12/40 in my fanfanfic series - #12: “messages” > one year & three months.
“Tell Julie happy birthday for me,” he told you, hugging you from behind.
“I will,” you said, a smile on your face, without glancing at him.
“That’s a lot of messages. What are you telling her anyway?”
“My dream from last night,” you giggled.
“Oh,” he said, intrigued. “Was I any good?”
“Not you,” you said under your breath and scooched away from him a little.
“What do you mean not me?” He looked scandalized. “Who was it? Does your dream self have good taste, at least?”
“Do Kyungsoo.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Okay. He’s cute and handsome, I’ll give him that. And he sings well. I see how it is, you like your singers, don’t you? Your ‘squishy’ singers with the heart-shaped smiles…”
He propped his head on your shoulder. You glanced at him, smoothing over each of each of his eyebrows with a fingertip before you resumed typing. “FIFTEEN ROUNDS?!” he roared.
“It’s just a dream, you potato!” You said, and continued snickering at your phone as you recounted the events to Julie.
“Okay,” he said, eyes still narrowed.
As you continued on, he watched you react to her stuttering messages back. Was he that good? He knew Do Kyungsoo had been your top favourite alongside him. Did he have competition again? He felt his jealousy flare up and concocted a plan. Do Kyungsoo had nothing on him when he was so far away.
“Okay,” he said, and hugged you from behind again. He started blowing little raspberries into your skin. At first it just just tingled a little, but slowly he made them bigger and bigger until your responses to Julie were just clusters of random letters. You knew you sounded like a dying whale, but you couldn’t push him away when he was holding on to you so tightly.
Your phone vibrated one last time. Julie was asking if you were alright. Yifan couldn’t be bothered to type out an answer and leaned over to hold the power button down to shut your phone off in between blowing raspberries. His lips then landed on yours instead of your neck. You sighed happily after he pulled away, and he held you in his arms possessively.
“I can’t compete with a dream man who can do things with you I haven’t yet,” he growled, unconvincingly threatening.
“Silly potato,” you cooed. “You are my dream man.”
“Am I?” he asked, kissing you on the cheek softly, over and over, knowing it was your favourite thing for him to do. After over a year, you would still feel shy and like you were filled with butterflies whenever he did this, a fact he used to his advantage constantly.
“And for the record,” you said sweetly, “You sing. You’re squishy too, when you smile your heart-shaped smile, especially. But the important part is that I’m yours, and you’re mine. You love me. I could never imagine myself without you now that this dream of mine is a reality, and you’re really here. Even when I simply dreamt of either of you, you have always felt so much closer, so tangible, so real. He was a symbol of hope to me, yes, and still is, but you’re my hope incarnate. You’re proof my path was meant to lead to love I didn’t think was possible for me anymore. All I ever pray for is my thankfulness that is the blessing of you in my life. Since we began to love each other, I don’t feel as empty as I did before. And while I’m still forming my new heart… know that this new heart only knows how to love the one who’s been there all it’s life.”
His eyes softened.
“I love you,” you whispered fondly, kissing him on the cheek as he hugged you tightly, hiding his face from you, burying it in your hair.
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11/40 in my fanfanfic series - #11: “tease” (part 1 found here) > two years, four months.
a/n: also alternately called “cater 2 u” (destiny’s child) although the song i had in mind that plays during a certain event that happens is probably another beyonce song… you’ll see. :)
“Yes, there.”
His arms wrapped themselves around the arch of your back as little sounds were coming out of your open mouth, gasping for air. All he was doing was lightly brushing his lips on that one spot on your neck and you were becoming unravelled.
But all of a sudden, you felt the lip of his tongue dart out and trace your skin at that infuriatingly delicate spot he had been teasing earlier. The sounds coming out of your mouth were becoming deeper, louder, and after one more gasp, he applied more pressure by opening his mouth wider and using his teeth to bite down. Instead of snapping out of it like you thought you might, you inhaled sharply as a sudden shock of pleasure rolled through you.
But once it passed and you felt him smirking against your neck, you remembered what you were trying to do.
“No,” you began, pushing him away by the shoulders. “I didn’t say you could bite me, Yifan.”
“But what if I want to?” he said innocently. You played along for a few seconds, feeling his excitement through the lower half of his body, and gently led him to another position so you were on top.
His hands began to squeeze your backside, but in one motion, you pinned his wrists above his head. He tried to budge, but he was surprised by your strength and he stilled, confusion tinging the edges of his lustful expression.
“You are always tempting me, you,” you whispered against his ear. He shuddered. “You with your exquisite face,” you kissed his jaw just under his ear. “You with your pretty lips,” you whispered against his cupid’s bow, just close enough to tease. As you made your way down his throat, you felt him grow harder underneath you.
“With your big hands, and your big… the rest of you, to be honest,” you rolled your hips sensually as he lifted his hips and grinded against you.
“But you see, I made a promise to myself, and so did you when you decided to be with me,” you said, pressing down more, circling your hips while his breath hitched. “That we would wait until after we were married.”
“I’m going to give you a couple of options,” you said, with just a hint of a smile.
