but also not the style of a nine year old boy either.

“You look great, Sheldon. I call this a job well done,” Penny proclaimed when she saw the whole look put together. She thought that maybe Sheldon could use some glasses to complete the nerd chic thing going on, but he didn't need them. Maybe in a few years all the screen time would catch up to him.

“Do you think Amy will like it?” Sheldon asked. She was the only person other than himself whose opinion mattered at all in this matter.

“I wasn't kidding earlier. I think you are going to have a late night tonight,” Penny said.

“A late night? Oh. The coitus because I am attractive. Right,” Sheldon said with a nod. It had only been a week for him, which wasn't very much time, but he knew this was a risk when he went shopping.

“Let's go show her,” Penny suggested.

Sheldon opened the door to his apartment with all of his shopping bags in hand. Penny followed close behind because she wanted to see Amy's reaction to Sheldon's new style. She stepped forward when she saw Amy look up from her book and immediately started crying.

“What's wrong?” Sheldon asked as he rushed to Amy. She cried more now that she was pregnant, but he hadn't become accustomed to it. It still upset him to see her cry.

“Well, have fun, kids,” Penny said and let herself out of the apartment. Something was going wrong, and she wanted as far away from it as possible.

“What did you do?” Amy asked her husband. She barely noticed that Penny was there or had left. Sheldon looked completely different. And Amy hated all of it. She walked closer and he smelled of cologne instead of his normal baby powder. It was like he was a whole different person. She wanted her Sheldon. Not this imposter.

“I wanted to look like an adult,” Sheldon said. He had prepared for a very different reaction than his wife crying. He was startled because normally even if Amy hated something like this, she usually had the tact to say it politely.

“Why on earth did you think I would want that? I want my husband. I want him back,” Amy shouted.

Sheldon nodded and ran into their bedroom. He put back on a baggy pair of khakis and a t-shirt. There wasn't much he could do about his hair, but he brushed it back down to his usual style. He also felt deflated. He hadn't done this for Amy, but he didn't think she would hate it the way she did. He slunk back out to the living room for Amy to inspect.

“Why did you change? You never change anything you don't have to. Are you cheating on me?” Amy asked through tears as she inspected the other clothes Sheldon purchased. All of it was expensive high quality clothes. Not a t-shirt in sight.

“Of course I'm not cheating on you. I barely have coitus with you, and I love you more than anyone else on the planet,” Sheldon said. He was defensive because he never would have dreamed that Amy would even suggest something like that.

“So, you didn't change everything because I'm fat, and you want to be with someone else?” Amy asked.

“You aren't fat, and I'd never want to be with someone else. I bought these things because I don't want to take our son to daycare and have the other parents think I am a very large escaped toddler. I am going to be a father, and I want to look the part,” Sheldon explained.

Amy sniffled and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. Sheldon made a mental note to have it cleaned immediately. Not everything about him had changed.

“You did look very handsome. It scared me because I don't feel like I match such a handsome man right now,” Amy admitted. It took her some time to actually understand why she was so upset. It took until wild accusations started flying out of her mouth to connect the dots. Now that she had, she felt a little ashamed.

“You are very beautiful, but you are also very pregnant. Your body will not stay this way,” Sheldon reminded her as he walked closer to gently hug her.

“You're right. I overreacted.”

“So, I can keep the clothes and the haircut?” Sheldon asked.

“Of course,” Amy said with a smile.

“But you don't want to jump on me?” Sheldon asked.

Amy looked confused for a moment, but then understood what he meant with the phrase slightly off. “I always want to jump on you. Would you like to show me the rest of the things you bought? We can see which one makes me strip you out of it,” Amy teased. She didn't think they would actually have sex. It had been only a week since the last time. However, if Sheldon was bringing it up, maybe it was on the table.

“I think the suit would really have you going, but it's being tailored. Let me show you the cashmere sweater,” Sheldon said with a renewed smile. He was glad that Amy was coming around. Now they could be the most fashionable couple around.

