mar⋆˚꩜｡

I daydream too much for my age tbh. twenty-three

[knmaskitten]

⟢ raised by magical realism.

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disclaimer: This blog is obviously for fun. I don't really think characters or idols act this way (specially idols) . Fanfiction has its own rules and can be whatever it wants to be. If you don't like my writing or works just block me.

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[knmaskitten]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ — DON'T CROSS THE LINE

...we keep it secret and i'm happy with it.

choi soobin x f!reader

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18+ mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ

ᨀ. summary 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁

The nineties in Korea were full of secrets. He was one of them. Because where the warm touch of the sun doesn’t reach, Choi Soobin inhabits. Rude, mean, sour and rough—he was a hitman hired by whoever could meet the price.  The underground was the counterpart of heaven, where you and other guardian angels looked after their assigned humans. You’ve been watching him ever since he got his hands bloody for the first time, five years ago. Whatever he does, you’re there, guarding his soul. Never understanding the mundane problems and diligences of humans, you often visited, hidden among them, relishing the secrecy. Sometimes you let yourself into his dusty apartment, which is barely used, to take in the small details, the textures, the scents. Everything you can’t see from above. Until one day, Soobin comes home early. One bite of the apple and it’s free-fall.

ᨀ. wc. 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ 11.3k ᨀ. pairing 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ Hitman!Choi Soobin x guardian angel!f reader. ᨀ. genre 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ drama, dark romance, forbidden love. ᨀ. type 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ one-shot.

ᨀ. warnings for this chapter 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ no use of y/n. Dead dove do not eat. I love writing stories full of plot so it takes some time to get to the smut :P. Violence and Blood. Mentions of gore. Mentions of suicide. Heavy themes. Religious topics (glup). Morally gray characters. This probably is highly unethical. Smut (an attempt at it). Soobin is a bitch. Reader is obssesive and an unreliable narrator. Inexperienced reader (literally an angel). Reader watches Soobin all the time. Dom!Soobin and Sub!reader. Reader gets injured. Unprotected sex (wrap it up guys!). Penetrative Sex. Not pulling out. A knife is used like thrice but there is no kind wound (yeah oops!). Fingering. Oral (f & m). (i think thats all... if I forgot something lmk...).

ᨀ. inspo 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ fallen angels (ily wong kar wai). Apocalypse and Derre by BIBI

ᨀ. mar's note 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ I got this idea at 1 am while sneezing because I got a cold and I was half delirious. It took me like a month to finish this because I had writers block and I was halfway through the smut scene and I was so tired of it?? Idk, I know I'm learning to write smut so have that in mind. Barely proof read sorry!

You had gotten used to watching Soobin’s calloused hands drip in blood. The silence after a bullet was always deafening; even from above, you could hear the spatter of the scarlet liquid against cement. Despite five years of following his everyday life, your body never stopped flinching at the sound of a life being taken. Some might think that you should be unfazed by this by now, but you were surrounded by beings that represented the virtues of the universe. Outside your duty as a guardian angel, you only saw good.

When you first got assigned to Choi Soobin, you were excited. The last human you guarded was an infant who died young because of cancer. Emotionally, you kissed her forehead silently the day she passed; you commended her soul to the heavens. Praying that you could help your next mortal as much as you could.

When you gazed at him with hopeful eyes and a cheery smile, you saw him walking through a dark alleyway. Puddles of unknown substances splashing when he stepped on them. The neon lights reflecting against his fair skin showed his boyish features. He seemed nervous, an undecipherable expression plastered across his face. You didn’t know this was the last glimpse of innocence you were going to get.

You knew he was eighteen and freshly out of school; your superiors told you some details before you could get to work. Confused as to why he was out in the middle of the night, you frowned. It was only when his trembling hands lit up a cigarette that you started to worry. “He might get hurt. Somebody might do something to him." You thought, frantic to get him to safety—if only you knew.

The rattle of his shoes was swallowed by the muffled noise coming from the bar in front of him, a red neon sign perched above the black doors. He took a long puff before throwing the cigarette butt to the ground, smashing it with his foot. Adjusting his black jacket, he entered. It was full of grown men, faces toughened by the years. They paid no attention to Soobin, busying themselves with their drinks, cigars, and women in scarce clothing chatting too close to their faces. The dim lights made it hard to see clearly, so Soobin narrowed his gaze. He walked through the crowd, avoiding bumping into anyone. The loud music was overstimulating; your whole body was tense and confused.

He maneuvered himself well, like he knew where he was going. Everything seemed to point that this wasn’t his first time here. He took a turn to his right, where a little hallway made way to a series of rooms. Two of them were bathrooms, but on the end of the corridor was a room full of men gambling, a table in the middle packed with cash and different games. He looked around, to his left was the emergency exit and in front was the chamber.

He silently reached for something at his back. It was quick, and feelingless. He took a gun and shot everyone that stood in his way. Their blood spattering in every direction, making a bloody mess, some droplets staining his dark clothes. Some gasped, others muttered incoherent sounds. There were bullets so poorly aimed that he had to shoot twice in some cases, targeting their heads or hearts. But it was no use, bodies fell with a thud, without time for someone to retaliate—it was too late, they were dead before they knew. The clatter of the coins against the hardwood floor was the only thing left, decks of cards colored scarlet red.

Not even caring to glance back, he walked toward the back exit, the night swallowing his silhouette while he stuffed his warm weapon back into its place, you saw how he cleaned his dripping fingers on the back of his jacket. You were frozen in your spot, mouth slightly agape. Your whole body was quivering, tears forming in your eyes. The echo of the bullets was distant in your mind, the ringing lingering in your ears, haunting you. It could have been the way their forms fell to the ground, their souls now commended elsewhere. Or maybe it was how his expression remained bored—but something rotten bloomed inside you for the first time. A dark, red feeling that you could only attribute to what you just had witnessed.

And when the rivulets of tears wetted your cheeks, nobody knew how to handle it. Everyone asked if you were okay, confused. Angels weren’t used to feelings or even crying, sympathy was what they allowed themselves to have. But it was for a matter of duty. A long-lived angel swept the tears from your eyes mechanically and asked patiently why you were making such a scandal. You sobbed and said that your human was too complex this time.

She sighed and shook her head and just said, “Humans are complex, that is what differentiates them from us. They are faulty.”

You nodded, unable to explain the situation you were in.

You quickly learned that this would become routine for him. It was quite strange, because this was the very first job he took. You later overheard him on the phone talking with his employer, asking for his part. The caller scolded him because of his inability to kill in one swift motion. It could be said that this was a new thing for both of you, yet you wished to create good; he only sowed pain.

His days flew by fast. For him, the night was the time that mattered. Watching him eat, sleep, kill, and repeat, you got accustomed to his habits. You found it strange how he would only eat from the same ramen brand, the flavors he repeated the most were always spicy. You sometimes wished to slip in some vegetables and nutrients, the ones the mortals so highly praised.

A year in, you started venturing into the mortal realm. Against the protest of your friends and coworkers, you did it anyway. In general, guardian angels were even able to go to earth—to soothe or help. Never revealing their role, of course. You kept the truth about Choi Soobin a secret, you never knew why you didn’t blurt the words out. And each time you had to cover it up, you felt your wings sting. You only told them your human worked at night, in uncommon establishments.  Given the mystery of your situation, everyone was afraid you might get hurt. Humans were known to harm each other, some countries had a deadlier night than others. And due to this, even angels were wary. You knew the truth. You knew the danger was closer than they imagined, you had seen it without exception every single time the sun hid.

Every fiber in your body screamed for more, contradicting common sense. You needed to fill the gaps in your head. How did he smell? Did he use cologne? Or was his scent a mixture of his natural odor, blood, and gunpowder? He seemed so mysterious. Even when you had observed so much about him that you knew how he took care after his injuries, you still knew nothing.

One time he got cut with a knife because one of his victims tried to defend himself. Retaliating, he smashed the butt of his gun between the man’s eyes, drawing blood. After that he shot him rapidly in the temple. The force of the gun scattered its contents out, dirtying his face. Cursing under his breath, he wiped the gray matter away from his eyes. Blinking, he noted that there was blood coming out of his stomach. Assessing the situation, he opted to continue with his modus operandi and leave the scene fast.

He was starting to look pale when he reached his apartment. An improvised tourniquet with his black button-up tried to stop the blood. He was incredibly careful, cleaning his hands and using latex gloves before reaching for his injury. His hands were usually careful when handling open wounds. He always made sure to have medical supplies. You even thought that some were only meant to be handled by a doctor. He rarely allowed people to get near enough to damage him, yet this wasn’t the first nor the last time it would happen.

You always looked away when he fetched bullets from his flesh, squeaking in your spot. You covered your eyes with your fingers. There were other times where you observed how he brushed his wet hair, droplets of water falling from the dark strands. Shyly, you heard him shower, averting your gaze. Counting how many minutes he stood under the showerhead, thinking. You wished you could know what goes through his head. Or maybe not, that’s something you hadn’t decided yet.

Yet you still cared enough to go through the hassle of traveling here. Clad in worn-out clothes, hiding your hair under your hoodie, wings gone. It was a stark contrast from the white, flowing dresses you wore. Your aura was heavenly by nature, and you had to intentionally camouflage this. If he were to see you, he would know something was odd about you. You took your façade so deep that you even tried smoking—it didn’t go well.

This time he was walking with his hair brushed back, a cigarette between his lips, fingers fidgeting with a set of dangling keys. Clothes dark as always. You stood behind an alleyway, watching his moves closely. He stopped at an entrance; there was a line of people waiting outside. It was crowded. They wore different kinds of garments. Women in tight short dresses—too short to cover anything. Showing their cleavage seductively, confident in themselves. Men were flirting or even kissing some girls, groping them shamelessly. They were wearing shirts that showed their muscles.

Almost everyone was chatting loudly, chewing gum, drinking, or smoking unknown substances. Soobin took lives, but you rarely saw him with something other than a cigarette between his fingertips. He eyed the long line, brows slightly furrowed. He walked toward the security guard, grabbing something from his pocket, and he showed the object to the guard. Nobody asked questions; he simply let himself in.

Gulping loudly, you looked at your fake ID. Was it going to suffice? You didn’t know. You walked with feigned confidence towards the entrance. Nobody cared about your presence, busy with whatever drug they were inhaling. Your ragged clothes didn’t highlight anything about you. If anything, they made you look like a tramp.

A thousand excuses ran through your mind before the interaction even began. The security guard was tall and broad. He had a permanent scowl in his face. One hit from him would leave you with a bruise.

“Huh? Name.” He was mean. His voice laced with tiredness, probably from people’s antics. It was very deep into the night; he probably had seen and heard everything by this time.

You forced your fake name out, hoping that you picked a normal human name. You tried to be nonchalant while fetching your ID, placing it at eye level. “I came with that guy.” You pointed inside, Soobin’s figure a blur inside the neon crowd.

“Take your hoodie out. I can’t even see your face.” Pointing toward your head, he scoffed.

You prayed to God that your nervousness would dim or maybe stop the suave quivering of your hands. You obliged quickly, so he couldn’t see your movements too closely. He raised a brow, scanning you.

“Why did you come after? If you two came together.” Taking a breath, he continued. “And you don't look the part. Are you here to scavenge through the trash?” He laughed at you when he finished, mocking your stupid excuse.

It was a series of logical questions, ones that didn’t occur to you. Your mind racing, you saw the outcome of every single one of the answers you were thinking of. Before you could even blurt one out, he tsked.

“Get lost. You are wasting my time.” He forcefully shoved your ID back to you, forcing you to take a few steps backwards to avoid losing balance.

Humans were rude. They were flawed creatures, kicked away from paradise. The divinities still had mercy and assigned them guardian angels to many who didn’t deserve them. At the same time, they were entrancing. Or at least Soobin was.

Slumping, you gave up, walking to the back exit. Several washes of disappointment coursed through your body. There was no way you were going to speak to him, but you wanted to get close enough to see how his features evolved across the evening. And, without a trace of rationality, you hid behind a few funky bins. Knowing the smell and scenery were unpleasant, you sat down. You forced the bile that arose in your throat down. Repeating this several times after you felt something warm against your thigh. At one moment you came to the realization that you were a heavenly being, you were above this. Any angel, be it guarding or not, would scold and shame you if they saw you. Any human would do so too. If you were stooping so low, what were you now?

Why were you even doing it?

Shaking your head and scrunching your nose, you endured it, shoving the questions to the back of your mind. Your improvised lair was far enough that anybody would confuse you with a homeless person yet close enough for you to see who left.

The track of time was something new to you. You found yourself learning it just so you could track how long his movements were. And like a naïve toddler who was gifted a lollipop, you were happy when you started getting how many minutes he spent training right.

Hours passed without a trace of him. You saw drunk groups of people walk past you. Their nonsensical chatter dissolving in the cold dawning air. A handful of them shoved each other playfully while others had their arms intertwined to avoid losing balance. Cars passed by with obnoxiously loud music, throwing trash your way. Sometimes they lowered their speed to spit on the asphalt. Until the doors flung open.

He walked with a girl under his arm. She was alright for a mortal; her body was full of curves. She had plump tits and a round ass. You thought that she had too much trust in her top and questioned the sinful way her body was glued to Soobin’s. Her hair was luscious and long, framing her face just right. She was no different from the catalog of girls you saw at the entrance. There was nothing special about her, yet he whispered lulls into her ear. Nibbling the tip softly. Like they'd known each other their whole lives.

She was loud; he spoke softly. They drunk-walked to their left; she twirled her hair, puffed her cheeks and giggled stupidly from time to time. You were unable to hear what they were saying. But judging by the way his left hand roamed over her waist, even going down to squish her butt at times, you knew he probably was going to take her somewhere secluded.

Your heart threatened to betray you. It wanted to leap out of your body and scream. You felt the tips of your ears and cheeks warm, too warm. Clutching your sweatpants tightly, you waited for them to be out of sight. You didn’t know you were holding your breath until you started feeling dizzy. Something inside you started churning, your eyes unfocused. You knew what he did to girls; you had seen him before.

He took them to motels—never to his apartment—and fucked them until they were so exhausted they couldn’t form a thought. You immorally acknowledge that you should’ve given him more privacy, but you were curious. As to why he was expressionless the whole time. Or the way he avoided kissing them, just sucking at their necks. Not a single sound erupted from his lips, only grunts. Sometimes you covered a gasp from your lips when you saw the way he licked their breasts, his lips sucking and nibbling their sensitive buds. A shiver ran down your spine.

And now you hoped that this wasn’t the exception. Because the bitterness wilting your body would be unbearable. Because the way your back burned in the spot where your wings should be is a reminder. You don’t belong in this world.

The path back to heaven that day was defeating. Everyone was so worried about you, not a single angel lost sight of your filthy body coming into view. For them, you were a poor angel abused by humans who didn’t understand the rules of the universe. They were rude because they were flawed creatures. You allowed them to believe whatever they wanted. Partially because you knew something inside you wasn’t supposed to be there. Because you were having trouble keeping your ideas at bay. You weren’t a weak mortal. You were supposed to be above them. Feelings were there for you to try and empathize with the mundane. Not to feel like them.

The days turned into months, then into years. Time flew by fast, lives did.

Two years of observing Soobin had passed. He had already killed more people than the days you had been watching him. You were keeping count of every life he took. Every night your fingers itched to caress his cheekbones, wanting to soothe whatever sorrow he was into. There was no other reason for him to cause such pain. He had to be fueled by his own. Because even after such a long time observing him, you never knew what happened to his family or if he had friends. He spoke with people, but it was purely pleasure or business. You wanted to believe he wasn’t entirely lonely—at least spiritually. He still had the chance for his soul to be taken care of.

You prayed to God that he would stop this nonsense. You never prayed to God, you didn’t need to pray, you were only supposed to carry his will. But you were desperate enough to let him fix this mess. Yet he never answered, never listened. His lackeys were the ones who had to endure human pain. He allowed as much beauty and as much evil as he wanted. He toyed with lives as he pleased.

Still hating the sound of bullets penetrating bodies and the way they fell with a squelch, you closed your eyes forcefully. Afraid of what might welcome you if you opened them, you mentally counted five minutes before opening your lids. You already dominated human time, and Soobin was meticulous. He never took more than five minutes before leaving a crime scene.

He had gotten better at taking lives, his hands were trained every day to learn new lethal points. Using fewer bullets, he was even faster at murdering. Often, you spoke to yourself, letting the word “murder” roll off your tongue. Your mouth always felt cottony after saying it out loud, its corrupt nature breathing heavy down your neck. Assigning that word so close to him was the truth, but you avoided acknowledging it frequently.

The night for humans was interesting, the city felt much more alive. The silvery touch from the moon was a silent promise that the secrets it witnessed were going to remain hidden. Couples under swaying trees, promising the world and beyond to each other. Drunk teenagers who ran away from home arguing on the streets. And proficient assassins doing their jobs. This is where Soobin existed, under all the “harmless” ruckus of the streets, he maneuvered himself.

It wasn’t like you weren’t used to the mortals. Even when they were so different from each other, they had distinct patterns. But he was peculiar, his situation. You had only taken care of normal people before. From day one you had been learning and perhaps tainting your celestial aura. Everyone was too flawless where you lived, they had nothing captivating. It was an endless cycle of abnegation, which you didn’t hate. Couldn’t hate. Your creation was done to fulfil your role. That was it.

Today he was out. You were out too. With the passing of months, you learned how to dress properly depending on the situation. And you used that ability well. You started frequenting bars and restaurants Soobin went. You knew by heart what he usually asked for, ordering it diligently when the bartender or waiter approached you. You were sitting at a secluded table at a ramen shop three blocks away from his apartment. You were nearing a line you knew you shouldn’t cross, this was as close as you were going to get to him. Still, the thrill of being within walking distance of his sacred place made you feel lightheaded. Knowing he probably was sleeping because it was afternoon with the sun beginning to set, you ventured into the earth.

Cautious not to draw too much attention, you dressed like a normal woman in her twenties during summer. Fresh and comfortable clothes, wings hidden and the slightest dab of makeup—this you didn’t do well. You had started enhancing your features when you saw that this was a recurrent detail in people’s faces. You mostly copied the girls you saw during the day. It was a much softer and natural style. The night style cosmetics were bolder, trying to make a statement as soon as you locked gazes with someone.

Shifting in your seat you put the menu down. This too, was an act, you knew what you were going to get already. The young waiter walked to your table, a friendly smile across his lips. Notepad ready to register your order he asked if you knew what you wanted. Tapping your fingers on your chin for a few seconds, faking a thought, you nodded.

“I’ll take the beef ramen.” He scribbled on the paper, his eyes never leaving your face. “Extra spicy, please.”

He nodded. “Anything else miss?”

“And one can of lemon-flavored soda. Thanks.” You grinned softly.

Learning how humans expressed their emotions silently was a challenge. All the grinning, thanking, politely asking, frowning or whispering was too much. But you were forcing yourself into these situations, trying to make your being slowly adapt to social norms.

“Alright!” With that he left you alone.

The place was not full, there were few people. You silently scanned the room, the decorations. It was full of figures of cats. The smell felt warm, human. The voice of the scattered customers holding lively conversations mixed with the ambience music. Some were talking about their day, taking long puffs of smoke between sentences. Others were complaining about coworkers with a pout. The scenery was alive, it felt so much different from what you usually saw from above.

Angels were indifferent to each other. They reserved emotion for humans. Practicality mattered above everything else. It was engraved in your nature, abiding the rules of God. You didn’t know when you started losing sight of the shine in heaven. When you started feeling a pang of disappointment every time you took breaks from work to talk with your kin. The days were gloomier in heaven than on earth and the rotten feeling invading your body made your wings sting, hurt. Almost feeling like they were going to fall, there were times when it was unbearable.

You reminisced about the times before Choi Soobin. Closing your eyes, you pictured your existence when your life felt full. Everything was easier, you didn’t have to hide anything. When you were created you thought that God made angels perfect, that there was no other way to be. Heaven was the desired target for every living soul, everyone opposed to it deserved punishment. It was luster, precious and pristine. There was not a corner where the light didn’t reach. These days you found yourself longing for a speck of color, for a shadow. For life. You questioned why you were made to serve. Were you that low of a creature? It should be a privilege to follow God’s will. You didn’t know anymore.

But it didn’t dawn on you until you were assigned a younger guardian angel to teach her the diligences of your job. She was bright, like a flower who just blossomed. Her eyes sparkled and she spoke softly. You thought if you were once like this, now you were the shadow of that young angel. She asked if she could see your human, you denied it amicably, saying that you preferred to respect his privacy.

“I want to have a human too. How long does it take?”

You both were walking after a long day of teaching. “You will probably assist an experienced angel first. After that you are good to go.”

She nodded. “Do angels love their humans?”

Gulping you felt nervousness. This was a habit you picked up from humans, you had to mentally suppress it whenever you were in heaven. Love was a strong word reserved only for one being in the universe: your creator. Young angels often needed to learn these implied rules with the passing of time.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We shall never learn to love humans. We pity them. That noun is strictly reserved for God.” Your voice was severe. As soon as the words left your mouth there was a tingling sensation in the joint of your wings with your back.