“Either we can stop now,” He whined low in his throat, the sound guttural and animalistic.
“Or, if you promise not to touch me any more than you have tonight, then I’ll show you a little something I was saving for our honeymoon.”
He gulped, and a bead of sweat was forming at his temple.
“Yes,” he breathed heavily.
“Yes, what?” You said, eyes sharp.
“Yes, please.” he licked his lips involuntarily.
You lifted yourself off him, and he hissed at the loss of contact. You brought a chair to the centre of the room, pointing at it as he nodded dutifully.
“Once I get back, you better be sitting there with your eyes closed, waiting for me,” you said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. No peeking.”
You left the room and smiled to yourself at the sight of his eyes scrunched shut. You quickly made your way to your bedroom and pulled something out of the closet, then something out of your luggage, something you didn’t use on a daily basis that you decided to pre-pack so it wouldn’t get misplaced during the chaos of planning for the wedding.
After changing and pinning your hair up, you made your way downstairs. He still sat there silently, this fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, playing with the hem of his shirt. You turned on the sound system and as it fired up, you took his hands by the wrists and crossed them over the back of the chair.
“I’m not going to tie you up,” you whispered against his ear, sultry. “I’m trusting you to keep your word. You can’t move unless I tell you to.”
He nodded.
“And you can open your eyes when the time is right,” you breathed, “When do you think that will be?”
“When you tell me to,” he said obediently.
“Good, Fanfan,” you said, and as you pulled away your hand grazed down his cheek. He followed your fingers with his face until you had walked away too far.
You pressed a button on the system, and the surround sound came to life. The extra long musical introduction, edited by you, had added bass so that the speakers vibrated and hummed and filled both your senses.
“Do you remember,” you began, from across the room. “When I said I would do anything for you?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And when I said I would be yours,” you slowly walked towards him. “I said I wanted to take care of you, did I not?”
He nodded.
“And so,” you continued, stopping in front of him. “Let me just say that I’m waiting for the day I can fulfill that promise. And in two months, I will do just that. But enjoy this preview of one of the many things I have planned for when it’s just you and me, for the rest of our lives.”
His eyes opened gingerly as the voices on the track began to sing, and by the way his eyes were slowly widening, you could tell he was internally battling himself to remain obedient and sit put.
You were wearing the emerald dress under a robe, but when he had come to look at you, you began to take the robe off. In your pink platform heels, you made your way over to his side, laying the robe across his lap. You walked around him, stopping every so often to run your fingers through his hair, or to caress his shoulder. You stopped in front of him to place a kiss on his lips and he complained when you pulled away after a couple of seconds.
You put a finger to his lips, then swaying sensually to the music, you dragged your hands down to his collarbones and started unbuttoning his shirt. When you got down to the last button, you splayed your hands across his broad chest through his undershirt and came behind him to lift his arms so you could slip the shirt off. While there, you used your fingers to caress the tattoo on his left shoulder, kissing and nibbling until he was a moaning mess and you pulled off his undershirt as he still sat there, putty in your hands. You kneaded his tense shoulders for a little while, as he became even more pliable under your touch. You tossed the undershirt in another corner of the room, along with the robe off his lap.
Walking in time with the music, you positioned yourself front of him, a little distance away, and held his shirt behind your head before lowering it, touching it and wrapping the arms around yourself as if they were his arms. When you tossed the shirt to one side, he was looking at you with more fire in his eyes.
You moved your hips side to side with the rhythm of the music, turning away from him so your back faced him. You raised your arms above your head and dragged them down each side of your body, then back up again, glancing at him playfully over your shoulder before smoothing one sleeve of the dress down before doing the same to the other sleeve.
You scooped your arms up through the neck, and shimmied slowly so that the dress pooled at your ankles. Stepping out of it and turning towards him, you were pleased to see his jaw drop as he drank you in, body clad in a lingerie set complete with white thigh-high stockings attached to a high-waisted garter slip. There were little bows tastefully placed here and there, just enough to give the outfit a sweet look, although there was nothing sweet about the way he was looking at you.
Pink, you saw him mumble to himself, as he began to breathe heavier.
You walked over to him slowly, making another circle around him and dragging your hands everywhere before you landed in front of him once more, undoing his jeans and starting to slide them off. He lifted his hips swiftly to allow you to pull them off along with his socks.
You pushed his legs apart and placed a heeled foot on the chair between his thighs, and took one of his hands to put on one of the hooks, and placed the other at the back of your heel.
You gave him permission with a look, and he undid the garter on top and below your thigh, and pulled at your stocking carefully until you lifted your leg out of your pink shoe, pointing it across him and holding it there as you allowed him to pull it off. You tossed your shoe to the side, half-circling him to repeat the same process on his other side, until you pushed him back in the chair and he held on to one stocking in awe.
You stood in front of him, making a show out of wiggling out of the garter slip and then coming back to him to push his legs together and straddle his lap while you pulled the clip out of your hair, shaking it free and surprising him with a supremely heated kiss in time with the bridge of the song. He dropped the stocking and ran his large hands up and down your back, clutching your hair with a fist at the base of your neck with one hand and pressing you closer to him with the other so the soft fabric of your brassiere was pressing against his chest.