#NFG fan fiction #shamy fanfic

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writingmyselfout · 3 years

Text

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter One

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue

Chapter 1: Death Tore the Pages All Away (2/?)

Summary: Harry's final chance begins...

HARRY Potter awakes to the sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs, alerting him to the fact that his cousin Dudley was awake. Soon, either his Aunt Petunia or his Uncle Vernon would note that he had not yet gotten up and call for him. Unless they very specifically didn’t want to see him, he wasn’t allowed to linger in bed late into the day unlike his cousin. Still, he finds himself not quite ready to get up as he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming of just moments ago.

He has this lingering sense of déjà vu, but can’t quite place why, and a niggling feeling in the back of his mind makes him think that whatever he’d been dreaming of was important. Try as he might, though, he just can’t recapture any of it. Not a word or image to even hint at what it might have been. Finally, after a few minutes, he heaves a sigh, opens his eyes, and sits up in bed, careful not to hit his head on one of the shelves.

Not for the first time, he wonders what the Dursleys will do when he becomes too big to fit in the bed wedged into the cupboard. A part of him hopes it will force them to give him the spare second bedroom upstairs, but another worries and thinks it more likely that he will have to forever fit himself into this tiny little space. It might be best then for him to stay rather small as he gets older.

“Get up, boy!”

There it is, Uncle Vernon realizing he’s still in bed. Without further hesitation, he gets his glasses on and gets up out of bed. His nose wrinkles as he opens his door and the faint whiff of whatever is happening in the kitchen. It’s not until he’s finished washing up and goes into the kitchen that he finds out that the smell is coming from his soon-to-be new Stonewall High uniform. Hopefully, his looking like he was dressed in giant flabs of elephant skin wouldn’t keep him from enjoying his Dudley-free school life, but somehow he doubts it’ll do much in the way of keeping him from becoming the target for other bullies. At least with bullies unrelated to him, he’ll only have to deal with them at school, and if he has to fight back, he’s less likely to get in trouble the way he would if he tried to ever hit Dudley. He can already imagine the amount of trouble that even just thinking about hitting his cousin back would result in, even if it is in self-defense.

There is suddenly the sound of the mail slot opening as the post arrives, and without looking up from his newspaper, Uncle Vernon says, “Dudley, go get the mail.”

Unsurprisingly, his cousin whines and Harry instead is the one made to get it. His inner grumbling about his cousin’s laziness is halted as he spots his name in the pile, written in fancy script on an envelope between what is likely a bill and a postcard from Vernon’s nightmare of a sister, Aunt Marge. The green ink on the thick yellow paper--unlike any he’s seen before--sparks that same déjà vu feeling from before, only this time he does remember something.

The Dursleys will take this letter; hide it.

It’s as if the words are spoken in his ear, and he doesn’t quite know where the thought comes from. He’s certain as soon as he thinks it, however, that it’s right. Who hasn’t the faintest idea of who might be writing him, but whoever it may be, he can’t imagine his aunt or uncle allowing him to know the contents, regardless of whether it was meant for him or not. They hadn’t asked him about the school he wanted to go to, he was never allowed to go anywhere even on the rare occasions over the years that he’d been invited by other students or their parents to partake in birthday parties or outings, and aside from his sometimes-babysitter Mrs. Figg and the other kids or adults he encountered at school, he was virtually kept isolated from strangers otherwise. No, it is best he keep this to himself, at least until he’s gotten a chance to read what it says.

With no hesitation, he slides the letter under the doormat, checking to make sure that stepping on the mat makes no sound, before quickly heading to the kitchen. He’d considered hiding it in his pants, but his clothes are so loose and baggy, he can’t be sure the letter would have stayed unnoticed. Instead, he hopes by hiding it under the mat, he can get to it later when no one is paying him any attention. It takes every ounce of patience he has to sit through breakfast, listening to Uncle Vernon tell Petunia about Marge’s postcard, and for them to discuss her vacation and whether or not they should look into a trip as well. He’s careful to not let his eyes stray out of the room or seem impatient, but he nearly groans when he’s ordered to clean the kitchen up while Petunia goes to hang her horridly home-dyed uniform for him in the yard to dry. His uncle and Dudley go to watch TV, their version of father-son bonding time, as Uncle Vernon always took additional days off throughout the summer to spend more time with Dudley.

