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snackhobi · 4 years

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pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)

summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.

warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!

“It’s time to get up.”

“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”

You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.

“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”

Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.

Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.

“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”

“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.

“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says.

Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.

“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”

Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says.

“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”

Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.

“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”

You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”

“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”

Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing.

You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.

(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”

Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”

Why had she ever expected anything different?)

You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.

You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful.

The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.

(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)

You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead.

You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.

(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)

(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)

(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)

“Y/n?”

You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”

Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon.

“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”

“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”

You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.

“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”

Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”

“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.

When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.

This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all.

You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.

Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.

Stupid.

You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.

And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.

You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true.

But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself.

You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.

You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.

You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned.

That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.

A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.

You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there— The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.

You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.

There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks.

There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.

You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.

It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.

He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.

“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”

The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”

Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”

The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.

You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”

This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”

“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”

The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”

A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”

As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.

The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.

“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”

“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”

When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.

“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”

The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”

You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.

“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—

“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.

His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”

You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”

“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.

“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.

“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”

He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.

But then.

“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.

“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”

The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”

“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”

He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.”

The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.

Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.

It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.

“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”

“Haha, yeah,” you say.

Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her.

“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”

“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”

You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)

You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.

And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)

You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them.

(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”

“What? Really?”

“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”

Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)

You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.

The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.

When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.

“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”

“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”

He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns.

“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”

He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.

“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”

You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”

You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.

“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”

“Would you like one?”

“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”

The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”

You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”

“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”

Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable.

“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”

“Sure.”

He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.

He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced.

“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”

“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”

You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”

He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.

“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.

“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”

The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”

Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say.

“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.

“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”

The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.

“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”

“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”

“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”

He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”

“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”

He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.

The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.

(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.

“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”

Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)

“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”

You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.

Jungkook pauses. “I don’t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”

“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”

Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”

“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”

Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”

He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”

You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”

“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.

“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”

The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.

“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.

“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”

“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”

Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.

There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.

You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.

“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”

The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.

“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”

“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”

Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”

You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”

You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.

Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say.

Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”

Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”

Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”

“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”

Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”

Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”

“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”

As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”

“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed.

Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful.

These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)

You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.

You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.

(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.

“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground.

“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)

“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”

“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”

Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.

“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”

It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.

“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”

You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”

Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin.

“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”

You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”

You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.

It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.

He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.

He’s incredible.

Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.

“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”

“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.

Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”

“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”

You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.

Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.

“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”

“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”

Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”

“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.

The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen.

Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)

Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.

You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you.

Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.

Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.

A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”

You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.

“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.

“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”

There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”

You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”

Jungkook pauses.

“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.

“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”

You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before.

The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.

“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”

“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”

He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”

Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”

You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”

Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”

“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”

Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”

The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.

“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”

You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”

Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”

He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”

He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit.

Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.

“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”

“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”

He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”

You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”

Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.

Then you lie face down on your bed.

Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive.

Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?

You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf.

To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.

You muffle a scream into your hands.

Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.

(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)

You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.

The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month.

Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.

He picks up after one ring.

“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.

“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”

You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way.

It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic.

“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?

You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met.

“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.

“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”

“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.

“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.

“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”

“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”

“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”

“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”

“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”

“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”

(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.

“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”

Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too.

As a friend.)

“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.

“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”

“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”

The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.

“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”

Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”

You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”

Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”

The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.

“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.

Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.

“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”

You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.

“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”

“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”

You beam. “Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.

“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”

You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”

For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)

You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.

But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.

When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.

You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.

“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.

“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.

“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say.

“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”

“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”

He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.

“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities.

You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.

“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”

He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”

“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”

He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.

“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.

“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.

More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay.

Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.

“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.

“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”

The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is.

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”

“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.”

“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs.

Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.

You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.

Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you.

No one’s ever looked at you like that before.

At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.

Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.

But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.

You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated.

Why can’t you write?

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.

You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately.

You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.

“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”

“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”

You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”

It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you.

You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he’s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.

“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.

“Kookie! Hi!”

Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.

“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”

“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”

Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”

You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”

Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.

You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”

Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing.

“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it.

Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.

“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”

You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.

“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”

“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”

“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”

Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.

He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.

Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.

“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”

Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.

“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.

“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.

You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.

He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.

(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)

“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”

“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”

Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.

“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.

Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”

Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him.

It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his.

His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.

He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.

You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.

You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.

Holy shit.

You’re in love with Jungkook.

The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.

“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.

You’re in love with him.

You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest.

Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”

You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”

You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.

When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.

“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.

“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”

He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night.

“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”

Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.

(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.

“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”

They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee.

It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)

“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.

“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”

“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.

Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”

You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.

“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.

“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.

“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.

Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”

Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.

“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”

You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”

Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.

“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”

“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”

“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.

“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”

Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest.

You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.

The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”

This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.

You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.

“Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.

“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.

“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”

“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.

“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”

Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.

“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.

He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.

Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you.

(He loves you.)

It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.

No, actually— it’s just the beginning.

You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts.

“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”

Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”

How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?

“What made you come around?”

“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”

Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?”

“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.

(“I love you.”

Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.

Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:

How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)

#jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts oneshot #joy.masterlist

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Ok, yoga thots...instead of finding him a class, Nush offers to show him the basics. At her or his apartment. My yoga instructor was very...hands on. He wasn’t shy about coming up behind you and yanking your hips into the proper alignment or moving you into the correct pose. I can imagine Nush being the same. Telling Marcus to relax into it, pushing and pulling him into down dog or warrior, etc. and neither of them are unaffected by the seemingly careless but inherently intimate touches.

Once their relationship is more established, I can him turning the tables on her; teasing her with light touches to “correct” her form. Pulling her hips firmly back into him when she’s in down dog because “she really needs to extend into and out of the pose”. Yeah...yoga thots 🥵

For you @silverwolf319 Enjoy the fluff to sexiness ❤️❤️❤️

Marcus Pike is a good man. He does not spend the hours you practise yoga having impure thoughts about what he knows is enclosed in your brightly tie-dyed sports bra and how those tightly fitting leggings leave nothing to his imagination. He wouldn’t dream of the possible different positions he could comfortably take you in, on that yoga mat that is almost permanently unrolled on his balcony. He does not think about the strength, curve and definition of muscle in your thighs when you pedal your legs in downward dog. Or how, those thighs look wrapped around his head or how they could easily snap his neck with their goddamn strength.

What a way to go!

Today, you have those shiny silver shorts on - the ones that when you bought them, you loved them so much that you did what you thought were comical shimmies all around the apartment in them and although all Marcus could do initially was laugh, they soon were strewn upon the floor.

They keep catching the morning sun, making your ass sparkle like a sexy disco ball. In stark contrast, your black vest top is like a second skin absorbing some of the shock factor of your lower half. Instead of Marcus’ usual position of sitting at his dining table in the chair opposite the door, he has decided to join you, out on the balcony.

“What do you want? Have you come to disrupt my path to Nirvana?” You cheekily question the purity of his intentions, whilst settling yourself on your mat, cross-legged with your weight evenly across your sit bones, about to begin mindful breathing.

Marcus reaches out to encircle his arms around you in a hug, kissing the side of your forehead, “Teach an old man some new tricks. Your brother was fit to be tied when he found out I only do running and weights. He said that as the yoga queen, you are the deity I need to bow to.”

“That’s not what he said.”

“Okay, so I’m paraphrasing... slightly.”

Marcus grins at the small huff you exhale as he knows full well that means he’s got his own way, “Fine, but just remember that yoga goes way beyond the physical asanas. Sometimes just thanking your body for breathing is all you need to achieve from your practice.”

“My breathing is okay - but my IT bands and my hamstrings are not,” he concedes.

“Alright clever clogs, you’ve just been for a run haven’t you?” Marcus nods at you by way of confirmation, “Thought so, stinky boy.”

Teasingly waggling his sweaty pits towards you - that by no stretch of the imagination actually smelled - he loves watching your pretence of disgust whilst trying to swallow a giggle, “Right, we’re going to start by stretching your spine six ways.”

“Is that even possible?” He asks, eyes widening and skin looking a little ashy.

“This is just your warm up, idiot,” you swat at his shoulder playfully, “Sit however you feel comfortable, put your left hand on the outside of your right knee and now as you breathe out, I want you to twist to the right. With every exhale, try to twist a bit more.”

Crunch-

Marcus’ face contorts in horror at the sounds coming from his body, “Should my spine have made that noise?”

“Yep. Now you’re going to do the twist the opposite way- right hand on left knee and then twist to the left.”

Clunk-

“That already feels pretty good - can I go eat pancakes now?”

He loves how you narrow your eyes, shaking your head at his level of commitment to the exercise, “Now, we’ll do a lateral stretch- right hand beside your hip and arc the left arm over your head,” you place your hands on Marcus’s back and chest to stop him from collapsing forwards, opening his heart up, “‘K, now you need to do the other side.”

“Now, I want you to come to all fours, with your back like a tabletop. You’re going to do a Cat and Cow here and then your back should be warm.”

After arching and curving his back until you are satisfied, he allows you to help him up into his first ever downward dog - he enjoys you guiding his hips back and telling him to bend his knees a little until his back is perfectly straight.

“Try holding this for ten breaths. This is a brilliant pose for runners as it strengthens your hamstrings, calves and foot arches.”

Marcus listens more carefully than you give him credit for, enjoying your no nonsense attitude. The little adjustments you do to him, make him more comfortable than he ever thought he’d be upside down with his ass in the air. And you’re right - of course you are - but being outside, breathing deeply and listening to the bird song is just making him feel so relaxed.

“Ok Bubs, I want you to bring your knee towards your hands and plant your right foot between your hands,” you gently instruct him, “Do it slowly, there’s no race. Now drop your left leg to the floor and sweep your arms up to the sky to balance. This is a low lunge - quite often called runners lunge- as it’s great for your IT bands and hamstrings.”

Marcus enjoys the all too brief feeling of your hands on his bottom to help him tuck his coccyx under before helping him back into a downward dog to work his left side. He watches you walk over to the edge of the balcony, the slight movement in your shorts throwing sunlight back at him.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

“Is it time for that lying down and sleeping pose yet?” Marcus questions pleadingly.

He loves the small laugh you give him, as you turn back towards him - eyes sparkling with mischief.

“No savasana yet, I thought we could have some fun with some couple poses,” oh that cock of your eyebrow has all the blood in Marcus’ body rushing to one area.

“Ok the first one is you holding me up in a plank position - your feet holding my lower tummy and your hands holding mine.”

Marcus places his socked feet gently against your hip bones, threading his much thicker fingers between yours, “Ready?”

He feels you take a small bounce up and catches your weight on his feet, straightening his legs, hoisting you up into the air.

“EAGLEEEEEE!” you squeal, eliciting a hearty chuckle from Marcus - the vibration making you almost lose your balance and wobble precariously, “ARGH!”

“Trust me, sweetheart. I’m not gonna let you fall - I promise,” Marcus promises wholeheartedly.

“I know you won’t,” he hears the little catch in your voice as you quietly answer, “Are you ready to let go of my hands? Keep your feet where they are - I’ll use my tummy muscles to keep myself up.”

Gradually unthreading his fingers from yours, Marcus lets go as you lift your chest into the pose. Seeing the shape you’re now in, he starts to hum the Superman theme, “I’m not sure I like these poses - you’re too far away from me and I’m touching even less of you than before,” his bottom lip sticks out in a juicy sulk.

“Oh, you want to be closer?”

“Uh yeah?”

“Ok, put me down,” you request as Marcus sets you mostly gently back onto your feet, “I’m going to help you into a bound angle pose - it’s not tricky and it feels really good as it opens up your pelvis, allowing good blood flow to the area.”

“Hah, certainly don’t have any problem in that area with you around,” Marcus winks at you.

Marcus relaxes his legs in front of him as you bend his knees outwards, placing the soles of his feet together, slowly bringing his heels in towards his groin. He shuffles his bum so that he sits directly on his sit bones, remembering what you’ve nagged him about before.

“You wanted to be close, right?” you check again, “I’m going to put myself between your legs and wrap my feet around your back now.”

“Mmm, this is better,” Marcus shuts his eyes as you settle against him, enjoying the sensation of you weaving your arms around the broad expanse of his back and resting your head against his shoulder. Looping his arms around you, he settles his head into your neck, inhaling the soft floral scent of your perfume. His eyelashes flutter butterfly kisses as his whole body relaxes into you.

Your buttery soft skin begs to be kissed and licked, nuzzled and nibbled. The closeness of your bodies has Marcus feeling giddy and drunk, despite the grounding of the floor beneath him. Focusing on the softness of your breasts pressing into him, he tries to mimic your deep inhalations and exhalations - desperately trying to suck in the air that you’ve just breathed out so that the same air can circulate through his body.

Feeling your hands move, snaking into the dark curls of his hair, Marcus pulls back slightly to gaze into your eyes before he kisses you. Soft, full lips meet yours - kissing you is always a revelation to him, astonishing him and caressing his very soul. Your gentle touches teach him the depths of your love, your intelligence and how you utterly rule him with the tenderness of your tongue.

Clutching you closer to him - as if he could try absorbing your body into his - Marcus holds you tightly, allowing your absolute adoration of him to become the glue that mends the shards of his shattered heart. Slowly bridging the gaps and reconnecting parts that have been trampled by decades of painful love - non reciprocal and undeserving- glueing it, fixing it, rewinding it back to that moment where the only love you are concerned with is that of the unconditional one of your family.

The spinning headiness from the cocktail of safety and vulnerability in the sweetness of your kisses, never fails to sweep Marcus away. Blinking the wetness that has gathered in the corners of his eyes, he draws back, attempting to swallow back the lump that has formed in his throat.

“Hey,” he feels you searching his face for the reason for his tears, enjoying how your thumbs stroke his cheeks, “Are you ok?”

“Sweetheart, ‘m’ok,” he quietly murmurs, leaning forward to brush the dampness of his face into the dark silk of your hair, “I know you’ve said that sometimes yoga makes you open your heart but I didn’t realise how literal that was.”

He loves how much you treasure his openness - never any mocking or roll of the eyes for that. For so many it was always too much - far too intense and seen as needy. Nuzzling into the scent of lazy summer evenings in Provence, he presses sweet kisses into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp enjoying the small moans of pleasure.

With your foreheads resting lightly -sitting so close that a piece of paper cannot pass between the pair of you - your breathing and heartbeats meet in synchronicity. A slight tilt of your head with the offer of your lips and Marcus is sinking back into you. Lost in taste that is so entirely you -your breakfast of black coffee and bitter marmalade- tantalising his senses.

His hands untangle from the tendrils of your hair to seek out the even softer parts of you, stopping momentarily to stroke the sides of your chest - hitting the underwire of your bra, searching for the softness encased above. Marcus scoops the rounded flesh of your breasts in his bear-like paws as his thumbs search for the sensitive, responsive nubs. He loves how your body keens into his touch - how you naturally deepen the kisses, ladening them with such an intense sensuality that it never ceases to steal the very breath from his lungs.

With a growl into your mouth as you scratch your nails into his back, he feels you arch into his touch making him squeeze your nipples tighter between his gun-calloused thumb and forefinger - a gradually softening memory of his time back in the States.