She tilted her head. “But do you love your human? You never said no.” You felt like cursing and clenched your fist behind your back.

What were you going to answer? No, yes, maybe, probably. I don’t know. Reaching for the last rational moments in your heart you huffed with the same scolding tone your elders had with you.

“Don’t ask stupid questions. I already told you my answer.” The pain in your wings had become sharp. The feeling of thousands of tongues of fire enveloping your feathers. You saw the features of Choi Soobin, his fair skin contrasted against the shadows. You felt your heartbeat accelerate. You acted as if nothing happened.

She apologized and continued her stroll, never mentioning it again.

Good angels learnt fast and obeyed tacit rules. If not, you might risk losing your status. There were stories of the things that happened to disobedient angels. Depending on the offense they either were sent to earth or to the depths of hell. Condemned to live a life full of sorrow either way. It was whispered that their wings usually withered slowly. It climbed feather by feather, necrotizing everything it touched. Until they fell from their bodies, like dead bodies. The process was long and torturous, nobody knew how long it took. The ache was supposed to be so unbearable that fallen angels committed suicide before reaching that point. Fallen angels that take their lives are eternally damned to hell.

The clatter of the bowl of ramen against the wooden table snapped you back to reality. You blinked slowly, getting rid of the lingering image of your home. The young man placed your food in front of you. The beef broth filled your nose, bringing you fully back.

Thanking him, you picked up a fork—you were still clumsy with chopsticks. You looked around to see how people ate this meal. Placing down your fork, you grasped the spoon, tasting the broth. It was amazing. You didn’t need food to live. Angels reached for other sources for their existence yet the pleasure that flooded your mouth was unique. Then the hurt came. It raised the temperature of your mouth and made you gulp down soda. Sticking out your tongue, you fanned your hand over your face. Brows furrowed.

You were too busy trying to soothe the pain that you didn’t pay attention to your surroundings. You saw a dark silhouette from the corner of your eye, blinking you focused your eyes on it.

It was him. It was him.

The pain in your tongue seemed to dim, a distant reminder of where you sat. He was bored looking at the menu, a cigarette between his fingers, casually flicking it above the ashtray. He looked at a newspaper, reading it silently. His jaw was relaxed, his body usually so alert now calm.

You averted your gaze before he spotted your presence. The food didn’t seem so appetizing anymore. A bead of sweat travelled from the back of your neck to your lower back. The wet sensation grounding you. You saw the waiter approach him, he ordered exactly what you were having. Voice stern.

Urging yourself to act normal, you took your fork and ate some noodles. The spice wasn’t so strong anymore, you endured it like it was nothing. Even from the next table you could smell him. For the first time you registered his scent. He smelled ordinary. It could’ve been soap, his shampoo, sweat, cheap cologne. You didn’t know what it was, you were new to human smells. You could discern the odor of the strong cigarettes he smoked. But to you this was the most precious smell in the universe, because it wasn’t random. It was his.

Closing your eyes you relished another piece of him being shown to you. With warm cheeks and tears forming in your eyes, you left money on the table. It was much more than you needed to pay, but you didn’t mind. You left as fast as you could, avoiding being noticed. You told yourself that the spice was too much, that this made you overwhelmed.

You knew this was a lie.

And when the days passed and you felt feverish every time you remembered his scent you closed your eyes. Legs pressed together, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

By year five you had visited the human realm more times than you could count. You knew him more than you did before, you had seen his features sharpen. He became an expert killer, his expression hardened by his job. There was no trace of the doubt he had on day one. Yet you still knew so little about him, so many gaps to be filled.

You didn’t know how it started. Maybe it was after you saw him fall asleep with his clothes on, soft expression plastered across his face. You wished you could feel the texture of his bed, how his sheets felt against your bare skin. Maybe it was that one time you saw him look at an old polaroid picture with sorrow. Eyes narrowed, he stuffed it in his locked drawer. Whatever reason you had to be doing this didn’t matter because it was eclipsed by one thing—you wanted it. Nothing else could change your mind because you simply wanted it.

So, from seven pm to eleven pm you roamed free in his apartment. It had begun a while ago, when you were casually walking near his house while he was out working. One day you walked up to his door, frozen in your spot, fingers itching to open it. You repeated this for weeks before actually letting yourself in.

You skillfully went up the stairs to his floor, sneakers squeaking against the ceramic tiles. Your black skirt swaying with your movements. You bit your lip to contain your excitement. His door was ugly, the paint was peeling and there wasn’t even a carpet. Every single door had at least a decoration to claim the place as theirs—his had none. You reached for the key that rested on top of the door frame, letting yourself in. You smiled, kicking off your shoes, leaving the key on the table by the door.

His smell clouded your mind. The lingering scent of his cheap cologne floated in the air, and the trace of cigarette smoke clung to the walls. You didn’t mind it. His place was broad. The living room was just a black sofa, a coffee table and the TV. He barely had any ornaments, just the necessary. The windows were covered by drapes slightly parted, letting some of the sunset rays in. You always walked towards his room first. Everything was messy, he had clothes discarded on the ceramic floor, his nightstand was packed to the brim. An ashtray with dozens of smoked cigarettes. A scribbled notepad with a pen, few crumbled papers surrounding it. And a silver clock. The drawers were locked. His unmade bed was your favorite place here. You plopped yourself against the mattress, the bed screeching. There was a certain roughness to it, the texture felt fresh against your skin, the smell of fabric softener mixed with traces of soap, shampoo and sweat overpowered everything else. You smiled, stretching your limbs happily.

You looked at the time. Seven thirty. You could allow yourself to take an hour nap. It was routine for you now because you had never rested as well as you did when you slept on his bed. You never rested outside of this apartment. Angels didn’t sleep, it wasn’t a need. You took the clock by his bed, adjusting the alarm. Hugging a white pillow and covering yourself with the weight of the duvet, you made yourself comfortable. Drifting towards sleep you dreamed of a distant paradise, of a faraway warmth.

When you woke up, startled by the loud noise, you spun, placing a pillow over your head. Groaning, you took an arm out reaching to turn off the alarm. Reluctantly, you sat up, blinking slowly. Feeling your mouth pasty, you noticed the wet spot on the pillow and cleaned a trail of saliva with the back of your hand. Getting up, you went to the kitchen to prepare the instant ramen you had bought—without spice.

By ten thirty, you had cleaned up any trace of your presence, the ramen cup in a plastic bag stuffed inside your purse. You always had to restrain yourself from tidying the whole place. You knew he would notice. You didn’t want to risk it. Brushing your fingers against the duvet of the bed, you silently said goodbye. Before leaving you made sure to leave the pillows in the same position and the alarm turned off.

You walked to the living room, giving one last look at the space. But before you could move, a sharp pain hit your stomach, a deafening sound exploded inside the room. You knew this sound well, it was his gun. The force of the bullet made you stumble two steps back. Legs quivering, you fell to your knees, your hands on the floor, supporting your body.

“O—Oh god.” You cried under your breath.

“Who the fuck sent you?” He stood at a reasonable distance, wary of your movements.

You had to stabilize your breath before slowly getting up. He saw how the hole in your tank top remained intact. There was no trace of blood, of flesh. A few seconds later, a bullet came out of it, hitting the floor with a metallic sound. Healing your body rapidly. The pain was white, sickening. Akin to someone stabbing you and twisting the blade slowly, tearing your insides every time it spun.

“Nobody.” You said breathless.

His jaw clenched when he stared at where the bullet pierced you, puzzled, brows tight. His grip on his gun tightened, pointing it again, this time at your thigh, shooting. You closed your eyelids tightly, gasping, balance faltering. Vision blurring, stars appearing before your eyes. You thought you might faint.

He took a step closer. “I’m not asking again.” His tone was demanding, threatening.

The pain was unbearable. So unbearable that your wings sprang out along with your heavenly aura. There was a silence, nobody moved. A few white feathers fell from your back, your whole body suffering the effect of the need to recover. Your mind raced.

His grip on his gun never loosened, even when he saw the feathers drift to the floor. His expression, however, cracked, you caught a glimpse of disbelief. Confusion. This was not normal, there wasn’t anything quite like this. And if there was, he had never seen it.

“Please—just. Don’t shoot again.” Heaving, you tried to steady yourself. “I have been taking care of you for a while now, Soobin.” Your words came out strained, the ache still lingering on your body.

He stared at you in silence for a moment. “Taking care of me?” The words came out in disbelief, a laugh at the end. He walked to your figure and examined your wings. He touched the feathers with his free hand, leaving a burning trail, his gaze was intense, fixed on the whiteness of them. He pressed hard, intent on discovering what you were.

You were hurt, your body throbbing where you had been pierced, there was no wound anymore, yet you could still feel it. And now all you could think about was how his coarse fingers touched you, it shouldn’t feel good. But it did. You were shuddering. It could have been because you were shot or because he was so close to you, you didn’t know. He kept his gun aimed at your heart, not leaving any room for error. You knew he could kill you if he wanted to, yet you still were an angel. You couldn’t die from this.

“What are you?” He hissed, voice low, locking his eyes with yours.

His eyes were deep, you knew you could’ve looked at them for an eternity. The moment was electrifying, it brought your body back to life, dimming the weight of what just happened. Your mind barely functioned, any coherent thoughts long gone. You thought your flesh would dissolve with the tension in the air. There was once an imaginary line you knew you weren’t going to cross for Choi Soobin, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You couldn’t stand straight, still you tried, wincing. “I’m not human.”

He seemed skeptical, the touch of his curious fingers distracting you. “Then what are you?” His eyes narrowing, he pressed his gun to your chest forcefully with his other hand, hurting you. Your eyes never leaving his, you gulped, nervous.

Shaky hands rising to eye level, you shook your head. “I don’t want to hurt you.” You were sincere, there was nothing behind your voice. You spread your arms open. “You can check.”

He stopped touching your wings, withdrawing his hand. “If you try anything I’ll shoot you.” His tone was matter of fact. He maneuvered his weapon with one hand while the other approached you.

He patted your back first. He checked under your tank top, the bareness of it making your skin prickle. You knew this meant nothing to him, it was something he needed to get out of the way to ensure his safety. But to you this was more than you ever thought you would get, and the idea alone of his hand on your skin made you lightheaded. He moved his hands down, to your lower back until he reached your butt. He moved his hand under your skirt, shamelessly. You wished for a moment that he would squeeze your ass, but you had to mentally remind yourself that you were not in a good situation. That you needed to survive.

He realized soon how you reacted under his touch, seeing how you could barely contain it. Nibbling on your lip, fingernails pressed against your palms. Body still quivering. He didn’t move an inch, still wary. When his fingers grazed your tits, you had to avert your gaze, he allowed himself to explore a little bit more—more than he should have. He felt how your nipples started to harden under his digits, but as indifferent as he seemed, he continued down. Touching under your skirt, he actively avoided going anywhere near your core, moving to your bare legs instead.

The cold gun never left your skin, it only moved from its spot at your heart anytime Soobin moved. It was a chilling reminder of the reality of the situation. When he finished, he lowered it, stuffing it at his back.

“Explain yourself.” He crossed his arms.

The absence of his warmth took the air out of your lungs. You had to blink a few times before speaking. “I have been watching you since your first job.” Inhaling you fiddled with your fingers. Were you really going to say it? You couldn’t take it back. This was dangerous. “I have been taking care of your soul. You have never been alone, I have been above, watching.”

He huffed annoyed. “Above? Be clearer.”

Shifting in your spot you mentally prepared yourself for what you were about to say. “I’m your guardian angel.”

The truth was out, the weight of it settled on your shoulders. You searched his face for a reaction. There was a moment of silence, then he scoffed.

“Do I look like I would have a guardian angel?”

Frustrated you nodded. “I don’t choose my humans. You were just assigned to me.”

“You aren’t making any fucking sense.” He stood tall in front of you, brow raised. Questioning the mere fact of your existence.

“I know you were eighteen when you first killed, your hands trembled even before you held your gun. I know that you like spicy beef ramen and that you get it three blocks from here. And I know there is a polaroid picture you don’t want anyone to see locked inside your nightstand’s drawer.”

He froze, his hands clenching. The third fact surprised him, a sudden glimpse of fear seeping through the crack of his front. He seemed taken aback at the sudden burst of vulnerability. He thought no one was seeing him, that those were things time was going to erase. A flickering of belief sparked in his eyes, he opened his mouth doubtfully.

“You are…an angel?” The words were foreign to him.

“Yes. I’m your guardian angel.” You chose your words carefully, hoping it would make sense to him.

“Fuck.” He muttered incredulously. “Why are you here?”

Oh.

That was a logical question, one that you didn’t want to answer. You remained silent. He walked towards you. A hint of danger behind his irises. “You know, it is weird.” He twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers, focusing on it. “For a while now, I have been smelling something out of place in my bedsheets.”

The proximity took you by surprise, the warmth that radiated from his body contrasted well with his usually cold persona. You tittered before speaking. “Maybe it’s the brand of detergent you’re using. Or you know you might reconsider sleeping with your clothes on. The blood smell on them might be—” You kept rambling, nervous.

His face was close to yours, he seemed calm, in control. “I know what blood smells like.” He sniffed the hair in his fingers, then he came even closer and took the scent of the skin in your neck. You never wear perfume, there was no way your natural scent was this strong. “It smells like you.”

“I—” Stammering, you tried to place some distance from him. His whole being was overwhelming. The way his eyes roamed over your figure was enough to send someone to madness. He grabbed your arm with enough force to keep you still. Your heart was pounding loudly, you could feel it all over your body. He was getting too close. He was already too close.

“Tell me everything. I want to know how much you know.” He loomed over you, voice low, barely above a whisper. His breath hitting your skin softly, prickling it. He was centimeters away from you, you could hear him perfectly.

Debating internally if you should just be honest with everything you had done these past five years, you locked eyes with him. There was so much to lose, so many to disappoint. And then there was him, just him. In front of you, finally, speaking to you, demanding answers. He acknowledged your existence, and that was enough. You didn’t need anything else. Determination in your irises you knew what you had to do.

“I’ve seen you kill. I’ve seen and heard every single life you have taken. I’ve seen you eat that stupid cup ramen you always buy. I’ve seen you sleep. I’ve seen you nervous. I’ve seen you get every single wound you ever had. I’ve seen you stitching yourself. I’ve seen you alone. I’ve seen you smoke alone in the darkness of your living room.” Blurting the words out you forced yourself to look him in the eye. You stopped registering his reactions the moment you splayed yourself raw. “I’ve seen you f—fuck. I’ve seen every single one of those. I see when you touch them, when you bite their skin. Every time you make them moan. I’ve heard, seen it and hated it.”

You waited five seconds to compose yourself, to breathe. “I’ve hated every single time you touch another woman. Each moment I’ve wished it was me.” Your wings were starting to throb.

After that you stopped looking at him, fixing your gaze on the floor. His grip on your arm loosened, staring silently at you. “You’ve been watching me fuck other women?”

You nodded, ashamed of yourself.

He chuckled in disbelief. “You’ve seen me kill.”

This wasn’t a question, this was a fact. You whispered yes anyway.

“And you still wanted me?”

You were surprised by the ease with how he spoke. These were things you tried to hide for years, these were secrets nobody knew. He knew what to say, what to ask to get you to say them aloud.

“Y—yes.” Inhaling, you spoke. “I’ve wanted you for a while now.” The confession made the pain in your wings ablaze, you winced. It was finally out.

His hand roamed from your elbow to your waist, tentatively. He brought you closer to him, your chest clashing against his. There was something similar to hunger taking over his eyes. “Such a pure creature meddling with things she shouldn’t.” His fingers brushed your cheek, as if he were afraid to touch you fully. “Taking care of me…” He trailed. “You’ve done a terrible job.”

You breathed heavily, following the movements of his fingers closely. You were alight, something gurgling underneath your skin, threatening to explode and take this whole world with you. You knew you were still alive, that this was real, because your figure throbbed and your wings were aching like they never had before. Every single fiber in your body screamed that this was wrong, that you should escape at the very first chance you had. That you should return to heaven and request another mortal.

You weren’t going to do any of that.

“I’m sorry. You are not an easy human to take care of.” Your tone was hushed.

 He paused, looking for something behind your eyes. What could he be looking for? There was nothing more than this, this was you. Just you. “You are a weird angel. I don’t think you are supposed to get involved with me…” Then closing the distance, he stopped about two centimeters away from your lips. “You want me to touch you, don’t you? Your eyes look like they need me.”

“I…” Stammering because of how straightforward he was, you struggled to find coherent words. “I shouldn’t even come to earth this often.” Your breaths mixed and you felt it on your parted lips, the residual pain of the bullets still present—a reminder of his nature, of how opposite you were from him.

“For someone so pure, you seem to be having sinful thoughts.” He shifted and with how close your bodies stood, you could feel everything. His hand on your waist squeezed hard. You suppressed a sound. “Just look at you. You are such a fucking mess under my fingers.”

You gulped, trying to get something out of your mouth but you couldn’t. “Say it. Say that you need me.”

You had accepted a long time ago that you weren’t going to have this—that you couldn’t. This wasn’t right, you knew it. The apple was right there, juicy and vibrant. You just had to take the first bite.

“I…I need you.” Admitting it felt foreign.

“Such an obedient little angel.” He mocked you, leaving feather-like kisses on your neck. Then he moved to your cheek and patiently kissed the corner of your lips. He took his sweet time, entertaining himself with your little noises. With how large and impressed your pupils were. “I’ll make an exception for you, my guardian angel…” He kissed you, deep, furious, and hungry. You didn’t know how to answer to this, to such intensity. You’d never done it and you are sure he never does it either. You’ve never seen him kiss. There were millions of things going through your head right now, and all you could feel is your brain turning to mush. Trying to match his speed you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

“You are so bad at it.” Realization dawned on him. He looked at you amused, then he smirked. “Have you ever been kissed?”

Embarrassment flooded you. You tried to avert your gaze, but Soobin’s hand grabbed your chin, keeping you in place, demanding an answer. “No, I haven’t.”

“You think too much.” He sighed, moving his thumb over your lips. “Just follow my lead.”

Kissing you, slower this time, he allowed you time to explore. This one was different, the build-up tension was still present, he seemed careful with you. Ignoring the sharp pain coming from your back, you relished the way his lips felt. Every single one of those times you had pictured them did no justice to reality, he seemed to know how to maneuver himself with his body. You hated being so clumsy. His tongue parted your lips, allowing him to wander freely. You let him, happily.

He started walking towards his bedroom, never separating from you. He paused abruptly. “You really want to do this?  You’ve seen me. You know how this ends.” He looked into your eyes. His were dark and hypnotic, you felt like he was restraining himself from something. You just didn’t know what.

“Be my first, Soobin.” You pleaded. There was something hidden underneath all of that, an acceptance of reality. A choice was made today, or perhaps five years ago. You couldn’t take it back anymore, you knew. You were already too deep the moment you saw him touch himself and hoped you could make him grunt like that too.

He trapped your lips, clouding your senses. His scent was so strong, and it mixed with your sweaty frame, which made you almost dizzy. Since you couldn’t resist temptation anymore, you allowed your fingers to travel to his arms, feeling every muscle, grazing his rough skin. He guided you towards his room, a path you both knew very well. It was difficult to walk thanks to the overwhelming sensation of being touched by human hands. You had never felt the warmth of somebody else. Every nerve in your body jolted every time he grabbed you by the waist or when his fingers pressed hard into your arms to keep you stable.

You felt the mattress squeak under your weight. He broke the kiss. “You taste so pristine…” He fetched a shiny, sharp knife from his belt and tore your white tank top from top to bottom. The ripping sound and your pulse were the only things your ears registered; everything else floated unnoticed in the air. This was actually happening. “I can’t wait to ruin you.”

You shuddered, your chest only covered by your bra. He toyed with the knife in his hands, thinking with his brows knitted. With resolve, he pushed you towards the bed. And as you lay there expectantly, the night air drifting through the window, tingling your bare skin, he came close to your frame. He gave feather-like touches to your skin with the tip of the knife, the cold metal a reminder of who you were entangling yourself with. He had the power to do whatever he wanted with your body, yet he was so careful and so knowing with his movements that you redirected all the faith in your body to him.

He adjusted your torn clothes and hair before taking in the sight of the art he had created. His gaze roamed free over your body. Your wings splayed over the duvet, cheeks red and breath uneven. The remains of your garment rested on your sides, hair disheveled and wet with sweat. Your eyes, consumed by lust, looking at him expectantly. He was able to smirk when he saw the tinge of innocence behind your irises, almost fading.

Satisfied with your state, he took the liberty to pull out one of your breasts. Your nipple already hard and ready to be taken care of. He groped your tit, pinching your nipple. The sensation was like something you had never ever imagined, it awoke the familiar warmth that bloomed in your lower abdomen every time you saw Soobin touching somebody else’s skin. You whimpered, pushing your legs together to soothe the growing heat from between your legs. “Your skin is so soft.”

