#i used to bear shuffling footsteps at like 2 something in the morning every morning

[writtenfangirl]

Treasured Memories pt. 2

Part 1

Now that we have Y/N moving in with Charles, we gotta have a story about the fun they have living together. I wanted to try something new and see if the format of mixing social media posts with little drabbles would work. I used a different generator for this than I normally use so please bear with me if you see any mistakes

It was only 7:30PM and Y/N was already in bed. She wasn’t particularly tucked in, nor was she wearing her pajamas but her head was laying peacefully on the pillow, their blanket haphazardly covering her legs.

She wasn’t asleep at all though. Her mind was alive, waiting for the moment Charles came home.

Her phone was hidden behind a stack of books on her nightstand, recording her every action.

Everyday at 7:30, Charles came home from his training session to have dinner with Y/N. Sometimes, she would cook pasta but tonight, she’d requested dinner at the little bistro across their apartment. He never missed a dinner with her and Y/N didn’t either.

Like clockwork, Y/N heard the sound of jingling keys in the front door. She winked at her camera before she shut her eyes.

There was the sound of the front door opening, followed by a swift, “Amore? I’m home,” echoing throughout the apartment.

Y/N resisted the urge to say anything, focusing her mind so that her breaths were even and her face was peaceful.

Well as peaceful as can be when she was trying not to laugh.

“Amore?”

Y/N heard the sound of Charles’s footsteps shuffling across the apartment. She knew almost instinctively where he was going to look for her. Her office first, then the kitchen before heading straight to their bedroom.

“Amor—“ She heard his footsteps stop as their bedroom door opened.

She could practically imagine her boyfriend’s cute frown at seeing her sleeping form. “I can’t believe you’re already asleep, amore. It’s only 7:30.” His words were low, uttered in a whisper she strained to hear.

But Y/N didin’t reply. She kept her breaths even and her face straight.

“And you’re even wearing makeup. Amore, you can’t sleep with your makeup on. You’ll hate yourself in the morning.”

But Y/N didn’t stir and she heard Charles’ sigh.

She wondered what her boyfriend would do. Would he wake her up? Tuck her in? Or would he be annoyed at her?

Instead, she heard the sound of Charles’s footfalls, followed by the sound of their bathroom door opening and the sound of things being moved. She opened an eye, frowning at the camera as she did so before she quickly returned to her previous peaceful expression upon hearing Charles turn the bathroom lights off.

What was he doing?

When she felt something wet hit her cheeks, her eyes immediately shot open. Charles was standing over her, a damp cotton pad in his hands. “Amore, you are awake?”

“Charles, what are you doing?” Y/N asked incredulously as she stared at the cotton pad.

“Removing your makeup! You use micellar water, yes?” He replied innocently, causing Y/N to let out an incredulous laugh.

“I can’t believe you know that!”

“Of course I do!” Charles said, sounding almost offended at the insinuation that he didn’t, “I watch you do your skincare every night! After you remove your makeup, you wash your face twice. Then you do toner, your first serum, your second serum, a hydrator and then moisturizer. If it’s a Tuesday and a Thursday, you wear an overnight mask.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. You know my nightly skincare routine!”

“I know the morning one too.” Charles said smugly. “Now why were you pretending to sleep?”

“I was filming a TikTok!” Y/N laughed, pointing at her phone that was hidden behind the stack of books.

“Amore,” Charles tsked but there was no real sound of disappointment in his voice. His lips were pulled in a smile and he was beginning to laugh too. “Your pranks are so ridiculous!”

“It wasn’t a prank! And I’m sure your fans would fall even more in love with you at this video. Pierre’s going to call you a simp!”

But Charles just laughed. “We have to remove the makeup on the other cheek too or else your foundation will look uneven.”

“I can’t believe you know what foundation is! Charles Marc Herve Percival Leclerc, you’ve always been attractive but you have never been more attractive to me than you are now.”

Charles laughed that happy sound that Y/N always memorized in her head so she could look back on it whenever she was sad.

The curl of happiness that wrapped around her heart at the thought that her attentive, amazing boyfriend knowing exactly what he needed to do to make her happy was a feeling Y/N knew she wouldn’t feel with anyone else.

If there was one thing Charles hated in this world, it’s Y/N’s job.

Though, hate may be too strong a word. He actually greatly admired Y/N’s job and her selflessness. So really, he didn’t hate her job. More like he didn’t like how it made him feel.

Of course he understood that Y/N was a career woman and her job was important. While Charles’s role as an athlete was important to him and to the people around him, Y/N’s job as an international journalist was actually and objectively important to the whole world.

As an international correspondent to the BBC, she went to different corners of the world to inform people about what was happening to other parts of the globe, may it be famine, war or disease. Journalism was her passion and her ambition was encompassed by the compassion she had for other people. After all, Y/N always believed that the world would be a much kinder place if people just knew a little bit more about other people. And while Formula One is one of the most dangerous sports in the world, it certainly beats Y/N’s assignment last week of going to Afghanistan in the middle of the Taliban taking over the country.

He hadn’t seen her in a week and due to the spotty cell reception, he hasn’t heard from her either. Just the occasional text letting him know she was still alive and well. The only time he got to see her was when he tuned in to the BBC last night to hear her live report.