His hands made their way down and as you traced his bottom lip with your tongue, he cupped your bottom and kneaded it firmly so you were moaning just as much as he was. He bucked his hips upwards, until you released his face and brought your hands down to his chest and broke the kiss, arching backwards so he could make his way down your body with his lips. When he reached the top of your breast, you stopped him, shaking your head as you lovingly kissed your way down his neck and his chest, hands making their way down to his hips.
And in case the moment wasn’t fiery enough, you placed a hand on each hip on either side of his groin, aligning yourself along the outline of his length and letting your hips grind down in circular motions until you switched to slow and intense hip rolls that had his eyes unfocused and hazed with need, eyes locking with yours and fixating on your decadent expression.
Abruptly, you pushed off his hips with your hands, swinging your legs back behind you - he sat there, dumbfounded as you distanced yourself a bit to turn away from him again, undoing the clasps onyour brassiere one by one before pulling it off completely. If it were possible, his jaw dropped even further. The single wing tattoo on the left side of your back was on full display, and he leaned forward to get up and come towards you, forgetting he wasn’t supposed to.
You covered your front with one arm and tossed the undergarment into his lap, coming over and pushing him back down, continuing your earthy and seductive dance around him, always finding a creative way to keep yourself covered with an arm or your hands. You kept on to touching and squeezing as much of him as you could reach, ignoring his lap even as he tried pulling you towards him a couple of times - each time, you dodged his hands and distracted him with a few body rolls up from a bent-over position, or by rocking your hips to the beat and shimmying as enticingly as you could and pretending to give him a peek between your fingers.
At one point after fisting both your hands in his hair, you tipped him back and sucked on his bottom lip before attaching your lips to his neck - his breathy moans filled the room, escalating until you released your hold on him, satisfied at the simultaneous awe and betrayal on his features.
Placing a hand on his shoulder, you gave him one last, little peck on his lips, running your hand down the length of his body once before turning and walking away, hips swinging from side to side, turning slightly to wink and blow him a kiss right at the last note of the song before exiting the room completely.
He just sat there, glancing around at all the clothes strewn around the room, finally staring at the shimmery, rose-coloured brassiere in his hands and wondering what had just happened. Yifan was suddenly very, very glad you spent years doing theatre, and realized that before today he had never seen nor knew what exactly it meant when he had read the words “burlesque musicals” on your resumé.
10/40 in my fanfanfic series - #10: “hurt” > five ½ months.
You peeked at him at the corner of your eye. You were long done the verses you were working on, and he looked up at you again for the ninth time, having grown more offended every time.
“Stop watching me! I can’t write with you watching me!”
You giggled, his whine completely endearing to you. “I can’t help it.”
“Is it because I’m handsome?”
“Yes, sir,” you smiled at him, unable to tear your eyes away although you could feel yourself blushing a little.
“Then I should stare at my beautiful lady right back, this is unfair…”
There was a full ten seconds of silence before he started pouting again.
“This is what happens when you have too many languages in your head,” he brandished the notepad in front of him dramatically. “I start writing in English then I switch to Mandarin and then some Korean comes out but when I want to read it out loud some Cantonese words make their way in there too. You always finish eons before I do,” he added and made a face.
“Poor baby. Maybe finish what you’ve got first. I can’t help it if I just write faster, you’re just my…” You paused. You’d said too much.
“Your…?” He stopped in his tracks, curious now.
“Nothing,” you said innocently.
“Your what?” he pressed, abandoning the thought of writing a song to try and uncover your face from the wall of paper you were holding up.
“My boyfriend! That’s all, that’s it, nothing else, nope-”
“Tell me!” He demanded, whining again. “I want to know, I- ouch!”
His hand recoiled and he drew it close. You dropped all the paper you were holding and immediately reached for him.
“Oh dear,” you exclaimed, and got up to reach on the middle shelf for the bandages. “My poor potato, let me help you with that.”
You used a tissue to press gently onto his finger, wiping it with the corner of a disinfecting wipe before applying a little bit of ointment. As you were tenderly putting the small bandage on his papercut, you noticed he was very still and quiet. You glanced up. He was looking at you fondly. Had he been staring at you like this the whole time?
You finished wrapping his finger and kissed it for good measure, unable to look at him. You got up to pick up the paper you had tossed to the ground earlier, but he grabbed your wrist to pull you back to your seat.
“No. Those offending sheets of paper attacked me, leave them be,” he said, deadpan. “I was injured in battle trying to win information from you, the least you can do is tell me what it is you were going to say earlier.”
You gave him a look and leaped up to run away. He caught you so fast, long strides closing the distance and spinning you around to face him, picking you up and swinging you around the room, laughing like a madman.
“Tell me! Tell me,” he laughed, and you laughed with him.
“Okay! Okay,” you gave up, and he set you down right before pulling you to crash onto the couch with him, and his eyes glistened as he waited.
“You are my muse,” you said simply. You released the breath you were holding.
“Since you came into my life, figuratively and literally, I have become this creative fountain where even the thought of you gives me the inspiration and continuous motivation to write for hours. Mostly lyrics, as you know. But also creative fiction. Poetry.”