Entirely confident that you can feel the pleasure that you are bringing him, Marcus grinds his hips further into you - the warmth of your core pressing teasingly against his hardness, making him feral in his need to claim you. A small mirror of his movement from you makes him drop his hands from your breasts and grab the succulent muscle of your bum - the sudden movement making him pull you on top of him, rocking your hips forward, as he lies back between your knees.

Looping his fingers into the glittering elastic of your shorts, he goes to pull them down but is stopped by your gentle grip around his wrists and a small shake of your head, “I want to make you feel good, baby. Let me take care of you.”

Marcus’ eyes roll back as you lean forward, pinning his hands above his head. Every small kiss you press into his skin leaves an imprint on his heart as you place them all the way down the velvety creased forehead, the aquiline arch of his nose and the patchy beard on his chin before licking down his throat. He enjoys the soft path that your breasts trail ahead of the warmth from your mouth, the sensation from the weight of them causing his cock to twitch.

A small flush runs through him as you lift the soft cotton of his t-shirt, a hint of embarrassment at the softness of his tummy. His hands unconsciously move to cover himself up, which in one smooth movement you have back above his head as you lick down his chest, sucking and nibbling each nipple as you edge ever lower to his treasure trail.

Feeling your fingers slide beneath the waistband of his running shorts as your mouth peppers kitten licks and kisses across his Adonis belt, he lifts his hips slightly to allow his shorts and boxers to be lowered. As his cock, which curves slightly to the left, springs free, it hits just beside his tummy button leaving a small bead of pre-cum. Marcus swallows hard, watching as you lap it up without a second thought, your hand wrapping the base of his length guiding the proud tip into the valley between your breasts.

The sensation of his cock being massaged there, encased by the soft pliable flesh, almost makes him explode right then, decorating your skin with a precious pearl necklace. The flicks of your tongue over the tip and gentle tugs of his balls, make Marcus’ mind empty of all thoughts as the surges of pleasure become more and more intense.

Marcus can’t help the guttural groans that escape his lips as you wrap the warm wetness of your mouth around his cock and suck. He holds your hair back from your face so he can watch his inches disappear between your lips. As your mouth, hands and tongue work in harmony together, he knows he won’t last long. The pressure builds and his hips arch up, chasinghis high. He cannot help but fill the morning air with his cries of ecstasy as he fills your mouth with a flood of cum. Pulse after pulse of semen bursts forth as you keep up the deliciously deep pressure around the base of his shaft.

He loves how you still keep his rapidly softening cock in your mouth - an absolute reassurance that there was no rush to come down from his heights of pleasure. Eventually, using the hands Marcus has wrapped around your head, he urges you to slide back up along his body. As you reach eye level with him, he surges forward crashing his lips into yours, unable to say thank you in any other way.

He loves how he can taste himself on your tongue. He loves how your normally relatively organised hair has been ruffled into standing out at mad-scientist angles. He loves the softness in your eyes and how your chest is still rising and falling quickly.

He loves.

He loves you.

Tag list : @yespolkadotkitty @astroboots @green-socks @bison-writes @mouthymandalorian @tardisfangurl @mrsparknuts @danniburgh @absurdthirst @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lunaserenade @agirllovespancakes @zukoyonce @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

With massive thanks as ever to the beauteous @yespolkadotkitty for her betas of my soft core porn ❤️

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal smut #marcus pike x oc reader #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #smut

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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years

Text

Survivor’s Remorse (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Set after the events of chapter 11, Naomi isn’t handling things as well as she thought she would.

Tags: @takemyopenheart @aylamreads @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @kaavyaethanramsey @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

~v~

Naomi getting discharged into Ethan’s care seemed like a natural next step for them. After their nighttime confessions while quarantined, it sort of went without saying that they’re together. If it was up to Ethan, she’d simply move in with him as well, but for now, he is content with cohabitating until she’s recovered fully and cleared to go back to work.

To say the past few days have been exhausting is the understatement of the year. Most of the time, Naomi has a hard time believing it was even real, as it still feels like she’s sleepwalking through it all.

She’s been home for approximately 3 hours and she still doesn’t know how to feel. Ethan’s apartment is quiet, especially since he’s not even here, having run off to the grocery store. Between working 16 hour days in a hospital, living with 4 other people, and being a patient for the past 3 days, getting poked and prodded around the clock, Naomi is no longer used to quiet. It makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

So to soothe the impending anxiety, Naomi has been in Ethan’s living room, his speakers blasting some upbeat pop song that’s currently on a Top 40 chart. She can’t place it, but it doesn’t matter. She just needs background noise.

The music is up loud enough that Naomi doesn’t even hear the front door open. It isn’t until she feels another presence in the room does she look up and see Ethan standing in his mini mud area, dropping off his keys and coat.

“Hey!” Naomi instantly grabs her phone and turns down the music, her cheeks flushing as if she’s been caught. “Sorry I had it up so loud.”

“It’s fine, it wasn’t that loud,” Ethan assures her. “I just expected you to be resting. I thought you were tired.”

She is tired, but she feels restless. “I’m off of work indefinitely, I’ll have plenty of time to sleep.”

Ethan drops off his reusable grocery bag in the kitchen and quickly washes his hands before heading to the living room. He drops a chaste kiss onto Naomi’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Naomi shrugs, unsure of how to answer such a loaded question. “Same old, same old.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow at the non-answer, but he doesn’t push it any further. “Well, are you at least hungry?”

“Starving.” Between the gross hospital food and the crippling nausea, food was the last thing on Naomi’s mind. But now that she’s feeling a bit better, she’ll welcome anything Ethan gives her.

“I’ll get started on dinner. How does French onion chicken and rice sound?”

“Amazing. Do you need any help?”

“None at all,” Ethan says. He doesn’t want Naomi lifting a finger while she’s under his care. “Just sit back and relax.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Naomi announces, standing up. “Is it okay if I use yours?”

“Of course. There are spare towels in the hall closet. But uh, fair warning, I didn’t know what type of bath products you enjoy, so I went overboard.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, I think I bought everything I could get my hands on. It’s all in the guest bathroom .”

True to his word, Naomi finds an incredibly large gift basket sitting on the counter of the guest bathroom. It’s filled to the brim with shower gels, bath salts, shampoo, conditioner, lotions, loofahs, and other goodies that will take months for her to go through, all in her favorite scents: coconut, jasmine, and raspberry. It’s very over the top and the products are clearly more luxe than what she’d buy at the Target downtown, but her chest warms at the obvious effort he’s put into it.

Ethan’s en-suite is the same as she remembers from all of those months ago, the first time they slept together. Extremely minimalist with only a few of his grooming products. Naomi is almost certain he doesn’t appreciate the freestanding claw foot bathtub nor the large waterfall shower as much as he should.

Once she gets the water started, gathers all of her products and she’s fully in the shower, Naomi doesn’t do anything except stand directly under the shower head, taking a moment to collect her bearings. She closes her eyes, but instantly regrets it.

As soon as she’s plunged into the darkness, she’s back in the Senator’s hospital room. The hissing sound of the canister rattles around in her brain, the sense of panic in her voice, the ice cold rage in Travis Perry’s voice, the retching sounds of everyone vomiting relentlessly all play through her mind on a torturous loop.

Her eyes fly open, as does a hand to her chest, and in her peripheral, she notices it. The slimy, black oil they were all assaulted with. Naomi looks down, and it’s all she can see, as thick as it was all the days ago, coating from head to toe.

A gasp catches in her throat and she stumbles back, knocking over a few bottles in the process, but she doesn’t care. There’s only one thing on her mind: getting clean.

She turns the water up as hot as possible. She doesn’t bother with any shower gel, she simply grabs her loofah, and scrubs. The spongy material is coarse against her skin, and it’s perfect in this moment because that’s what she needs, and she digs it in as roughly as she can.

Scrub.

Naomi can still feel the poison. It’s on her skin, in her hair, lingering on her skin. Bobby’s face flashes across her vision once more, absolutely drenched as he took the worst hit, and it only fuels her further.

Scrub.

Her throat tightens, due to the extremely scalding temperature of the water, but instead of turning the water down, Naomi thinks about the tightening sensation she felt when she thought she might asphyxiate in the hospital.

Scrub.

“Dammit!” She doesn’t even realize she’s said the expletive aloud, so caught up in what she’s doing. “Just come off already!”

The concept of time has been lost completely, and Naomi doesn’t know how long she’s been standing in this same spot, methodically scrubbing and rinsing, rinsing and scrubbing. But it’s no use. No matter how much she tries, all she can see is the fucking poison. It’s past surface level, she can feel it in her blood, thrumming as it courses through her veins.

Scrub.

“Naomi?” It’s a different voice, Ethan’s. He heard the bottles fall off the shelves and ignored it, but he can’t ignore the fact that Naomi is yelling at someone or something. “Are you okay in there?”

He raps his knuckles against the door a few times, and when he doesn’t receive a response, his hand goes to the doorknob, twisting it slightly to see if she locked the door. She didn’t. Being courteous, Ethan knocks once more and when Naomi still doesn’t say anything to him, he opens the door to the en-suite and walks in.

Ethan doesn’t know what he expected to see on the other side of the door, but Naomi scrubbing her skin nearly raw under a stream of hot water was not it.

He throws the shower door open, ignoring the steam that billows out, and turns off the water. “Naomi! What on earth are you doing?”

“It won’t come off,” she cries.

“What won’t come off?”

“This damn maitotoxin! It won’t come off, no matter how much scrubbing I do. I want it off! I want it gone!”

Ethan watches as she throws down her loofah and just starts clawing at any piece of flesh she can get her hands on: her face, her chest, her arms, her neck.

Deciding enough is enough, Ethan grabs a large bath towel and wraps it around Naomi’s petite frame, holding down her arms so she can’t mutilate herself further.

“No,” Naomi argues, shaking her head, and she struggles against him.

“Rookie, breathe,” Ethan commands. He loosens his grip slightly and uses one hand to tilt her chin up so they can look at each other. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused. “Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. Listen to my voice.”

“You’re not in the hospital anymore,” he continues, struggling to keep his voice even and his emotions in check. “You’re with me, you’re in my shower. The toxin is gone, it’s not on your skin, it’s not in your system. You’re clean and you’re safe. I promise you’re safe.”

He repeats the last sentence over and over and over again, until it’s a chant. Eventually Naomi’s body loosens up and she allows him to support some of her body weight. Eventually, they sink to the floor, and Ethan cradles her close to his chest.

Naomi doesn’t know how long they’ve been in this position, but the world is finally coming back into focus. Her senses are her own again, no longer controlled by pervasive memories, and the first thing she smells is Ethan’s cologne, and she feels his fingers tracing nonsensical patterns on her back.

The silence they’ve been plunged back into is deafening, and now she’s faced with the crushing weight of her reality.

“I almost died the other day,” Naomi says, her voice barely above a whisper. It’s a fact she’s always been cognizant of, but even more so now that the adrenaline has worn off. Holy shit, she really could’ve been dead, cold and in a grave right now.

“But you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but...I was so c-close.” Fat tears roll down her cheeks, and she doesn’t have the energy to do anything about them.

“But you didn’t,” Ethan repeats, his voice coming gruffer than usual. He doesn’t want her dwelling.

“But Bobby did. And he leaves behind an entire family that loves him.” She can still see his lifeless body on the cold hospital floor, convulsing and gasping for air. “And Danny did. He was one of my first friends at Edenbrook. He was the only nurse who had my back after Landry spread lies about me. He and Sienna were…” her voice trails off as she’s unable to finish her sentence. “Sienna probably hates me.”

“Trust me, Sienna could never hate you. I’ve never seen a more steadfast and loyal friend.”

Naomi flashes back to all of her not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts to get Sienna and Danny together. After all of Sienna’s troubles with Wayne, she wanted nothing more than her best friend to be happy, and now Naomi has ruined it for her.

Another sob bubbles up in her throat and she can’t push it away. “She doesn’t h-hate me n-now, but wait until the shock wears off and the resentment starts s-setting in. This is all my f-fault.”

“Naomi, this is not your fault,” Ethan argues.

“I should’ve never poached Ed from Mass Kenmore. I s-shouldn’t have gone running guns blazing into his suite. I should’ve called more security other than Bobby to help-p, I should’ve w-waited for y-you. I should’ve called the police. I should’ve have b-been able to talk Travis down.”

Ethan clears his throat before speaking, trying to keep himself in check. If Naomi is going to be okay, he can’t let his own emotions selfishly take over. “Travis had it in his head that Ed needed to pay for what happened to his brother. No one on this earth could have stopped him from doing what he did. It’s not your fault, and you’re no less of a person for not being able to stop a psychopath. No matter how strong and formidable you are, you are just one person, and I am refusing to let you carry the weight of that burden by yourself.”

Of course deep, deep, deep down, the logical part of Naomi’s brain knows it wasn’t directly her fault, but the illogical part still feels incredibly responsible for the events that played out at Edenbrook.

Naomi sniffles, the heat of the shower now gone and a shiver racks her body. Ethan notices it instantly, and in a show of strength, he scoops her out of the shower, carrying her back into his bedroom.

He finds the warmest clothes he can get his hands on, a worn Johns Hopkins sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms that are entirely too big on her. He ushers her into bed, pulling the soft duvet over her.

“You’re not getting in too?” Naomi asks, and Ethan picks up on the slight panic in her voice.

“Yeah, I just need to change out of my clothes, and I’ll be right back.”

She watches as Ethan quickly discards his work clothes and he slides into bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. Naomi huddles closer to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

“My hair is going to be a disaster once it dries,” she mumbles against his skin. Her curly hair demands a very strict routine.

“I’ll help you.”

For the first time in the past 72 hours, Naomi manages to laugh. The image of Ethan trying to detangle and properly moisturize her hair is hilarious, and now she has to see it. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I should get back into the kitchen. I know you’re really hungry and dinner isn’t going to cook itself.”

Silently protesting, Naomi’s fingers dig into his arm, willing him to not leave. She doesn’t want to be left alone, especially not for something as trivial as dinner. She pulls away so she can look him in the eyes.“Can we just lay here for a little while longer?”

“I’ll stay here for as long as you want me to.”

“You promise?”

Ethan nods and places a soft kiss on her lips–they’ve made a pact to be as tactile with each other as possible, both in public and in private. After the events of the last few days, what’s the use in hiding how they feel about each other? “I promise.”

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #choices: open heart #open heart 2 #open heart #ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan x mc

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writingsofwesteros · 1 year

Note

I know your inbox must be flooded but I couldn't resist to ask, oops. Harwin with a fairly innocent reader, please? Like he makes sure she feels good he's completely whipped for her, obsessed even. Thank you for running such fun and creative blog! 🤍

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

“Such a good girl I have.” Harwin purred down to you. Those big eyes of yours innocently looked up; a pretty blush on your face. The praise that always fell from his lips had you ducking your head. That was the wrong thing to do as you watched his thick, fat cock push in and out of your weeping pussy. The sight alone had you fluttering around him; his cock throbbing in retaliation.

Soon, he had impaled you completely. The delicious stretch still happened even after the many times he’d taken you to bed. “Harwin…” You softly whispered his name; your arms looping around his neck almost instantly. Your fingers slowly moved into his locks as your lips sweetly parted in a silent moan of pleasure. A smirk tugged on his lips as he began to rock.