He placed his arms on your sides, supporting his weight, while he positioned a leg in between yours, one of his knees meeting a delicious pressure with your clothed core. Your thighs engulfed him, silently pleading for more. He lowered his head to the band of your skirt, nuzzling it with his nose. Breath teasing you. You wanted him lower, that much you knew, yet he was intent on denying you this. He nibbled you at the bare skin over where the fabric ended. Creating a wet trail with his tongue, nipping and licking at your flesh, he hovered above your exposed tit. His ragged breath softly hitting your nipple, eager to be touched. You were buzzing under his ministrations.

When you couldn’t take the wait anymore, you reached for his hair, burying your hand between his locks, tugging at them. Desperately trying to break the distance. He answered your silent plea by enveloping your breast with his mouth. He sucked your nipple, sometimes pressing it carefully with his teeth, the sensation sending waves of joy that collapsed in your core. Other times just twirling his tongue around it. You pulled his strands harder, a choked sound escaping your parted lips. You saw how his arms flexed under his button-up. The wet sounds coming from your chest made you shudder.

With a pop, he separated, licking his lips. He pointed downwards. “Open your legs.” He demanded.

You slowly opened them, releasing his limb. Your skirt now hardly covered you. From his point of view, he could see your dollar-store white panties peeking; you weren’t the type to wear shorts underneath. There was a wet spot forming in them. “I’ve barely touched you. You are so painfully obvious.”

Crouching, he squeezed your thighs before kissing you near your throbbing entrance. “Don’t move or I'll stop.” He knew, of course he knew, how desperately you wanted to be touched there. It felt like a test of patience, the hardest one you ever had to overcome. Because when he nibbled your inner thighs, you had to grab a fistful of sheets to avoid flinching.

He stayed long painful minutes in between your legs, his hair tickling your skin. He seemed to like how loud you were; you had zero idea how to control these desires, and everything was so overstimulating that the only way you found relief was with sounds. That was until you felt his finger hook on your panties, because you went completely still and silent when he grabbed the wet fabric.

He used the cold knife to rip your panties, the fabric recoiling to expose your aching cunt. You saw how he licked his lips before enveloping your throbbing bud in his mouth. Gasping, you couldn’t avoid moving, closing your eyes. He didn’t stop, lapping at it. Moaning his name, your hands gripped the duvet tightly, your legs squeezing his neck. You felt every single fiber of your body threading a sensation you couldn’t quite put a name on.

He stopped for a brief moment to spit on his finger before slowly thrusting into your core. He looked at your face, flushed and messy. Your pupils were blown, walls clenching over his digit. "M—move," you whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” He spoke above your pussy, you could feel the movements of his lips.

Pushing the shame to the back of your mind, you spoke. “Move!”

To this, he smirked, sinking his finger to the depths of your core, thrusting. His mouth continued to tease your clit. It was like being touched everywhere; you felt it all over your body. He picked up a pace after a few minutes, and when he saw that your juices were flowing, he inserted a second finger. Startling you, he didn’t give you any time to adjust. The tension was delicious, stretching you.

He adjusted the angle of his hand, and you knew he was hitting a precious spot. Because your back started to arch and your body was brimming with an unknown white sensation. You tensed your muscles and closed your eyes, unable to see the filthy movements of Soobin.

“You are getting tighter. Don’t tell me you are going to come so soon?” His mocking tone wasn’t enough to snap you back into reality. You were too far gone.

“Please don’t stop.” Imploring him, you bucked your hips forward. This seemed to amuse him because he withdrew his fingers entirely. Shaken, you lifted your head, your eyes scanning his face for an answer.

He looked at her with a lopsided smile, relishing the sweet look of your eyes. Panting, with a tit out and hair tangled, you gulped. There was the dormant pain of your wings underneath all of that, it hadn’t stopped. On the contrary, it just seemed to escalate forward. And there was only one way out of this story, and you were ready to face the consequences of it.

The clinking of metal broke the silence of the room, snapping you back to reality. You followed his trail of movements closely, interested. The bulge in his boxers was thick and tight, you saw how it stretched the fabric of his underwear. “Help me out.”

You opened your eyes like a deer caught in headlights, dazzled. You adjusted your position so you could sit in front of him. The outline of his shaft made you wet your lips instinctively, wondering if you could do with your mouth what he used to do with his hand. Wanting to pleasure him.

He freed himself, his length sprang. It was glistening, covered in a sticky substance that oozed from the tip. He stroked himself a few times before smugly looking at you. You adjusted the loose strands of hair that stuck to your face and hesitantly took his member in your hand. His eyes were focused on you, a spark of hunger crossing his irises for a fleeting moment. And for some odd reason, that was enough to drive you insane. The mere thought of being desired by this man sent you into oblivion.

You pumped his cock up and down, hand trembling, vacillating. “C’mon. You should do better than that.” His sardonic words laced with boredom fueled you. You were going to be better than any woman who ever dared to even lay eyes on him. You had to be better than any fling, you were more than that. You needed to be more than that.

Furrowing your brows, you fully focused on trying to please him, now grabbing his shaft with newfound confidence. You saw him narrow his gaze, a slight telltale sign that he was enjoying himself. Trying to draw expressions on his face, you tried different ways to make him feel good. At first you squeezed a little bit tighter, to which he nodded smugly. Then you decided to drag the head with your thumb in a round motion, the precum allowed the movement to be swift. He bit his lower lip, yet you still weren’t satisfied with it. You wanted to make him grunt.

With a little bit of doubt, you parted your lips and wrapped them around his cock, taking him in, gliding until you had to physically suppress a choke, tears pricking your eyes. You freed him, needing to cough, muttering a "sorry" with frustration.

He shook his head, exhaling a sharp breath, almost becoming a laugh. “What did you expect? You had never blown someone.”

You felt a blush creep to your cheeks, averting your gaze. “It’s not a big deal.” He sighed, grabbing your chin so you could face him. “I’ll teach you.”

“Instead of trying to take it all at once, try to test how much you can handle.”

You tried a second time, taking as much as you could without gagging. “Try to hollow your cheeks a little bit and start to bob your head.”

You did as he said, looking expectantly from your position to see if you were doing good. He nodded as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, guiding you. “Keep going, little angel. You are just starting to get good.”

You allowed him to set the pace, doing your best to feel him. Lips pressed to him. The salty taste of precum invading your tongue. The unknown substance making you frown. “Try to circle the head with your tongue.”

Not releasing your hair, he guided you out so you could catch your breath before positioning you near his cock. Panting, you stuck your tongue out, circling his red tip. After that you mixed your tongue in between sucks, and it worked wonderfully. You were a fast learner, and the soft grunts he started to mutter after a while encouraged you.

You had never stayed watching long enough to hear Soobin moan. It wasn’t because of shame or even respect. It was rooted in the deep hatred you felt towards the women that lingered on his bed for too long. When a soft cry escaped his parted lips, glossing thanks to the sheer layer of saliva coming from them, he stopped you.

“I want to come inside you.” The bluntness of the statement left you at a loss for words, not knowing how to exactly answer that. Nervousness was the first thing that came to mind. “I want to be the first to taint you.”

He pushed you softly against the mattress, your back crashing against the soft bedding. When he started parting your legs, you stopped him hurriedly. “Could you take out your shirt?”

“Mmmm…Why?”

“I want to feel the warmth of your skin.”

He thought for a whole heartbeat before caressing your cheek. Feeling the curves of your cheeks. Looking into your supplicating eyes. “I wonder how cold heaven must have been.”

You shuddered at the mention of your home, you wanted to bury the fact that you were ever a pristine creation in the first place. Because what you were doing had a name, and it was rightfully punished. You were a sinner, the worst kind at that. Detaching yourself from that was the only way you were ever going to be able to pursue the passing joy of having Soobin, at least for a brief second.

He saw your face shift to worry, hands fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. He tsked, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take my shirt off.”

He undid the buttons of his shirt skillfully, looking at you the entire time. Throwing the garment to the floor, he picked up where he left off, not wasting a second. You grabbed his shoulders, kissing him, letting your hands roam free over his bare torso. Nails scratching his back, leaving red trails. He was startled by this, not quite meeting the pace of the kiss. You stopped for a second, grabbing his hands and placing them on your body.

“Feel me, touch me. Desire me.”

You didn’t have to kiss him because he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and nibbling at the exposed skin. Every hickey he left was a claim over your body, he wanted to say he proudly helped you fall from grace. That he turned you evil. It excited him; it made him spiral. Because you were the first being that he could touch that didn’t feel like a mere piece of meat to him. You were so loving with your touch, yet you knew what his hands were capable of. How? Just how could you lay there and demand his touch? How could you dare relish in the warmth of an assassin?

A symphony of moans erupted from your throat, you hugged him tightly. Burying your hands in his dark locks, encouraging him to keep going. He pressed his body above yours, you felt his erection on your stomach. He was harder than before. The thought of having him inside you made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He stopped, gasping for air. This time he roughly parted your legs open. “Fuck. I just want to feel you.”

Positioning himself in your entrance, he didn’t even think about teasing you before parting your folds with the tip and sinking his shaft. The stretch brought a sharp pain, and you couldn’t avoid letting out a cry. “I’ll give you time. Tell me when you want me to move.”

A few seconds in and the pain melted into an indescribable yet delicious feeling. Mewling, you demanded that he move. It started as a lazy drag, trying to allow you to fully adjust to him. When you brought him closer to your body, hugging his torso with your legs, he sank his cock to the hilt, knocking the air out of you. Without notice, he thrust strongly, drawing all sorts of sound from your body. Bucking your hips, you tried to meet his thrusts, and when you did, you swore you saw stars.

“You feel so good, little angel.”

The only correct answer for you was a messy kiss. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, exploring. Biting your bottom lip, savoring your taste. He changed his angle, hitting the same spot he discovered with his fingers making you nip at his lips. You knew your walls were clenching around his shaft, squeezing him. Grunting, he let you go, a shiny thread of saliva connecting your mouths.

He stopped speaking altogether when he saw your teary eyes looking at where you two were joined. “Faster, p—please.” And he obeyed.

You sank your nails into his shoulder blades when it was becoming too much to handle, when one of his hands started circling your clit quickly. You knew you were nearing something, that something was supposed to happen. It scared you, yet it pushed you to plead for him to not stop. A long, sharp moan came from the depths of your throat when the storm inside your body collided into an unbearable pleasure. You came undone under him, the remaining strength in your body holding onto him.

He smiled smugly, biting his lip, bucking his hips forward. The pain of the overstimulation wasn’t enough to bring you back. You were being used by him to reach his pleasure, and you were thankful. You were here, hugging him, his body like an anchor to earth, and there was nothing else beyond him and this moment.

“Moan, please.” You mustered weakly.

He did. He made all sorts of sounds just because you asked. And when he came undone, his seed filling you up, he tiredly whispered into your ear. "A human tainting an angel like this? Unthinkable.”

He rested on top of you, catching his breath. You were so far gone you didn’t realize when your feathers started cascading off from your wings. Falling to the ground like dead leaves, turning from white to a dull ashen black.

tysm for reading!

[knmaskitten]

.ᐟ mar .ᐟ twenty-two .ᐟ she-they

...abt blog 𖦹 hello! I started this tumblr blog to write for my favorite anime characters and overtime it evolved to just my general fanfiction account. I really enjoy sharing my works. Any question you might have regarding me or my fics I will answer. My inbox is open!

...abt me 𖦹 est. 2OO3. I currently balance my time between college and personal life. I study anthropology. My main language is spanish, for this blog I write only in english.

(. . . guidelines m.list links + tags)

© knmaskitten est. 2024 — don't copy, steal, translate or repost any of my works.

[knmaskitten]

masterlist 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

🫧 author's fav, 🕯️ needs a rework (oops)

animanga

.☘︎ ݁˖ haikyuu

kenma: ✮ Pets (sfw! drabble) ✮ Take your mask off 🫧 ( sfw!. one shot. pets P2)

hinata: ✮ Espresso 🕯️(sfw! one shot)

kageyama: ✮ Love me back. 🕯️ (sfw! one shot)

oikawa: ✮ Nonsense 🕯️ (nsfw! one shot)

.☘︎ ݁˖ the apothecary diaries

Jinmao: ✮ chained blossom ( ⭑.ᐟ ch1. ⭑.ᐟ ch2. ongoing...)

.☘︎ ݁˖ jujutsu kaisen

Nanami: ✮ Messy 🕯️ (nsfw! one shot)

games

.☘︎ ݁˖ persona series

Ren amamiya: ✮ Hate to love you 🕯️ (sfw! drabble)

kpop

.☘︎ ݁˖ tomorroy by together

Yeonjun: ✮ silent cry of a lonely star 🫧 ( ⭑.ᐟ Prologue. ⭑.ᐟ ch1.)

Soobin: ✮ don't cross the line (nsfw! one shot)

(. . . abt me guidelines links + tags)

© knmaskitten est. 2024 — don't copy, steal, translate or repost any of my works.

[knmaskitten]

guidelines 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

reqs: open !

general

★ This is my fanfiction account (which means I write self-indulgent stuff) so I will post and reblog anything of the sort. I do read smut and 18+ stuff so be mindful before you follow.

★ Please follow every post's warnings/tags.

★ Ageless and blank blogs will be blocked.

★ Minors will be blocked in my nsfw works.

★ Ageless or blank blogs will be blocked regardless of the type of work they read.

★ Spam likers will also be blocked, please don't spam likes !

★ I love when people reblog, comment and like my posts. Please do so feedback is much appreciated !

★ DNI if ageless blog, racist, support incest, misogynist, insensitive towards mental illness, close-minded, against feminism, pro shipper, don't respect pronouns, problematic, uses any slur, any kind of phobic, spam likers, hates the characters/people I write for, etc.

requests

★ I take requests for one-shots, drabbles, headcanons and imagines.

★ I only write afab reader.

★ There is no use of y/n in any of my works.

★ I won't be giving any description of reader in my works.

★ I will write mostly fluff, angst and smut.

★ I will not write for: self-harm, heavy mental-illnesses, physical disorders (I just don't know how to write them and I don't wan't to disrespect anyone), rape, gore, non-con, shit, yandere, incest, any kind of heavy abuse, pedophilia, age-play, furries, and more to be updated...

★ All of the characters in my fics are adults and the only time you won't see them as such is in flashbacks but that is only in my fluff fics.

★ All of the idols I write for are over/or 20 years old.

★ I will not take nsfw requests from anons.

★ One shots are 2k+, drabbles range from 500 to 1,500 words, imagines are usually less than 1k words and headcanons vary depending on the amount of characters but I would give a maximum of 500-700 words per character.

★ There are some characters/idols I won't write about for some reasons, but still send your ask and I will reply!

★You can still follow all of my guidelines and I can still reject your request.

(. . . abt me m.list links + tags)

© knmaskitten est. 2024 — don't copy, steal, translate or repost any of my works.

[knmaskitten]

links ⋆.𐙚 ̊

✩ ko-fi !!

✩ ao3 !!

tags ⋆.𐙚 ̊

[wip]

[willgrahamscock]

ai could never outdo my beautiful perverted mutuals

[willgrahamscock]

this is because they write with their mind penis and have terrible childhoods and horrible luck, which seems to be the key factor in writing shakespeare level smut

[willgrahamscock]

and english is their 4th language

[knmaskitten]

Silent cry of a lonely star

Chapter 1: star-woven.

.ᐟ AO3 .ᐟ Masterlist .ᐟ Guidelines

.ᐟ Series playlist.

.ᐟ Previous chapter

ᨀ. series summary ☆

After years of fighting against the universe's will, you decide to guard your feelings. Everybody around you had the chance to find love—everyone but you. With the resolve of focusing on your physics major, you graduate, without the will to pursue a career in it. Ignoring the protest of your parents, you start job-hunting until your friend Layla sets you a work interview for a matchmaking company. Reluctantly you go, needing the position you had nothing to lose. When you were accepted you were stationed on the data department, not daring to go near the "matchmaking" area. Three years later you're burnt out, so you took a vacation to the countryside, staying on your family's dusty cabin. Not really knowing what you were seeking. With a love for the stars, you kept your evenings gazing up at the firmament. Until one of those nights, you end up chasing an intriguing gold light floating through the woods, whispering your name.

ᨀ. wc. ☆ 10.4k

ᨀ. pairing ☆ Choi Yeonjun/reader.

ᨀ. genre ☆ drama, angst, fluff, fantasy, smut, soulmates.

ᨀ. type ☆ Chapter 1.

ᨀ. warnings for this chapter ☆ no use of y/n. Reader getting hurt (not too much). Reader pretty much numb the whole time until the end. SLOW-PACED. I'm telling you, I took my sweet time world-building. But there are relationships with other TXT members. I hope you guys love work Soobin as much as I did.

ᨀ. mar's note ☆ I wrote this in the middle of my finals, my brain is fried. I’m going to be honest this is slow, it takes some reading to meet the TXT members. But I needed this chapter to at least built a world. I don’t really like doing plotless stories, so I tried my best to make this engaging yet telling. Hope you guys can enjoy it as much as I did when I wrote it. As always tysm for reading! I always beg for comments and reposts but would you guys pretty please leave a like and a comment?

Limbs spread out on a brown couch, you mindlessly tapped the computer resting on your lap. You were occasionally plopping grapes in your mouth, the sweet taste lingering on your tongue. Throughout your life you had worked hard on acquiring the ability to tune out reality. With the sun beginning to show its rays, there wasn’t much happening this early in the morning anyway. Your mom was sound asleep in the upstairs room, and you did not dare to disturb her. It was not going to be an easy day, considering she had to see your father and his family.

You graduated today, and you were already applying for jobs. Life was all about plans for you. Realistically, you knew that sooner or later you had to leave your house; you preferred rather sooner than later. Your mother often said that you could live your whole life with her, keeping each other company, because “she wasn’t going anywhere nor was she getting any younger.” Often, both of you liked to spend lazy Friday afternoons busying yourselves with an old romantic movie with some sweet popcorn on the side. She meant so many things to you, despite the disagreements. She was, and will always be, your first superhero.

Many people would be nervous, happy, or with a sense of accomplishment over this milestone—if you could call it that. But you felt dull, lifeless even. Your friends and family were going to cheer your name when you got up on stage, you knew they were going to wait for you with presents and a bouquet of colorful flowers. Words like "pride," "love," "deserve," or a mere "congratulations" were going to escape the lips of so many of the attendees. It wasn’t like you hated your major. It was just what you were used to.

Ever since you were little, you knew you wanted to enroll in physics. It was a safe bet. You filled out every single sheet you could to get into as many science-related AP classes through high school as possible. It was comfortable knowing that you could somehow predict nature through mathematics, with a window for error, of course. Math and physics were hand in hand, your best subjects; you knew you excelled at them. Praises from your classmates and teachers were always good—really, you didn’t mind them. But it felt odd knowing that you picked up a habit of solving algebraic problems whenever you felt like life was too much, too complicated, and hard to figure out.

And when university came, you just thought it made sense to choose this major; you did well in it. You got into a decent college, knowing that if you picked this, you would be alone. None of your friends enrolled here. It wasn’t like it mattered because you urgently wanted to be away from them and their lovely soulmates. Growing up, people started discovering that some were able to guide them to their partners. A soulmate-seeker, so to speak. Yet as intriguing as they sounded, they were rare. There was a mysterious aura surrounding them; they usually hid behind anonymity, not wanting to reveal too many details of their lives. Some in your friend group gathered enough money to pay for their services, successfully finding what they longed for—others just got lucky. And, really, good for them, but you couldn’t stop your jaw from tightening every time you hung with them. So, you did it; you decided to go to a college far away enough and spend four years of your life there.

It was something you just had to do, what else could you have done anyway? Struggling with some courses, having to worry about failing, living away from home, or walking the lonely path to your dorm from school, thinking about a new concept you learned. You weren’t a genius. You were barely above average. It was fine. After a while you started having a better social life, opening yourself to befriending people. It wasn’t an excruciating experience, but it wasn’t your passion—you just knew. Just like a gust of wind, you recalled how the years had passed. You got through it, and you felt a whole lot of nothing.

Sighing, you closed your laptop, blinking to lubricate your dry eyes. You had been up for a while now, and staring too long at a screen wasn’t good for your eyes. Shifting your position on the couch, you placed the bowl of grapes on the table; you’ve had enough of them. Rubbing your eyes, you yawned into the palm of your hand when you felt a buzzing near your right thigh.

Groaning, you answered the phone, not even caring to see if it was a spam number.

“Yeah. Uhm, hello?” You coughed to clear your throat; your voice sounded so raspy you felt a little embarrassed.

“Did I wake you up?”

Layla’s voice was cheerful and bright—too bright. Instinctively scrunching your eyes, you got up. Licking your lips, you felt how dry they were, and suddenly you craved water. You could hear the distant and faint sound of snoring, ‘that has to be Beomgyu,' you thought.

“Why are you even calling me this early in the morning?”