“So. Is Crescent Muse is about me?” he asked, and you were intrigued by the fact he remembered the first song off your group’s demo that you were credited as the lyricist for.
“Yes,” you said bashfully. “Yes, it was.”
He drew his face closer to yours. “And when do I get to read more of these other things?”
“No,” you said immediately, aghast. “Never! You already have heard all my lyrics. They’ve all been made public but now we should retract the songs. RETRACT THEM ALL.”
“No? Never?” he repeated, furrowing his beautiful brows. He inched closer. “You have added insult to my injury. And now you are responsible for nursing me back to health. I think I deserve to hear more, I think you should read me to sleep. Every night. And if you insist on saying no, I think I can convince you otherwise.”
And before you could say another word, he pounced, snaking his arms underneath you at the same time leaning you back and claiming your lips with his own, giving you one hell of a kiss.
“Okay,” you said, after he let you up for air.
“You really can’t say no to me, can you?” he said, amazed. He slowly began to smile greasily. He grinned soon after, the ridiculous look on his face making the thudding in your chest louder.
“Don’t take advantage of me now, you gross potato.” You tried to sound threatening, but you were too out of breath.
He simply kept grinning and bent down to kiss you again and again.
9/40 in my fanfanfic series - #9: “reconciliation” > eight months.
[a/n: trigger warning - describing the depressive state of a disorder, and mentions of the hypomanic state.]
You sighed, poking your dog’s belly with your index finger. He huffed at you, and got up to go nap in another corner of the room. You went back to bed, but you didn’t have much hope for sleep to come when it hadn’t graced you with it’s presence the past two nights.
It shouldn’t have been a big thing. It was your first fight as a couple, and it was bound to happen sooner than later, though the peace at least lasted a few months. You supposed it helped that Yifan was usually out of town, and contact was minimal, but that was part of the reason you had the fight in the first place.
“Just tell me how you are,” he had said.
“I’m fine,” you insisted, “Tell me how the fashion show was. Did you meet any new designers?”
He said your name softly, sounding weary.
“I’m tired of being the only one talking. You know, sometimes it’s like I’m talking to myself.”
“I’m sorry. I just…”
“You just what? I’m tired of hearing apologies, it’s so rare our schedules line up enough that we can have decent time on the phone, I hate that it doesn’t feel like we even really talk. I only see you every once in a while so I would rather these conversations not feel like a waste.”
“A waste? Is that what you think? Have I not tried hard enough to be supportive?”
“Do you even miss me? Sometimes… Sometimes I’m not so sure. Do you even love me?”
“Yifan. You… I can’t… I’m not ready to say those other words yet. How could you suggest I don’t miss you? I tell you I miss you so often. Just because I don’t go into explicit detail about how much I miss you, it doesn’t mean it’s an empty sentiment or that I’m just saying it out of obligation. Is that how much you think of me, that I would do that, or that I feel that way? ”
“It’s not hard. Just tell me how you feel. It’s simple.”
“It’s a can of worms I’d rather not open while I’m on the phone, Kris! You don’t know… you… I can’t keep having this conversation with you. It’s too hard. Am I not enough as I am?”
There was a long pause. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you, Yifan,” you said, hurt. “But it’s just as you said before, we don’t see each other often. I only ever see you every two or three months, maybe every month and a half if I’m extremely lucky. What’s so bad about just wanting to hear your voice, to hear all about what’s going on with you? Is it so bad that that’s how I express missing you? I want to say I’ll try harder, but consider the fact that hearing you talk lets me believe for a little while that you’re still around even when you aren’t. I miss you, all day, every day, regardless if I say so or not. But if I still haven’t convinced you how much I care or how much I think about you, after over a year of knowing me and how I feel about you, then maybe I’m not good enough for you after all, and your implications are correct - we’re wasting our time talking right now.”
And with that, you had hung up. You had hardly raised your voice at him, but you felt instantly guilty the second you hung up. When you tried calling back, it went straight to voicemail. Your insides fell, and you just attempted to ignore the sadness as you lay in bed staring at the back of your eyelids. By morning, you hadn’t slept more than five minutes, the few times you managed to nod off interrupted by the phantom ringing of a phone - your sense of reality felt more than a little compromised by the situation.
You scowled internally at yourself, unable to stop the voice in your head from telling you how pathetic you were as you wrote a few short emails and sent out a couple of succinct texts, cancelling every appointment and plan for the next handful of days. It didn’t happen too often, but sometimes you could stay productive and strong through weeks and weeks and feeling energetic and “happy” despite tribulation.… yet one little thing could send you reeling and unable to cope with even the smallest task for a week or more.
But this wasn’t a little thing, you thought to yourself. This is the first time you’d let someone in like this since-
You didn’t even want to think about your last relationship, or the years thereafter. But the fact remained, there was a reason you were so hesitant about being with someone again. And if your best wasn’t good enough, maybe it was better he be angry with you. At least he would be less hurt when things ended. He was incredible, and made for greater things. He could find someone who could love him well, something you weren’t sure you could do despite caring about him so much.