Those dark eyes of his slowly moved over your body; resting on the bulging his cock was making as he moved. Gods, you were perfect, he thought to himself. His larger hands gently moved up your chest, palming your sweet, ample breasts. “So beautiful.” The knight whispered sweet nothings down at you as he rocked.

He watched the blush make its way down your body and couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. His thumbs brushed over your pebbling nipples. A soft whine escaped you as he pushed his fat cock deeper inside your weeping pussy. “Oh..oh my..ah..” You babbled nonsense in his ear as Harwin leaned closer; his nose brushing against your own.

His hand was now cupping your face as he leaned closer; his soft lips capturing your own as your eyes fell shut. Your fingers moved through his curls once more as your legs wrapped around his middle; your eagerness returning. His cock somehow slipped deeper and had you moaning so prettily into his ear as he moaned.

His groans had you whimpering as the sound of your wetness only echoed around the room some more.it was obscene and had you blushing as his cock only thrust harder and faster. Your stomach is tightening in pleasure and you knew your release was close. His fat head was bullying your spongy spot so meanly. “Oh, is it too hard for the little one?” Harwin teased; pressing soft kisses to your neck.

“No..no, I can take it.” You whispered; stuttering with pleasure as you tugged on his locks some more. It brought his lips back down on your own. “I love you.” Harwin whispered before your tongues began to dance. “I love you too.” You mumbled against his lips as those big, brown eyes of his watched you fall apart.

His thick fingers slowly brushed against your clit again and again as you squirted around his fat, thrusting cock. “Ha…Harwin!” You whimpered out loudly; your hands reaching for him as his hips still rocked. The knight was chasing his own release now. “Fuck, that’s it..so good.” The words of praise easily slipped from him as his cum was flooding your soaked pussy.

“Shh, sweet boy.” You whispered down to your sleeping babe. His babbling interrupting his own sleep that you couldn’t help but giggle to. Your fingers slowly brushed through those curls of his as you kept him close to your chest. The soft cold coming over you both as you kept the fur covers around him. His chubby hand reaches for your locks.

“I thought you would be out here.” The deep, familiar voice of your husband came from behind you as he rested his head on your shoulder. His larger hand gently brushed his son’s cheek and watched the babe hum and burrow into them both. “He looks just like you.” You whispered sweetly before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the babe’s head.

Harwin hummed and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before resting his head against you. “He has his mother’s eyes.” His hands slowly moved up and down your sides as those dark eyes of his caught sight of the Princess. The Princess that was still without an heir. Harwin knew once upon a time he would have helped her.

Even when he married you; he would have helped..but then Harwin was beginning to fall in love with you until this very moment where he was now obsessed. You were all he cared about; you and the babe in your arms. “Should you not be working?” You whispered up at him; leaning your head into his large chest for comfort.

“Oh, do you want me to take my leave?” He couldn’t help but tease; a smirk tugging on his lips as you blushed. You ducked your head before shaking it. His chuckling continued as his hand still stroked your back. “We should move inside.” You gently whispered as the cold air around your little family only became colder.

“Hmm, I think so too.” He whispered; looking lovingly down at you as he completely forgot about anything else. Nodding towards his brother; Harwin gently guided you back into the keep. The warmth slowly wraps around you now. “I heard your father asked you to go to Harrenhal for a while?” You nervously asked; chewing on your bottom lip.

Harwin hummed; his annoyance still clear from his conversation with his father. It seemed the Princess’ desire was not hidden as well as she would have liked. Of course, it seemed his sweet wife did not see it and Harwin did not know how he had gotten so lucky. “I do not want to leave you.” He finally whispered out.

A soft smile came over your face at his words; your heart skipping a beat. “I do not want you to leave either.” You finally whispered out. A soft babble came from your sleeping boy as if he was adding to the conversation. A chuckle escaped Harwin as he kept an arm around his little family. “You could come with me.” Harwin gently offered.

“Did your father invite me?” You gently asked. Happiness bubbling inside you just below the surface at his request. Harwin’s silence was the answer enough and you couldn’t stop your head bowing as you nibbled on your lip once more. “My father does not control me. If I want you to come..you will come.” Harwin gently had you stopping.

“And I want you to come.” The happiness was easily read on your face as he gently took your free hand. Your fingers began to play with his own thicker ones. “I am glad.” You whispered as his hand slowly moved to cup your face. You softly leaned into his touch before pressing a soft kiss to his palm. “I would like that.”

Harwin hummed as he leaned in. His eyes danced in amusement before he lovingly captured your soft lips. A soft hum escaped you as you moved to deepen the kiss; your soft tongue shyly tracing his bottom lip. He chuckled at your confidence as his hand moved to the back of your neck and kept you against him for a moment longer.

“We should start packing, hmm?” He whispered into your ear; his beard tickling your cheek before you softly nodded with a giggle. Harwin pecked your lips once more and then again; brushing your noses together before leaning away. Gently, he linked arms with you and began the walk back to your shared apartments.

“It seems someone is now waking up.” You whispered down to your babe; his arms slowly reaching out. “There, there lad.” Harwin hummed and gently scooped him from your arms. The babe’s giggling had your own smile widening. You watched your husband whisper into the babe’s ear as you followed them both back to your rooms.

Harwin’s hand slowly reached behind to take your own instinctively.

#harwin strong x y/n #harwin strong x reader #request

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nalgenewhore · 3 years

Text

masterlist - part two ½ - part four

disclaimer: this is a collection of one shots set in the same au - there is no plot/no catch/minimal angst

nsfw <3

Maybe I don’t hate you.

Maybe I’m tired of pretending we wouldn’t be great together.

It was dark when they stumbled into Elide’s apartment. She shoved his coat off and let hers fall onto the floor of her entryway. Their bags were next and then Lorcan cupped the backs of her thighs to hoist her up.

He walked further into her place. Elide cupped his face in her hands and claimed his lips in a greedy embrace. Her teeth snagged on his bottom lip and she flicked her tongue over the small hurt. “Couch?”

“Gods, no,” she breathed. “We aren’t high school students.” Elide licked into his mouth and Lorcan groaned.

“Don’t talk about high school students with your tongue in my mouth.”

Elide tipped her head back and laughed, her eyes closed. “Fair enough, Salvaterre.” She tugged his face back to hers and pressed a softer kiss to his kiss-swollen lips.

“So, kitchen counter, then?”

“No, you pig. Bed.”

Lorcan smirked against her mouth, “As the princess commands.” She laughed softly and kissed him silent.

“‘t’s the room by the fire escape,” Elide said.

He smoothed his hand up her back to pull her closer and walked into her room. Lorcan laughed darkly at her shriek when he tossed her onto the mattress.

Elide bounced on impact and glared up at him. “Bastard.”

“Aw, babe,” Lorcan cooed, “I didn’t know you were into nicknames.”

Her response was abruptly cut off by him tugging her down to the foot of her bed. He spread her legs to fit himself between them. The tight skirt of her slate-grey sheath dress constricted around her thighs. When he leaned down, seeking her lips, Elide paused him with a hand over his heart.

Lorcan stopped instantly, his eyes searching hers, “What is it?” He stepped back when she pushed his shoulders. “El, talk to me.”

“Nothing’s wrong, stop worrying.” Elide stood up and turned around. She twisted her thick, chocolatey tresses to the side, exposing the smooth elegance of her neck and her dress’s zipper. “Undo me?”

Lorcan stepped closer and wound his hands around her hips, “Gods-damn tease.” She let out a sultry chuckle that melted into a moan when he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. He slowly tugged the zipper down and followed its path with feather-light kisses over her spine. Then, he kneeled to pull it down.

Her bare skin glowed in the moonlight that streamed through her window. Lorcan looked up at her when she turned around and stepped out of the crumpled form of her dress. Elide slowly let her hair go and it spilled down, the rich darkness stark against the paleness of her skin. “Why are you looking at me like that,” she whispered. His gaze was filled with wonder and devotion. “It’s just me.”

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” She slowly sat down, leaning back on her elbows. Lorcan ran his hands up her thighs and dug his fingers into the supple flesh. “You are my wildest dream.”

Elide reached out to grip his jaw and pulled his lips to hers, “Stop being a sap and fuck me.”

Lorcan snapped his teeth at her and snarled a warning, “Play nice, Lochan.” He plundered her mouth with his tongue and subtly wiped the tears that had formed from his words away before they could fall.

“Oh,” she purred, “I’ll always play nice for you.” Elide stretched out on her back and lifted her hands above her head. “Ravage me, darling.”

He laughed darkly and rose above her. Elide wrapped an arm around his head and ran her other hand down his front, deftly undoing his shirt buttons. She shoved the offending garment from his body, “Off.”

There was something desperate in her voice and in the hasty way she touched him. Before his mind could be completely fogged by her, Lorcan pulled away and pressed her wrists into the mattress. He bent his head, slowly kissing her neck and up her jaw, “Princess, slow down. I’m not going anywhere.” Lorcan nudged her chin with his nose and then pressed his lips to hers. “I’m right here.”

Elide breathed in deeply and pulled her wrists out of his hands. She strung her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist, “I just want you to fuck me already. Take it slow and deep, mmmm.” He hummed into her mouth and dipped his fingers between her thighs. Even through the mesh of her panties, Lorcan could feel how slick she was. Elide broke off the kiss when he grazed his fingertips beneath her underwear and teased her. “Don’t fucking tease me, please.”

He laughed quietly and stroked her again before curling two fingers into her tight heat. Lorcan pumped her slowly and circled his thumb over her clit. Her breathing hitched and became lighter in his ear. To ground her, to keep her with him, Lorcan peppered kisses over her chest and down to her cleavage.

Through the lacy bra, he licked his tongue over her nipple and was rewarded with a low moan. Her hips started to rock with his motions and Lorcan slid down her body. Her thighs parted to accommodate him. Lorcan banded his forearm across her belly and pressed her into the mattress, “Stay still.”

Elide stopped moving and waited in agony as he pulled her panties down her legs and tossed them to the side. She slid her fingers into his hair as his exhale fanned over her sensitive core and tightened her hold when Lorcan sucked her clit into his mouth.

The feeling had a wanton, breathless cry pouring from her parted lips. Elide tipped her head back as he continued, working her up and up and up with his mouth and fingers. I should’ve known he’d be good with his mouth, she thought to herself, the thought pulling a half-mad giggle from her pleasure-wrought body.

She felt his wicked grin against her sex and arched her back, “Oh, gods, please.” He crooked his fingers and Elide gasped, “Yes, right fucking there, yes.” She could feel herself dangling on the precipice of everything and pulled on his hair, “I’m so close, I’m gonna- ohhh, Lorcan.”

It could’ve been an eternity or a split second later when Elide came. She was weightless, crashing through the sticky-sweet bliss of release. From her mouth poured the most wondrous sounds he would crave hearing forevermore and her body spasmed with it all.

Lorcan rose from between her legs and kissed up her body. Elide reached out for him, a serene smile on her face. “You’ve never been that polite before,” he teased her, wearing a proud grin. Elide hooked her legs around his hips and expertly twisted them. Lorcan gaped up at her, shock and awe and lust flitting across his eyes, “Damn, princess.”

She laughed again, tipping her head back, “Don’t look so surprised. There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“Yeah, things I want to learn,” he said, sliding a hand around her waist. “C’mere, El.” Lorcan sat up and Elide leaned in. They kissed slowly, drinking each other in. Elide looped her arms around his shoulders and traced nonsense patterns over the nape of his neck with the tips of her fingers.

As they continued, practically melting into each other, Elide reached down between them and fiddled with the buckle of his belt before she managed to undo it. He groaned softly when she undid his fly and slid her hand into his briefs.

The air changed around them when they were both bare. It became slow, and soft, like this moment was special and something neither would forget.

Biting kisses and desperate holds melted into exploring touches. Elide rested her forehead against his as she sunk down on him and her thighs squeezed the outsides of his hips. He rubbed her back, kissing her softly. Elide eased into him and after, every movement was bliss.

They wrapped their arms around each other, desperate to ease the sting of longing for one another. Even pressed as close as they could be, it barely soothed their aches. Elide idly thought, as she felt her body seize in anticipation, she would never get tired of this.

Something shifted in her and she committed the sight of his face, the way the silver light of the moon slipped and slid across his euphoria-filled features, to memory. She dusted chaste kisses across his cheeks and their lips met once more.

They reached their peaks in that soft, slow way. Elide felt like she was floating as she came for the second time and like the only thing that was holding her to the ground was Lorcan beneath her. She kissed him, mumbling against his lips, “Come for me, baby. Let go.”

Her name was a prayer spilling from his mouth when he climaxed, holding her hips to him, “Fuck, princess, you’re so gods-damned perfect.”

She hummed and licked over his lips, “I know, babe.” Lorcan pinched her side in retaliation and she pushed his hand away, “Don’t you dare tickle me.”

Lorcan laughed and shuddered slightly when he lifted her off of him. “I would never.” He tucked his hand behind his head and looked up at her ceiling. When the bed shifted, Lorcan looked down at Elide. “Where are you going?”

The dark-haired woman picked his shirt up off the floor and buttoned it over her. She walked over to her closet and pulled a thick flannel blanket out. “I want to show you something. Come,” Elide held her hand out expectantly. Lorcan pushed himself up and picked his underpants. He put them on and took her hand.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere cool,” she promised. Elide tugged him behind her as she marched out of her room to the fire escape. She pushed the window up and climbed out onto the iron structure. “C’mon, don’t be a coward.” Lorcan clicked his tongue at her and followed her out. “We’re going up.” She started up the stairs and Lorcan laughed under his breath before dutifully climbing up behind her.

They climbed up onto the roof and Elide pulled him over to a lattice-covered area. Fragrant jasmine vines curled around the cover and after she flicked a switch, Lorcan saw the fairy lights that had been strung up. “Did you do this?”

Her cheeks were flushed and she nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, “Yeah. I… I did it a few years ago and some of my neighbours helped me.”

She made a surprised squeak when Lorcan tugged her into his arms, “It’s perfect, princess. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Elide stretched onto her tiptoes to kiss him sweetly, “You’re welcome. Let’s sit.” She stepped over to a patio couch and grabbed the blanket. Lorcan sat down and she spread the blanket over them. He wrapped her up in his arms and stretched his leg out so she could sit between his legs, her back against his chest. Elide settled into him and said softly, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

He kissed the top of her head and rested his chin on the crown of her head. From her roof, they could see the entire city, all lit up. Lorcan smiled, “It is.”

For a while, they didn’t say another word. Lorcan dragged his fingers up and down her leg. He stared at her while she stared at the lights. Elide let her head back back against his shoulder and looked up at him. “Lorcan?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my wildest dream, too.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

@mythicaitt @werewolffprince @schmlip-scribble @empire-of-wildfire @the-regal-warrior @ladyverena @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt @thegoddessofyou @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @claralady @neonhellas @darlinminds @readingismyonlyhobby @autophobiaxx @silversprings28 @myshadowsingeraz @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @elriel4life @always-in-a-daydream @jlinez @ladywitchling

#ntf part three #nine to five #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore

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izzielizzie · 3 years

Note

I love your one shots so can you do one of everyone hanging out at Addy's apartment?

Yes, under the cut. I wrote this with the AMAZING @forjusticeandspite and it’s long but SO worth it and also going to be on my ao3

“My apartment is haunted!” Addy declares as she sits in her chair at lunch. Her tablemates glance at each other for a moment.