He had hoped to immediately grab the letter to read upon finishing the dishes, but as soon as he’s done, he’s roped into helping in the garden. His aunt insists on keeping the garden as immaculate as possible, but it’s Harry who does most of the work to maintain it, and during the summer it meant slaving away at it in the middle of the hot afternoons. Normally, he only minds the heat, but is otherwise fine with it as it means he’s out of sight when Dudley’s friends arrive and his cousin is unlikely to interrupt him mid-chore. Today, however, his mind strays to the letter waiting to be read. All he wants is to get a few moments alone to read it, sate his curiosity, and decide if it’s worth telling his family about.

Of course, that means today is a day he is kept busy non-stop. After washing up, he’s sent upstairs to wash up because his aunt can’t stand the smell of him, and then told to clean the bathroom while he’s up there. Nevermind that he missed lunch while out in the garden. He’s lucky she remembered to set out a glass of water for him. When he’s done, he’s set to mind the dinner Aunt Petunia began cooking, as the phone rings and she instead sits gossipping on the phone. Then he’s made to clean up afterwards again, only for his aunt to call for him to make some tea to bring in to them before he’s even finished.

He comes in just as the show they’re watching cuts to a commercial break. Shots of a family in a circular raft on water, shouting and laughing as they go down a river to some upbeat music that then cuts to a newly open ride called the Dive Bomber, and an announcer enthusiastically encouraging all and sundry come and check it out with the kids, assuring great family memories were to be made. It is barely over before Dudley is on his feet, demanding his parents take him. Harry appreciates the excited shouts, sure that his aunt and uncle will pay him little to no mind as they attempt to placate their spoiled son.

“Duddey-kins,” Aunt Petunia starts. “Ilkeston is quite far, my darling.”

“Near three hours,” Uncle Vernon agrees. “Not sure it would be worth the money.”

Dudley stomps his foot and Harry slowly moves back to leave the room. “I don’t care ! We have to go! I want to!”

Petunia is the first to cave, as she always is, and turns to Vernon. “We could rent a room, do a short weekend trip?” She stands up to put an arm around Dudley, the both of them giving Vernon their own pleading looks. “A late birthday gift, to make up for that horrid trip to the zoo.” Harry freezes where he’s standing just inside the doorway at the mention of the zoo trip as eyes flicker briefly in his direction. He shifts from one foot to the other, trying to seem semi-interested in the conversation if only to not arouse suspicion, but he’s frankly more interested in the letter.

“I suppose a small trip would be nice,” Vernon says slowly.

He may as well have said yes, and they all know it. Dudley breaks out into a grin, going on and on about how jealous his friends will be. Then he stops, throws a malicious grin in Harry’s direction, and suddenly adds, “But he can’t come! He’ll ruin it like he did the zoo!”

This time, Vernon half turns on the couch to look at Harry, then back to his wife. “Mrs. Figgs is better, right? See if she can take the boy for a few days in a week or two--”

“A week ?” Dudley is indignant. “It’s Wednesday, why not this weekend? Let’s go this weekend!”

Aunt Petunia places a calming hand on his shoulder. “I’ll call tomorrow, sweetums, and we’ll see what she says. If she can take Harry, you can invite Piers to come with us.” She is careful not to specify that it might not be that weekend.

It does the trick, and soon their attention is back on the television. Harry slips out of the room, grabs the letter from under the mat, and then makes his way to the cupboard. Finally, he can see what this is about.

The light in his cupboard is dim, but he can still make out his name on the front in the fanciest script he can ever recall seeing.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

He only now notices the rest of the address and frowns. How do they know where he sleeps? He flips it over and runs a finger over the wax seal, feeling the ridges of its design and holding it up closer to his face to study the seal, only just making out that there are four animals surrounding a capital letter ‘H’. The snake and lion are easy enough to make out, but he can’t quite make out the last two. A bird and a fox, perhaps? He’ll have to try and see it in better lighting later.