And with this last thought, the tears somehow lulled you to sleep and your vision blacked out. You dreamt of him, blurry images that didn’t solidify for once, but you felt your sense memory kick in, and you sobbed anew as you felt arms around you.
“Yifan,” you cried, feeling more hopeless. “Yifan… “
“Baby. Baby, wake up please,” you could almost hear him say.
Your dreams were always so realistic, so when your felt strong arms holding you tight and squeezing you, you choked out an almost hysterical laugh. Of course your mind was doing this to you, of course it was going to taunt you with-
“Baby, please wake up. I’m sorry,” you felt large fingers stroking your cheek. Your eyes flew open and you felt wetness on your face, but the blood on your lip from biting your tongue made you shut your eyes and open them again, unable to believe what was happening.
“I’m here, I’m sorry, I threw my phone after our conversation and couldn’t call you back,” he said, his deep voice resonating and bringing you further into consciousness. “I didn’t mean to. I got on a plane as soon as I could get away, I couldn’t deal with not seeing you. Please don’t cry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just was frustrated, I felt so tired and I missed you so much that I said so many things without remembering how hard things could be for you…” He tried to hold you tighter.
You panicked, and got up too quickly. You held on to the wall, dizzy.
“No,” you managed to say. “No, you were right…”
“No, I wasn’t,” he insisted, hands reaching for you but keeping his distance, the hurt in his eyes evident. “You told me in the beginning that things wouldn’t be easy, that things aren’t easy for you despite trying to pretend they are. I know you love me, even if you can’t say it to me yet. I was just so wrapped up in my own world that I was selfish, and now I just don’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay,” you said, no longer caring whether it was a dream or not. Seeing him cry wasn’t right, it hurt too much. “You weren’t selfish. No need to cry over it. It’s true, what you said. You needed me to just talk to you, and I couldn’t even do that. I did prove to not be enough, so it’s okay if this is goodbye. It’s okay, Yifan. If it’s the last time we see each other, I’ll understand…”
“Don’t say that. Stop talking as if everything is your fault! You didn’t stop trying, I just didn’t understand. But I promise, I do. I know sadness, I know what it’s like, and I know I caused it this time around.”
You tried to speak again, searching for words. “No,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to talk at all if that’s what you need, you don’t have to do anything unless you want to. Just don’t shut me out. That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m not like the others, I said I was different from them and I meant it! I don’t want to leave you. I’m not going to leave you, so if you even for one second ever think you can escape me just because of this, then you’re wrong.“
His chest heaved. "I don’t care if you end up screaming at me one day, I don’t care if you aren’t ready to talk to me about whatever’s going on with you until years from now, I just know I want to still be there when you do want to talk, and that I love you for everything you are. Every part of you is still you, and I want to be the one who keeps all of you safe. I love every bit of you. Do you understand? Let me love every part of you. Please don’t hide yourself from me, it hurts so much. I never want you to feel alone, and no matter how much I know you understand when I have to be away, I hate knowing it hurts you anyway. You never say a word about it, and I know it’s always for my sake, yet I didn’t appreciate that.”
You wanted to wipe the last of his tears off his face, but you were still unable to move.
“Okay.” You nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said firmly, but his eyes were soft. “Please, no apologies. Just tell me that I can touch you again, tell me we’re not ending things. Don’t you understand I need you?”
“No,” you said honestly, “Because I have always needed you far more. But I don’t want to fight anymore, either. And right now… Oh, Yifan, right now I need you to hold me because I’ve missed you so much I think I’ll break soon if you don’t.”
And without a moment’s hesitation, he scooped you in his arms, sweeping you off your feet and curling up with you under the blankets, kissing your cheeks over and over again, until you finally let out a tired hum and smile and he smiled softly back at you.
“I love you,” he said as he held your head against his chest, “It’s not how I imagined I’d say it for the first time out loud, in this situation, but I do. You are always there for me, always trying to take care of me even when the truth is you’re the one who really needs care. You just don’t know how to ask for it. But I want to learn how to care for you, so that you don’t ever need to ask for it. ”
“Yifan. I want to believe I deserve you, but I still feel like I really don’t. And I… I just want you to know that it’s okay if you one day realize I’m not for you, you know. Just because we found love between us it doesn’t mean we’re meant to stay together. I mean, look - we had a misunderstanding and you had to drop God-knows-what and fly over an ocean because of me.“
You paused for a second.
"There’s no other way for me to tell you that I’m afraid of holding you back, and that I don’t want to be the reason you ever hold yourself back from anything. Please understand I’m not trying to push you away - I’m just trying to tell you to just please don’t make promises to me if I might lose you. I would rather you face the truth now if you have any doubts. I know I sound ridiculous, I know I sound like a coward, but… when it comes to this, I am. I’m scared of losing you.” You caressed his face in the darkening room, eyes blurring again and memorizing his features with your fingers.
He gazed at you intensely, eyes sad but burning with something passionate as he kissed each fingertip.