“Okay I’ll bite,” Nate says, his arm draped over Bronwyn’s shoulder. “Why is your apartment haunted?”

“How exactly am I supposed to know why ghosts have taken residence in my house Nathaniel?” Addy asks.

Nate shrugs.

“Then how do you know you’re haunted?” Luis asks good-naturedly.

“There are weird noises all the time, stuff keeps falling, and it’s really cold.” The look of genuine terror on Addy’s face keeps Maeve from laughing. Barely.

“What are you going to do with these ghosts?” Cooper asks, putting an arm around Addy’s shoulders and pulling her into a hug.

“Well, actually, I was hoping we could deal with this as a... group? Ash is away this weekend and I’m throwing the track part Saturday night so you know… I gotta clean the place.”

Maeve raises an eyebrow. “You want us to clean your apartment for you?”

“Well, that and also deal with the ghost,” Addy says, nodding solemnly, her purple hair bouncing around her face.

Maeve catches her sister’s eye. Bronwyn shrugs, and Maeve makes a face at her. “We’re in,” Bronwyn says, speaking for both sisters as Maeve shakes her head vehemently.

“Aww thanks!” Addy says brightly into Cooper’s shoulder.

“I’ll be there with Kris too,” Cooper adds. Addy squeezes him tighter.

After a couple kicks to the ankle from Bronwyn, Nate relents and agrees, leaving only Luis. Addy turns to him expectantly. He runs his hand through his hair as he avoids Addy’s pleading eyes.

“You know, well, I was going to… not clean an apartment on my Friday night.”

“I’m with him,” Maeve says, perking up. She pauses for a minute, knitting her eyebrows together. “Well, not with, with him. Just, you know. Not going.”

Bronwyn glances between her sister’s red face, and Luis’s equally flushed face, her eyes narrowed. She’d been sensing some sort of… awkwardness between the two of them lately, but Maeve had refused to answer any questions.

Nate just giggles under his breath watching Maeve be a wreck. To him, this is entertaining. Addy winces. Secondhand embarrassment is her worst enemy.

Maeve glares at him and kicks his other ankle. “Remind me not to sit between the two of you,” he grumbles as the sisters let out identical snorts.

“Please come Luis,” Cooper says, steamrolling over the looks Maeve and Luis are giving each other.

“Only if Maeve goes,” Luis says with a shrug. Maeve narrows her eyes at him.

“She’s going!” Bronwyn says pleasantly.

“Says who?” asks Maeve, shocked at this development.

“Says the person driving you.”

“And if I just happened to avoid said person driving me?” Maeve answers cheekily.

“I can take you. Would you avoid me?” Luis asks.

Maeve sputters, turning to him. “What?”

“Would you avoid me?” Luis repeats, smirking at her.

Maeve opens and closes her mouth for a moment as Addy burrows her head further into Cooper’s shoulder. The secondhand embarrassment is steadily becoming worse.

“The guy asked a question Maevey,” Nate says, smirking.

“Stop enjoying this,” Bronwyn mutters under her breath, leaning into him.

Nate shrugs and whispers under his breath again, “It’s funny though!” as Maeve finally answers.

“I don’t know what you want me to say? I…” She trails off, sounding panicky and confused at the same time.

Addy whimpers. She really can’t handle this sort of thing.

Even Cooper, who doesn’t want this interaction to be happening at all, buries his head in his hands, sending Addy crashing against him.

Maeve glances between her sister and Luis for a moment. “Okay sure, yeah I’ll go with you,” she says finally.

Nate stage whispers, “Are you sure we’re still talking about coming to Addy’s house to scare away a ghost? Or am I just reading this wrong?” Bronwyn lightly smacks his shoulder as she looks at Maeve’s face.

“Yes we’re still talking about the ghost,” Maeve snaps, her patience for boys finally worn thin.

“Great, we’ll reconvene after the last bell,” Addy says, sounding like a tour guide as the warning bell rings.

Bronwyn and Cooper nod and start to leave. Nate saunters after them but turns back and smirks at Maeve before he says, “Maevey, you might want to splash some water on your face. You look a little… overheated to say the least,” He grins and turns around.

Maeve looks as if she wants to die. Luis grins to himself as he swings his bag over his shoulder, heading off in the opposite direction, leaving Addy and Maeve at the table. Addy turns to Maeve, a smirk on her face. “So,” she starts.

“Oh shut up,” Maeve says, looping her bag over her shoulder and stalking off.

Addy calls out behind her, “I wasn’t going to say anything!”

Maeve chooses to ignore her.

---

Three hours later, Maeve taps Luis on the shoulder. He’s sitting on the front steps of the school, tapping away at his phone. Bronwyn and Nate had just walked away, heading hand in hand to Nate’s motorcycle. Addy and Cooper had left too, planning to pick up Kris before they headed to Addy’s apartment.

“Hey,” Luis says, glancing up at her, squinting as the sun hits his eyes.

“Hey,” Maeve responds, shifting from one foot to another, uneasy. She’s not quite sure when it happened, but lately Luis had gone from a mildly cute nuisance to someone she can’t keep her eyes off of.

“Hey,” Luis says, both of them too busy staring at each other to notice he’s already said that.

“Well, we should go,” Maeve says, waving her arm at the parking lot. Or at least what she thinks is the parking lot.

A slow smile forms on Luis’s face looking at her. “Unfortunately, I was unable to park my car in the football field today, so you might have to make do with the parking lot.” He points in the opposite direction as Maeve’s face flames.

“Right, I forgot.” Maeve mumbles.

“Clearly, even though, correct me if I’m wrong, you’ve been here for three years now? Maybe I’m wrong though, who knows?” Luis says, his voice filled with laughter.

“Two,” Maeve says.

Luis’s mocking smile drops. “You’re a year younger than us.”

Normally, Maeve would give a nonsensical answer, waving her arms around until the person asking forgets what the conversation is about, but for some reason, she finds herself looking up (and up -- Luis is tall) into his deep brown eyes. She’s never noticed how friendly they are until now. “I had cancer. For seven years. I started freshman year too late.”

Luis doesn’t respond for a moment, looking down at her. His arm moves forwards for a moment, as if he’s intending to take her hand in his, but he pulls back. “That sucks,” he says after a moment.

To her surprise, and his too she guesses, Maeve starts laughing. He stares at her for a moment until he laughs too. She reaches forward, her hand on his forearm to steady herself. “You summed that up pretty well,” Maeve says when she catches her breath.

“I guess I did.”

Maeve’s hand is still on his arm, and they realize at the same time, stepping back.

“Well we should go…” Maeve says as Luis mutters something about how ghosts wait for no man.

Luis leads Maeve to his car, muttering about how his brothers leave all their junk in his car instead of their parents’ and she should really be careful, as she assures him that she doesn’t mind, but neither of them are really listening.

They arrive at Addy’s apartment nearly twenty minutes after the time they agreed on. They separate instantly, Luis heading towards Cooper and Kris. Maeve floats towards Bronwyn as if in a trance, wrapping herself around her side. Bronwyn and Addy exchange surprised looks over Maeve’s head. Clearly something had happened, and they silently agree to figure out what.

“So, what’s going on with the ghost?” Maeve asks.

“Well, nothing has happened yet,” Addy says, rolling her eyes.

“Except it’s really cold,” Nate adds, he’s relinquished his jacket to Bronwyn, who drowns in the jacket because she’s 5’ 4” and Nate is almost a foot taller. It’s quite cute.

“So?” Maeve asks. She looks around. The apartment is sparse and it honestly looks a bit creepy. She figures a ghost might like a place like this.

“Yeah, this is an old apartment. Old apartments are cold,” Luis says.

“But why would it be cold? It’s April and we’ve had a heatwave, and also, California?” Kris says. He definitely has a point.

“Okay so free air conditioning. What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re very antighost, aren't you?” Maeve asks him.

Luis raises an eyebrow at her. “And you’re not? You didn’t even want to come.”

Maeve tilts her head in acknowledgement. “Fair.”

Cooper looks between the two, sensing a shift in their relationship. It’s a small shift, but it’s there nonetheless. And he doesn’t like it. “Why don’t we start cleaning, and if we come across some ghosts we’ll act accordingly?”

“Sure Dad,” Addy mumbles as she leads her friends to the kitchen where a variety of cleaning supplies are lined up. Brooms, mops, bottles of liquids and rags are all on the table. Addy was serious about the cleaning.

She points at Bronwyn and Nate and says, “You guys tackle the hallways,”

Pointing at Kris and Cooper she says, “You guys do the kitchen,”

Pointing at Maeve and Luis she says, “You guys will do the living room,”

And then she points to herself. “Because I’m nice, I will do the bathroom.”

She claps her hands and then points to the stuff in front of them. “Grab what you need and go!”

Maeve steps forward first and grabs a broom, everyone moving behind her to grab what they need. She turns around and Luis is standing in front of her. Face deadpan, he says, “Let’s chase the ghost away with our impressive brooming skills.”

She smiles at him, ‘Let’s do this.”

“Okay remember guys! If you see a ghost, just call out!” Addy calls from the dining room.

“Can you see ghosts?” Luis asks Maeve as they start in the kitchen.

Maeve tilts her head, considering the question as she pushes the dirt in a neat pile. “Yes? Maybe? I don’t think so?”

Luis nods one short nod. “Thanks for laying out all the possibilities Maevey.”

Maeve tries not to blush at his use of “Maevey”. It’s always been a name reserved for the people she loves the most. The time Evan called her “Maevey” she nearly threw her phone at his head. But there’s something tender about the way he says it. Like he loves her as much as her sister does, or maybe he could, if she let him.

Has Luis wormed himself into being one of those people yet? Someone who loves her enough to know that she’s always considered nicknames to be a display of affection? A gesture that shows love? Does he know? Maeve isn’t sure.

Luis looks at Maeve expectantly, and she realizes that she hasn’t yet responded to him. “Any time,” she mumbles, glancing down, expecting to see the pile of dust she’s been methodically adding too, but to her surprise, it’s gone, and her broom has been pulled out of her hand. “You finished?” she asks in surprise.

“You were taking too long,” Luis says with a shrug as he steps towards her. Maeve involuntarily moves towards him too, and she’s not quite sure where this is going when she hears a voice call out “Are you two working over there?”

Maeve turns to see Cooper and Kris in the arm chair, Kris sitting as straight as a pin in the middle, his hands by his side while Cooper lays next to him, his feet at the top and his head on the bottom. Why Cooper sits like that Maeve has no idea. Kris looks amused, and Cooper looks… not amused. Maeve shakes her head at them.

“You’re not working!” Luis calls from behind her.

“Couples get breaks!” Kris calls, holding up his right hand, which is intertwined with Cooper’s.

“Well what if Maeve and I are paired up for the day, hmm?” Luis asks.

“She won’t even answer if she’d avoid you,” Nate says, emerging from the dining room where he and Bronwyn had been vacuuming the rug.

Maeve rolls her eyes, face slowly reddining as Bronwyn appears next to Nate, vacuum cord in hand. “This thing is dead,” she announces as she catches sight of Cooper and Kris. “Oh are we taking a break?”

“Only if you’re a couple apparently,” Cooper says with a shrug.

“Good, I’m sitting,” Bronwyn says, dropping onto the couch and dragging Nate after her.

“Who’s sitting?” Addy asks, sticking her head out from her room.

“We are,” Nate calls. “Well everyone except Luis, Maeve, and youuuuu,” he says all sing-song.

“It’s because we’re single,” Maeve explains in response to Addy’s confused looks.

Addy frowns. “But I have a girlfriend? She’s just not in the country?”

“Wait what?” Cooper asks, trying to sit up.

“Yeah, I thought I told you. Oh wait maybe I wasn’t going to tell you because you dated her.”

“What?” Kris asks.

“Wait, are you dating Keely?” Bronwyn asks, piecing together the information faster than everyone else, as usual.

“Are you opposed to Keely?” Addy asks, crossing the kitchen to pull open the fridge and extract a Diet Coke.

“No, I’m not. But why didn’t you tell us?”

Addy shrugs. “Well, you know, Luis and Cooper dated her and I thought it would be awkward.”

“It’s not awkward,” Cooper says, swinging his legs over the side of the armchair to stand and cross the apartment, pulling her into a hug.

“I’m happy for you,” he says into her hair.

Addy giggles a little as Cooper rocks them back and forth. “Thank you!” she says as she pulls away from.

Nate just looks confused. “Keely is gay?”

Addy rolls her eyes. “She thinks she’s pan but she’s not exactly sure what label yet.”

Nate nods, a slow grin stretching across his face. “Oh no, what are you planning?” Bronwyn asks with a resigned tone.

“Just the best way to tease Addy mercilessly to make up for all the teasing she did when you and I started dating.”

“Oh I could get behind that,” Bronwyn says with a sly smile.

“No you can’t,” Addy says quickly. Bronwyn and Nate just smirk at her.

“Well, I guess that leaves Maeve and Luis,” Nate says, redirecting his smirk to the pair who had been rooted to their spots for the past few minutes.

Maeve rolls her eyes. “I’m exhausted,” she says, sliding past Addy to the couch. Luis follows her, but they stop short when the coffee table suddenly lists to the side, sending the papers on top flying. Maeve and Luis, who are closest, bend down to pick up the papers. As Maeve gathers them in a neat pile, Luis turns to the table.

“It’s the ghost!” Addy cries out, pointing to the table.

“I thought that ghosts couldn’t touch stuff,” Kris says as she leans forward on the armchair.

“They don’t need to touch stuff, they have powers. God Kris haven’t you watched any TV?” Addy asks. Kris opens his mouth to argue when Luis interrupts him.

“It’s not a ghost. The table leg collapsed.”

“And why would it do that, hmm?” Addy asks.

“Maybe it was shaking,” Bronwyn suggests.

“Yeah, this is California after all. Are we near a fault line?” Nate asks.

Bronwyn groans. “Buildings this tall can’t be built near a fault line, Nate.”

“Sorry,” Nate mumbles, catching Maeve’s eye. She smiles and rolls her eyes, telling him that her sister meant no harm. He grins at her.

“Well, whatever it is, the table needs to be fixed. We can prop it up for now.” Luis says, slightly impatient. He hauls himself to his feet and glances down at Maeve, who’s still crouched on the ground. He holds out a hand, and Maeve shifts the papers so she can take it. She tries to use his hand as momentum to pull herself up right as he pulls her up on his own, causing her to lose her balance and stumble forward.

Right into his chest.

They stare up at each other awkwardly for a beat, his hand on her waist. Then Nate coughs indiscreetly and Maeve quickly steps back, almost tripping over her own feet. “Shut up Nate,” she mutters, already missing the weight of Luis’s hand on her waist.

Luis clears his throat. “Right, so, anyway. No ghost. Just shoddy carpentry.”

For the second time that day, Bronwyn looks between Maeve and Luis with a smirk playing at her lips. “Agreed. I think we’re all good with cleaning, don’t you Addy?”

Addy tears her eyes away from Maeve’s red face with a smile. “Oh yes. Take a seat you two.” She pats the couch next to her, and Maeve and Luis oblige, sitting as far from each other as they can on a couch that really only seats two people.

“So, now what do we do?” Kris asks.