Carefully, he picks at the seal with a nail until he can get a finger under, trying to keep it as intact as possible. There’s a novelty to getting his first ever letter, addressed to him personally. Once he gets the seal off, he opens it, smoothing it out and moving the letter closer to his face to better making it all out.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry blinks at the letter in disbelief, not quite believing what he’s reading. If it weren’t for the fact that he knows how much they despise magic and such, he might think this was an elaborate prank his aunt and uncle were playing on him. It could still be a prank, he thinks, but by who and for what purpose? Dudley wasn’t smart enough to pull something like this off, and his friends wouldn’t think to do something like this either. He also doubted that his cousin could’ve managed to not give something away had he been keeping a prank secret. No, this was either someone else’s doing entirely or the thing was real.

That previous feeling of déjà vu hits him again, though he can’t quite place what about the letter is causing it. He flips to the second page, curiosity momentarily overtaking his confusion and doubt.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

Very carefully, he folds the letter back up, then folds it even smaller to hide it under his pillow. His mind is racing, trying to process it all. If this is a joke, it’s a very thorough one. It looks so official, though, that it’s hard to think who would go through this level of effort to fool him. And to what end? He can’t figure that out.

If it’s real, though, he’s not sure that’s any better. A school for witchcraft and wizardry, accepting him as a student? He remembers talking to the snake at the zoo on Dudley’s birthday, and the glass disappearing, plus all the other weird, unexplainable things that had happened to him before. In light of this letter, it all suddenly seemed to make much more sense. But how? Perhaps from his parents? It might explain why his aunt and uncle refused to talk about them or the accident that killed them, considering how much they despised all talk of magic.

He couldn’t imagine, then, that they would be happy about this letter, much less at the thought of him even attending. No amount of begging on his part has ever worked to get them to give him anything he’s ever wanted, and somehow he doubts this will play out any differently. But without their approval, how can he hope to afford even half the things on this list? Where would he even buy it all even if he could somehow convince the Dursleys to not just let him attend this mysterious school, but also part with enough money to buy him his supplies?

The questions plague his thoughts, keeping him awake long after the rest of the house has turned in, and he’s sure they haunt his dreams for he wakes up still thinking of the letter. It keeps his mind occupied and distracted from all else, earning him a few shouts when he fails to do as he’s told all morning, until finally Vernon takes Dudley’s smelting stick and hits Harry with it.

He yelps in surprise, instinctively moving away as he rubs at his shoulder. Uncle Vernon is holding the stick out, arm almost fully extended, and the thinks the shoulder blow might have been a hit to the head had he been slightly closer. He wonders automatically if Hogwarts has dorms. They probably do, right? Meaning he could live most of the year away from the constant threat of verbal and physical abuse, and maybe that was worth trying to make the impossible possible after all.

“Are you listening, boy?” Vernon demands. Harry mutters an apology. “Pack a bag. We’re dropping you off in the morning to Mrs. Figg’s for the weekend.”