You remembered the night of the fireworks. From the look on his face, he did too. He closed his eyes and held on to you tighter as you kissed every part of him you could reach, as if he were going to disappear at any moment. He sighed, remaining still and reveling in each touch of your lips on his skin. Your body still heaved with dry sobs you couldn’t control.
“You will never be too complicated for me to love.” He said each word with conviction, responding to the elephant in the room you refused to explain out loud. You buried your face in his neck and he ran his hands up and down your back to calm your breathing.
“Whatever happens, I don’t want you to ever feel alone again. You will always be my strength simply because you exist in my life. I love you. You are my solid ground, my earth, but you always make me feel like I’m flying. And if you’ll let me, one day we’ll fly away together, into the stars. Have faith in me. You… I just want all of you, forever and for always.”
And those were the last words you heard from his lips as his steady heartbeat and his arms soon cradled you to into peaceful sleep. You dreamt of his smile, and nothing else.
8/40 in my fanfanfic series - #8: “words” > t-minus eight months.
Yifan was the last person you were expecting to see when you walked into that studio for the first time. You were already a bundle of compressed, nervous energy from meeting a new producer you knew as a friend of a friend of your manager. If all went well today, your bandmate would be interning under this amazing producer and he would take a listen to your group’s first full album demo.
But regardless if you knew beforehand, you mused, you would have never been prepared to see that handsome face when the producer showed you his main recording space. Both you and your partner froze, and you stared at each other, unsure if this was real.
You better keep your cool, her eyes said. You gulped, and somehow found your voice.
“You’re Wu Yifan. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Ah, of course you know of him,” the producer laughed. “He’s quite popular nowadays. Well, Kris here decided he was thinking of a North American collaboration with me and some other songwriters. So he’s just visiting L.A. for the week, meeting with me and some other associates of mine. Girls,” he opened the door. “I’m just going to be right back, I have to take a call.”
“Sorry,” you said, after he had left. “I need to pop out, too. I’m a big fan, Fanfan. Ha, Fanfanfan. Yifan… Fan… Fan.” You went red and exited the way you came.
You ran back in and placed a few of the CDs on the table, along with a couple of business cards. “Our demo. Yes. I’ll meet you back at the hotel,” You nodded at her before making eye contact with Kris once and scampering away.
There was a moment of silence after you were out the door. You hovered on the other side, mentally slapping yourself for not keeping your cool at all.
“Well. Well…” your bandmate said. “She just… left me.”
“She’s funny,” you heard him say. You soundlessly squished and pulled at your own face.
“We are fans of yours, though. Hopefully you know as more admirers than fanatics… although I can only really speak for myself, of course.”
“It’s nice to meet you. So, you two do music?”
“Yes,” she said, “She actually didn’t need to leave so many here…”
“Can I take one?” he said.
“Of course,” she said, a devilish glint in her eye. “Our card is there too.’
“Do you write your own songs?”
“Yes, she does more lyrics than music and I write more music than lyrics, but we generally do both.”
He looked at the back of the package. “Oh! You two are from Vancouver?”
She smiled a little. “Yes, we are. Are you thinking of visiting again soon?”
“Probably next week after I’m done here. Hey, I like your album art. Lots of stars and things.”
“Of course you like it. Galaxies,” she alluded with what she hoped was smirk, when he looked up at her.
He chuckled.
“I think you’ll like some of the lyrics quite a bit. They’re all about galaxies… of all sorts.”
“Is that so?”
The producer popped his head back in calling her name, and you presumed he had motioned for her to follow.
“If you’re back in Vancity next week, she’s doing a poetry reading at Cafe Deux Soleils on Commercial Drive. You should come if you can,” she said, raising an eyebrow and offering a small, sly smile.
“Sounds cool. Maybe I’ll come check it out,” he said quietly, as your partner said her goodbyes and went out the other door. Behind the door, you pulled at the ends of your short hair and screamed silently.
*
“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” You screeched in agony, rolling around on your bed. You thought you could escape the trauma of coming face-to-face with Wu Yifan once you landed back in Vancouver, but apparently, your so-called friend had a different goal.
“I am captain of a ship that sails and I will do all so it will prevail,” she said, dreamily and completely out of character, leaving you to your angst as she closed your bedroom door behind her.
*
You took a deep breath. There was no way a busy man like Kris Wu was going to come to East Vancouver and sit in a crowded cafe where he could be easily spotted. No way, absolutely no way. So you inhaled, exhaled, warmed up your voice, did your enunciation exercises, stretched. People were filling the room, and it was about ten minutes until showtime.
You were so honoured to finally have a chance to read your work at Cafe Deux Soleils. Locally, it was the place for poetry readings, and you had been working up to this moment, performing at other local venues when you weren’t as busy with your group’s promotions and recordings. This month you and three other poets were being featured after winning the past month’s slams, and tonight, you decided you would do a first reading of a piece you had been working on for a while.
When the first three people performed, you were in awe. You were always in awe of local artists, because the amount of local and national talent was actually astounding. It made you a little sad that, whether musicians, actors, or other kinds performers, as one master-class instructor had said once, “Canada has the best artists no one will ever know about.”