“Don’t say ghost hunting,” Bronwyn advises Addy, who sinks back into the couch.

“Monopoly?” Addy suggests instead.

Bronwyn nods, a mischievous grin forming on her face. “Monopoly,” she confirms.

Maeve gives her sister a look as Addy gets up to get the game out of the closet. “What’s up with you?” she asks her sister.

“Nothing. Oh by the way there’s a spider on your arm.”

Maeve jumps, ending up pressed against Luis. He moves his arm from around the back of the couch, his hand on her shoulder.

“There was no spider,” he informs her dryly.

“Then move your hand,” Maeve responds, glaring at her sister. Bronwyn smirks as Addy returns, dropping a box on the floor.

“Okay you guys, Monopoly is a no-go,” Addy says solemnly.

“What? Why?” Cooper asks.

“I can’t find the box. Maybe Ash ate it who knows, anyway,” she says this all very quickly. Everyone stares at her, trying to figure out what she said.

“Ash what?” Kris asks.

“Nothing anyway I found a couples’ game!” she says brightly, pulling the top of the box off.

Maeve begins to shake her head. “No, no, no, Addy why?”

“What, you don’t like couples?” Luis asks her, smirking. Maeve shakes her head at him, her eyes narrowed.

“You be quiet,” she grits out between her teeth.

Nate interjects, “Now, now Maevey. Don’t be couple-phobic, c’mon now,”

Maeve looks at him incredulously. “Couple-phobic? What? That doesn’t even make sense!”

“It makes perfect sense. If you looked it up in the dictionary, you’d even find a picture of you next to the definition.”

“Nate you pulled that out of your ass. If I was really ‘couple-phobic’ I’d tell dad you climbed through the second story window the other day,” she sneers.

‘Maeve!” Bronwyn says quickly.

A look at the faces in the room was quite a sight. Addy looks amused, Kris looks shocked, Cooper looks disapproving, and Luis looks delighted.

He leans back in his chair. “Well Maevey, you have to understand them. I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t care if you were in a similar situation?”

Maeve’s eyes widen. “I have morals!”

Luis smirks at her. “We’ll have to see how long those last then.”

“Luis Santos,” Bronwyn says harshly. Luis just shrugs at her.

“Let’s play the game!” Kris interjects before Luis can say anything.

“Good idea,” Addy says firmly. She pulls the cards out of the box and shuffles them with a flourish. “As the person reading these cards, I get to pair you guys up.” She grins.

Maeve sighs as Addy slowly spins in a circle, analyzing the people in the room. “Kris with Cooper. Bronwyn with Nate.” She pauses dramatically.

“It took you that long to choose preexisting couples?” Maeve asks sassily.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Addy responds cheerfully, tapping the cards on Maeve’s nose. Maeve waves her off with a huff. “And that leaves,” Addy turns towards Maeve and Luis. “Guess what? You two together!” She smiles like the cheshire cat and Maeve looks like she has never wanted to disappear as much as she does now.

Luis on the other hand, looks very comfortable. He slides across the couch to Maeve’s side, throwing his arm over the back of the couch like it was before. Maeve vows to murder Addy the first chance she can get. Not that sitting with Luis is that bad. She likes it actually, but still. She has principles to maintain.

And she also has no idea how to deal with the ever growing feelings towards Luis. Not that she even knows what exactly they are, but she does know she’s not ready yet. For whatever it is.

“Okay first question!” Addy says as she takes a card.

Cooper asks, “Wait. What are the rules?”

Addy looks up. “Oh right! Every card has a question. For the first round, one person has to go and answer the question. If they get it right, they get a point. There are three questions per round. Whoever has the most points at the end of the round wins!”

“Sounds good,” Cooper says, settling back against the chair, his fingers still intertwined with Kris’s.

“So, first question, we’ll start with Bronwyn and Nate. What annoys your partner the most?”

Nate answers this round: “People who don’t say what they mean.”

Addy turns to Bronwyn. “Is he right?”

Bronwyn takes a moment to answer as her eyes trail over her sister. “He is indeed.”

“Alrighty then, one point to Bronwyn and Nate. Maeve and Luis, you’re up next! What annoys your partner the most?”

Before Maeve can answer, Luis leans forward with the smirk and shining eyes Maeve has learnt means danger. “Me,” he says.

Addy raises her eyebrows and looks at Maeve. “Is that correct?”

Maeve looks confused. She turns to Luis. “You think that?” she asks him.

Luis’s smirk disappears. “Wait, I was just-” but Maeve cuts him off when she pulls him off the ground with unprecedented strength and pulls him away from their group, out of the doorway and into the hallway.

“Ow, you don’t know your own strength,” Luis says, massaging his arm as Maeve lets go of him.

Maeve ignores him as she crosses her arms and glares at him. Luis mimics her pose - down to the exasperated expression - and he holds it until she laughs. She quickly straightens her face. “What do you want from me?” she asks bluntly.

“What do I… what?” he asks, confused.

“Want from me?” Maeve repeats dangerously. Luis had always been scared of Bronwyn Rojas, and it isn’t until now that he realizes that he should be just as, if not more, scared of her sister.

“I don’t…” Luis trails off, studying her face. “I don’t know Maeve.” Maeve scoffs. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Luis waves his arms around in frustration.

“And I’m supposed to know? I was perfectly happy without you pushing your way into my life and flirting every other word! And now you have the audacity to say I don’t like you? I didn’t ask for that! I don’t want that!”

She’s nearly yelling now and Luis’s patience is running thin, maybe because he’s never really been asked a question like this before. “Then what do you want, Maeve?”

If Maeve took a moment to think, then maybe she’d realize that what she wants is for Luis to smile at her the way he did in his car when he thought she wasn’t looking. She wants him to put his hand back on her waist like he did when she nearly fell. She wants him to say her name and never stop because somehow he turns five letters into the most wonderful sound in the world. But, unfortunately, thinking when angry isn’t part of Maeve’s extensive skill set.

“What do I want? What do I want? What do you think I want? I want you to not break my heart!” she yells, then freezes, staring up at him in shock. Luis was not expecting her to say that, and clearly, she didn’t mean to. Luis can hear a muffled “finally” from the apartment, followed by a harsh shhh.

Maeve and Luis look at each other through the awkward tension between the two of them and come to the same conclusion: there never was a ghost.

“They set us up,” Maeve huffs as Luis says “something tells me this was planned.”

Maeve and Luis push open the apartment door, sending Addy and Bronwyn scurrying off to their seats.

“You two are something else,” Maeve says as she picks up her school bag, swinging it over her shoulder. Luis mimics her movements. They might not know what to say to each other, but they know what they’re thinking.

“Going somewhere?” Addy asks brightly.

“Home,” Maeve and Luis say in unison, storming out of the apartment, shutting the door as their friends break out in laughter.

“Some friends they are,” Luis mutters.

“Agreed,” Maeve says, ignoring the times the two of them had worked together to get Cooper and Kris to admit their feelings, and to get Bronwyn and Nate to start talking to each other again.

“Like, they actually made us believe there was a ghost!”

“The audacity,” Maeve adds as they stomp down the stairwell together. “I can’t believe Addy lied about Monopoly.”

“And she pinned it on poor Ashton.”

“I know!”

Neither of them bother to admit that they believed there was a ghost and that Ash had consumed a board game. Being friends with Addy leads to some interesting things, and the two have become immune to weird.

The push through the front door of the building and into the evening sunlight. “Can I drive you home?” Luis asks. Maeve doesn’t look at him when she says “sure”. Luis pauses for a moment before reaching out and grabbing her forearm. “Maeve wait.” Maeve turns to him, her hair swinging over one shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want my heart to break either.”

Maeve smiles a little at him as she climbs into the passenger seat.

Maybe neither of them needed to have their hearts broken in the end. Maybe they could figure it out. But for now, Luis knows Maeve wants coffee. So to Contigo it is.

#one of us is lying #one of us is next #maeve rojas #luis santos #bronwyn rojas #nate macauley #cooper clay #kris (oou)#addy prentiss #izzielizzie's fics

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maree-ff · 3 years

Text

Interlude: Remission

CAMILA

Excited, joyful, in lust, anxious, nervous, and overwhelmed. These are all of the emotions I was hit with at three o’clock this morning when I woke up to begin my day. Today officially marks five weeks, seventy-two hours and sixteen minutes since I ruined our relationship. Today also marks the same amount of time that Jorden has completely flipped his switch. His behavior is nothing like Andre or I have ever dealt with. I know I’m to blame for calling off our engagement but it’s almost as if Jorden feels like I took his father away. That was never my intention by any means. I only wanted for Andre and I to take some time out to explore every crevice of our relationship. The energy in our union has been off and I want to know what the root of the issue is.

Papi’s been coming by everyday to bring the kids home from school. He’s even stayed to tuck them in, help me clean up from the aftermath of dinner and then he leaves. He’s been distant, rightfully so, but I miss him! I’ve been yearning for attention and I haven’t craved male companionship in ages! Tonight, I’m going to try and do things differently. I’ve been spying on him to get his schedule for today so I can scheme and coordinate in peace. Andre didn’t pick up the kids today because I asked for his mother to do it herself. The girls are helping me choose what to wear for my weekend away while their baby brother is napping.

Sliding my boots on I tiptoed around the mess I created, rushing to get their opinion. I spun around, danced a little, showing off another outfit I pieced together.

“Okay, nenas...what about this?” I’m frantic. I am supposed to be meeting Dre at a resort in Palm Springs. He has an assignment there for the weekend so I figured this is the perfect time for us to fix what’s broken.

“Shoes..perfect. Outfit..even better.” Zoe smiles assuringly.

Kenja tilted her head left and right before responding to my question. “Perfecto..”

“Perfecto? La verdad o es esa actitud que estoy escuchando?” I sassed her.

“Si..la verdad. Mom, mira la hora por favor.” She pointed out. Glancing at my watch I cursed under my breath, rushing to get out of here. I tossed what I need for the weekend in my bag, smothering my girls in affection. I looped my bag over my shoulder and quietly raced up the steps to check on my youngest baby.

Cautiously I entered his bedroom, blushing at the mere sight of him. “Mommy’s going to fix this nino. I promise. For you and tu hermanas.” Shuffling to his bed I pulled his blanket up over his stomach to keep him warm. “Mommy loves you baby. I’ll see you when I get back and I’ll make sure to kiss Papi for you, if he’ll let me.” I kissed his forehead and backed away before he had the chance to wake up.

I left his room, spoke to Divya briefly and headed straight for Palm Springs.

———— ————

Pushing the bottle further down into the ice bucket I turned around to check out the room. I managed to get an extra key to his hotel suite since he’s still out. I got a phone call from Meah saying that he should be arriving shortly.

“Mommy,” I exhaled. Clutching the Bible to my chest I looked out at the sun setting over the horizon. “Necesito su orientación.” My spirit feels alive again. I can feel her. “I need you to walk me through this. I ruined my relationship and I need to get it back. Please watch over me and don’t let me screw this up.” Marking my body in favor of the cross I set the Bible down and put some final touches on his room.

About fifteen minutes later I heard a key unlatch the lock to the room.

“Alright, look I’ll tell you what. Let me look over the proposal, run the account and find the bug.” The door shut and the automatic lock clicking made me jump out of my skin. These goddamn nerves! Quickly I downed one of the shots I poured, needing to calm myself before he saw me. I stood tall by the window, looking out at the montañas and hills. “No man, I will personally take care of the firewall and the hiccup in your account. Why don’t you sen-”

Our eyes met the second his speech paused. With the phone to his ear, he silently set his bag down, looking me up and down. “I will have my assistant contact you so you can get me that file personally. Once I get to the bottom of this I will call you..” he motioned to the glass signaling for me to pour him a drink.

I did as he asked, going ahead to fill two glasses.

“Of course. I’ll get back to you in a few days.” His phone touched the desk as did his jacket. “I’m surprised.” He simply stated.

Closing our distance I handed him the glass, holding my own with two hands. “I know.” I agreed. “Necesitamos hablar.” I sipped on my champagne, reading his energy from the body language he’s showing.

“About?” He too sipped from his glass, going to remove his tie.

“Let me..” I offered. I set my glass down to complete the task I offered to take off his hands. A mass of nothing but fears from my subconscious lodged my airways, making it difficult to look at him. “Habla sobre nosotros, nuestra familia y el futuro de nuestra relación.” The slow movement and slithering sound of his tie falling across his shoulder made my heart skip a beat.

“So let’s talk then. Where should we start? You breaking up our family or completely blind siding me at dinner that night?” I knew this surprise visit from me would be a battle but I wasn’t expecting fire this quickly.

I draped his tie over the back of the chair, not wanting the fabric to catch wrinkles. “Don’t do that. I don’t want to fight with you tonight. For you and for us but not with you.” I created space between us, giving him room to breathe again.

“Why not? There’s enough issues to go around that we can argue about right? Isn’t that what you were saying five weeks ago when you tore our family apart?” He’s agitating me and he knows it. He’s pressing my buttons on purpose but I sympathize with his anger and hurt.

“Everything. Papi, we can fix this. I want to fix this. I broke us apart and for good reason but I want to make it right. I never wanted to hurt you or our family.” The sun has vanished leaving the sky lit up in the most beautiful orange and yellow blend.

“Mm..that’s the memo I got and if I’m correct you did hurt me. You hurt our bond, our love and our kids.” He calmly explained his point, fully raising my nerves.

Snapping my head in his direction I warned him not to steer us down a path we may not recuperate from. He clapped back at me as if I’m not in this fight with him.

“Ay, basta ahora! No me hables así! I hurt myself too, okay? You’re not the only one who got hurt that night alright? Stop trying to make me feel like crap and help me fix the problem!” Waving my hand for him to cut the nonsense out, I paced the floor waiting for him to react.

“What problem, Camila? Tell me what are these problems you speak of? I never saw any facet of our relationship that was broken and needed to be fixed. Were you imagining things that aren't real? What is it?”

“Our chemistry must have been off, Dre. It didn’t feel like old times. Y me estás llaman loco? That’s not fair of you to say! I meant what I said and how I feel is valid. You cannot deny the way I feel! Those are my feelings and I am entitled to them!” I yelled.

He approached me silently, picking up the shot from the tray. He threw it back, poured another two rounds, encouraging me to take second. “Our chemistry? What about our chemistry? Break it down for me. We have all weekend right? That’s why your bag is partially unpacked and you got a second key to the room? Well let’s get to the bottom of this shall we?”

He doesn’t know this but that was my fifth shot since I checked in. The scent of his cologne sent my desire for lust, love, affection, attention, you name it..into overdrive. I rolled my eyes swiftly as he walked past me into the living room of the suite. I followed him thinking of how to recite my feelings.

“Well..I feel like you’re still holding back. You never opened up about what happened to you while you were away. You’ve changed, baby. I recognized the signs when you came home. I didn’t pester you about my concerns because I had enough to deal with already. But you have changed and I just want you to feel comfortable enough to be open with me about what you went through.” Removing my earrings I placed them on the coffee table. Andre was mute. He drew an invisible figure eight with the champagne flute in his hand. “Coming here was intentional my love but stressing you out wasn’t.” I reminded him. I inched over to the large windows, taking in the views with him.