Harry nods his head, wondering if he can use the time away from the Dursleys to his advantage. If he can’t figure out a way to make this school work without telling them, he can at least figure out how to bring it up once their trip is done so that they might be inclined to let him go. After all, the letter had clearly stated a response was required by 31 July, his birthday, so he only had six days left to work something out.

~~~

WHEN they drop him off at Mrs. Figg’s house, it’s all Harry can do to hide the fact that’s actually quite glad to not be going on this mini-vacation with his family. Especially as any sign that he was happy while they were all grumpy would likely not go over well. Dudley had made his displeasure at having to wake up early on a vacation day quite plain, and no amount of pointing out that it was for the trip he’d wanted was going to change that. But Vernon was also not much of a morning person, and his own patience had worn to the point that he’d threatened to cancel the trip when Dudley had finally complained one too many times. Which resulted in a minor tantrum, until Petunia promised him all sorts of treats would be bought at the park that they couldn’t get at the store. She’d been pinching the bridge of her nose the way she did when she had a headache, so she was ready to promise just about anything to get some quiet.

They were going to be in for a long trip, Harry thinks. They still had to pick up Piers, and then drive three hours.

“Come on then, Harry,” Mrs. Figg tells him after they’ve watched the Dursleys drive off. “You have breakfast? ‘S quite early, I imagine you might have been too tired for it.”

“Breakfast would be nice,” he agrees.

Really, he wants to put the plan he thought up into action. He had slipped the letter into his shoe, just in case Petunia wanted to check his bag before they left this morning. All night, he had pondered over his dilemma and perhaps actually reached a solution. Plenty of the more expensive schools offered scholarships, so perhaps he could reach out to the headmistress and ask about it. Having never heard of the school, he isn’t sure what requirements for scholarships they might have, but he figures asking won’t hurt. Plus, at least he can make his wanting to attend clear, so maybe if he can’t get his aunt and uncle to agree by the deadline, he might buy himself some extra time to convince them. He really wishes he’d received the letter more than a week before they needed his response.

So he plans to write to them. Coming to Mrs. Figgs would help, as she would likely agree to let him use some pen and paper of hers to write it, and if he said it was for a school thing, maybe she wouldn’t bring it up to the Dursleys, figuring it was something they already knew about. At the very least, she’s not likely to stop him from writing the letter. Perhaps she might actually help him send it out, considering the one he’d received has no return address, and so he’s not sure how to actually get his letter to the school.

After breakfast, she shows him to her guest room so he can put his things away. She’s barely left him when he pulls the letter from his shoe and then follows her back out into the living room, where she immediately sits down, sets her crutches aside, and props a leg up before reaching for some knitting next to her couch.

“Mrs. Figg,” Harry starts. “Could I get some pen and paper? I needed to write something for school.”

“Oh? Homework already?” She looks up at him, smiling. “There’s some stationary at the desk over there. Help yourself. I hadn’t asked, where are you going to school after summer?”

Harry goes over to the desk, hesitating for a moment before he says, “Well, that depends.” He sits down at the desk, half turning to look at her. “I was supposed to go to Stonewall High, but I was accepted somewhere else I want to go to.”

Mrs. Figg frowns, hands stilling as she looks up. “Stonewall, huh?” At his nod, she goes back to knitting as she asks, “But there’s another school?”

“Yes, maybe. I, uh, don’t know if I’ll be allowed to go,” he says, trying to decide how much to say. “Maybe my aunt and uncle might let me go if I can get a scholarship to attend.”

“So you’re writing to the school?” At his affirmative, Mrs. Figg nods her approval. “Good. Just let them know and I’m sure that he’ll-- they’ll help you attend.”

“I hope so,” Harry admits. “I’m not sure where to send it, though. There’s not an address on the envelope for Hogwarts.”

She stops knitting again and gives him a smile. “You just write that letter, dear. When you’re done, I’ll take care of sending it out and you can try and get some more sleep, okay?”

Something about the certainty with which she says she’ll send it out has him agreeing to her plan. He pulls out a pen and some of the stationary located in the desk’s middle drawer, then stares at the blank page for a moment before pulling out the original letter and opening it. He pauses in his re-reading to frown at the headmaster’s name, which immediately gives him that same niggling déjà vu feeling once more, and then moves on. He decides he’ll write back to the one who signed this first page, the deputy headmistress, and begins.

Dear Mrs. McGonagall,

He hopes it’s ‘Mrs.’, but wonders if he shouldn’t address it to her title? Too late, he’s already written the beginning, so he just continues.

My name is Harry Potter, and I just received the letter from your schools, Hogwart. It is very nice of you all to accept me to the school, although I have never heard of the school and never applied. It seems like it would be an interesting school to go to, but I am not sure my family can afford to send me there. Does Hogwarts offer scolarships? If so, could you tell me what I might do to get one?

If not, then I don’t think I will be able to go there. Maybe if my aunt and uncle say yes, but probably not if it will cost a lot. Since you needed an answer by 31 July though, I wanted to send this letter just in case.

He taps the pen against his chin in thought, rereading his letter. He notes a few mistakes, but decides to leave them as opposed to scratching them out. He considers asking if he can use a different page, but he doesn’t want to push his luck on the older woman’s generosity when he still needs her to send the letter out for him. Harry thinks he should just keep it short, then remembers that letters are supposed to have return addresses and he frowns again.

Should he address it the way they sent it to him? It shouldn’t need where exactly he sleeps, at least he doesn’t remember anyone mentioning that in class, but he worries if he doesn’t give them the same address, they’ll think maybe he’s a different Harry Potter. He decides then that he’ll put the full address as they put it inside , but keep the cupboard part off the letter on the outside .

You can write back to the same address where I got the first letter:

Harry Potter

Cupboard Under the Stairs

4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Hope to hear from you soon.

Harry Potter

He hasn’t yet mastered writing his name in cursive, so he doesn’t sign it, only writes his name. His other mistakes are embarrassing enough; he doesn’t want to make the letter look worse than it already does. Instead, he folds it carefully, find an envelope in one of the desk drawers, and slips the letter inside. He licks it closed, then stares at the front for a moment. Putting the school’s full name would probably be best, but he worries that Mrs. Figg will see it and change her mind. Plus, shouldn’t he address it to the deputy headmistress, to make sure she gets it? Finally, he decides he may as well write both her name and the school’s full name, just in case there happens to be more than one place called ‘Hogwarts’, and scribbles it across the front directly in the middle. On the back, he puts his return address without the cupboard line. Then he stands up and walks over to Mrs. Figgs.

“Finished, then?” she asks, smiling at him as she lays her knitting on her lap. She holds a hand out and he passes the envelope over after only a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll get this out. Why don’t you go get some sleep? I’ll wake you for lunch.”

She glances at the envelope, but doesn’t bat an eye or ask any questions, and Harry finds himself relaxing. If she’s not saying anything about the name, maybe it’s not as weird as he thinks? Or maybe she’s more open minded than his family. Regardless, he isn’t as anxious anymore and he agrees that a nap would be nice. He can only hope now that the school gets his letter and can help him.