But you were going to make a name for yourself. You were going to be adored. Whether it was with your acting, your lyrics, your scripts, your poetry, your choreography… You artistry would one day be appreciated by more than just your small bubble of the industry.
You were introduced, so you stepped onto the stage into the single light. Blinded slightly and unable to see where your friends were sitting because of the dim house lighting, you shook it off and set your pages on the music stand in front of you. You closed your eyes and announced the title of the piece: “Starlight/Beautiful. Or simply, Stars.”
At night is when I feel safe
the cool blanket of the dark sky
pillowing my thoughts
keeping the daily blur (of things I don’t understand) at bay
The night is different than day
Though loneliness in a city can be described
as feeling alone in a crowd
at least my loneliness at night never fools me
It never gives me false hope that crumbling friendships can be fixed
It never tells me I’m wrong for wanting no one else around that can hurt me
The night is different from day
and never lies to me, although sometimes I wish it would
Because the nightmares always come
Demons that hunt for the blood of my heart
trying to find it in an empty chest cavity, digging deeper and deeper
until I fear they’re after my soul
Memories of the only one I really thought I could be with for the rest of my life
Graceful touches and lovely words
Tearful misunderstandings that ended with beautiful kisses
moments I can never get back
but my subconscious seems to tell me I can never let go
showing me his face and every reminder of his presence at every moment it can
My only reprieve are dreams of those too distant to know my true self
How can someone feel so old but still have insides that can be swayed by beautiful voices?
I say this, yet in a silly thing that most would say change with the phases of the moon,
Beautifully deep eyes and heart-shaped smiles
gave me rest and helped keep me sane
And one of those dreams came to life, if even for a few seconds
There is a starlit man in my dreams
He is always just of reach, too far for me to see clearly
But I do see him clearly, his heavy eyebrows framing a dazzling face
Long fingers, elegant and tender
He is always gentle, always is kind
And though the thought of his incredible soul
existing even for a moment in my life
has never chased away the demons
he inspires me to fight, to win
to get to a place where I can love him freely
and be the artist I always strived to be
I love my man in the starlight
whole universes in his laugh
I would stay in slumber for the rest of my life
if I could stay in the dark of the night
with the adoration in his eyes lighting up my entire world
and sweet lips kissing me into oblivion.
You finished, taking a deep breath and bringing yourself back to reality. The lights became less dim and the clapping brought you down from your cloud.
You looked up, and he was there. Smiling at you in a way you never thought you’d see in real life. So you smiled back calmly and headed towards him, knowing that this time, you wouldn’t run away so quickly.
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7/40 in my fanfanfic series - #7: “dress” (part 2 of this) > 11 months.
After your little heated makeout session in the dressing room was interrupted by a phone call, you noticed there was only a half hour left before you had to go get ready for tonight. As you fretted, Yifan just laughed.
“I picked a couple of things out,” he chuckled, and he waved at the male attendant to bring over two hangers.
“Pink and green, I see,” you observed.
“I like the pink,” he said, cheeks tinged pink as well.
“I see,” you repeated, shaking your head. “I’ll try them both on,” You said shyly, and went inside the change-room.
Unfortunately, the pink one was made for a much taller woman, and didn’t fit the shape of your body very well. Yifan pouted when you stuck your arm out and told him to put it back and hand you the green one.
But when you put the green one on, you noticed it had matched his emerald green tie.
“I think you’ll like this one, Mr. Potatohead,” you called out, “It coordinates with your outfit but it has an open back…” And in a flash, he was standing behind you.
“Why, Mrs. Potatohead,” he said, deepening his voice. “I think I like this one better,” he slipped his hands inside the back of the dress, caressing all the way down your back. You moaned at the feel of his fingertips. This irritating man knew what you liked and it drove you nuts.
“You know… I was thinking, Yifan…” He started kissing down your cheek.
“Of getting a tattoo,” He was at your jaw.
“Oh?” He said, and his kisses became more feverish, lips now back at your neck - another heated reminder of your unfinished business from earlier.
“Well, another one. On my back,” you breathed, as his fingertips continued caressing you.
“And when do I get to see the first?” he said. You looked up at him, eyes clouded over.
“Maybe next time,” you said quickly, and pushed him out of the dressing room with a burst of laughter. He grumbled and as he walked away you threw the green dress at the back of his head and he pouted some more.
6/40 in my fanfanfic series - #6: “wow” (part two found here) > 11 months.
“I kind of like how excited you get shopping,” you laughed, as Yifan’s hand grabbed yours and his long strides had you jogging to keep up with him.
“It’s my mom’s birthday! I want to look super nice.”
“Okay, I’ll help you pick something, then.”
He paused. “I think pink looks nice on you. Or green.”
“Me?”
“Babe, I want to shop for you too.”
“You just like spoiling me.”
“Guilty,” he said, smiling widely.
“Okay, I guess I’m fine with being your doll for a day,” you snickered.
He stopped abruptly, spinning around and engulfing you in a big bear hug, lifting you off the ground.
“Oof! Yifan-”
“You’re a doll everyday!”
“Put me down!”
“You don’t mean that.”
“No, I don’t.” You grinned, and securely wrapped your arms just above his shoulder. “But we only have a couple of hours and you take forever just picking out shoes.”