Eyes scanning the kitchen, you searched for a glass. Surrendering to the fact that you had no clue where the glasses were, you started opening the cabinets.

“You could ask me how I am doing. I’m your best friend.” Layla was theatrical; she has always been like that. And you knew that the hurt laced into her voice was nothing more than an act. You caught the voice of a man mumbling tiredly on her end of the line.

Rolling your eyes, you huffed. “I’m guessing you are good, judging by the noise.”

Giggling, she shushed you. You heard movement. “Sorry. How are you?”

Narrowing your gaze, you cursed under your breath because you had spent a good minute looking for the stupid glasses and you couldn’t find them. “Fine.”

Just where would you store them? Thinking hard, you opened a cabinet, one that was under the countertop, and surprisingly, you found them. Thanking your hunch, you took one and opened the faucet. Glass full, you gulped down the water. Refreshing.

“Just fine? It’s your graduation!”

You had avoided expressing to anyone your desires of not working in your field, let alone saying how you felt today. The water traveling down your throat had a positive effect on your mood, relaxing your muscles and clearing your head. Maybe you should be a tad less sincere. Calming yourself, you closed your eyes.

“Sorry, I was distracted.” This was a half-truth, so you didn’t feel much guilt. You didn’t want to lie, so you decided to change topics. “I was up early today; I’m looking for a job.”

“Really?” Surprised, she went silent for a moment. Not really wanting to interrupt her, you filled the glass to the brim and paced the room quietly, looking at an ugly painting of a dog that hung on the beige wall. It lacked color, and the few hues it had were muddy; the paint strokes were evident, and they looked messy. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not.

“Which position are you looking for?”

“Anything, really… I thought I could do good in something related to data science, since I took some courses in it.”

You sipped water in long gulps, washing away all the fatigue you had accumulated these past few weeks. You had barely been able to get any sleep, waking in the middle of the night anxious, with pearls of sweat on your forehead. You had the recurrent dream—or nightmare—of falling in a hole in the middle of the woods. Despite your efforts, you had the sequence of events engraved on your brain. It began as a lonesome walk, you could see yourself in the third person. Your silhouette a blurry mess, a speck of golden light moved alongside you—probably your phone’s flashlight. Old, dried-up branches and leaves crunched under your weight; you had to move some of the thick foliage to get to wherever you were going. There was no sound other than the heavy breaths and the crunch of your steps. The light became blinding, like a supernova erupting. You sensed movement and the distant sound of words, but it was no use, you couldn’t understand. And like magic, you came back to your body and fell.

You woke up in the middle of the night before hitting the ground. But yesterday it was different. You clashed hard against soil, and upon opening your eyes, you saw a clear, beautiful sky. Before you could sit up, you awoke. It was weird; you attributed it to stress.

“Hey, are you still there? Are you not listening?”

Caught in the act, you silently face-palmed. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

“I said that I’ll have to ask, but I think I can find you something.” Parting your lips to thank her, she quickly asked you a question before you could talk. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

Biting your lip, you shook your head. “Nothing, really. It is just pre-graduation jitters.” The lie escaped faster than you imagined.

This seemed to brighten her mood; you soon discovered why. “Right! Where are you staying? I’ll be there soon to help you prepare.”

Avoiding the grumble that you wanted to make, you drank water until you left the glass empty. Tiny rivulets of water fell from your chin; you cleaned them with the back of your hand. “I’ll text you the address. Will you come here by yourself?”

Again, you focused your attention away from the painting to the fake plants that were on the center of the coffee table. Not even trying to conceal its appearance, the leaves were crooked at unnatural angles and looked cheap, the white flowers that “bloomed” seemed like they were made by a six-year-old. You’re sure your little stepsisters could do a better job—they were four. Raising a brow, you started biting the dead skin on your fingers, casually looking at the hangnail you had teared. Anything that could release the guilt you felt.

Asking that felt like betrayal, you knew what you were implying by that. You didn’t have any sort of romantic feelings towards your best friend’s soulmate. Those vanished away a long time ago, but still, you had the habit of spending time with friends without their partners. Beomgyu was neat, and you had fun with him when the three of you hung, but sometimes you just wanted to feel comfortable. And frequently it was unbearable to be the only one left alone.

That, of course, was a secret you weren’t going to share with anyone—not even your diary. You knew that she attributed this to wanting to hang out with her, girl’s time. Partially true, you never corrected her when she brought it up.

“Yup! He will come later.”

Heaving—not noticing when this started happening—you let out a breathy, “Cool.”

“I’ll come by, just let me get ready.”

With that, she hung up, possibly hurrying to get up. Standing in the middle of the room, your arms fell in slow motion to your sides, phone still in your hand, and you sighed. The day was going to be miserably long, but the worst part had yet to come. The one where you were honest and told them you won’t be pursuing a master's, let alone a doctorate—which was what every freshly graduated physicist did or dreamed about.

Raising your phone to your eye level, you saw the time, it was nine thirty, exactly three hours and thirty minutes since you woke up. Wherever Layla was staying, you knew she drove, so it wasn’t going to be long before her arrival. The grumble you worked so hard to suppress escaped from the depths of your body, you closed your eyes. You weighed your options, running away looked so freaking attractive…

Your phone in your right hand vibrated, signaling you had gotten a notification. Gathering barely enough willpower, you peeked with just one eye open at the screen.

‘Don’t forget to text me your location. I’ll be there asap. Ily <3’

Shrugging, you texted her.

If you thought about it too much, you weren’t going to get anywhere. So, you moved towards the staircase to get a cold shower to at least regain your composure.

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Layla’s voice rang out. “You are so pretty!”

Sitting on a chair in the middle of the dining room, you were surrounded by your mother and your best friend. Splayed on the wood table at your right were various makeup products in all shapes and sizes. You were busying yourself fiddling with a lip gloss that had a pretty flower keychain hanging from the hot-pink cap. It was nearing midday, and you had no time to redo it if it turned out bad, you felt like a toy being played with by your friend. You avoided looking at your reflection as much as you could, so you kept agreeing with them.

“Don’t you want to look at yourself? I’m finishing up some touches.” Layla’s brown and glowing eyes scanned your face, focused on anything that she might have missed. She softly applied blush again, not content with the opacity it currently had. You strengthened your grip around the product, knuckles going white, and smiled apologetically.

“When you finish.”

While your friend held up different kinds of makeup brushes between her fingers like they were claws, one of them in her pursed lips, your mother styled your hair the way you liked it since you were a child. It warmed your heart knowing that she still remembered the tiny details, the ones everyone forgets eventually. She had to tweak it a little bit so your graduation cap would fit perfectly. Her hands were gentle, avoiding pulling at your hair as much as she could.

“You look so grown up. I can’t believe you are twenty-two already.” Clasping her hands near her chest, your mom let out a nostalgic sigh. Placing one stray strand of hair behind your ear, her touch lingered for a few seconds on your cheekbone, caressing it lightly. Layla, not really paying attention to anything but your face, placed a fluffy brush on your eyelid.

Shifting uncomfortably in your spot, you hated being the center of so much attention; you tried to not cringe at their words. Battling against your need to run away, you knew you were loved, so you just nodded, gifting your mom a smile.

“You definitely should get more sleep; your eye bags are so deep." Layla's scolding voice cut through your thoughts.

“I’ve been stressing too much lately…” Repressing the need to tilt your head, you bit your right hand’s index finger. Layla slapped it, muttering under her breath that you would ruin your fingers.

After a pause, where she searched for a highlighter that nauseatingly smelled like champagne, she spoke. “Because of job hunting?" You knew you couldn't blame her for raising this sensitive question in front of your mother, you had kept everyone oblivious to your plans. But it was unfair; you were setting up a plan to be independent; you were not a child anymore. But why were you so afraid? No one had the right to dictate what was right for you. And if you were honest, you already knew how your parents would react, and it made you so deeply tired to just think about it.

From the corner of your eye, you saw your mom frowning, interest piqued. She spoke. “I thought you were going to apply for scholarships” A pause. "For your master's, I mean.”

Sigh.

Before you could speak, Layla gasped. Celebrating in her spot, she apologized for breaking in, not really caring, and chanted triumphantly. “Alright, this is my masterpiece.” Layla quickly fetched the square mirror resting on the table, placing it at eye level. You thanked her silently for saving you from having to answer.

You squinted when you saw your reflection. What you noticed first was the puzzled expression on your face; your jaw was tight; you could see it on your muscles. So, you had to consciously relax. You should congratulate your friend because she did a great job of bringing you back to life. Your eye bags were concealed perfectly, and your lips and cheeks were tinted just enough to make it seem natural. But no amount of makeup could distract from the lack of light in your eyes. The most honest one can be is through their gaze, and yours didn’t lie. You were not here.

You did what was most rational and grinned. “Thanks, it looks awesome.”

Your mom’s body seemed tense; you knew she hadn’t fallen for it. She wanted answers, but before she could even muster a word, the obnoxiously loud ringtone of Layla’s phone rang. It was a cheesy cover of a love song you had heard before but couldn’t seem to remember. She answered happily, face lit at the sound coming from the other end of the line. You didn’t need to listen to her call to know who it was.

Excusing herself while walking away from both of you, she continued her conversation with Beomgyu in the kitchen.

“So? What is the plan?” Your mother’s tone was low so your friend wouldn’t listen. Her eyes never leaving yours, a hint of worry clouding them.

Suddenly your mouth was cottony, desperately screaming for a droplet of water. You gulped down nonexistent saliva and started flexing your right hand. The pent-up tiredness catching up to you, making your façade falter for just one second. Your lips were not curved into a small smile anymore, and your irises presented themselves as they were: colorless. Shoulders slumping, you sighed, surrendering for a few seconds to the heaviness of your body. Because it was so heavy, and each single day it got heavier.

“I won’t do it. I’ll just work.” Your voice was so diligently matter-of-fact that you hardly left room for a retort. Her expression soured, lips turning into a tight line. The silence felt heavy on your shoulders, a tingling sensation creeping up your body.

Layla’s voice was heard from the kitchen. “Beomgyu arrived; should we go?”

You sat up, startling your mother. A lighthearted expression was plastered across your face; voice friendly, you answered. “Let me grab some things and we’ll go. Mom, you’ll come with us?”

“No, you girls go ahead. I still need to do my hair.” Her voice was slow, assimilating what you had told her.

“See you then.”

Kissing her cheek, you took rapid steps to fetch your things, not even worrying about having to ride with Layla and Beomgyu. You will get through it just fine; they are your friends.

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

From the car ride to the ceremony, everything was a blur. Your head ached trying to recall what happened. You just remember drifting away, smiling, and posing for pictures. You had the gut feeling of congratulating and being congratulated by your classmates, friends, and family, everyone. The only thing anchoring you to earth was the burning pain in your feet, clad in your unbearably uncomfortable heels. This pair was lent to you by your best friend; you had run short on time because your collection of shoes was worn out and unsalvageable.

Walking slowly, you opened the black door. What hit you first when you entered the bathroom was the acid scent of lemons, diffusers were strategically placed across the room, battling any funky smell. It was silent, nobody was here. Static coming from the unnatural lights could be heard, keeping you company. A few fake plants hung from the ceiling, trying to make the place look less like a bathroom and more like an experience. You walked towards the big rectangular mirror perched on the wall. Your reflection was decent, very decent.

Standing on your tippy toes, you got closer to the glass to thoroughly inspect your state. Nothing out of place; your makeup had melted on a few spots where natural skin was peeking through. Your eyeliner, however, was smudge-free. Taking this as a small victory, you brought your hands together, clapping one time.

“Just a few more hours.” Encouraging yourself, you inhaled and exhaled.

A twinkling sound hummed softly through the walls again. It had been there throughout the whole day; you didn’t know if you were losing your mind. Tired, you sighed and closed your eyes, arms falling on either side of your body. The pain on your lower back was killing you, and it only seemed to intensify with the passing of time. You started counting from one to ten, a mantra you had when reality became blurry, too blurry. At ten you opened your eyelids.

Breath caught halfway through your throat, you went still. You were not in the bathroom but in a field? Looking down, you saw your feet engulfed by the tall grass swaying, tickling at your exposed skin, the freshness of the night waking you up. Wind shuffled your hair. You gaped at the sky. It looked alive, and you swore you had never seen a starry night so beautiful before. The moon shone, its silvery touch grazing the earth, allowing you to see your surroundings. Not a single tower of electricity in sight. You spun, looking for the bathroom door, but surrounding you were meters and meters of thick greenery. A vast meadow was ahead; you were currently standing at the end of the woods. A gold light blinked a few meters in front of you, probably signaling for you to follow it.

Legs wobbling, you took a few steps backward, sounds coming from your mouth attempting to form words. Every nerve in your body wanted you to let go and follow it, but you didn’t.

Falling to your knees, you let your fingers caress the soil.

“Why are you on the ground?”

Turning your head, you saw a confused Layla standing under the frame of the door, the landscape gone.

“I…” Moving your head in every direction, you tried to come back to the field but couldn’t. It was only the two of you and the gray walls that seemed to poke fun at you. You heard her calling your name, but you were busy blinking, adjusting your body to the change of scenery.

“Seriously, did you hit your head or something?” Crouching next to you, she touched your arm. “I’ll help you up. Come on, you’ve been in here for twenty minutes.”

You licked your lips, ears buzzing. Your stomach kept fluttering, craving the high you had felt. You couldn’t have been there more than twenty minutes. It was such a fleeting glimpse that it was hard to believe that it lasted more than two minutes. Nodding, your mind clouded by a sensation you couldn’t quite grasp, you stood up.

“Sorry, I felt dizzy and had to sit down.” The slight tremble in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. Her ginger eyebrow raised. You almost looked drunk, and perhaps you were, the feeling overwhelming your senses. It bubbled from underneath your skin, wailing to come out.

“You should’ve called me. Can you walk?” She was grabbing your arm, stabilizing you. You took a few tentative steps, like a baby walking for the first time. She waited for your approval; you nodded silently, signaling for her to start walking. “Good, everyone is waiting for you. I swear your little sisters are going to drive your dad crazy.”

You knew you had to laugh, and so you did. You desperately wanted to feel normal. Layla never left your side, her long, curly hair brushing against your shoulder from time to time. Coming back to your table, you smiled. Regaining composure. Your table was round and big; everyone sat strategically in a spot. Your father’s family sat together, your little sisters sandwiched together between your dad and his wife. They took half of the table. Beomgyu sat on your dad’s right, then came Layla at his left, then your mom, and finally you.

The restaurant wasn’t fancy as per your request. You had chosen your favorite place, and nobody interjected. You were the one who knew the area better. You ordered your favorite Vietnamese pho, even when they have a variety of meals. Because it was their specialty, a secret one. Their menu placed their BBQ ribs as their specialty, but you knew better.

“What took you so long?” Your mom’s accusatory voice questioned you.

Sitting down, you fixed the hem of your dress. Hungry eyes fixed on the meal above the table. “Sorry.” Apologetically, you smiled. "Oh, this smells so good.”

The conversation going on in the background was comfortable. You didn’t care too much to register what they were saying, tuning in sometimes to comment. It distracted your mind enough while you devoured your food. You appreciated not being the center of attention.

“Did you know our daughter isn’t applying for scholarships?” Everyone went silent.

You couldn’t finish your bite properly, stiffening up. Carefully looking from your mom to your dad, you waited for his response.

“Why?” He was chewing a piece of steak, oblivious to what your mother was planning.

Gulping down your food with the help of your soda, you grimaced. It could have been the lingering sensation of looking at such a breathtaking firmament or the way the grass had tickled your skin. But you spoke, raising your voice so everybody could hear you. “Because I won’t be pursuing a career in physics. That’s it, I’m looking for a job.”

Everyone knew this was a conversation you probably should’ve had alone. A silence fell over the table; your dad’s soulmate shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Straightening your back, you averted your gaze. A million ways to defend yourself came into your mind, but none of them made it past your lips. Parents liked to have a say on their children’s lives, but this situation wasn’t the same as that of a teenager getting her nose pierced because everybody in their class was getting one.

“That is stupid. You are not going to get a good position; it's obvious.” Cutting sharply through the room, your mom spoke.

“I’m sure she isn’t serious. She is a smart girl; she won’t be doing anything foolish.” Your dad was relaxed and sure of himself.

"Oh, but she is. How would you even know? You barely see her.” Voice laced with bitterness; your mom eyed your dad.

“Don’t start.” He huffed hastily.

But they kept going, arguing for around a minute. You didn’t want to pay attention to their talk; it was so immature. But when you spotted your little sisters, their eyes confused and their mouths pouted, you frowned, annoyed.

“Enough…” Your voice went by unnoticed, everybody uncomfortably looking at your parents. “Enough!” Shouting, you clenched your fists. “You are both adults. Act like it. I won’t change my mind; don’t even try to do it. I will not hear you.”

Standing up, you grabbed your purse. The food now seemed sour, and you no longer wanted to spend time with them. “Thank you for coming.”

And the clanking of your heels was the only thing that produced sound. You were not going to wait for their answers; it didn’t matter anymore.

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

The first thing you did when you got to where you were staying was take those awful shoes off. Sighing, you relished the way the cold floor felt under your feet. Walking up the stairs to your room, you started discarding your garments and changed into your pajamas. Charging your phone, you flopped into the bed, not even bothering to answer the worried messages from your friend. Face planted between the soft pillows, you groaned. A muffled sound escaped from your body. You surrendered yourself to sleep, and this time you didn’t dream.

The sound of a girl singing woke you up. Groaning, you spun, placing your pillow over your ears. The noise stopped, then it began again. Protesting, you shuffled again, blinking slowly. With your eyes still blurry and a saliva trail traveling from your chin to your neck, you located your buzzing phone, groaning louder.

Snatching your phone, you were ready to curse. “Who—”

“Good morning, sunshine!” Layla spoke, cheery as always.

Huffing, you let your head fall into your pillow, tired.

“I don’t bother you when you sleep.” Your voice was slightly muffled.

“I know, but you shouldn’t sleep when you are actively looking for a job.” She was amused, like bothering you made her happy. After a beat, she added, “It’s midday.”

Lifting your face, you looked at the phone, it was twelve thirty. How many hours did you sleep? It had felt like an eternity since you last rested, your body was so deprived that it screamed for you to keep sleeping.

“Sorry, it was a tiring day.” Sitting up, your mouth felt pasty and lips dry. Looking around, you saw the sunlight peeking through the blinds. Clothes were discarded on the floor, making a mess. You saw a damp stain on your pillow, instinctively cleaning your chin with the back of your hand.

“It’s a brand-new day, though!” You knew she was teasing you, so you just sighed, letting her finish. “I have good news for you.”

With your interest piqued, you hummed, signaling for her to continue.

“Beomgyu talked to some of his friends. I think his name was Taehyun, I don’t remember.” For a few seconds you could only hear static, probably because she was thinking. “Ah, whatever. I got you an interview at his company.”

“Really?” You suddenly felt awake, your eyes clearer now. “What’s the position?”

She made a sound that could only be described as nervousness. “Yeah… That’s the issue…”

Raising your eyebrows, you pushed the covers of the bed and got up. Stretching your limbs, you let a tiny sound escape your lips. “Just tell me already.”

“It’s for a matchmaking company.”

“A matchmaking company?” Your question hung in the air, stopping you mid-stretch.

“Y—yeah. But you will not match anybody; you’ll be working in the data department.”

A wash of relief fell through your body, relaxing your muscles. “When is the interview?”

Glancing at your phone, you tapped the speakerphone button, looking for the calendar. Today was Thursday.

She sighed apologetically. “Tomorrow.”

“I’ll do it.”

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

The black business pants you decided to wear were too warm for summer. The sleeves of your white button up were rolled up until they reached your elbows. Dangling from your ears were earrings, showing themselves because your hair was up. Beads of sweat slowly formed in your collar and forehead; you prayed that your makeup wouldn’t melt. Fanning your right hand in front of your face to try and lower your body temperature, you gazed up at the time. Two minutes left until your interview.

The need to succeed was slowly clouding your mind, because this was an established company. You had done your research, even when they have a few—two, to be clear—soulmate seekers, they had an impressive success rate. It didn’t matter if they weren’t soulmates, they just had an eye for spotting potential good couples. You hadn’t heard of them before Layla, she told you over the phone everything you needed to know. It just took you one afternoon to know everything about them—oops, perhaps you were a little bit of a stalker. Being ready for a plethora of questions, even rehearsing a few times in your room, you had no reason to feel nervous.

You heard the secretary call your name. He stood tall by the foggy glass doors, patiently. Walking, you tried to see his nameplate from the corner of your eye.

“Thank you, Mr. Choi.” You nodded curtly, waiting for him to let you in.

“Soobin is fine, no worries.” His lips spread into a soft smile as he opened the door.