~~~

A MERE hour later, the sound of the heels of a pair of well worn boots echo off the stone walls of the hallway their wearer is hurrying down. Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration, Gryffindor Head of House, and Deputy Headmistress does not like to be caught by surprise, especially where her students are concerned, and that one had done so before ever setting foot inside the school did not bode well for the coming school year. With a letter written on flimsy Muggle paper in hand, she heads for the office of a certain wizard who has some questions to answer.

In a few minutes, she is barging into his office with barely a knock. “Albus Dumbledore, you have some explaining to do.”

Two men look over at her as she storms in. Severus Snape half turns, an eyebrow raised at her tone. It’s well known that she and the headmaster are close friends, but the woman is very careful about being respectful even when she disagrees with a decision so long as there are students or colleagues around. Yet here she is, speaking to the older man as if he’s one of her wayward students.

For his part, Albus only raises a single eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. “Why, Minerva, whatever is the matter?”

“This, Albus. This letter I just received, and you’ll never guess who from.” She waves the offending letter in the air. “Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. How has he never heard of Hogwarts? And asking about a scholarship ! Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, how does the Boy Who Lived not know about this school?” She slams the letter down on his desk, finger pointed down at it as she adds, “And look at the address. I checked the outgoing letters, and that is how his letter was addressed. Care to explain that?”

Albus looks down at the letter, and although he is quiet as he skims it, the amused smile is no longer on his face. He’s done in a moment, looking back up at the angry face of his deputy headmistress. Snape moves forward, holding a hand out to look at the letter for himself. He knew the boy would be among the incoming students, but it hadn’t occurred to him the boy might arrive completely ignorant of the world he would be entering.

“It appears that my instructions to inform Harry of his heritage have gone unheeded.” His calm demeanor only serves to further annoy McGonagall.