Throwing back the remaining champagne, Andre set the glass down by his feet. “Yeah I changed. I’m ashamed of a lot of events that have taken place over the course of my life. You know that. Being away is at the very top of that list. You know that too. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to share at all with anyone but God himself. I can’t.” He disagreed.

Cupping the nape of his neck I fingered the smooth hair, getting excited. He hasn’t touched me in weeks and I’m still breastfeeding so my hormones are driving me batshit crazy. I have been forced to stick out this drought between us, calculating how long until I get him back. Allow me to be frank and say that I have ventured down the road of self pleasure but it takes too long. I’m capable of satisfying myself on a small scale but I need him for that soul snatching, big time release.

“I’m not shaming you, papi. I would never do that. Though I strongly urge you to reconsider. God is an excellent choice mi amor pero I-” his hand claimed my throat as he backed me into the glass. The liquor in my bloodstream and on his breath made me want more. “Por favor..” I am prepared to beg, plead or use any other extreme measures I have up my sleeve if this will bring us closer. I cupped his cheek, yet again finding our son in him. Their eyes hold a familiar sense of depth and comfort. “I want to fix this, really. Again I’m sorry love, you must believe me.”

The teaser of his increase in pressure to my neck turned me on. I’m sure that was his intention and I have no objections. He’s never harmed me which is good because I love when he uses force. A little pain feels ten times better when sex and intimacy are around the corner.

“I know.” He huffed. I’m already wet with anticipation. He only added fuel to my fire. He overpowered me, giving off anger and animosity. I’ll take what I can for the time being, wanting what I’ve been deprived of. I can’t decide if I want this first time back into our fold to go by quickly because I’m so hungry or if I want to take my time.

“I want both.” I thought aloud.

Andre ripped through my clothes without any regard for common sense to treat my belongings with respect. “Of?” He uttered quietly.

We disrobed one another not caring that anyone could possibly walk by the room. We’re completely exposed and normally I’d be willing to keep watch for bystanders but tonight I don’t care much. Let them have a show to enjoy.

Tossing the belt he had on somewhere off to the side I rid him of his trousers, dominating the scene. “I want this to last but I’m desperate after five weeks.” I whined. I did not allow him to choose what pace he would rather stick with. “Give me what I want. Answers and attention.” Moving in for the kill I felt the ground lighten up from underneath my feet. I wrapped my legs around his midsection and locked my ankles to keep myself steady. He stumbled still teasing the clasp of my bra.

My body was freed from the confines of my brassiere, leaving me open for the taking. Andre granted my wish. He fucked the soul out of me up against the glass but tenderly and lovingly. We traded off with the power of getting the beauty of both worlds. What feels like angry, make-up sex carried on out to the hot tub that’s acquainted with the room. I gasped for new air, gripping his hip and palming his lower back to force him into me.

I needed a resting place for my head so I sought out the rim of the tub. My brief moment of desiring to speak ceased to exist as he touched two of my favorite spots. My outcry made me tearful and oh so sad. Sex only places a bandaid over our issues but a lovely bandaid it is. We carried on in the hot water and later transported our affairs back inside the room.

The time has come for us to use our words again. Tying my robe closed I lifted my hair up and out. With a heavy heart I studied Andre from several feet away.

“When did you begin to feel the shift?” He asked me, barely looking over his shoulder.

Clearing my throat I swiped my glass from the desk, taking a sip. “Sometime after Jo’s fifth or so doctor appointment. I think..”

Dre’s insincere snicker ruffled my feathers. He took a long drag of the blunt he’s been working for half an hour. Putting it out he sucked in a fresh wave of oxygen only to take his time blowing it back out. “So Ali is the root of your issues with me?”

“Let’s be adults about this. You know damn well that’s not what I’m getting at nor is that what I’m saying. Maybe it was the stress of waiting for all of the test results to come back..” my sentence ran off as did my feet. I walked myself across the room to look out onto the night sky. Finishing off my champagne I built up the courage to explain a selfish mistake I made so long ago. “I still feel guilty for my comment. I didn’t mean it then and I didn’t mean it now. The waiting and re-testing was backing me into such a dark place that I traded in hope for fear. That is no excuse and I have to live with my idiocy at that moment for the rest of my life.” Turning on my heels I zeroed out the space between us. I placed my hands upon his shoulders, molding to his shape wanting to ease the tension in his upper body. “But you were there. You didn’t give up on our son even while I had doubts and bombarded you with my sadness over the matter.”

Inching closer I captured his lips, entangling us to each other for round three. Speaking about our kids brings me back to consciousness. All of the wild sex that we’ve had since Jorden was born has surprisingly not created another child. This troubling and confusing separation has not hindered an inkling of romance. All that’s different is the lack of title.

“We’re supposed..to be talking..” he hummed. I fondled my way into his lap, going head first.

“Not right now we aren’t.” I denied. I’m in the mindset for a specialty cocktail I can’t put a price on. My skin began to heat up from under the robe. It’s my throat, mouth and hands that are the hottest points of me currently. I used my hands, feverishly wanting to bring him all the way up so I could stop and get him angry. His fingers ran through my hair finding the right coordinates to hold my head still. His body shuddered underneath mine as I ramped up my speed so he can feel like he’s in control of the moment. He’s never been allowed to dominate my pace when I’m pleasing him. I was very transparent in the beginning stages of our romantic relationship about why he can’t force me down or hold me still. In exchange we have worked out an arrangement to where he feels like he’s in control but he’s really not.

The overflow of saliva and the tiny bubbles running down over my fingers and wrists turned up my pride. It’s also the sweet melodic manner in which my name and God’s fills the air. I always honor him with his few moments of fame in thinking that I can’t handle his measurements. There are times when I doubt myself. Like the generous man that Andre is, he never comes short with complimenting how charming my tongue is. The hyper speed of his shaft and juevos sliding in and out my mouth brought on the most beautiful feeling. My scalp is tingling from the massage he’s giving me while I’m finishing the one I’m offering him.

His call out to the heavens is making me greedy. I’ll admit to it and I want him to know. Halting, I knelt before him and pushed him down, ultimately mounting him. Our mouths reunited in sync, no exceeding dominance displayed. My back touched down against the plush comforter, he removed my robe, and I used my hands and feet to disrobe him of his pants.

“Cuidarme, yo soy tuyo.” I begged. Our bodies meshed together resembling a fly getting caught in a Venus fly trap. My internal organs accommodated his endowment warmly. I saw darkness as he set himself up with the right momentum. “Ay Dios!” I called on our Heavenly Father several times over in the most disrespectful way. Tightening the grip I have on him I forced eye contact needing to face him head on.

His affirmation of how I’m making him feel calmed my nerves. “Making love to you always feels a step above incredible..” he told me once again.

Blissfully grinning from ear to ear I matched his strides, watching him react just the way I wanted him to. “Mm,” I hummed. “..te sientes mucho mejor.” I moaned heavily. The darkness took over again, shutting down any verbal conversation for the rest of this fight to the top of the mountain.

———— ————

Staring at the moon aligned with the stairs I rolled my eyes listening to Andre ramble. He’s been on a hot streak for what seems to be pushing eternity. In reality only a few minutes have lapsed.

“Can you please sit down? Your pacing is unsettling.” I advised him.

“I can’t believe you would even stoop so low to bring Jorden into our problems. I know the testing was hard on you but you can’t place the blame of our downfall on him.”

“I never said Jo was the source of our problems! All I said was that the outcome and the process itself brought me down to a place I had never been before. I have no reason to blame our children for the reason our relationship was severed and I never will. You’re taking my words and running with them trying to make me look like a shit mother and I’m not. I always put our kids first. The reason we’re apart is because of tu y yo! There are no other parties to blame except for us so don’t ever drag anyone into our shit. We made this mess together so we are responsible for cleaning it up!” Standing up to walk around I meddled in my hair only wanting to reflect.

There’s the fight about Gerrard’s initial arrival. That was the first time that Andre accused me of being unfaithful. He hurt me down to the core. I was already battling how to deal with the slander brought to my name and in my place of work. The pain from Gerrard’s doing and the assumption was double what I was expecting.

Exhaling through my nose I picked up my hair, rubbing my scalp. “Dígame, was Gerrard’s first appearance something that stuck around for you? Did you think about that day anytime afterward?” I asked him.

“Sometimes, yeah.” He confessed.

“Why did you do it? I have never understood why you felt the need to question me after our history. I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I’ve never once accused you of anything even at my lowest point so I’m just trying to put the puzzle pieces together here.” As I met his eye I put in a strong effort not to look angry.

Andre’s shoulders fell as he ran his hands over his head. “I just got scared. I had a moment of weakness and took it out on you. I was sorry then for the way I behaved and I’m sorry now. I will forever be sorry.”

“I know. That’s number one. Numbers two, three and so on. Gerrard coming around the second time, the psychos you once called family, Chris… There’s so much heavy shit in your past and in ours as a unit that keeps me up some nights.” Letting my arms fall I crossed them over my chest.

“Are you a-”

Stopping him short I held up my hand swiftly. “I am not angry. I am not sad. I don’t know what I am.”

My shoulders gained weight. I dropped my head to one side feeling my muscles loosen up.

“I have a feeling that I-my mistakes are a part of our downfall. Amongst other things now that I’m diving deep into our past.” He says.

“Que otras cosas? Dígame por favor.”

He claims that all of what I mentioned are the strongest points that broke the very foundation we’ve built. I deny it all. There’s got to be something else that we are missing.

“I owe you my life babe and I know that you hate hearing about my suicide attempt but it’s relevant. That moment in my life will forever be pertinent to many conversations that we share. That memory, despite how painful it is to both of us, plays a key role in why I am the way that I am today. I still don’t see what you see but I do know that I don’t want to lose you.” He resumed the massage on my shoulders, making me feel warm again.

“A little to the right please.” I suggested. He followed orders eliminating all tension in my upper back. “Mira, I don’t take pleasure in giving you the ring back. Deep down I just didn’t feel right wearing such a statement with the way I was feeling. The way that I’m still feeling. I’m not sure how long it will take us to get back to our old ways but I don’t want to lose you either.” I faced him sliding my hands up his chest. “I did not come here to argue and go back and forth. I want to get to the root of the problem hoping that we can find some middle ground and work our way back to normal.” I used him as a place to lay my head.

“Agreed.” He solemnly voiced.

#maree-ff #mareeff #short story #fiction #short reads

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penzyroamin · 4 years

Note

javid w/ enchanted or long live 🥺🥺🥺

olive... long live is in my top ten songs of all time.

BUT ENCHANTED IS IN MY TOP THREE SO WE’RE GOING WITH THAT!!!

this’ll be up on ao3 in a hot sec but y’all get it first! this is just. sweet first meetings and dumb flirty nonsense

warnings for some mentions of drinking and a mentioned hookup

this night is sparkling-- on ao3

It is the twenty-first birthday of one Katherine Plumber, and as such, half of Manhattan is hammered.

Jack, himself, is lingering in a pleasant tipsy state, just enough to make everyone around him look a little hotter but not enough to make him think he should make a move on any of them.

He is at, possibly, the most spectacular party he's ever seen-- fountains of champagne, fondue, and chocolate, a live band, three different bars, and a massive sculpture of Dolly Parton. All around him are socialites, fancy reporters, and his own brand of hooligan.

Katherine, the woman of the hour, is clearly wasted, licking salt off of Rafaela's wrist and trying to keep her fake eyelashes on.

If he needed, he could easily head out. Nobody would notice him being missing, after all, and he hasn't got much to stay for besides the free drinks and the bass thrumming through the floor.

But he's staying. He's still standing there amidst a mob of gyrating, Jaeger-slamming twenty-somethings, for some reason unknown even to him.

(He's staying for the hot guy by the Dolly statue. For him and him only.)

He maneuvers through the crowd to a table, keeping an eye on Mystery Guy the whole time, and picks up a china plate seemingly encrusted in gold. On it, he loads three cupcakes, a handful of Rich People Potato Chips, and a cookie, then scolds himself momentarily for falling into his pattern.

His pattern being, of course: go to glamorous party, see a gorgeous stranger, stress eat and prove himself entirely unalluring, leave the party alone.

Dodging a drunk political scientist, he succumbs to his fate and unwraps the first cupcake. He looks up and-- his mystery hot guy is gone.

Not his mystery hot guy. He has no claim to him. But Jack's totally stared at him for an hour and a half, he should have dibs.

"Hi."

Jack makes an undignified noise into his cupcake and spins on his heel. Ah. There's his hot guy.

Again, not his.

But he's standing right there, trying to talk to Jack, so maybe he's on to something here.

"Hey," he says, trying to make a plate of cupcakes seem less odd.

His hot guy smiles. "I'm Davey."

"Jack. You Katherine's friend?"

"Yeah, from college. Are you?"

"Yup. Been stuck with her since middle school."

That makes his hot guy-- Davey-- smile wider. He's got a nice smile, with one slightly crooked bottom tooth and sparkly gloss on his lips.

Jack offers up one of his cupcakes, and Davey takes it, removing the bottom half so he can make a cupcake sandwich.

"You're gay, aren't you?" Jack asks, and almost immediately regrets it when Davey quirks up one eyebrow.

"Yes…"

Jack points at the cupcake sandwich. "That's just. Only the gays are smart enough."

Davey nods slowly, his brows furrowing. Jack is ninety-nine percent sure that this hot guy, who is gay, now thinks hes an awkward frat boy-ish ally.

"I am, too. Gay, that is. Not very smart."

The confusion vanishes from Davey's face, and he laughs. "Okay, then." He finishes off the cupcake and sticks the folded-up wrapper in his back pocket, then holds out a hand. "You wanna dance?"

Jack isn't sure what he does with his plate. It's either shattered somewhere or in the possession of a stoner. All he remembers is nodding and taking Davey's hand.

"I will warn you," Jack says, "I'm not a good dancer. Two left feet, y'know?"

"Better than four left feet," Davey says, and Jack snorts.

"So at least I'm human, and not a Martian?"

"I feel like Saturn has more of a four feet vibe."

"It's a gas giant, you can't walk on it."

"Well," Davey says solemnly, "that's for the Saturn aliens to figure out." Jack laughs at that, and Davey grins, tugging on his hand. "C'mon."

They dance for fifteen straight songs, long enough that the tipsiness from the beginning of the party has faded away into an entirely different happiness. By song fifteen, they've migrated directly into each other's personal space, and Jack is giddy with all the noise and closeness and every freckle on Davey's face.

Their hands bumping together has turned to Davey's arm around Jack's shoulders, which has turned into the two of them face-to-face, holding each other like it's a slow dance and talking just loud enough so the other can hear them.

Davey's a constitutional law student, he loves Stevie Nicks, he has a cat and two siblings. He's hilarious, in a dry, begrudging sort of way, and he was apparently notoriously quiet in elementary school.

He has three freckles, right in a cluster, under his right eye. His fingernails are painted gold, and he laughs when Jack says something funny but never when Jack insults himself.

"Don't tell me what to do," the singer onstage cries. "Don't tell me what to say."

Davey's arms are wrapped around Jack's waist, which normally makes him feel claustrophobic and uncomfortable but is ridiculously pleasant right now. Jack's hands are resting on the back of Davey's neck, and everything is just so… nice.