The scent of sandalwood clouded the room; it made the office more harmonious. The space was broad and tall, to the right there was a window that took over the whole wall. You could see the view of the city, sunny and cloudless. The white carpet absorbed the sounds of your heels while you scanned the bookshelves filled with binders and books. There were a few paintings of flowers hung on the walls and a brown leather couch placed in front of the window alongside a small coffee table. Towards the back of the room was Taehyun’s dark wood desk, with two silvery-black chairs in front of it. He was looking at his computer’s monitor intently, eyebrows furrowed.

Clutching your purse tightly, you stood at a respectful distance. He noticed you after a few seconds, smiling diligently. Calling you by your last name, he asked for you to sit down.

“Good morning, Mr. Kang.” You spoke, your voice stable and business-like. Your nervousness was buried behind a well-crafted persona.

He chuckled, watching you closely. He then addressed you by your name. “Taehyun is fine. I know you are well acquainted with my friend.” He took a pause, arranging the pile of papers on his desk. After that he took three stapled sheets carefully; he didn’t even bother giving them a glance. That was the CV you sent Layla yesterday. You felt a tug at your heart. Did he not care about you that much?

“Your resume is very… interesting. I have some knowledge about physics. Physicists are often required to run computer simulations for their research. Was your scope computational physics? Is that why you took so many coding courses?”

Crossing his arms, he waited for your reply, his gaze focused on your figure. He seemed confident, too confident for someone who received this information on a rush. Like he had studied this a million times already.

“Yes and no. Many of those were mandatory for me; others I took for fun. I took some side jobs as a programmer purely for need. I then discovered that data science was a comfortable place to be in.” You inhaled, debating internally if you should be sincere. “It was never my plan to settle in physics, though.”

“Hm… I’m going to be frank with you. Your background is somewhat unusual for what my company looks for in data analysts.” He shrugged, placing your curriculum in a pile of papers to his right. “We match people. We track their first, second, and third dates—even their marriage. Every day we handle sensitive information from our clients; they expect us to be the best. What do you know about confidentiality?” Narrowing his eyes, he raised an eyebrow.

Shifting to a more comfortable position, you opened your purse, rifling through its contents until you found a plastic folder full of paper sheets. “A year ago, I had the opportunity to do an internship at a hospital. I worked to maximize efficiency, find patterns, and develop algorithms.” Pointing towards your CV, you shrugged. “I have handled sensitive information before. My past work helped me grow a sense of discretion. I was also instructed by their seniors on ethics, morals, and boundaries.”

You had rehearsed this one. You knew you were probably going to be asked this, so the answer was easy. If you were a CEO, you would also like to know the answer to this. If he were to hire you, you knew he had to consider his clients’ privacy.

“If you were asked to disclose personal information about another matchmaker’s clients, how would you respond?” He shifted slightly, hovering above his desk.

“I would ask them to go directly to said matchmaker. My job is to analyze data, not to disclose or provide. That’s another department’s problem. It could also be foul play, but I won’t theorize. Again, that is not in the scope of my position.”

He leaned back in his chair, his intertwined fingers covering his mouth.

“Fair enough. I would like to know, and you can be honest with this.” He paused. “Why work here? You seem to do fine with science. Given your expertise, I would even advise you to pursue a position in a research company or a tech lab. What made you accept the interview?”

This was a usual question in job interviews; it was perhaps the most common one, yet the one you had not prepared for. Every time you tried to answer to your inquiring reflection in the mirror, your words were cut off mid-sentence. Gulping down saliva, you smiled.

“There are many reasons, but the most important is that I understand people through numbers. This is as close to understanding society as I’ve gotten so far. This position will perhaps help me grow skills, but what I’m mostly looking forward to is how it is going to help me shape my future.”

He nodded, scribbling something on his notepad.

The whole fifteen minutes your interview lasted, he seemed unfazed but friendly. After it ended, Soobin opened the door for you, waving you goodbye warmly.

Leaving the building, the sunrays clashed against your body clad in black. Heels clanking against the pavement, you walked. For the next forty-eight hours, you pushed the interview to the depths of your mind, locked it, and kept searching for jobs. While you were chewing a banana on your bed, your phone rang. It was a call from an unknown number; picking up, you heard Soobin’s voice. The position was yours.

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

“I spent my whole weekend ranking on League."

Chuckling, you took a bite from your lunch. Pointing your fork towards your friend, you shook your head. “You know, three years ago I thought you were a boring businessman who took care of plants and liked to exercise. Turns out you are a huge nerd.”

“Oh, don’t start. You want to know what they call you?” Soobin’s tone progressively became more mischievous.

Narrowing your gaze, you took a sip from your water. “What do they call me, Soobin?”

Taking a pause to add a little bit of dramatism, he spoke. “The machine.”

“Pfft…” You couldn’t help but cackle at the stupid nickname your coworkers had for you. He laughed with you, showing his perfect teeth.

When both of your laughs faded, he waited five whole seconds to study you and ask. “You know, for the whole three years you have been here, I have never seen you take a day off. You never call in sick either.”

You shrugged. “I need the money. Rent and groceries, all that adult stuff.”

“That’s not healthy.”

You rolled your eyes. “You take two-week breaks to lock yourself in your flat to play League of Legends or watch anime.”

“Keep deflecting.” He looked at his smart watch, furrowing his brows. “Isn’t your friend’s wedding soon?”

Suddenly your food felt like sand in your mouth. You were avoiding the topic as much as you could. Even when you couldn't, you were the maid of honor. Chugging down some water, you nodded. “Soon in about a month.”

“Am I still your plus one?” His voice was calm, his eyes pleading silently.

“You just want to be my plus one to try and find your soulmate.” Looking at your watch, you started packing your lunch back into your lunch box.

“I already have a soulmate. And it is League of Legends.” He spoke so firmly, so seriously, that you deadpanned.

“You are like a pyramidal scheme; on the outside you look like a handsome, well-mannered man. But on the inside, you are a degenerate who only likes to play games and watch shit all day.” Sitting up, you led the way towards the building, leaving a few meters of distance between you and him.

“You think I’m handsome?” His voice echoed through the dining room; he trotted towards you, catching his breath.

Looking at him over your shoulder, you gave him a lopsided smile after a pause. “When you shut your mouth.”

You opened the door just before he started complaining and groaning.

You walked Soobin like a petty and spoiled princess towards his desk. Your department was two floors below, but after lunch you always left him there. You both liked to tease each other and took turns to leave one another at their respective workplace. You waited patiently for Soobin to sit down.

You cleared your throat, crossing your arms behind your back.

“Mr. Choi, good afternoon.” He frowned, taken aback, as if you hadn’t just been bantering with him five minutes ago. “I would like to request a meeting with Mr. Kang as soon as possible.”

He didn’t ask questions; this was the work face of Choi Soobin. He did his labor as diligently as possible. “He has an opening in two hours. Is that okay, miss?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Choi. I’ll be here soon.” You nodded and walked towards the elevator.

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

The ding in the elevator signaled that you had arrived at your floor. With your free hand, you adjusted your pencil skirt slightly, holding a pile of papers in the crook of your right arm and a heavy bag hanging from your hand. Walking the long hallway to Taehyun’s office, you took some time to rethink your decision.

Your conversation with Soobin struck something in you. Everybody in the building had heard of that one woman from the data department that had so many vacation days accumulated that she could probably take a whole year off if she wanted to. It was pathetic. You felt a little bit pathetic.

Soobin’s serene face was a wash of relief. Most of your working hours were filled with professional interactions. You both liked to keep it that way even when most of the office knew you both were close. Some even, mostly the ones doing the matching, liked to theorize that you both would end up together—in true matchmaker fashion. But your friendship ran deeper than just office hours and rumors; you had been each other’s support for the last three years. He knew more about you than anyone in this office. Both of you looked out for each other.

He called you by your last name, leading you to the now-known office. “You are most expected.” And when you brushed past his shoulder, he whispered so subtly that you almost didn’t catch it. “I hope you make a good decision.”

The sandalwood scent was the same as three years ago. Taehyun's eyes were narrowed, his gaze focused on his monitor. He blinked a few times when he saw you. “Please come in. Soobin told me you requested a meeting.” He gestured towards the same chair you had sat for your interview. You obliged in silence. “You usually book them a few days in advance. Is something the matter?”

“I’d like to request some time off.” You said matter-of-factly. “Four weeks.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, surprised. “You’ve never taken a vacation.”

“I know.” Tapping your fingers slightly on the pile of papers you have, you inhaled. “I got ahead of my work by one and a half months. I’m still planning on taking tasks for my break. I won’t slack.”

Taehyun’s mouth hung partly agape, at a loss of words. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “You are always ahead anyway." He pointed an accusatory finger at your face. “If you are going to take a vacation, you are going to do it the right way. I won’t allow you to work from home.”

“B—but…” You stammered.

“Besides, and I’m sorry to pry. This might be thanks to Beomgyu's wedding? You know I won’t be mad at you for taking a vacation.” Shaking his head disapprovingly, he snatched the bundle of papers away from your hands. “I’m not a tyrant. On the contrary, I’m glad you finally took this decision.”

It took you a whole minute to register what had happened. “Thank you.”

He nodded curtly. “I know I’m your boss, and you earned your position, but you are important to me because you matter to my friend, Beomgyu. And beyond that I care about my workers.” Shrugging, he scribbled on a notepad. “This is my number. Use it wisely.”

As always, Soobin opened the door for you. You thanked him, still in awe. Walking towards the elevator, you stopped just enough for Soobin to see you. He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m going to the countryside.”

He blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah.” A breathy response came from your lips.

“What about the wedding? Aren't you the maid of honor? When will you be back?” He stopped whatever he was doing to focus fully on you.

“I’ll be back soon, I swear. I’ll be in touch, just don’t forget to call me.” You felt your ears buzzing, a tingling sensation creeping from your fingers.

“Oh my god, you are actually doing it.” He seemed to finally process your words.

“I’ll see you around, loser.”

Walking fast towards the elevator, you went to your office and packed your things. You purposefully left your cat trinket in the middle so it would look after your desk. Your coworkers eyed you curiously from their own cubicles. You didn’t mind.

Walking in the parking lot, you found your car. The winter breeze hit your face, making your eyes water and your body shiver. You were so rushed that you forgot to wear your blazer and jacket. You almost tripped mid-walk thanks to the lack of friction between your heels and the snowy pavement. The cloudy sky loomed above, an antithesis to the bubbling feeling underneath your skin.

The drive home was quiet; the radio was off. You made sure to button up your jacket before carrying your things inside. The living room was cold, the last sunrays illuminating the walls. Kicking off your shoes, you tossed your keys onto the little wooden table positioned next to your entrance. You ran to your room, rummaging through the closet to find your old and scratched purple suitcase.

Dropping it onto the mattress with a thud, you took out clothes. You took the time to fold them. Even though your luggage had space for 23 kilograms, you wanted to make sure everything could fit. You packed essentials and layers to stay warm.

The cabin your parents bought before you were born was almost abandoned. Nobody went there except for your dad, who visited twice a year to clean and declutter. It was in the countryside, surrounded by thick woods that stretched for kilometers. When you were little, your dad used to scold you every time you went near the trees, afraid that you might get lost. He knew kids were curious, so he always walked with you into the woods, pointing out the birds you both saw.

You had a spare key to the place; your dad insisted you have one—even your mom did. You knew he wanted you to always have a physical piece of him, because you used to take father-daughter trips there, as well as family vacations. It was his way of holding onto you. You chewed on your index nail, thinking about what else you needed to bring and where you kept the key.

It was a three-hour drive from your apartment, two if you were lucky with traffic. Hurrying, you packed your last pair of hiking shoes. You went to the bathroom, fetched everything necessary—skincare, makeup, toothbrush, soap—and stored it in three pouches.

You zipped the suitcase shut and slung the backpack over one shoulder. Walking towards your closet, you crouched, rummaging through shoe boxes until you found a hot pink one decorated with silver stars. Opening it, you found the keys, attached to a keychain with a cat.

You were ready.

When you reached for your door, you went rigid—you were still in your work attire. Sighing, you shrugged. You could change when you arrived.

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Upon opening the door to the cabin, a puff of dust greeted you. Coughing loudly, you waved the particles away. You had to turn on your flashlight because the lights were not turning on; the power was probably cut off. Leaving your belongings in the entryway, you walked downstairs, feet wobbling thanks to your work heels, until you found the light switches. While on the road, you had called your dad to let him know you would be staying here for a few weeks. As oblivious as he always was, he just asked you to clean the place for him. To keep it tidy and familiar.

He gave you some instructions. First, turn on the light switches. Second, please move everything before sleeping to avoid any unwanted bugs. Third, don’t forget to connect the fridge to the power (and everything else on that note). Lastly, he emphasized that you should never wander into the woods alone—not by day, not by night, never.

When you finally managed to complete the short list of instructions—except for the last one—you sat on the couch with a thud. You swept pearls of sweat from your forehead, closing your eyes. You still had to buy groceries, set up the TV, and buy some books to keep you entertained, among other things. Because you left on such a whim, you forgot to pack any sort of entertainment. Surrendering to your fatigue, you fell asleep.

The first week, you focused only on errands. When you finally got the house all together, you didn’t know what to do. You stood in the living room thinking hard; your mind went to Soobin. How did he manage to not go insane without work? You liked being productive. It kept you busy, and while doing so, it helped you live. You used to be fun and enjoy your solitude while daydreaming; you needed to find yourself again. That day, you bought a sketchpad and a set of pencils. There was a time when you drew a lot, but suddenly you stopped. It was a good time to resume this hobby; the scenery was beautiful, and it helped inspire you.

So, the second week, you strolled absentmindedly through the meadow next to your house, actively avoiding the forest. You carried a blanket in the crook of your left arm and the sketchpad and pencils in the other. Whenever you found something interesting, you placed the blanket on the ground and started sketching. Sometimes it took a few minutes to draw something; other times you spent entire afternoons at it. You religiously went home by seven, when the sun was setting, avoiding the darkness of the night. After that you spent your nights cuddled with a blanket and some chamomile tea.

But the third week was the one that mattered. A much more familiar nightmare came back. This time you only saw yourself falling, and it was continuous. You couldn’t remember the beginning or the finale of it. You only woke up startled, breathing unevenly, sweat pooling on your chest. So, you started to avoid sleeping early. Instead, you decided to push yourself out of your comfort zone and gaze at the stars. It was mid-winter, so you had to dress warmly and bring blankets to avoid getting sick.

The first time you did it, you embarrassingly avoided letting your gaze linger for too long. It had been some time since you stargazed. You weren’t thirteen anymore, yet you felt juvenile. Your feet churned, fingers trembled, and eyes felt big and innocent. There was a faint spark in your irises, so ephemeral that somebody might miss it. But by today, Friday, you were shameless. Counting stars and getting excited when you saw shooting stars—not making wishes this time; you knew better by now.

You heard your phone buzzing, so you sat up. It was a message from Soobin. “Bro, when r u coming back? Everyone here is so boring.” You smiled, getting a second message. “Believe me, Seulgi has been trying to eat lunch w me. She giggles every time I make a joke. And u know my jokes suck ass.”

When you were about to type in your answer, you heard a twinkling sound coming from the darkness of the foliage behind you. The woods. You spun, still sitting. It rang again, making your frown grow. Your cabin was secluded enough that nobody would be there, but it was weird. The sound didn’t seem like it was mocking you, or even taunting you, but rather calling for you. If you scrunched your nose hard and closed your eyes, you could barely make out your name from it.

There was silence, a deafening one. You swore you could hear a pin drop. It felt like years of your life passing by, waiting impatiently. Then there was a light, twinkling in the middle of the woods. It was beating, like a heart. Startled, you gawked at it for a few moments, a fire igniting underneath your skin, possessing your senses. A sharp pain blazed on blazed on your lower back. You sat up, leaving everything behind, the blankets, your phone, your food, and followed it towards the greenery. The rational part still in you fighting inside your skin, praying for you not to go. You went anyway.

The golden light waited for you. Upon reaching it, everything seemed to blur. Your ears buzzed, you could only hear your heavy breathing and the dried-up leaves crunching under your weight. You walked for a few minutes, not sure where it was taking you. You were fully aware of your senses; you had control over your body. But there was a cloud fogging your ability to be logical. When you saw a few bush branches blocking your path you moved them aside. You stopped; the blinking of the light seemed to augment its frequency until it became blinding. It exploded, wanting to be seen, encompassing every crevice of the woods.

You moved forward with trembling steps. A sweet lull whispered in your ear, words in an unknown language caressing your skin. And then you started falling. You fell for so long you forgot how to count. The contrast between the brightness and the enveloping darkness was dizzying. There was not a single beam of light. You couldn’t tell if this was a tunnel in the earth. The absence of sounds and smells made it hard to decipher.

You could feel the air rushing against your skin, ruffling your clothes and hair. You were thankful that you wore several garments that kept you warm. You were less grateful that you eventually had to land somewhere. Then there was light—not from the sun or the moon, but from the stars. You were surrounded by constellations of heavenly bodies, every single one connected by rivulets of faint white light. They were tangled. They crossed each other’s paths but, in the end, there was always one thread connecting them.

For a moment you were suspended in space, not moving, just floating. It felt as if the universe wanted you to take in the scenery, to engrave it in your brain. You opened your eyes as much as you could, heart beating fast, mind so awake that your lungs stung. It was too much for one human brain to handle, to understand, to decode. But you tried so hard that you forgot what was happening in the first place, that you were falling into an unknown void. It was fleeting. After a minute or two—you had already forgotten how numbers worked—your world spun frantically. You were a tangle of limbs falling from the sky, and that was all you could grasp.

You ended up hitting hard against the soil, but it wasn’t as hard as it should’ve been. Something stopped your fall—or at least tried to.

“Fuck!” Muttering under your breath, you closed your eyes, trying to get rid of the vertigo. Inhaling and exhaling so fast made you lose grip of your senses.

Maybe it was because of the adrenaline, but the pain didn’t hit you at first. It was the churning of your stomach that bothered you. Forcing your eyes open, you tried to focus them. You could see blobs of green and dark brown, everything whirling. Getting your hair out of the way, you vomited, emptying the contents of your stomach. Stabilizing your breath, you stood still for a whole minute, grimacing.

Your whole body trembling, you shyly moved your fingertips, feeling the texture of the earth and muddying your nails. You opened your eyelids slowly, afraid that you might shatter. Emerging from your invisible shell, you took the time to take in where you landed.

You had seen this before. You could never forget such a sight. It was exactly as you recalled. You were surrounded by tall grass, that swayed with the soft breeze, tickling your exposed skin once more and shuffling stray strands of your disheveled hair. It was nighttime, its freshness snapping you back into reality. Or was this just a dream? It felt so real, so vivid. So alive.

Eyes wide-open, you stared at the sky. It felt as if the firmament was breathing, its mere existence proving that the universe is more than just numbers. You had seen a starry night so beautiful three years ago in the bathroom of your favorite restaurant. But now it was different, you could feel it. It smelled divine, earthy, fresh, floral. The moon glowed in its grand spot. Its argent rays kissed the meadow in front of you, giving you the pleasure of seeing such beauty.

There were no signs of civilization, no houses, no tower of electricity, no unnatural lights—nothing. You could’ve stayed there forever but something deep inside your mind told you to move. Getting up, you whined softly, your left ankle hurting. You had sprained it during the fall. It took you some tries to fully get on your feet, your legs quivered, making you drop to your knees a few times. You knew where you were standing: the edge of the woods. Behind you were meters and meters of thick foliage. In front of you, there was a vast prairie. At the horizon, not too far away, you saw a gold light fluttering. You knew that it wanted you to follow it.

“F—fuck.” Cursing under your breath you tried walking. Limping, you advanced a few steps until your knees hit the ground once more. Frustrated you gave up and leaned into the grass, the long green strips enveloping your figure. You allowed yourself to relax, to try to even register what is going on. Eyes closed, you thought about everything leading up to you laying in a field. Everything felt like a rushed fever dream, it couldn’t be real. There was magic in your world, but that one was rotten. Soulmates were a faulty system—you wouldn’t call it magic. The worst part of it is that you left Soobin on read… He probably will whine about it for a month and—

“Are you okay?” A cheery masculine voice called from above you.

“Holy shit.” Startled you opened your eyes, trying to scurry away. Wincing when you moved your leg.

His sparkling eyes roamed curious over your figure. He wore white clothes that were akin to pajamas, probably? They were flowy, leaving room for him to relax in his garments. His features were otherworldly; you have never seen such a bone structure. His fair skin and blushed cheeks were a pleasant contrast. His ashy blonde hair was so harmonious with the rest of his look that you questioned if you were awake.  Your main concern were his ears, pointy and flushed. Why were they pointy?

“Didn’t meant to scare you. You seem to be in pain. Do you need help?” Crouching he offered a hand—even his hands were delicate. There was no sign of labor in them.

“Could you please answer some questions?” You lay awkward on the floor. Your body ached so much, especially your lower back, that you decided to not move. He nodded, raising a brow. “Who—Wha—W—Where are we?” You facepalmed yourself in your mind for stammering.