“I told you I didn’t like the idea of leaving him there,” she reminds him. “Horrid, horrid Muggles. I couldn’t imagine a more unlikely sister to Lily Evans--”

“You left the boy with Petunia .” Snape did look up now, surprise evident on his face as he stared at the headmaster. It had never occurred to him to ask where the boy had been placed. He hadn’t cared, to be quite honest, but that had been because he never imagined Dumbledore putting the hero of the wizarding world with someone who had so openly despised all things magic.

Albus frowns. “It is the safest place for him.”

“They have him in a cupboard , Albus! I hardly think that’s the safest place for him.” Unbidden, Snape recalls some of the cruel things Petunia had called her sister, someone she had once grown up with and been close to, and tries to imagine her with Lily’s son. Somehow, he can’t see her being any kinder to the boy. “Is this the first you’re hearing of this?

“Didn’t you go to see him, ever? In these last ten years?” McGonagall’s question draws Snape’s attention to the headmaster, who stands up and looks over at neither of them as he walks over to his phoenix, who sits on his perch in a corner watching them all.

“I have been too busy these past ten years,” he admits, “to go see the boy. Plus, it would have only served to confuse him. I thought it best he grew up as normally as possible before he could enter into a world where his fame will follow him around forever.”

McGonagall scoffs. “Normal? He isn’t normal , Albus, and now he is completely unprepared for joining the world he belongs in.” Snape finds himself silently agreeing, imagining all the things the boy won’t know the first thing about. “What’s more, what’s ‘normal’ about being shoved into a cupboard? I don’t even want to think of what else he may have endured there,” she adds, voice low as she shakes her head, clearly imagining what else people who put a barely 11-year old boy to sleep in a cupboard might be capable of doing.

She shakes her head, then asks, “Is Gringotts in possession of the Potter vault key? A scholarship, as if the son of James Henry Potter and only heir to the Potter estate would need one.”

“I am in possession of that key,” Dumbledore informs her.

McGonagall frowns. “I will need that, then. I will have to go see Mr. Potter this week about his letter, and I imagine he’ll need to be taken to Diagon Alley. Really, if I had known what his situation was like, I’d have included him on my list of visits along with the Muggle-born students.”

“There’s no need, McGonagall, for you to go out of your way. Hagrid was going to handle some school business at Diagon later this week. He can take the boy.” Dumbledore was still facing the phoenix as he spoke, and behind him McGonagall and Snape shared a look.

“If I may, sir,” Snape spoke up, although he did not wait before continuing. “Sending Hagrid to speak with Petunia Evans will hardly help the situation.”

“Dursley,” McGonagall corrected. “Her married name is Dursley . And I insist on going. The boy wrote to me, and after leaving him there all those years ago, I would feel much better seeing how he’s fared firsthand.” There was a pause, then she added, “Perhaps you should come with me, Severus? Since you know Lily’s sister.”

A sneer crossed his face, “Knew. I knew her sister. We were hardly friends.” Frankly, he had hated her from the very beginning, and it seemed unlikely time had changed the girl he’d hated into anything other than a woman he would hate as much, if not more.

“All the same, I never met Lily’s sister as she was out when I went to go speak to the Evans’ when she was accepted. A familiar face might help persuade her that Mr. Potter will be coming to Hogwarts. Besides, you knew the boy’s mother and can tell him about her time here.” She knowingly said nothing of telling him about his father.

Nevertheless, Snape’s immediate instinct was to deny the request. He wanted nothing to do with Potter’s son beyond what was required of him as a professor at the school. Dumbledore looked back then with a knowing look, as if he anticipated the man’s refusal, which only served to rouse the Potions master’s ire. Instead of the no he had been fully prepared, he found himself agreeing to the scheme.

They had things they each had to take care of the next couple of days, but it was decided that come Wednesday, they would venture to Surrey together to speak with Harry Potter.

Story Notes:

Chapter title comes from a Kenny Chesney song.

#Because I Could Not Stop for Death fic #BICNSFD #Harmony fanfic #HP fanfic #Harry Potter

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