There's a million people screaming along to the song, everyone but the two of them smells like booze, and Jack is doing all the things that normally make him want to crawl out of his own skin. But it's nice. Better than nice, really, Jack thinks this might be one of the best nights he's had in a while.

Davey's expression turns thoughtful, and Jack tilts his head to the side, making him smile.

"What's the look for?"

Davey sighs softly. "I was just wondering," he says, "if you would be furious at me for kissing you."

That hits Jack like a bolt of lightning, running down his spine until every part of his body feels warm and alive. “Not furious,” he manages, and one of Davey’s hands comes up to cradle the side of his face, his touch breathtakingly delicate. “The opposite, really.”

“Okay,” Davey murmurs. “That’s good.” Jack barely has time to laugh.

Davey leans down a little, and everything slides, ever so slightly, into place. The kiss is all at once gentle and firm, soft in the way Davey’s thumb rests on Jack’s cheek and rough in how he grabs onto Jack’s waist and pulls him closer. Jack clutches at Davey’s shirt and his hair, trying to stay grounded, and groans under his breath when Davey bites on his lip.

There’s a different song playing when they pull away from each other. They’re both breathing heavily, the glitter of Davey’s lip gloss is smeared all around his mouth, and when Jack wipes at his own jaw, his fingers come away glittery, too. He swipes his finger across Davey’s cheekbone, making him laugh. They fall silent for a moment, and Jack thinks.

He isn’t entirely used to this break in his pattern. It’s entirely different from people finding him hilarious when they’re all drunk, him forming a circle of new friends, but then heading home alone. And he isn’t sure what he wants out of tonight, but he knows none of it will happen surrounded by Katherine’s wasted friends and acquaintances.

Before he manages to lose his nerve, he asks, “Do you wanna head to my place?”

Davey immediately looks relieved. “Oh my god, yes, please.”

They make their way there, the journey broken up by pauses for making out against the bar, in the coatroom, in the back of their taxi, in the elevator up to Jack’s apartment, and outside the door of Jack’s apartment before Jack finally forces the door open and lets them inside.

By then, he's decided exactly what he wants.

When Jack wakes up, Davey is already awake and scrolling on his phone. He turns it off when he sees Jack’s eyes open and smiles at him. “Hey. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Thanks.” He leans forward and kisses Davey, much slower than last night, and Davey runs his thumb over Jack’s lips when they part.

“I actually have to leave,” he says. “I’ve got class at noon.” Jack waves his hand for him to go.

“Go be a lawyer.”

“Mm, law student.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

Davey kisses him again. “I’ll leave my number on your counter, okay?”

Jack nods, and Davey smiles, getting up to collect his clothes from where they’re strewn across the floor and get dressed. Jack whistles when he bends down to tie his boots, and Davey rolls his eyes, coming back to kiss him nonetheless.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," Jack says against his lips, and Davey pulls away.

"You know Shakespeare?"

Jack laughs. "Not really. Nerd."

"Shut up." Davey kisses him again.

When he leaves, Jack stays in bed for a while, smiling gleefully, and picks up his phone. He remembers muting it in the taxi, and laughs as his messages pop up.

Charlie: where r u there's cotton candy made of vodka

Charlie: we're putting dibs on sleeping spaces so u better show up or u have to sleep in the garden

Charlie: wheeerrrreee aaaaaarrrrrrreeee yyyyoooooouuuuu

Charlie: LMAOOOO i saw spot's snap ;))))))

Charlie: and on kathys.. he's hot congrats!

Charlie: i'll assume that's where u are. get some bro!!!!!

Charlie: CHECK RAF'S SNAP HAVE U BEEN A SECRET HOE THE WHOLE TIME

Jack raises his eyebrows and goes to see what had happened, a sigh brewing in his chest.

And.. yes. There it is.

He generally doesn't like having pictures taken of him. It's such a permanent act, something that can be there forever proving everything he thinks about himself correct. An everlasting piece of evidence that he's right.

But none of that shows here. He doesn't look sad, or tired, or too short, or too big. He looks like he belongs in his skin. He looks like he enjoys his day-to-day.

Also, Davey looks really into him. Which is implied by his tongue in Jack's mouth, but they look happy. They look like they fit together, like they've known each other for so much longer than that night.

In Katherine's picture, Davey has his fingers curled in Jack's belt loops, pulling him closer. They're smiling against each other's lips.

In Rafaela's, it is... significantly less sweet. Jack's pinned against the wall, Davey's hand is up his shirt, and Jack has to close it quickly before he starts thinking too much.

Okay. Okay, so Jack can never bring Davey out with his friends for fear of torment. Cool.

There's a little warm feeling in his chest, a brand-new rightness, that all of what had happened was how it was supposed to be. The way Davey looks in those pictures, like Jack is exactly what he wants, and the way every quick remark and joke and tease fit together and made sense-- he doesn't think he'll ever stop smiling.

His chest aches for a second. God, he needs Davey to feel the same way. He wants those private, gleeful smiles for himself and himself alone.

Please, God, don't let Davey want someone else.

It's been one night, he reminds himself, roughly fifteen hours. He takes a deep breath, remembers the way Davey's laugh borders on a cackle, and feels the tightness in his shoulders loosen.

He drags himself out of bed to the kitchen, and smiles at the receipt Davey's scribbled his number on. Davey must've brought the newspaper in and put the coffee on, and Jack scans over the entertainment section while he waits for his cup to cool down to drinking temperature.

After a while, the door phone buzzes, and Jack answers, confused. "Hey?"

"Yeah, I got a food delivery for Jack?"

He blinks and buzzes them in. "Uh, yeah, come on up."

It's entirely possible he might be murdered, but he also wants food.

After a minute or so, there's a knock on the door. Jack trades the brown paper bag for a cash tip, and the delivery person nods. "There's a note in there. I ain't gonna read it for you."

"Thanks."

They nod again and leave. Jack shuts the door and sets the bag down on his table, unpacking his bounty: golden waffles, little cups of whipped cream and syrup, and berries. The note is at the bottom of the bag, and Jack laughs in disbelief when he reads it.

Normally I'd make you breakfast. This is hopefully tastier than what I could've done. Text me sometime soon, don't wait three days to seem cool, please.

"Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly to your service." -The Tempest

-Davey

Jack is going to marry this guy. He's decided. He's going to marry Davey whatever-his-last-name-is.

To Charlie: so if a guy orders u breakfast how slutty should the thank u selfie be

She responds immediately, god bless her.

Charlie: babe that's up to the vibe

Charlie: also he sounds so sweet congrats!!! was the night good

To Charlie: very good.

Charlie: if it were ME it would be a titty out kinda look but you're you

To Charlie: thank u xx i will not be taking that advice

It takes him five minutes to get an appropriately goofy selfie without looking like a damn fool, and also still seeming kind of alluring and hot.

He texts with one hand while eating, not wanting the waffle to cool down any more, and debates for a while on the caption before finally going to google.

To Davey: img736.jpg

To Davey: "For where thou art, there is the world itself, And where thou art not, desolation"

To Davey: - Henry VI, i think?

Davey: going into the HISTORIES, I see

Davey: btw you're breathtaking. enjoy your breakfast!

Jack's a wreck for the rest of the day.

#newsies fic #javid #jack kelly #david jacobs #katherine plumber #javid fic #newsies #penzy writes #!!! this was fun

53 notes · View notes

awhitehead17 · 3 years

Text

Everything’s Out Of Control

Chapter 6 / Previous Chapter

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

Miraculously Tim makes it through the night. Fortunately it hadn’t taken him long to drift off to sleep despite Kon’s warm body right beside him.

When morning came with the sun shining into their bedroom through the window, Tim didn’t hesitate to get up. He grabbed fresh clothes from the pile on the desk before making his way to the bathroom. Upon coming out moments later he hears movement from the kitchen and decides to explore only to find Magnus pottering about in a rich blue silk robe and red silk pants.

The older man doesn’t hesitate to greet him when he sees Tim standing in the doorway. “Morning Timothy, sleep well?”

“Uh, I did, thank you.”

Magnus hums and turns his attention to the cooker. “Breakfast will be ready about fifteen minutes if you’re willing to wait.”

Tim now becomes aware of the sweet smell scenting the room, he wonders what Magnus is cooking up. He steps further into the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do to help?” He’s still perfectly capable of being a polite houseguest after all, plus if Alfred ever caught wind of him not using his manners then there would be consequences and Tim really doesn’t want to go down that road if he can help it.

“No, I have it all handled, thank you dear. Help yourself to coffee however.”

Tim does exactly that and once he’s sat down at the table, Kon stumbles into the room looking barely awake. Magnus greets him just as cheerfully as he did with Tim, however unlike Tim’s response Kon simply hums and slumps into a spare seat at the table. The man doesn’t take offense and simply laughs at Kon’s actions.

Soon enough Magnus serves them breakfast which turns out to be a wide spread of various of foods, something similar to what was laid out the other morning. Tim then works out that the source of the sweet scent in the air is pancakes.

The three of them eat in a comfortable silence and they stay that way for a while until the door to Magnus’s apartment opens up. Tim and Kon look over their shoulders at who it could be while Magnus doesn’t even acknowledge it.

There’s a few thumps after the door closes and a loud sigh that follows. Tim and Kon watch the space like hawks until Alec appears in the doorway. Tim’s eyes widen when he sees what state the man is in. He's covered in some kind of black stuff, it’s all over his clothes, plastered in his hair and even smeared across his face. Tim also picks up that Alec looks exhausted. It reminds him of what he or one of his family members would look like after patrolling Gotham’s streets all night.

Magnus finally looks up and openly studies Alec for a moment. With elegance, he gets up from the table and glides over to the other man. Being careful to not touch him, Magnus hovers his hands over his partner’s body, blue magic seeming to pour out of them and over the shadowhunter.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine Magnus. Maybe one or two bruises but nothing that an iratze can’t fix.”

Magnus hums and the blue light stops. “Did it go well?”

“We took down a couple nests throughout the night and then I had to go to the Institute to report, that’s why I’m back so late. Thankfully I don’t have to go back until tomorrow which means I’m going to spend until then in bed.”

“Very well darling, I have errands I need to run so I wouldn’t be able to join you even if I wanted to. Now why don’t you go have a shower to get that disgusting ichor off you, grab something to eat and then go to sleep. You need to wash up because you stink.”

That makes a small smile appear on Alec’s tired face. “If you think I’m bad you should have seen Jace. He got it worse than I did.”

With no more words, Alec leans down and presses a kiss to Magnus’s cheek before turning around and disappearing from sight like he was never there in the first place. Tim has to hold in his laugh when he sees Magnus pulling a face and wiping the black stuff off with his hand.

It hits him again at how at ease the two of them are with one another. It’s a kind of comfortable that can’t be replicated, one of which takes time and trust to build up. It makes him long for something like that, makes him question if he could ever have that with Kon. They already have a sense of familiarity with one another but not to that amount of intimate affection.

After removing the black stuff from his skin Magnus joins them at the table again. He leans on his elbows and looks between Tim and Kon. “Unless there’s an absolute emergency Alexander will be sleeping like a rock until this afternoon, it’s usually what happens after his late night patrols.

As I said, I have errands to run, clients to see and most of all I’m going to see if I can collect everything you need to take back with you for this spell. This means I will be out for most of the day.” He looks between them seriously, watching them with narrowed eyes. “I’m giving you free reign of my apartment apart from the locked doors and my bedroom where Alexander will be sleeping, I’m hoping I can trust the two of you to not do anything stupid.”

It suddenly feels like Tim is a small child whose parents are leaving him alone for the first time. Not that he can actually relate to the feeling. Tim’s biological parents left him alone when he was no more than 5-years-old for months at a time, not just a couple hours.

“You can trust us,” Tim comments, making sure Magnus knows he means it, “we really appreciate your hospitality. We certainly won’t disturb Alec either.”

“Thank you for your word Timothy, I will be holding you onto that. However, if you wish to leave the apartment to go for a walk in the park then the wards I have up will allow you to come and go as you please. If you choose to go out I insist you make it a short trip and stay local. We don’t want to risk anything happening.”

Tim and Kon nod in understanding. Though Tim is surprised Magnus has said they’re allowed to leave considering the circumstances but he certainly isn’t going to question it, it’ll be nice to go out for a walk.

“Perfect,” Magnus announces as he stands up once again. He waves his hand and suddenly a credit card appears between his fingers, he passes it to Tim. “Use this if you wish to grab some lunch on your outing or even if you order take out. There’s no limit so don’t worry about that.”

Not waiting for a response, the warlock wonders out of the room leaving Tim and Kon in silence and with breakfast on the table.

An hour to two later Tim and Kon leave the apartment, the two of them agreeing to wanting to get some fresh air. Also because Kon wants to get some actual sun, not just beams of sunlight through a window. They choose to walk through the local park and Tim finds it refreshing. The park isn’t too busy, but there are a variety of groups of people out and about enjoying their time together.

He and Kon walk side by side down the pathway and Tim’s mind is reeling, trying to come up with something to say to his best friend. For a moment he wonders when and why this awkwardness has come about, he used to be able to talk endlessly to Kon about anything but now he can’t even think of a sentence to say.

“Magnus and Alec are a cute couple.” Kon comments out the blue, breaking Tim’s train of thoughts.

He shoots his best friend a questioning look because of the topic, that’s something Tim had not been at all expecting. “Uh yeah, I guess…” Tim agrees lightly, “they make it seem so easy.”

“Yeah I had similar thoughts believe it or not. I wonder what their story is, not that it’s our business but it’s probably interesting considering what and who they are.”

Tim shrugs, not really having any ideas on where this conversation is heading to. “As every couple does, I’m sure they have their ups and downs.”

Kon hums in agreement and falls silent. Tim blinks and shakes his head at the random topic of conversation and at how short it had been.

They walk together through the park and Tim watches Kon from the corner of his eyes. He seems to be looking better, certainly more awake than earlier that morning, but actually healthier too. “How are you feeling? Is the sun helping?”

Kon takes a deep breath and lets it out, he turns to Tim and sends him a smile. “Much better now we’re outside yes. I can actually feel the sun charging me up, it’s energizing. What about you, how are you feeling?”

Tim refrains from rolling his eyes, now back to this conversation again. “I’m fine. Happy to get out and stretch my legs. As interesting as Magnus’s apartment is, nothing beats an outside open space.”

Well a lot does actually. The vigilante part of his brain is screaming that wide open spaces are bad, it makes him more vulnerable and open to attacks. Tim chooses to ignore that voice and focuses on Kon instead. He needs them to get out of this awkwardness loop they seem to have fallen into. He invited Kon on this mission with him because he hasn’t spent much time with his friend recently, this is literally the perfect opportunity to catch up.

“So what’s been happening in Kansas recently?”

The morning and early afternoon goes by as they spend it outdoors in the park and in a small café they find. It seemed like they were able to break the awkwardness cycle after all because once they got talking about nonsense it was like nothing had ever happened, they were laughing and cracking jokes just like before. It helped to relax Tim and he enjoyed their time together even more because of it.

After a few hours they head back to Magnus’s apartment, well aware of the warlock’s warning to not be outside for too long. They enter quietly, being mindful that Alec would most likely still be sleeping. Magnus wasn't in so they settle down in the living room and turn the TV on, after working out how to use it and where the remote was hiding.