“What a silly question. I’m guessing you are not from here, you’re in my backyard.” A crooked smile took over his lips. He tilted his head slightly, showing a little bit of his collarbone. He had a star shaped mole.

Clearing your throat you licked your lips. “Sorry. What is your name?”

“I’m Huening Kai, but everyone likes to call me Hyuka.” Stretching his hand further he seemed like he really wanted you to shake it, so you complied. He looked like a friendly person. His touch was oddly cold, opposite to the warmth is looks radiated. “You?”

Mumbling you told him your name and then pointed to your ankle. “I sprained it…on the way here.”

He hummed, grabbing his chin. Thinking. “You can come to my house. I’m sure my parents won’t mind, and my older brother might help me heal you.”

Unsure you bit your bottom lip, the instant pain distracting you from the way your body screamed for a proper bed. “Okay, you’ll have to help me. Is it too far?”

“Not really, no. We’ll walk together. Don’t worry.” Helping you up—still weirded out by the lack of heat—you allowed him to hook your arm over his shoulders. “You seem pretty beaten up.”

Bearing your weight on him, you laughed nervously. “It was a long way here.”

Kai smelled nice, a smell you couldn’t quite place. But it made you incredibly sleepy. He led the way through the night with knowing steps, not doubting once. You felt half guilty because you didn’t follow the golden light once more, but you couldn’t move properly in your state. So, this was for the better.

A smile crept into his face before proudly saying, “My brother Yeonjun is good at healing. He’ll help you; he is the nicest.”

tysm for reading till the end <3

[knmaskitten]

I initially thought i would be able to publish a fanfic in a week, university and life had other plans for me FUCK

[knmaskitten]

Silent cry of a lonely star

Prologue: room for us.

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ᨀ. series summary ☆

After years of fighting against the universe's will, you decide to guard your feelings. Everybody around you had the chance to find love—everyone but you. With the resolve of focusing on your physics major, you graduate, without the will to pursue a career in it. Ignoring the protest of your parents, you start job-hunting until your friend Layla sets you a work interview for a matchmaking company. Reluctantly you go, needing the position you had nothing to lose. When you were accepted you were stationed on the data department, not daring to go near the "matchmaking" area. Three years later you're burnt out, so you took a vacation to the countryside, staying on your family's dusty cabin. Not really knowing what you were seeking. With a love for the stars, you kept your evenings gazing up at the firmament. Until one of those nights, you end up chasing an intriguing gold light floating through the woods, whispering your name.

ᨀ. wc. ☆ 2.3k

ᨀ. pairing ☆ Choi Yeonjun/reader.

ᨀ. genre ☆ drama, angst, fluff, fantasy, smut, soulmates.

ᨀ. type ☆ Prologue.

ᨀ. warnings for this chapter ☆ no use of y/n. This chapter is pretty light since it is just the introduction. It is angsty tho.

ᨀ. mar's note ☆ I was just listening to i'll see you there tomorrow and I had this idea. it is inspired by the fantasy genre (mainly the cruel prince by Holly Black), and soulmates but specifically crystal by Joss Stirling.

When you were thirteen years old, you used to gawk at the starry sky often, which looked so far away, vast, and enigmatic. And you felt butterflies in your stomach. Somewhere in the stars rested comfortably your fate. The summer breeze was warm yet refreshing, your young eyes sparkled under the twinkle of the constellations. Fingers brushing against the fresh grass, a distant melody playing in your ears. A magical moment, you thought. Your age did not stop you from fantasizing about soulmates, which were a wonderful occurrence. At least for everyone.

The first time you heard about them, you were around six years old when you read a fairy tale about a princess that met her love in every single life she had. You were far too young to understand some of the implications of meeting someone in every timeline, however, the way the author wrote the first encounter of the girl and the boy made your tiny heart leap.

The princess was reading in her library when the boy interrupted her reading. He had the most beautiful eyes, yet he was a commoner and a wanted criminal. She couldn’t shake the feeling that swept her from her feet when they locked gazes. Usually, soulmates have their own unique way of communicating when you have met the right person. In this case, you could see a shift in the irises of your partner. The tone usually was a product of how you were feeling. So, the girl’s eyes turned a warm and light peach, and the boy’s irises became deep blue.

Not being able to contain your emotion, you jogged toward your mother. With one hand, you clutched the skirt of your dress in a tiny fist to avoid tripping while the other held the book behind your back. With a wide smile plastered across your face giggling; you spotted your mother. She waved at your tiny figure, and you hugged her right leg.

“Mommy, mommy! How did you meet dad?"

Your curious eyes searched for answers while a confused mother raised her eyebrow, crouching to meet your eyes.

“Now, why would you ask that, my little devil?”

Shying away, you fidgeted with the hem of your sleeves, feet moving a little bit, jittery. The afternoon sun entering through the living room windows clashed with your skin, brightening your soft features. Your mother’s eyes were always so hypnotic; they never lacked the ability to watch through you.

Happily, you held up your book. A girl with blonde hair sat on the edge of a pond. The water glowed; tiny specks of dust floated through the air, circling the face of the princess. Her eyes were focused on a lonely white flower that bloomed on a tiny island in the center of the pool. Her right hand was trying to reach for it.

Your mother’s gaze softened. The shadows shifted across her face while she hid a strand of hair behind her ear. A knowing smile and a sigh. This book used to be hers a long time ago; it had been passed through her family for generations. She kept the tradition alive.

“You want to know about soulmates, don’t you?”

Nodding, you gestured towards the book. And with a high-pitched voice, showing your baby teeth, you said, "Yes! Just like the princess. Are you and dad soulmates?”

Closing her eyes, she tried to hide the bittersweet look on her face; you didn’t really understand what this meant—not yet. Standing, she took your hand and walked you towards the couch. Grabbing you so you could sit beside her while she hugged you, she reached for the book.

“Well, soulmates seem cool. Don’t they?” You nodded, feet dangling from the brown couch, and you brought one hand to your mother’s, caressing her skin. “Meeting the person that was born to be with you is romantic, to say the least. However, my dear, there are reasons soulmates are complicated.”

Opening the first page to your book, she pointed at the princess.

“But you know, she is a princess. Right? She is usually expected to marry a young prince or even a king. However, her soulmate ended up being a commoner. A queen would not want her daughter with a thief.”

Huffing, you shook your head in protest.

“But they love each other, mommy. Love is awesome.”

“Yes, love is awesome. But you can love someone who isn’t your soulmate. There are instances where you never meet them to begin with. I would even dare say that is the usual.” You wanted to interject before she could continue. “I never met mine. Not even once.”

You tilted your head, not really understanding what she had just said.

Sighing, mommy took your hands in between hers. She looked at you, lovingly, so fond of you.

“Soulmates usually find each other throughout every single life they live. You can count how many you have met by how many star-shaped moles you have on your body. For example, my friend Lily has met her partner sixteen times, all of these are marked on her body. I, however, have none. No star shaped mole.”

Switching between looking at the drawing of the princess and your mom something clicked inside yourself. You brought your index finger towards your mouth, biting it lightly. Thinking hard, trying to stop the waves of worry that overcame you.

She understood you, she had to live this same truth with her mother.

“Yes, love. This does mean your dad and I aren’t fated to be together.”

You pouted, disappointment taking over your body. Your mom patted your back.

“Dear, this does not mean you will suffer the same fate. But do not make your life based on the hope of finding a soulmate.” She smiled, sincerely. Letting you go so she could sit properly, she showed you her lower back, where a lonely lily of the valley could be seen. This wasn’t one of the things people got with the needles. It looked like a birthmark.

“This is what our family has had throughout the years. None of your relatives has met their soulmate, but we inherited this. We might not be a part in the play of hopeless romantics, but the universe still made room for us.”

You remained silent, not daring to ask what you wanted. Fearing the answer.

And, years after that, you have never said it out loud.

From that moment onwards you kept your family secret to yourself, trying to not feel shame or sorrow. When you were ten, your father found his soulmate. You were not naïve anymore; you could read between the lines and understand what was at play.

The conversation you once had with your mother was replaying in your head while you heard them discuss it downstairs. He was communicating the fact that he met his once-thought-lost partner. You loved your dad; he was the best man you have ever met. He took so good care of you and showed his affection constantly. His demeanor was always calm and soft-spoken, he patted your head often. This overlapped with the man you were hearing today. He was completely broken.

You crawled a little bit closer to the edge of the stairs so you could see a little bit better. Mom and dad were a few feet apart, him in the kitchen and her sitting at your dining room. She was very quiet, looking at every movement of his, yet her eyes were distant. As if they were on another land.

Urging your mother to answer he let the tears slide through his cheeks. Pleading to her for an answer, a sound, anything. He never stopped talking, telling her how much their marriage meant to him and that he would never leave her because they loved each other. Because he loved his family.

So, it was a surprise when your mother got up and walked close to him. She placed her right hand on his right shoulder, smiling. And said, “I think is best if we get a divorce.”

You placed your hand on your mouth, muffling your cries, taken aback. Pulse racing, you crawled back to your room and cried yourself to sleep, worrying about the fate of your family. Your father had left the house the next morning.

Trying to play dumb, you asked where he was. Your mother shrugged and said that her feelings for him had changed, and they decided to part ways.

You knew it was a lie.

You never really lost hope, being young had a certain magic. You fought the knowing truth about your family. Even when it was tattooed on your brain, scalding, hurting. Always finding a way to comfort yourself, you kept living. That year you spent your summer break looking at the stars so many hours you started to recognize constellations. You were hoping to find a message destined to you—at least something had to be made for you.

You grew, fighting to keep the illusion alive. Even now that you were seventeen you had dreams of the stars, of places you have never visited. But it was all imagination and a longing for love. But yesterday, your last day of school before graduating, something changed within you.

You liked a guy whom you knew was not destined to be with you, but you never really cared. If your parents had managed to be together for a decent amount of time, you could live happily for a few years as well. It was what you could allow yourself.

You had met Beomgyu in your first day of high school. He was pretty and cheery, he looked otherworldly, ethereal even. His features were not common, which made him popular in your school. Since soulmates were the craze lately, because a famous actress found her soulmate, every girl dreamed about being his fated partner. You didn’t, you at least wanted to live an ordinary life. As close to normal as you could get. He was always so kind and attentive with everyone that it was hard to stop the fantasies; however, he had a certain liking to you. He usually spoke to you on the hallways, asking for notes or for your opinion after class.

Today, you were both walking out of school. You asked him if he could speed up because your best friend Layla was waiting outside for you. A few meters from the entrance he changed the usual conversation topic.

“Hey, do you like movies?” His hands were hidden inside his sleeves, a little smile forming on his lips. He looked shy, timid, almost nervous. It was odd seeing someone so tall get shy.

You took a few seconds to answer, laughing a little.

“Why? Yes, I love movies. I like going often to the cinema as well.” Stealing a few glances from him, you waited for his answer.

“I was wondering, since its summer break, do you want to watch a horror movie with me?”

He said that while he waited for you to cross the doors first, then following you. You found this cute, he was attentive. Not being the type to date a lot, you felt special. A little bit. You were not dense enough to not notice that this was not a friendly invitation.

Feeling bubbles in your chest, you nodded. “Yes! I love horror” You stretched the ‘o’ in the word love, excited. Spotting your friend, you walked towards her. “Right. I realized I have never given you my phone number. Here let me…”

Trailing off because you noticed he wasn’t listening anymore, you stopped walking. His eyes were set somewhere ahead of you, attention fully focused on something else. You searched for what it could be, intrigued, until you saw it.

He was walking slowly towards your best friend, Layla. They were both looking at each other in a way you couldn’t describe. Understanding clicked inside of you when you saw Beomgyu’s dark hair turn pristine white. Your friend’s hair lost all its ginger color, replacing it with the same shade he had. They were in their own world now, seeing and feeling something, you could never have. Never comprehend.

You knew you were getting in their way, so you politely waited on the side, few meters away from them. Not daring to look because it was little bit awkward, you locked your gaze on the dirty concrete instead. Nevertheless, everybody was looking at them, surprised, some girls were cursing because of what this meant. Others had their hands clasped together, dreaming for this to happen to them one day.

Because they had found each other, they were soulmates.

You congratulated Layla and Beomgyu and left them alone. Not even trying to pick up where you left off. He didn’t even try to look apologetic; it wasn’t his fault. It was meaningless now, and you knew better than to meddle. You were genuinely happy for Layla, but there was a certain feeling that bloomed in you that day. You couldn’t describe it perfectly, but you knew it was rotten. The kind of feeling that wilts flowers— twisted in its own way.

You walked slowly to your house that day, expressionless, going straight to bed. You were not in the mood to cry, instead you stared for a long time at the ceiling, thinking. And when the sun was setting, you recalled what your mother had once said, ‘The universe made room for us’. It angered you, to be played with by some unknown force that ruled the earth, that took decisions for you. Why couldn’t you just be happy? As unfair as it was, it was just what was decided for you a long time ago. Eclipsing that anger, was something deeper, hopelessness. And that could not be mended, even though you had worked hard to sustain it, to be happy and live. There was nothing there anymore.

If you couldn’t find love, that was fine. You were not going to hope for it anymore anyway.

Tysm for reading!

[gumdrops-stuff]

[knmaskitten]

Take your mask off

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x reader.

Summary: When Kenma shows up in your living room six years after your breakup, you try to keep it cool. But it doesn't go as planned.

warnings / tags: Angst.

Notes: This can be read as a standalone but it really is part two of my drabble pets. I recommend you give it a quick read before this one so you can catch a few easter eggs I dropped. I love writing for Kenma, enjoy!

wc: 3,464

A breeze—it was all it took to break you down, a mere gust of air. It ruffled strands of hair away from your face, exposing your skin to the icy weather. You let out a sigh that left a fleeting cloud of steam, signaling how the temperature was gradually declining. The streets were packed with rivulets of people streaming to their destinations, your hands fidgeting in the pockets of your long brown coat. You loathed every sporadic little water droplet that fell onto your face, the humidity taking away the scarce warmth you were able to gather. Or were your tears the ones dampening your cheeks? Silently streaming while Vienna was playing on high volume on your headphones. You heard, very clearly with so much attention, how Billy Joel sang: such anguish, such sorrow. The rhythmic clatter of your boots faded into the background, not a single sound daring to interrupt your grief.

You hated how gloomy the day was, fitting for a lonesome evening. As you were approaching your apartment complex, you glanced at the window on the third floor—a white, fluffy speck could be seen. Your cat, Mila, eagerly watched the passerby, resembling a queen gazing from her high, distant throne. Blinking, as tears fell from your eyes, you reached for your keys, swiftly sprinting towards the elevator, careless of the wet tiles.

Standing in front of your door, you felt the storm stirring inside you erupt. Huffing, shakily, you tried to open the door. What welcomed you was not what you expected: a meow, silence, or nothing. But how? You changed the lock after what happened, after he asked you to do so. It absolutely could not be him standing in front of you. It was odd, you thought, how he seemed to be suspended through time; his locks were the same length and color as before. Ah, did he grow a few centimeters taller? Or was it just the effect of his boots, so unlike him since you were accustomed to the sight of him wearing slippers? You noticed him standing on top of the rug. He seemed hesitant, as if dealing with a scaredy feral feline, which he wasn’t very far from. Yet he decided to gift you the faintest of smiles. It couldn’t even be described as one; instead, it was the ghost of a grin.

Jittery and perplexed, headphones still on, lulled by another song that you couldn’t recognize, a fog settled in your head. You felt dizzy, like you were going to throw up, and you dropped your belongings to the ground with a loud thud as you saw the corners of his mouth lift upwards. A plethora of sentences and questions raced through your mind. Unable to speak, you opted for what was most logical.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Scoffing, you closed the door, took off your boots, and exchanged them for a pair of slippers. With a loud sigh, you blinked away the tears in your eyes. Guarding your feelings. The man in front of you was him, really him. After six years apart, he decided to spark your life once again. How dare he. You wanted to break the silence, but a part of yourself did not want to let time fly away, to let him finish his goal. Your heart ached for him, even after six years. Every single fiber of your body reacted to him as if he were some chemicals that burned, tingled, and danced rampant underneath your skin.

He spoke first, after a long pause.

“Alright, so harsh.”

Unbelievable. Was this the way he was going to talk to you after so many years? No. He was not going to. Being unfair to you was something he profusely repeated time after time and one of the many reasons you decided to start anew. You realized your mouth hung agape, closing it quickly, breaking the distance between the both of you.

“You don’t get to wait in my living room wearing those.” Pushing a pair of spare slippers into his hands, you rolled your eyes. “I do not care about the hassle it was for you to travel all the way here, pushing your dumb executive schedule aside just for me. " You feigned being lovestruck, exaggerating your expressions, marking the last word, and then sticking out your tongue, disgusted.

You walked towards the kitchen, placing your scarf and jacket on top of your table. He exchanged his shoes for slippers quickly, as if he were scolded by a parent. Watching every movement of yours, he remained still. He wore a suit, as always, that hugged him too tightly, too gloriously, too perfectly. Too…damned well. But you were not going to let your guard down, not when that date neared soon. So, you decided to do what you were going to do when you got home: organize your groceries and make yourself some excellent Michelin-star-level pasta.

“You will stay for dinner. We will talk. Then you leave. And we continue with our lives.”

He wanted to protest, but you shushed him up. “Ok?”

“Ok.”

“And you will leave the keys.”

“It was weird enough for me to have them…”

“Oh, I know.” You sighed while washing your hands on the kitchen sink. “Why do you have them anyway, weirdo?”

He hesitantly walked through your living room, looking outside the window. The rain grew heavy, nearing its peak time. The floor creaked under his weight while he scanned your bookshelf. Besides being filled with books and trinkets, there was a picture of you and a grey cat. You both looked happy; the frame was decorated in a collage-like style with the name "Taro" on a corner. Averting his gaze, he sighed, defeated.

“I called your sister. I just asked if you still lived here, she laughed through the phone and said I should stop being such a coward and just come.” He shrugged unapologetically as he reached for a book that stood out from the rest. It was pudding-colored and had stickers on its spine.

“She thinks she is so clever, my god, I knew it was a mistake letting her have my keys.” Your sleeves were rolled up until they reached your elbows. Hair away from your face while you chopped the vegetables with a little more sentiment than you dared to admit. “If only I had asked my friend to look after Mila while I was away—Kenma! Put that where you found it.”

You pointed at him with the tip of the knife, eyebrows furrowed. The light above your head made your expression look even more serious. He relished the way you were slowly losing control of your composure; he smiled like a feline. Leaving the photo album where he found it—he knew its contents—he approached you. He didn’t have to look through it to know you hadn’t gotten rid of it.

“We know each other, you don’t have to do that. The formalities.”

You looked at him, chopping faster, gripping your knife until your knuckles turned white. Your face contorted into a scowl, rolling your eyes. His CEO appearance meant nothing to you. You were there when he started, you were with him through college. You were not the one who forced each other onto different continents. You weren’t not responsible for how things turned out.

“We are not even acquaintances—fuck!” You whined, covering your index finger with your free hand. Blood dripped slowly from in-between your fingers. You didn’t even dare to look at him while you let the kitchen’s faucet wash the pain away. The water pooling in the sink was colored scarlet red; it was transparent enough to not worry about it too much. His reaction took you by surprise.

He wrapped his hand on yours, stopping the water with the other one. It was the first time you felt his touch after six years. The adrenaline rush you felt was enough to dull the pain. It was sharp, it was defiant. It was different; it lacked the naivety it frequently had. Instead, it felt like a constant fight. It brought your blood to a boil (not helping your wound at all).

He guided you towards your gray couch, seating you. He didn’t have to say anything; he looked at you, an eyebrow raised. You wanted to object to whatever he was trying to say, ears buzzing. His left hand slid to your shoulder when you were just opening your mouth, the scalding sensation enough to keep your mouth shut. Eyes darting from your clasped hands to your eyes.

“Bathroom, you know where it is.”

Having fetched your first-aid kit, he placed it on top of your coffee table before taking his coat off. Revealing an even tighter white button-down, you couldn’t help but let your eyes roam free over his silhouette. He seemed oblivious as he looked down to unbutton his sleeves, rolling them up. After that, he quickly went to the bathroom to wash his hands.

When he sat next to you to look after your injury, all you could do was avert your gaze.

“You have changed.” You muttered. Then you looked at the way he carefully cleaned your skin, reminiscing about the days he had to look after you because you were prone to accidents. “Some things remain the same, I guess.”

“What has changed?” He inquired, never shifting his attention from your hand.

“Are you taller? You feel taller. Or maybe I’m shorter; I really don’t know.” You brought your free hand towards his arms, softly tracing his skin over the fabric. “You look less scrawny—I swear I’m not insulting you. But I really don’t know; you have grown up, Kenma. I met you when we were starting college, we parted when we were in the beginning of our twenties.”

He didn’t flinch, nor did he back away when you touched him. This was the closest he felt to peace in a while.

“Kuroo has been actively 'inviting' me to the gym. It is not a choice of free will.” He paused the movements of his hands, for a fleeting moment, locking his gaze with yours. “We don’t know each other anymore, I know. Your hair is different, your eyes… don’t look at me like they used to.”