“True,” he said, setting you down lightly and taking your hand again.
*
“I personally think the sweater is very handsome,” you said approvingly, smoothing out the soft fabric at his tummy.
“And it has nothing to do with me looking fluffy?” he giggled sweetly, the ridiculous smile on his face so contagious, you smiled too.
“Sweater-Fan is a personal favourite of mine, I can’t lie,” you said, bringing his face down to peck him lightly on the nose. “But you look handsome in everything, so I probably am not the best person to take shopping…”
“Nonsense! I like choosing between the blue sweater, the green sweater, the black sweater, the white sweater…” You poked him in the cheek.
“Or the dark silver-grey suit. With the emerald green skinny tie.”
“Oh?”
“I picked it out, yes. Simple, clean lines.”
“It’s not a sweater.”
“I can be surprising!” You looked at him, pretending to be appalled. He simply cackled gleefully as he went behind the curtain and changed. You walked around with your phone, trying to find the best lighting to take a selca because you had just gotten new glasses and felt cute today. When you heard the curtain rustle behind you, you turned and lowered your phone as Kris strode towards you, adjusting his tie and looking every bit the model he always transformed into effortlessly for photoshoots and runways.
“Wow,” you said, and continued to make unintelligible sounds.
He pulled you in for a sudden, heated kiss. You nearly dropped your phone.
“Wow,” you said again, unable to say anything else. He took off your glasses and put both them and your phone in your purse without breaking eye contact.
“My babydoll has good taste,” he smirked, and shuffled you back into the nearest changeroom, carelessly flinging the curtain closed behind him, propping you up on the bench so he could begin kissing your neck without bending down. He pinned each wrist to the wall on either side of you before giving you a look that dared you to move once he removed his large hands.
“Oh, wow,” you breathed heavily, as he undid his tie and wrapped it around your eyes.
5/40 in my fanfanfic series - #5: “book” > one year & seven months.
“What are you doing?” you said, the corners of your mouth turning up as your potato of a boyfriend sprawled over the loveseat with his long legs dangling over the arm.
“Getting comfortable,” he grinned, putting his head in your lap. “What are you doing?”
“Reading,” you said shortly, attempting to continue but your fingers found their way into his hair and you instinctively ran your fingers through as he made a low sound in his throat, not unlike a purr. You laughed and put your phone down.
“A book… on the internet?” he said, as he grinned even wider, not daring to open his eyes and make eye contact after his implication.
“Just something I wrote,” you said, ignoring his insinuation. “I haven’t looked at in a while, so I was re-reading it.”
“Will you read to me?” he asked innocently. You made an incoherent sound.
“No.”
“PLEASE.”
“Why?!”
“I love your voice.”
“No.”
“I love you.”
“No.”
“Are you just going to keep saying no to me?”
“No!”
He laughed wildly, while you grumbled something under your breath.
“What was that?” He sat up and stuck his face in yours. “Say it again!”
“I said, ‘I can’t say no to you for very long and you know it’!” You practically screeched, and covered your face.
He laughed shrilly, removing your hands. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he kissed you on the cheek. “But really, please read me something.”
“Like what?”
He pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket, dog-eared and slightly crumpled, but your eyes widened when you opened it and recognized the soft blue forget-me-nots adorning the edges.
“You kept this?” you said softly, as he stood up and sat beside you properly, snaking an arm around your waist and leaning on your shoulder.
“The poem you included in your second letter to me. Yes, I kept it.”
You kissed him on the nose. “And what happened to the first one?”
“They’re in my other pants,” he said, very seriously.
You laughed quietly, brushing his hair off his forehead gently. Every moment with him always felt like a dream, and you weren’t sure you ever wanted to wake up. Even his bad jokes were perfect to you. You groaned at yourself internally for how cliché it sounded but a blush spread on your cheeks when he kept gazing at you with love in his eyes.
“Now will you read for me?” he said quietly.
You nodded, smoothing out the paper.
“My friend, my light, true star,” you began, your voice slipping into performance mode, smooth and deep.
Spread your wings in flight
and in soul, remember those who love you
here on the ground
Here on earth, things can grow,
bloom,
flourish,
as well as be buried
But please,
remember this:
You are as bright as
the strongest star in the sky
and you melt comets
Nebulas survive because supernovas burst
You are
ever cherished
You folded the poem back up and handed it back to him. He put it securely back in his pocket, and then turned back to you, wrapping you in a big hug.
“Every time I’m away, your words are what ground me. You don’t realize how much I need you, just as much as you need me. Sometimes missing you aches so badly and I wonder if you’re thinking of me, too.”
“I’m always thinking of you,” you said, bringing up your intertwined fingers and kissing his knuckles before he placed his palms on each side of your face. “I’m always missing you, Yifan. I missed you before I even knew you. I miss your potato face, and your potato eyebrows, and your potato smile…”
He chuckled and his eyes disappeared into the crescent moons you always loved.
“And you will always be my sweet potato,” he said replied, kissing each cheek, closing the distance and placing his lips on yours chastely as you sighed happily.