That’s how they spend the rest of the afternoon, sharing the same couch and watching a couple movies, ones of which actually existed in their world. Sometime later Alec makes an appearance and crashes down onto the love seat, watching the TV with little interest as he nurses a cup of coffee in his hands. Neither Tim nor Kon try to engage with him, choosing to let the man have his peace.

When even more time had passed, heading towards the evening now, Magnus returns home. He immediately heads over to Alec, bending over to place a kiss on the man’s head before leaning back and considering the TV. He glances at Tim and Kon on the couch before looking at Alec again, “I’m surprised you’re watching this darling, it’s not something you usually do.”

Alec shrugs. “It’s adequate, at least for mundane entertainment. I’ve been doing paperwork too though.”

At his response Tim resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows Alec’s only hung around because he’s keeping an eye on them. It hasn’t been said out loud but it doesn’t need to be. As annoying as it is, Tim can’t deny he doesn’t blame him. If roles were reversed, Tim would do the same.

“How’s your day been?” Alec asks Magnus after a short pause. He’s looking up at the man with wide eyes and a soft smile on his face.

Magnus sighs tiredly. “Busy. I’ve had to deal with very picky and annoying clients today. No matter how clear I make things they still don’t listen and then get stroppy when their desired outcome doesn’t always happen.”

Alec huffs a laugh. “Sounds rough.”

“You don’t know the half of it Alexander,” Magnus comments patting his cheek lightly. He turns and faces Tim and Kon on the couch. “I have good news for you both.”

That sentence instantly gets their full attention. Together they sit up straighter from their slouched positions and focus on Magnus.

“I’ve been able to collect everything needed for the spell, turns out it wasn't as difficult as I suspected it was going to be. I’ll be sending you both home in the morning.”

Tim and Kon stare at the men before looking at one another, sharing a pleased and relieved smile at the news. It’s exactly what they’ve been wanting to hear. Tim can’t wait to get back to his own world where everything makes sense, he’s pretty sure at this point he would even take a psychopath of a clown who runs around killing people over what they call demons on this world.

“How will you be sending them home? Through the Seelie realm? Would the Seelie Queen even allow that?” Alec questions Magnus now frowning.

Tim raises an eyebrow, he has no idea what a Seelie is but he’s sure he doesn’t really want to find out at this point, especially after the other encounters with this world’s creatures.

“The Seelie’s gave me a way to pinpoint Timothy and Conner’s dimension through a portal. Along with a spell and some of their DNA I should be able to send them home with no problems.” Magnus explains to them all in the room.

Tim shoots the warlock a look, having picked up on the ‘should’ in that sentence. ‘Should’ implies that something could go wrong. Next to him, Kon picks up on something else.

“I’m sorry what?” His best friend exclaims looking a little frantic. “DNA? Why do you need our DNA?”

Tim reaches over and places a hand on Kon’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze to provide comfort, as well as keeping him from getting up off the couch. Of course Kon would have issues with the DNA part, anyone would, but with Kon’s background of cloning and being cloned makes his issues understandable, not that the men opposite would know that.

Magnus picks up on it and momentarily looks a little guilty before he’s sending them a comforting smile. “Oh no nothing like that! Just a strand of hair will do.”

“Oh.” Kon settles back down on the couch and Tim could feel him relax a little. He gives Kon one more squeeze before letting him go.

“So tomorrow morning?” Tim prompts. He doesn’t say it but he’s hoping they would do it now, the sooner the better.

The man opposite him picks up Tim’s unasked question. He takes a breath and sends Tim an understanding look. “I know you want to get home and I would do it today however I have been using my magic all day and I have depleted it. The amount of magic to send you home is more than what I have now so I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until tomorrow when I am rested and recharged.”

Tim feels slightly guilty for the selfish thought. He nods respectively at Magnus’s words and doesn’t comment. One more night won’t hurt.

“With that out the way, how about we order some dinner?” Magnus asks looking at them all expectantly, waiting for an answer. After some debate, the four of them end up eating Thai take out.

Dinner goes by mostly without a incident, the most interesting thing that happened was how Alec’s sister called him and once again tried to let him convince her to meet Tim and Kon. It was amusing to watch Alec argue with his sibling and for him to put his foot down against her wish.

“We have no problem if she wants to meet us you know.” Tim says after he hangs up the phone.

Alec sighs and shakes his head. “No, it’s just best we keep this between as little people as possible. Nothing against her or you two.” Tim shrugs it off, not feeling offended, next to him Kon seems to be in the same boat.

Once they had finished eating Alec clears the dishes up. Once he’s out of the living room Magnus perks up from his seat and snaps his fingers. “And now for desert!”

Both Tim and Kon jump when food suddenly appears on the coffee table in front of them. Tim stares wide eyed at it because it’s literally come from out of nowhere. He shares a bewildered look with his best friend before glancing at the warlock who simply leans over and grabs a plate.

After a moment the two of them settle and observe what’s in front of them. There’s a variety of slices of cakes, a couple bowls of ice-cream and a few slices of brownies and millionaire short bread.

“What the hell? Where did this come from?” Kon asks, unknowingly voicing Tim’s question too.

Magnus waves his hand and slyly smirks at them. “Magic.”

Kon opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by Alec coming into the room again. “Really? Again? Magnus you have to stop conjuring up food.”

As Alec settles on the couch next to his boyfriend, he leans over and picks up a slice of cake, seeming not at all affected by the magical food. Tim has a feeling this happens on a regular occurrence and Alec’s just learnt to go with it by now.

Kon reaches out and grabs a bowl of ice-cream and a brownie. He takes a careful spoonful of the frozen desert before humming. Glancing at Tim he says, “This is really good Tim.”

Tim watches his best friend take another bite of food and tries really hard to not distracted by the way Kon licks his lips afterwards. He immediately feels himself heat up at the action and turns away quickly, trying to cover up his embarrassment he trusts Kon’s word and grabs the second bowl of ice-cream.

After his first bite he instantly agrees with Kon, it’s good. Nice and smooth, little bit creamy and enough of a taste which wasn’t overpowering to the tastebuds. As he eats, it gets Tim thinking. “Magnus, if you can magic up food, why cook like you did this morning? Surely this would always be easier.”

“Well Timothy, as easy as it is to just whip up food, sometimes there’s delight to doing things the mundane way. Simple acts like cooking can help ground someone or even take your mind off of things even just for a moment.” The warlock explains, there’s no bite to his words but Tim still gets the feeling he’s answered that particular question many times in the past. It makes sense he guesses, obviously he doesn’t relate to it but it’s understandable.

By the time they finish up it’s dark outside and getting late. To Tim’s surprise, it’s Kon who calls it a night first. Tim asks if he’s feeling okay and his best friend responds with that he's simply tired. Tim could easily read between the lines, while Kon may actually be tired, he actually would like some time to himself and retreating to the bedroom early will give him some space.

After bidding him a goodnight, Tim watches him exit the room, almost longing to go after him and actually make sure he's alright. He doesn’t move from his seat though, knowing that personal space was a good thing to have. He’ll check-up on Kon later on.

Tim turns back to the men who were engaged in their own conversation and his earlier thoughts make a reappearance. The two of them are so at ease with one another, in each other’s space. As Tim said to Kon earlier that day, no doubts that they obviously have their ups and downs but in the short amount of time Tim’s spent with them, he could see how devoted they are to one another.

Tim wouldn’t say he’s lonely, he has more enough friends and family surrounding him to know that he isn’t, but for a while now he's been longing for something more with Kon. For his best friend who he would sell his soul for (in a way already has done so). But does Kon feel the same? Tim doesn’t want to make a mistake and end up losing Kon altogether.

“You’re going to end up giving yourself a migraine if you keep thinking that hard my dear.”

Tim snaps out of his thoughts and blinks. He finds both Magnus and Alec staring at him with almost concerned looks. It’s then that Tim realises he had been staring at them while deep in his thoughts. Feeling embarrassed Tim turns away, muttering a ‘sorry’ and tries to get his head straight again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Tim quickly replies. How was he supposed to explain that he's thinking about their relationship and wanting something more with his best friend? It’s easier to not saying anything.

“I know we don’t know one another Timothy, but something is clearly on your mind.” Magnus says. Tim turns back to him and sees him stand up. Magnus walks over to the corner of the room and Tim sees him pouring some drinks. The warlock then strolls back over and places one glass down on the coffee table in front of Tim before sitting back down, he hands one to Alec and keeps the last one for himself.

“Uh no thank you.” Tim says frowning. He’s not a big drinker, he would occasionally drink with his brothers or show off a glass of campaign at a gala he’s forced to attend to but he doesn’t drink otherwise.

“Nonsense,” Magnus comments, with a wave of his hand the drink disappears from the table to only end up in Tim’s hand. He startles at the sudden object in his hand and thanks to his reflexes he's able to stop any liquid from spilling. “Have a drink and talk to us. We may be able to help.”

Only if, thinks miserably to himself. Not looking up he fiddles with the glass in his hands, watching as ripples are created in the clear liquid with every movement he makes.

“Is it something to do with a certain black-haired blue-eyed boy by any chance?” Magnus asks knowingly.

Tim’s head snaps up at that and he scowls at the man, silently and unintentionally confirming his question. Had it been that obvious?

“Throughout my lifetime I have seen many friendships turn into romantic relationships, ones where they had fallen in love with each other.” Magnus comments looking mindful, as if he’s recalling past memories.

Next to him Alec rolls his eyes. “Magnus, don’t traumatise the kid.”

Magnus blinks and shoots Alec a pointed look. “I'm not traumatising him, I'm stating a fact.”

“Yeah, your old, we get it.” Alec deadpans with a smile.

The warlock gasps in pretend hurt. “Is that anyway to treat your elders Alexander?”

Their light banter does the trick and breaks the ice, somehow it makes Tim feel a little more at ease with the situation. A sigh escapes his lips and draws the attention of the men. Tim glances at them before looking away again, “I am – I mean I do have… feelings for Kon. Ones that go beyond friendship. It’s stupid really…”

The men sober up and watch him earnestly, clearly seeing how this is a struggle for Tim.

“I see how easy you both are with each other and it makes me want to have something like that with Kon.” Tim continues, trying to put his thoughts into words. “We’re best friends, teammates, we’d do anything for each other, but I don’t want to put that at risk because of how I feel. I can’t see Kon feeling the same way I do, how -”

“But he does.”

Tim sharply looks up at the blunt interruption. Alec’s staring at him like he doesn’t see what’s wrong with Tim’s predicament. “What?”

“Your friend feels the exact same way as you. It’s obvious.” Alec shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

Magnus rolls his eyes and crosses his legs as he looks at Tim. “That’s putting it bluntly, yes. Timothy dear, anyone could see that you both have chemistry, something that goes deeper than friendship. He wants you just as much as you want him.”

Tim could feel his heart pounding. That couldn’t be true could it? By god he wants it to be true and real but he couldn’t get his hopes up. He shakes his head in denial. “Sorry but no. Not possible.”

“Why is it not possible?” Magnus questions him.

Tim feels himself heat up, both at the question and the attention. He waves one hand around uselessly, “Because…. Well just because…”

That gets both men rolling their eyes at him and Tim suddenly feels very judged. It’s not his fault he’s having a crisis! He didn’t ask for it!

“Is the problem because you’re both male?”

Instantly knowing the answer to that, Tim shakes his head. “No.” And it wasn’t a problem. Tim had publicly come out as bi sexual to all of Gotham last year, seeing it as an opportunity to help those in the LGBTQ+ group in Gotham and start up a support system for those who need help or whose who need a safe space in the city. He’s comfortable with his sexuality.

Kon, on the other hand, has never hid his attraction to guys as well as girls. He’s even recalled many stories to Tim about the guys he hooked up with while in Hawaii back in his days as ‘The Kid’ and how much he actually enjoyed it.

Neither of them have ever dated guys before, only girls, but being attracted to guys was not an issue for either of them.

“Okay so that’s a major factor out of the way. What’s stopping you from pursuing him? He is after all a rather attractive young man who has a kind honest soul and also cares deeply about you.”

Tim could feel the heat pouring out of his cheeks. Even Magnus has noticed what Kon is like! “We’re teammates and best friends, what I have with Kon I don’t want to lose. I can’t live without him and if I lose him by expressing how I feel then I wouldn’t be able to cope. It’s better to keep him as a friend and keep my feelings a secret rather than tell him and push him away.” It’s dark but it’s the truth.

“That's the worst thing you can do Tim.” Alec tells him, moving to sit forward. He places his drink down and clasps his hands together, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Trust me. I spent years keeping secrets, hiding who I really was because I was scared of what I could lose. When everything did come out into the open, those who cared stayed by my side and supported me. Even if they didn’t at first they came to accept it in the end.

Now with Conner, he won’t push you away because he’s feeling the exact same way. The only way you’re going to lose him is by not telling him how you feel. Be true to yourself and let yourself be happy. It’s hard to get past your insecurities, no matter how big or small they are, believe me I know.”

Tim listens to his words, taking them in and repeating them. He could tell this was a big thing for Alec, obviously this being something major that he went through in his life. Tim watches as Magnus reaches over and takes one of his hands, interlacing their fingers together and sharing a supportive yet comforting smile.

When Tim next speaks up, it’s in an almost whisper. “How can you say that? What if it all goes wrong? He may not feel like that at all.”

“With the way he looks at you when you’re not looking? I very much doubt it.” Magnus says smiling knowingly. “When you and Alexander were training the other day, Conner could not keep his eyes off you Timothy, he was practically drooling from where he was sat. Then there’s the closeness you have anyway, just for example you’re already sharing a bed, neither of you had even bothered to ask for another so you could sleep separately. How many friends simply share a bed together like you both are doing now?”

“A lot of people share beds like we do,” Tim comments not seeing his point, “we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you either.”

Magnus tuts but before he could respond Alec speaks up again. “When we first saw you we honestly thought you were together anyway, we were surprised to find out you were only friends.”

Tim blinks, unsure on what to make of that comment.

It falls silent between them and Tim is left thinking over their conversation. Both Magnus and Alec seem so sure that Kon wants him in the same way as Tim wants Kon. But can he trust them?

It makes Tim think of their recent interactions, how many times they’ve been caught staring at one another, the closeness between them, how Tim’s wanted to kiss him and that time they actually leaned towards one another. How Tim felt when he saw Kon’s dying body lying on the ground and unable to help him.

“What do I do?” He asks in the end. This whole world is making Tim feel so useless, and unsure on everything. This whole situation is just adding to that list.

“Think about it.” Magnus replies easily. “Get some sleep, think on it and then once you’re back home you can make a choice. Trust us when we say that nothing will go wrong between the two of you.”

Tim takes a deep breath and simply nods. He’s had enough. It’s been a long, emotionally and mentally challenging day. Time to call it a night. He places his drink, completely untouched, on the table and stands up stretching.

“Uh thank you,” Tim says looking between the men. “Sorry for dumping my problems on you I guess but thanks for talking and listening.”

They both smile at his words and bid him a goodnight. As he walks away he knows he still feels conflicted about his situation but he has to admit their words have given him some hope.

#Everything's Out Of Control #Tim Drake #Kon-El #magnus bane #alec lightwood #timkon #malec #shadow hunters #DC comics #fluff #friendship #emotional conversations #pining #fanfiction #comfort

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