Your free hand gestured to cup his face, but you had to physically restrain yourself from touching his skin. You pursed your lips.

“What else do you expect from me? I really thought we were going to get married.” Before he could reply, you shook your head. “I was willing to follow you wherever you wanted to go. Because we were building our own home, you felt like home.”

“And you? Have you been well? These past years, I mean." Shifting the topic was his last resort, he wanted to avoid talking about their breakup.

“Well enough, I guess. I—um… Today marks the third month of the engagement I broke off.” You laughed, awkwardly, trying to alleviate the tension.

You felt how his movements slowed their pace, hands stiffening. He nodded, his jaw muscles tightening. He reacted the same way he had when he was younger whenever something bothered him. Knowing what this meant, you didn’t reply just yet. Letting him take his time. “How long were you guys together?”

He almost knew this, one lonely evening when he was eating ramen in his apartment alone was enough to make a man lose his head. He had stalked you on Instagram, but he still wanted some kind of confirmation.

“Uh, about two and a half years.”

“Two and a half years” He echoed, flat. Hearing you say it hurt more than he thought, and having to acknowledge this was even more painful.

“I heard you were also dating. Are you guys still together?”

You had the same right to know about him as he did about you. So, you tried to suppress your shame, although that did not stop your body from blushing.

Puzzled, he tilted his head. Then, as sharp as he was, he chuckled a little.

“Tabloids most of the time aren’t true.” When you were about to object, he shook his head. “I had to do a commercial with an idol, there isn’t more to it. She is a very dear friend.”

You nodded, ashamed of yourself.

Finishing up your bandages, he released your hand. Gulping loudly. His eyes had a resolve you hadn’t seen before.

“I never wanted to steal your life."

“What is that supposed to mean?” Adjusting your position on the sofa, you placed a few centimeters between the two of you.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Annoyed, you sighed, grounding yourself.

“You really should stop being a coward.”

He blinked slowly for a little bit, as if trying to muster the courage to say what he wanted. It troubled him, the furrowed brows and averted gaze were clues that gave away how he was feeling.

“You had a scholarship for a master’s abroad. I know you were not going to take it because of me, I overheard you talk about it through the phone. Six years ago. I was just starting my company, and we were talking of moving overseas. I wasn’t going to compromise your future.”

It didn’t hit you at first. But after a few seconds you realized what this meant. Your mind wandered off to the moments before you broke up. When it happened, he said that he lost his feelings for you, that he didn’t see you in his future. That he felt like he couldn’t continue with his life with you in it.

A lonesome tear left a scorching wet trail on your cheek, it threatened to erupt into a messy, raw, and uncontrolled cry.

“You are such a fucking filthy liar.”

Keeping the façade up wasn’t on the table for you anymore, you opened the doors to your real feelings, reaching for every single ounce of pain that has accumulated from the last six years.

“I wanted to feel like I wasn’t robbing you of your life.”

You were now standing up, backing away from him, your back hitting your dining table. You grabbed the wood to keep yourself from falling to your knees.

“I did that stupid master’s—hell, I even have a PhD now. Yeah, I spent these last six years entering academia.”

You laughed between cries, not even bothering to wipe your tears away. You took a moment to sob, to try and still your breaths.

“And you know, it really wasn’t in my plans for you to show up.”

Kenma was sitting on your couch, hands fidgeting. He tried to get up, but you warned him with a finger to remain seated.

“I met a guy. It was around the time I saw you in a magazine with a girl. I thought, if he is moving on, why shouldn’t I? So, as you know, we dated.”

His eyes were the only thing that gave away his pain, he wasn’t going to interrupt you. This was the conversation he wanted to have, the one he regretted not having years ago. His hand brushed through his hair, trying to find some kind of comfort. He seemed nervous about what you were about to say.

“He was my fiancé, Kozume. I was supposed to get married next month.”

That broke something in him. The possibility never occurred to his mind, the one where you got away. Not even after all these years apart did he think you might settle. A brief wash of relief coursed through his body. You had told him you broke the engagement; there was just one question hanging in the air.

Walking towards your frame, he gestured towards your cheeks, restraining himself. He wanted to touch you, but he couldn’t. He felt ashamed for taking a decision that wasn’t his to take. You felt your body grow so heavy you couldn’t muster the courage to move.

“Why did you call it off?” He was blunt, leaving no room for interpretation.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Your voice came out raspy and unstable. The tension was interrupted by the worried meow of Mila; you caressed her behind her ear, giving you a moment to think.

“No, for me it’s not.”

He was walking towards you with each word. Usually, you were able to read him well, but things were different. He was someone you actively avoided throughout these years, having given up on crossing paths with him. But there he stood, in your dimly lit living room. With the sky roaring, filled with thunder and rain. The light hitting his face softened his expression, his hair cascading, framing his features.

He looked honest, as if saying, “This is all there is to me."

You just had to be honest.

“That is a rather easy question, Kozume.”

You didn’t know where you found the strength to walk up to him, to look him in the eye.

“It is because I have never ceased loving you.” You brushed your fingers along his cheek, careful to not burn yourself while doing so. “When I went to do my master’s in France, I had never felt so lonely. I missed you achingly. Every single fiber of my body resented the idea of being away from you. And…God, when I met him, I just wanted someone to extinguish the flame that was ablaze on my body. He did it, I had never felt so at peace. And I so desperately wanted to believe that I was in love, because he was good at keeping me cool.”

Your face was a few centimeters away from him, noses almost brushing each other.

“I called off the wedding because it’s you, Kozume. I have known this truth for as long as I have known you. I know there is not going to be anybody else. It was either you or nothing.”

Closing the distance, you hugged him tightly, feeling a new wave of tears coming from your eyes. Your muffled cries could be heard across the living room.

“I was hoping I could bury our memories underneath my busy schedule, but it always ended up leading me to you. You are so valuable to me. You have no idea the pain I felt when I saw you were moving on. I wanted to reach out. I was desperate, but I felt like you needed to live your life. And I had to explore mine.”

Giving in, he finally hugged you tightly, his arms crossing over your waist, anchoring you to earth.

This dichotomy was rather curious. He felt like he needed to say so much, to fill this empty room with so many words that the silence was unthinkable. But nothing rolled off his tongue. It was as if it were filled with syrupy molasses, preventing him from opening his mouth.

You both stood still. You were still shaking and crying all those tears you knew you had from years ago. He remained there, stroking your back, inhaling your scent. After a while, you left your spot on his chest and looked at him.

Your eyes were red; there was no tear in sight. You stopped being able to cry a few minutes ago. Your cheeks were wet and rosy from the trails that the tears once left. Wiping your face with your sleeve, you blinked to lubricate your eyes that were stinging.

Clearing your throat, you spoke, ever so slightly, feeling minuscule.

“I never wanted to be away… I know you live on another continent; I don’t really care.”

The corner of his lips turned upward, just a tiny bit.

“You were never supposed to be away.” He inhaled, hugging you tighter. “I’m sorry.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You both lay on your couch with the sky dark and a blanket covering both of you. Kenma was sleepy, drawing lazy circles on your back, hugging you tightly, not even giving a hint of wanting to let go. You were caressing his hair, peppering kisses on his cheeks from time to time.

“Kozume?”

“Mmm…?” He asked, yawning.

“How did Taro adapt to a foreign country?”

He smiled, comfortable, eyes closed.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? You are still taking care of him, right? Oh my god… Did he—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he gave you a peck on the lips.

“I wouldn’t know because I never moved overseas. I still live here.”

Your mouth hung agape, dumbfounded.

"Kozume, you have so much to explain.” You drew some of your vowels, disbelieving what you just heard.

“I will. I won’t be going anywhere this time.”

He then kissed you, a real kiss now.

One that was due a long time ago.

Thank you for reading! <3

Masterlist & more.

[knmaskitten]

Chained blossom (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ| Chapter 2

pairing— Jinshi/Maomao.

type— Series, chapter 2.

wc— 2444.

series summary— A banquet must be held for the moon prince. The objective? Finding him a soon-to-be bride. When a letter is sent to Luomen, he confronts Maomao about her relationship with Jinshi. Puzzled, she asks where this was going until she is shown the letter that had the imperial seal. She must attend the gathering not as the apothecary girl, but as Kan Maomao member of the La clan.

warnings— I have read up until light novel 8, so I narrated some of the jumbled details that I remembered. There are major spoilers from LN 5 and characters from LN 7.

notes— Sorry for not updating, life got really busy, I will try to update more frequently but I won't promise anything. This is not proof read, enjoy!.

Having good intuition was key to surviving the palace. Not only because it kept you away from trouble but also because everyone seemed intent on being ambiguous about their intentions. Everything here had a hidden meaning; nothing was as straightforward as it seemed. And, sure, it made sense. You couldn’t be truthful when beheading was the other option. Maomao was currently stationed in Lakan’s state, much to her dismay. Even when Lahan made sure to help her avoid the eccentric strategist.

It was the early morning of the last day of the banquet, and with that came Jinshi’s decision. It wasn’t going to be public yet. The only ones who would know were the lucky lady and her family, but it was pretty much obvious that if you didn’t receive some kind of notice, you just weren’t what the moon prince wanted. Regardless of knowing the answer to this question, a weight had settled at the bottom of her stomach, making her work challenging since she just couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that something bad was going to happen. Call it what you may, she gulped the sensation down and kept examining the report on Haoran. He was a young bureaucrat who worked at the palace, especially overseeing their relationship with the West—which included Shaoh. There wasn’t much merit to his work; he was an ordinary noble doing an ordinary job. A peculiar thing sparked Maomao's curiosity; he had supervised the organization of the arrival of the delegation in which Ayla and Aylin came. She knew Ayla to be much trouble; she had partaken in the production of feifas orchestrated by the Shi clan and had also chased her cousin out of her country. Aylin…Well, the woman wasn’t less trouble than Ayla, but she had significantly done less damage than her. She recalled the conversation she and Lahan had with her: “food for Shaoh or political asylum.” Those had been the terms of their agreement. Although, ultimately, she had been admitted to the rear palace as a consort.

What puzzled Maomao was that this man was clean; there was nothing suggesting he might be betraying Li to Shaoh, which made sense if you were going to be a spy. He had the most connections with Gyoku-ou, the brother of the empress who now ruled the Isei province. She sighed audibly. When she searched the handkerchief, she found aromas that, yes, didn’t originate from the capital, but they could also easily be found in the west—which had lots of trade with Shaoh. So, nothing out of the ordinary. Then why was this man meddling in Jinshi’s affairs? She was given a clear order: search for a man that might be getting too close to Shaoh. But this just wasn’t falling into place.

She clutched the cloth, now washed and dry, in her free hand. Today she must return it to its owner, which made Maomao sulk. Having to interact with nobles drained her energy.

Much to her luck, or lack thereof, Lahan entered the room, grinning.

“Are you there sulking because the Moon Prince might pick a better lady? Don’t worry, sis, we’ll find you an apt suitor for you to continue the family bloodline.”

She glared at Lahan as if to tell him to go die in a pit. That tousled-haired idiot looked by far not better than her, so how dare he make remarks? She quickly cleaned the mountain of paper that was in front of her and got up.

“Again, tell me, how many women have taken interest in you?”

He seemed at a loss for words, and when he was about to object, Maomao smiled and crushed his toes. He suppressed a yelp, defeated, and worked his way towards the table where most of the papers stood. It was useless to hide it from Lahan, he would find out about it soon enough.

“Yang Haoran… I have met with him once. He is…nothing out of the ordinary. However, these numbers here, they look odd.”

Walking near her cousin, she saw nothing strange with what he was pointing at. Numbers were Lahan’s specialty; there was a reason why the four-eyed idiot always carried an abacus. However, to not allow him to get full of himself, she tried to analyze what her eyes were seeing.

In his hands, three documents were splayed out for her to gaze at easily. She didn’t ask what she was supposed to be seeing; the first scroll had records of when the man left the palace. She saw nothing weird, except for the dates. He had left at the same time they had their first trip to the west, which might’ve been a coincidence, but the second one was a letter addressed to Haoran from Gyokuen. It aligns with the time he was supposed to be absent. Had he come? Maomao wasn’t good at remembering things she had no interest in, so she couldn’t be trusted to discern this claim. However, the third one was a complaint from his superiors that the man had been caught slacking during the day. The date matches the time he was supposed to be away.

All of this didn’t make sense; why would he take an absence and then come to work? She felt that she needed more pieces for this to click. She gave the man a look, encouraging him to make a claim.

“I’m just stating the obvious. If you have these documents, then this is a task that falls solely upon your shoulders. Why should I help? I am not given anything in return.”

She didn’t feel disappointed; knowing the penny-pincher that he was, this was very in character for him. Shrugging, she walked towards the door; she knew why he had come. It was time to get ready.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°

Maomao wore the most excellent robes; the tailor Lahan picked was astounding. The fabric came to life under those skilled hands. Today, she was wearing pink and peach garments cinched around the waist. The sleeves were long enough to hide her scarred arm (this was a request from her cousin). The most beautiful pieces of jewelry dangled from her ears and neck: sparkling pink and white beads moved along with the movement of her steps. Today’s banquet was a classical Linese one, everyone sat. She sat alongside Lahan, waiting for their food.

She eyed Jinshi, who sat on the Emperor’s left, to his right was Empress Gyokuyou. All the girls in the room were diligently watching the Moon Prince, and when he smiled, hearts fluttered and small squeals were heard. Maomao rolled her eyes, he was always using his looks to manipulate people.

The first meal was uneventful; she didn’t eat that much, as Lahan had taught her. However, she found herself reaching for the alcohol much more than for her chopsticks. When the intermission came, she was ordered to wait there, much to her dismay.

A man approached her; she recognized him as Haoran. She put her best fake smile on and gestured for him to come near.

“I’m sorry, milady, for intruding.”

“It really is no problem, sir.”

“I just…didn’t have the time to chat with you. I never even asked you your name.”

She saw him wandering near her the other days of the banquet, but he seemed too busy to spare some time, so he just didn’t. She decided to give him the name her cousin had given her that represented her addition to the La clan.

“Lanhua, a pleasure meeting you again, sir.” Fetching a fine piece of cloth from her robes, she handed him the handkerchief he gave her. “Thank you so much.”

He nodded, taking it in his hands, but he gave her a hairpin in return. “Let’s meet up again.” And then he left.

It was an offense to the imperial family to do this when everyone who came knew that the ladies in here might be wed to the Moon Prince. However, that was a tacit rule, so no one could pin it on you if they found out. She hid the ornament in the folds of her robes.

Sensing a set of eyes on her, she caught Jinshi staring. He had his brows furrowed but winked at her anyways. Terrorized, she gulped the rest of her wine; this was going to be a long day.

When Lahan came back, he had a grin on his face; she didn’t bother asking him about it—she had no interest in it whatsoever. When the intermission was over, the second meal had to start. When the server placed the glass of wine along the dish, she grinned. Without thinking much about it, she gulped the wine.

It was pretty much yucky; the wine tasted bitter. She thought it might be one of those wines from the west that went bad because they had been traveling for too long. But they wouldn’t dare to serve this at a banquet where the imperial family is present. Furrowing her brows, drowsy Maomao (she had ingested a good amount of alcohol, too much even for her) felt a tingling sensation taking over her lips and mouth. Something’s up…

Son of a—!

Bitter! Of course, when wine goes bad, it doesn’t taste bitter. It tastes sour. This was tampered with. She was careless and trusting; she never realized she might be a target for poison.

It’s that idiot’s fault!

She recalled the events of the first night when Jinshi approached her; in this war for power, anybody would want to eliminate a threat. She needed to be quick, but her clouded senses had wasted precious minutes trying to think. Her mind was racing. They choose a setting where they knew she couldn’t just get up and vomit. This was so stupid.

Her worries grew when the tingling spread to her throat and limbs; she had trouble breathing. She loved poison, but maybe some part of her fretted that she might die. If she should die, she would want it to be with poison. Sweat ran through her spine; she started to feel lightheaded. She needed to tell somebody; she was so jittery.

“Lahan, the wine is poisoned…” She murmured as she stood, but the world spun, and she fell flat onto the floor.

A simultaneous gasp was heard. Everything went dark for Maomao.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°

By the emperor's orders, Jinshi must pick a girl that very same day. However much the apothecary girl had helped them in the past, she was a mere commoner. She wasn’t raised in the nobility, and frankly, she was just too much trouble for them.

But it was curious how his heart clenched at the sight of Zuigetsu, an odd feeling creeping up his body. He saw a little bit of himself in him, much to his dismay, the moon prince’s purple hair was a reminder. A reminder only he could understand, only he knew what it meant. A secret he knew would cause an outbreak in Li. But however much he knew of love, he was also versed in politics. And the La clan was nothing but trouble, the apothecary coming from a humble background plus the number of enemies “Jinshi” had acquired were a few of the reasons he disapproved of the look in Zuigetsu’s eyes.

Love was not enough sometimes.

“I won’t delay this because of this incident.”

“I know, I have already chosen.”

The way his eyes shone brightly against the dimly lit room was a sign, something he should have commented about but decided he wouldn’t. He simply waited for him to speak, patiently.

“Your majesty will know in due time.”

Before he could reveal the identity of his bride, Jinshi had to make some efforts so Maomao could stay by his side. When his brother dismissed him, he crossed the door’s threshold, breathing in. A few meters away from the room, he exhaled sweat running through his temples. He could only think of her, he knew she had a high tolerance for poison, but when he saw her collapse, his heart sank.

The corridors and roads seemed endless while he trotted towards his state, his pompous clothes drifting in the wind. The turmoil generated thanks to the attempted assassination of Maomao had everybody running towards the infirmary. He had to avoid her at any cost, any interaction between them might endanger her.

So, he sent Gaoshun’s son, Basen. He would have sent his father instead, but he was now serving his majesty. He acknowledged that Basen was rough, a little reckless, and perhaps not fond of Maomao, but he was diligent enough (he had no other choice).

Basen did not understand how such a beautiful man could worry about a lowly woman like Maomao, he questioned his master secretly. He knew better than to say what he thought. Walking fast through the outer court, meters before arriving at the infirmary, he heard a man scream Maomao’s name, he recognized the voice of the strategist of the La clan. Some soldiers were trying to restrain him so he wouldn’t search the entirety of the physician’s place.

He walked carefully towards what he recognized as the ladies that freckled girl always hung out with. He tried to remember their names…

“Sir Basen.” Said one of them respectfully, the other looked skeptical. Almost like she loathed the idea of him speaking to her. “Are you here looking for Maomao?”

He nodded. Both signaled carefully to follow them towards the dormitories, discreetly they walked inside a chamber. Greeting them was a very beaten Maomao, she was crouching, vomiting inside a bucket. There was no trace of the fine lady of the banquet. The makeup was washed away, and her hair was down.

“Maomao, you shouldn’t be up!”

“Miss Yao! I’ll take care of it.”

“En’en, I’m an apprentice too.”

Both helped Maomao up, guiding her towards the bed. He looked away while they tucked her inside.

“Maomao was poisoned, but her body reacts well towards it. We still don’t know the side effects of it, mainly because we don’t know what it is. So, she will have to be under careful examination.” En’en very matter-of-factly spoke, explaining.

“It was so good! Ah.” Maomao grinned, murmuring, eyes closed.

“Maomao! Don’t say that you sound like a freak!” Yao exclaimed, urging the freckled girl to stop talking.

“I am here on behalf of ma—uh, the moon prince. He wants to see you as soon as possible.”

Maomao sat so fast she almost fainted, but she looked annoyed.

“Ugh...No, I want peace.”

And so, she got up, grabbing her physician’s clothes, and walked off, ignoring the protests of her friends.

Thank you for reading!

Masterlist and more.

[knmaskitten]

Chained blossom (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ| Chapter 1

pairing— Jinshi/Maomao.

type— Series? This might be a one-shot, but I might be planning to continue it. Chapter 1/?

wc— 4728.

summary—  A banquet must be held for the moon prince. The objective? Finding him a soon-to-be bride. When a letter is sent to Luomen, he confronts Maomao about her relationship with Jinshi. Puzzled, she asks where this was going until she is shown the letter that had the imperial seal. She must attend the gathering not as the apothecary girl, but as Kan Maomao member of the La clan.

warnings— I have read up until light novel 8, so I narrated some of the jumbled details that I remembered. There are major spoilers from LN 5 and characters from LN 7.

notes— I adore the apothecary diaries, it has been my fixation lately and—yeah, I know—I mostly write reader inserts, but I felt like writing for JinMao. I didn't proof read this oops!

Scattered across the vast land of Li, a wide variety of flowers grew. They peppered the landscape with their own uniqueness and attributes, colors so unique you could hardly see them repeated on another. It is as if this could also be applied to the women of the court, which, of course, Jinshi was well acquainted with. Far away were the times when Jinshi existed as a mere eunuch, his identity hidden behind a façade. Of course, this did not stop women from gazing at him, from judging him. After all, when it came to it, your appearance was defining of your value. Even his brother perpetrated these standards; only the most beautiful women were the ones he visited, flowers he admired. Of course, some of his concubines lacked—so to speak—redeeming qualities, but they of course couldn’t overlook the fact that they were there because politics were at play.

Now that Ka Zuigetsu shone brightly against the sun, as if he were a rare purple stone, he couldn’t hide anymore. This meant a lot of things, but by far the most tedious one was finding himself a spouse. He was twenty years old by now, and he was nearing the age one ought to be wed. And thus, his majesty had a banquet arranged for him to meet the most gracious and delicate petals. It wasn’t the first time; he recalled his time in the west—that one annoying gathering, where he implied to Maomao that he wanted her as his wife.

When bestowed with the opportunity to pick his fiancée, he couldn’t look another woman in the eye. Not when he knew where to find her, and even when he couldn’t reach her physically, he could rely on the memories tattooed on his head. For one, it was troublesome for him; he didn’t want to strip her of her freedom. They both knew that if she were to become his bride, she would no longer be able to do the things that brought her joy.

Lost in thought, alongside a very conflicted Basen, he scanned the documents on his desk. It was a letter from the imperial family, directed towards Luomen. He knew she would look at it in disgust, but he preferred to try.

When her old man called for her, she had to excuse herself from her talk with Yao and En’en, her friends shrugged and smiled reassuringly. Her heart was always happy to see her father, whom she was so fond of. He invited her on a walk, which worried her; his leg wasn’t fit for walks, as it was missing a kneecap.

“Say, Maomao, what is your relationship with the moon prince?” His kind expression never faltered, not even when he spoke about the imperial family.

She was taken aback; something must be going on if he is asking these questions. Moreover, Luomen wasn’t one to act on assumptions, so he must be gathering information. Even if he already had a picture on his mind.

“He is the moon prince, and I am a medical apprentice. I sometimes run errands for him, by his own volition. That is all.” She spoke with her gaze fixed on the ground, almost betrayed by her nerves. He looked at her and smiled; instead of his lips moving, his hands fetched something from the inside of his physician robes—a letter. She looked like a scaredy cat; she recognized that seal. It had to be from Jinshi or worse, his majesty. She prayed that it wouldn’t be the latter, but still, hope could only get you so far. She scanned the contents on the paper; she recognized the handwriting to be Jinshi’s, but it was signed by a higher, far more influential figure, the emperor.

A shiver ran through her body; perplexed, she gave the stupid scroll back to his father and scowled, thinking of him. She was “invited” to the banquet in honor of the moon prince, this time in Li. And not as a food tester, not as a lady-in-waiting. As a potential bride for Ka Zuigetsu. As Kan Maomao, a member of the La clan. She felt like vomiting every time somebody associated her with that eccentric strategist. She was born a commoner and needed to be treated as such; she couldn’t fulfill what was expected of a member of the court. She wasn’t dense, of course; she knew her ways around the nobility, but at the end of the day, when the stars shone brightly on the firmament, she was just an apothecary who grew with impurities, crooked, like a weed. She was nothing more and did not have any ambition to escalate any higher.

So, when her father sighed and looked at the clear heavens, her pulse quickened.

“Maomao, I advise you to assess this situation with utmost care.” He sounded so serene, such an antithesis to what she felt “However, you should also do it whilst taking care of yourself.”

As always, Luomen was so wise and careful. She sighed, grounding herself. Anxiety had no use; she probably couldn’t do anything about it, so she decided to do what she could. With that, she bid farewell to her father and left for the medical office, where she continued working.

The next day, she unexpectedly got the day off. It was under the pretext that higher-ups requested her presence. Yao seemed alert and teased her a little.

“Maomao, if you are slacking off, I’ll grab the spot as best student!” She smiled mischievously, her arms crossed. En’en behind her, admiring her mistress with sparkles in her eyes.

“I will just be worried… Who will eat the frogs I prepare if I’m not here?” She squealed, frightened by the thought of the slimy animal, then she shook her head and said, “Yuck!” Maomao just laughed it off before heading off.

She was summoned by none other than Lahan; when they met, she quirked her eyebrow. He probably knew she would absolutely loathe the idea of being near Lakan, so they resorted to what she could withstand. She didn’t bother greeting him; he—an eccentric one as well—didn’t deserve as much. He looked awfully hurt.

“Come on, Maomao, I’m your older brother!”

Her face contorted into something so horrible, so frightening, that even the ladies-in-waiting shrieked, hiding just a bit behind the man.  Lahan looked beaten; he dropped the subject.

“Ahem, alright. Since you won’t be making a fool of our family at the moon prince’s banquet, you ought to look somewhat decent.” He then stroked his chin; there was not even a sign of a beard to be seen, and he should be old enough to at least grow some “I mean, it is hard to make you look presentable. My numbers don’t even add up! Why you? Your numbers are mediocre at best.”

She crushed her toes with her foot, almost stomping on them. He tried his best to hide the yelp that came out of his lips. She knew even Lahan was jealous of everybody who got close to Jinshi; he said that the numbers he had were beautiful, a work of art. Lahan knew that if the moon prince were a woman, he would have pursued his hand in marriage, or vice versa. Maomao acknowledged such a thing; she, of all of them, saw how he looked with rouge, which was almost as terrifying as declaring war on Shaoh. He possessed the type of beauty one would go to war for.

On the other hand, Maomao knew her value, even if Rikuson had once kissed her hand and told her the contrary. She knew commoners could never dream of this, that she should be grateful. But Jinshi was pristine and immaculate, and Maomao was covered by mud and debris. He belonged to the great heavens; Maomao belonged to the pleasure district. They were so far apart it seemed ridiculous to get offended by what Lahan said, because it was the truth. It truly didn’t add up.

Her chest was flat, and she was scrawny. Ever since living on palace grounds, she had gained a little bit of weight, but nothing worth noting. And this led to her not having…well, you know, a decent chest. Her hair wasn’t silky smooth, nor did it shine under the sun. And overall, she just wasn’t a pleasure to the eye.

“If you are done rambling, could you perhaps tell me why you need me? The banquet is not to be held until the next week.” She always spoke matter-of-factly; her words lacked emotion whenever she was around the La clan. This, of course, did not include Luomen. She had a sense as to why she was summoned but feared that if she said it, it would become true. She did not want to play dress-up with Lahan again.

“You must look presentable. I would have wished to give you some proper manners ahead of time, but a week's worth of work will have to suffice.” He adjusted his glasses as he spoke, his hand clinging to a stack of papers. Perhaps there it was written what Maomao will have to do for the week.

“I am not going to be picked as a bride. You said so.” Her hands were fidgeting behind her sleeves. To the world she looked unfazed, but if you knew her well, you could catch how her eyebrows twitched ever so slightly, the suave movement of her hands beneath her robes, and how her eyes lost some of the color they usually had. It felt like a waste to do this to her; her name wasn’t going to be next to Ka Zuigetsu anytime soon. It was a good day too; there was no cloud to be seen, and the breeze was fresh, heavy with the smell of nature. She wished to be somewhere else, where nobody could find her.

 “From now on you will be treated as a member of our clan and will cease working as a medical assistant. Until whatever is decided by the moon prince.”

She raised an eyebrow; without so much as looking in his direction, she knew he was looming there. That stupid idiot.

“Is your father aware of this?”

“He opposes the very idea of it, but he can’t reject an order of his majesty.”

“Keep him away from me, or I’ll run away.”

He led them to a secluded room where the tailor could take her measurements; Lahan left her with his ladies-in-waiting. He explicitly said that they were also hers, and she should ask whatever she needed. She stood still, answering questions and being judged by her lack of weight in some areas—they were polite enough to not comment too much about her breasts, but alas, they were designing things that could make her stand out, so her deficits were to be listed as much as her assets (which were significantly fewer).

She saw as the light danced across the room, the carpets were red with gold woven drawings, the thread sparkled under the light. It was way past her lunchtime; she was getting hungry. She had learned from little comments her company made that the banquet was to last four days. That was one day more than the one they held at the west, at Gyokuen’s house. But they also were designing clothes for her to use daily. In summary, Lahan was making sure that she looked presentable at any time.

“Miss Maomao.” One of the ladies spoke. She didn’t bother remembering their names; she wasn’t going to be here for long, and, honestly, Maomao wasn’t good with things that didn’t spark her interest.

“Yes?”

“We are finished; part of your clothing should arrive tomorrow. Meanwhile, Sir Lahan wanted to meet you for lunch.”

She followed… Yu? Or was it, Mei? Through the corridors until they were in a dimly lit room. Different kinds of dishes were on the table; seated were Lahan and a woman speaking. The woman turned to look at her, her eyes an icy sight. She shuddered, knowing what was about to happen.

She tried to flee, but two eunuchs blocked her path.

They were about to teach her manners.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°

Maomao walked across the palace grounds defeated; her eyebags were skillfully covered with makeup. She hadn’t seen her old man or her friends in about a week. She was now eating better, but she missed En’en’s cooking. She also looked like an entirely different person. Her hair was up, held with two beautiful lotus flower hairpins. She wore refined robes; the skirt was a pale pink wrapped with a beautiful shade of green. This fabric, though, was embroidered with lotus flowers with a white thread that glimmered under the sunrays. She was amazed at how the tailor listened to her suggestion for commodity and mobility; nothing squeezed or felt uncomfortable. They did a great job. They also started giving her the best skincare treatments there were, and she wore perfume picked by her. Ointments were also lathered across her skin, making it glisten, so she hardly needed to use powder to hide her skin; even Lahan admitted it, she looked healthy. They also applied makeup to her face—enough that she looked elegant.

Nobody dared to look at her, not because of her status but because of the freak strategist. If he found out somebody had made a move on her, he would have them fired. So, it was a surprise when somebody approached her. Basen. He was alone, with no sight of the moon prince.

He looked disgusted to see her, as if he was looking at a four-eyed frog. Maomao shrugged, giving him an apologetic look.

“I have heard rumors of the incredibly beautiful yet aloof daughter of—” She cut him off with a glare before he could finish that sentence. He was dense but understood what she meant. “Of the feared Maomao. I miss your freckles.”

“Yeah, me too.” She reached for the place where she drew her freckles, nostalgia filling her body. She was sulking when Basen clicked his tongue and scolded her.

“You know you should be grateful Master Jinshi invited you to the banquet. I don’t think you are fit for him.”

She snorted, and it looked horrible with such a sour atmosphere surrounding her.

“That makes two of us. Or, well, maybe everybody thinks so too.”

“Anyways, we need your help. You should come with me.”

“Let me change into my commoner clothes.”

“No need; it is an urgent matter.”

She sighed; this will do, I guess.

They walked across the palace towards the inner court, specifically Jinshi’s state. Maomao grew wary of this; it wasn’t appropriate for a lady to be here, less than a day away from the prince’s banquet. Suiren was the one that greeted them first; she looked so pleased with the way Maomao was looking that she complimented her and said that she looked lovely. Gaoshun was still serving his majesty; she missed him so much. Compared to Gaoshun, Basen was a juvenile and inexperienced toughened by combat; he lacked on other fronts.

All the manners she had been learning were to avoid embarrassment; she couldn’t behave like she normally would. Now, not with this façade. So, she sat delicately where she was told to and didn’t speak a word until she had to.

When he entered the room, she felt her body flinch, her palms sweaty. He looked taken aback and laughed it off.

“Maomao, are you okay? You look like you could kill somebody.” He said it amicably; what he really wanted her to understand was that she could relax with him. Jinshi was so enamored by her that she looked beautiful with whatever she was wearing. And he felt like he needed to find the tailor that made those dresses; they were skillful. She was absolutely glowing with those robes.

“I’m sorry, Master Jinshi.” She bowed and fixed her garments. The pieces of hair that framed her face made her look so harmonious; he didn’t want to imagine what she had planned for the banquet.

“I want you to do something for me.”

And so, she heard his case. It made sense he reached for her.

And tomorrow came. The banquet was to be held in the evening, but her ladies-in-waiting were waking her up early in the morning to prepare. Her body wasn’t even woken up yet, and people were changing her sleeping garments for the ones for the party. She wore a layered robe; the skirt was a gradient of ivory red ending on ivory red. It was embroidered with flowers and petals, giving the illusion that these were floating in the fabric; it was cinched at the chest with a cream belt, and it had a big flower in its center. Embroidered with different color threads. It looked unreal. It had long, flowy sleeves that started as a crimson color but ended on the now repetitive cream. A piece of light fabric hung from her arms; it was a very deep red. That very same red was used to create an ornament that tied around the belt and hung loose with some marble at the end.

As for her hair, they did an updo, leaving two front pieces framing her features. They added headpieces of a light pink flower that almost faded into white in her hair. This alongside four hairpins. She specifically asked to wear the silvery hairpin Jinshi had gifted her in the west.

Applying makeup was as much a long process as she had imagined; she used to see how the courtesans at the brothel used to get ready for the clients, hours of the early morning spent on enhancing their natural beauty. She thought that it must be such an odyssey to enhance something that just wasn’t there.

Her eyes were dolled up with crimson pigments, and the color of her eyebrows was enhanced. They applied a soft pink pigment on her cheeks alongside a strong red rouge, making her appear paler. She did not need base powder, as she looked just fine.

“Makeup is like a sharp blade.” Lahan commented, adjusting his glasses.

“Don’t be an idiot if you want me to behave.”

Lahan pressed his lips and dropped the matter.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°

She walked into the banquet alongside Lahan; she thanked him silently that he was able to keep his father away. It took a weight off her shoulders. The room was crowded; everyone looked rather pompous. Every flower looked embellished, adorned. As one might suspect, everybody turned when they arrived. They were, after all, curious about the eccentric La clan. The girls gave bitter looks to Maomao. She knew this would happen, so she shrugged it away. This banquet was like the one they had in the west; one would go towards the table to fetch themselves food, so nobody was sitting.

She, however, did not expect his majesty to be here. He sat at the end of the room alongside his wife, both scanning the room. Sometimes exchanging some friendly conversation between them. There was no sign of their children, it made sense. She locked eyes with Gyokuyou, who gave her a heartfelt smile. She gave her smile and a curtsy nod, wary of anybody who might be observing.

A crowd formed around something on the left corner of the room. She saw a tall figure, by the looks of it, she figured it was Jinshi. His hair, silky smooth, shining under the light. She saw him gracefully manage his way around people. Keeping his distance from the girls, rewarding them with an apologetic smile.

He was forever careful with what he did and how he unfolded in society. One of the girls surrounding Jinshi saw her eyeing him. The girl scoffed and whispered toward the woman to her right. They both laughed at her; he noticed.

Jinshi excused himself from the group and walked gracefully towards Maomao, she went still. “No, he is not going to do this. Right?” She murmured more to herself than to Lahan.

Ignoring that, Lahan gave her a response. “Good luck, sis.” And then smiled towards the prince.

“Miss Maomao.” He greeted her in a sweet, melodic tone. She wanted to stick her tongue out and say barf. The prince took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles softly, like a feather’s touch. Eyes locked on hers. Everybody seemed to go silent, glaring daggers at Maomao. Jinshi then closed the breach between them and gave her a grin. His lips parted, and he whispered, “You have always been charming. I loathe those who dare to lay their eyes on you.”

Unbelievable! He knew he was compromising her publicly by doing this. She wanted to give him a piece of his mind; she felt her cheeks burning hot. She had to mentally suppress the shivers that arose. Instead of giving him the satisfaction he wanted, she bowed to him alongside Lahan. Even though the prince hadn’t regarded her cousin. This bothered him; the slight twitch of his eyebrow gave him away.

“Moon prince. An honor to be acquainted with you.” He smiled, giving Maomao a side-eye.

“An honor.” She said, unable to meet his gaze. She was furious with him.

He then bid farewell; the public still looked struck by what had just happened. He was going to regret it.

She had to moderate what she ate and how she ate it. Lahan had his eyes on her the entire evening. Before Jinshi approached them, he was vigilant of Maomao’s doings; he now didn’t leave her side. A handful of politicians decided they were worth their time after the moon prince publicly acknowledged them; it was a hassle on its own but a necessary one at last. She needed to pinpoint who, among these plump gentlemen, was a spy for Shaoh. It was a hard task that had befallen upon her shoulders, but she was not a quitter.

Some of the politicians complimented Maomao, looking at her chest quite disappointed. Others were…satisfied with what she had to offer. She felt disgusted, as if she were a mere flower in a garden for people to touch and smell, to admire and decide if they were going to be picking this specimen today. One of them—she didn’t learn his name, she instead called him monobrow—dared to joke and said to Lahan that if she wasn’t chosen, she would be a great fit for his son.

It was funny how everybody thought of women as toys. If the leader of the pack showed some kind of interest in her, all of them wanted to have her, possess her. She wasn’t born for this, nor does she have the patience to be with any bureaucrat’s boring son. Lost in thought, a funny smell flooded her nostrils; it was exotic. It came from another land, she knew it, the spices in it were only brought from other regions. She excused herself from the conversation, earning herself a look from Lahan, and followed a man. He stopped at the tables where the food was displayed.

“Excuse me.” She did her best to appear shy, even flustered. The man wasn’t unappealing; his face was sharp and had some imperfections. Unlike Jinshi, he didn’t seem heavenly, he was just a man. Still, he was taller than her, but it really wasn’t hard to be taller than Maomao.

He took her in, she knew he was deciding if she was worth anything by just her looks, her ultimate presentation card. Thanking the work of all the people that created this nonexistent persona, he smiled at her. “Yes, milady?”

He fell for it. She blew wind to her face with her hand, nails coated with a fine layer of cream pigment.

“Would you be so kind as to lend me a handkerchief? I feel so flushed I might faint.” She spoke low and fragile. It was so opposite of what she truly was. Disgusting.

He fashioned an embroidered handkerchief, it was a beautiful shade of white, it almost matched with her robes. She tapped the cloth on her forehead—it was the only place that lacked makeup. She didn’t want to ruin it.

“I’m sorry. I dirtied your handkerchief. Would you be so kind as to tell me your name so I can return it?” Her eyes looked helpless; she had heard that some people fell in love at first sight. She wondered if she was doing a good job at faking it.

Maomao had to make the living effort of remembering the name. She spent the next hours of the evening roaming around with Lahan. Until the very end.

When she was about to go home, Basen caught up to them.

“Maomao, we request your presence.”

“Is this something I can’t attend? How do I know he is not going to do something weird to my sis—ouch!” Lahan squealed when Maomao crushed his toes.

“I’ll go.”

Jinshi changed into his sleeping garments when he greeted her, he had the decency to wear his main robe, covering what could have been seen. It irked her that not even Suiren was around. He smiled at her, showing his teeth.

“And? Did you manage to catch him?”

She observed Jinshi in silence whilst showing him the handkerchief. “His name is Yang Haoran.”

He examined the piece of fabric; it looked pristine. He raised an eyebrow at the woman, encouraging her to keep going.

“He had a foreign perfume. Among all the other attendees, he was the only one who smelled funny. I subtly stole his handkerchief for further investigation. I can try to discern what was exactly in that perfume. Also, his robes had patterns that somewhat resemble what I saw on the caravan.”

He nodded, giving the cloth back. Getting up, Jinshi approached Maomao. She was ready to flee when he reached for her wrists, holding her into place firmly. He smelled so sweet, she could smell it even when it was faint.

“Maomao, don’t you think this banquet is kind of stupid?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled.

“Do you know why I think it is dumb?”

“Perhaps because you might not have a say on this marriage. You could be a political asset, maybe a girl from Shaoh to soothe the growing tension. Or from farther from Li. Political alliances are common among the nobility.”

He looked defeated. Sulking, he sighed and placed a hair behind her ear.

“It’s because I already decided.”

This again… she thought. She wanted nothing to do with this, knowing his decision only augmented the possibility of her head rolling onto the ground.

“Sir, if you need somebody to hear you, I advise you to turn to Gaoshun—even Lady Suiren. I fear I am not fit to give you a proper assessment of the situation.”

“Maomao, listen to me.” She stood still; she knew she had a habit of running away from him when he wanted to tell her something. So, she obliged just because she felt a pang of guilt in her heart. “I am going to make you my wife. I don’t care how many obstacles I must go through to make it work. How many people I will make furious by doing so. I just know that you are the woman that appears in my mind all the time, the one that could look at me with absolute disgust, and I will be at her feet ready to do as she decides. I have eluded my feelings not because I wasn’t proud of you but because I taint everything I lay my hands on. And my position only endangered you—it still does. But I am willing to perish for you, Maomao. If somebody were to lay a finger on you, I don’t know how I will react.”

She didn’t know how she was feeling or how to answer, so instead she did what she was best at. Following her gut. She leaned in on her tippy-toes and kissed him, grabbing him by the collar of his robes. Jinshi kissed her back, with hunger, desperate to touch her, to feel her, to have her.

They both had to stop themselves before they could make a mistake they could regret.

Maomao knew the banquet meant nothing now: Jinshi had chosen.

Thank you for reading!

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