While race weeks usually plagued him with thoughts of strategies and winning, this weekend, his thoughts were consumed by Y/N.

She’d promised she’d watch him this week in support but Charles didn’t care if she’d miss it at all. All he cared about was whether or not she’d come home in one piece.

“You okay, mate?” Carlos asked him after they were dismissed from their media duties to prepare for tomorrow’s race. “You seem distracted.”

He was distracted. He could barely focus on today’s qualifying and because of his distracted state of mind, Charles wasn’t paying attention when a flag was waved to slow him down, causing him to impede on Alex Albon’s qualifying time. He was given a five place grid penalty and because of that, he was forced to start at P7 rather than his original P2.

Then there was the fact that immense pressure was riding on him today. After the summer break, Ferrari’s updates and improvements on the car showed promise, with Charles and Carlos performing well during yesterday’s practice session. The gap between Max and Charles during qualifying was only 0.021 and Charles knew that if he started at second tomorrow, he had a real chance of winnning. Now his job of winning was significantly harder starting at P7.

But he couldn’t think about those things. Not when his girlfriend, the love of his life and the woman he fully intends on marrying, hasn’t spoken to him in days.

“I haven’t heard from Y/N in three days,” Charles said with a sigh and a frown. They should be on the way back to the Ferrari motorhome but Charles wanted to apologize to Alex for impeding his time and Carlos had chosen to stay with him.

“Did you fight?” Carlos asked.

“No. She just has bad reception. I usually get at least a text a day but I haven’t heard from her at all.”

“Maybe she’s just busy?” Carlos offered. “Where is she anyway?”

“Afghanistan.”

“Oh.” And Carlos’s answering frown had the lead in Charles’ stomach sinking further.

“You don’t have to say it. I know it’s dangerous.” He’d heard it said by his mother, his brothers, Fred and even by Y/N herself. It’s a dangerous place right now but Y/N had always been hard-headed. She went wherever she was needed and right now, she was needed there. Her report on the current plight of women trying to get an education under the Taliban’s regime could prove integral in garnering international support and Y/N would sooner rather drown herself than leave these women alone if she knew she had the ability to help.

“Y/N’s always been a badass, mate. She’ll be fine.”

But Charles didn’t know that she’ll be fine. It’s hard not to believe in Y/N when she had so much belief in herself. She really was a badass. But it still didn’t stop Charles from worrying about her every chance he could.

Just then, Alex emerged from the media pen, momentarily distracting Charles from his anxious thoughts on his girlfriend. “Albono, I’m sorry—“

“It’s fine,” Alex sighed. “I know you didn’t mean it. If you did, you wouldn’t be here apologizing. Besides, after your penalty, I’m starting at a better position than you tomorrow.”

Charles sent him a tight smile. “Thanks.”

“Charles, is everything okay?” Albono asked him with a frown. “You seem… off.”

“It’s Y/N.” Was the only thing Charles said but he knew Alex understood enough.

“She’s in Afghanistan, right?”

Charles nodded.

“I watched her report last night. Cheer up, mate,” Alex said as he led their little group back to the motorhomes. “I’m sure she’s okay. Y/N’s a badass.”

“That’s what I said!” Carlos gasped.

“It’s cause she is. Charles, Y/N did a whole report in Myanmar to cover the military coup as it was happening. She was on the ground covering the protests in Paris as the people were actively rioting. The girl travels to active volcanoes and super typhoons to help garner donations to those who need it. She’ll be fine.”

But Charles simply sighed. He’s lost so much people in his life. He couldn’t handle it if he lost her too.

By the time they got to the motorhome, Charles’ spirits were being considerably raised by Carlos and Alex. Sure, he still thought about Y/N, it was hard not to. But he was feeling much better about his penalty and at least he felt better about something.

“Charles!”

Charles’ head snapped to the direction of the voice, his eyes widening in surprise as Y/N sprinted towards him with the widest smile on her face before wrapping her arms around him. Out of instinct, Charles’ arms wrapped around her torso, the smell of her perfume fillinf his senses. The relief that flooded him could only be described as euphoric as he felt the way she breathed, felt the tickle of her hair on his nose and how she was struggling to keep her tiptoed feet high in an effort to reach him. She was alive and well and she was here with him.

He could hear the laughter of his team, as well as Carlos and Alex cheering him on but right now, his senses focused on Y/N. At the feel of her in his arms and the way she was practically vibrating out of sheer joy.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Charles muttered in her ear. “Thank god you’re okay.”

“I made a promise,” Y/N replied, her voice low enough for only him to hear before she pulled away and placed a soft kiss on his lips, one that had his toes curling in delight and his heart beating fast in his chest.

The rest of the garage howled and jeered as they kissed but he didn’t care about that. He also didn’t care about the fact that Carlos was maniacally laughing as he filmed their interaction and he cared even less about the reporters that were stationed just outside of the motorhome. He kissed her back with vitriol, her lips molding perfectly to his.

When they pulled away, Y/N had a wide smile on her face that Charles was sure mirrored his own. “I made it!”

“You did! I still cannot believe this, amore. Why weren’t you replying to my messages? You had me so worried!”

“Well, aside from the shitty service, I also left my charger back in Afghanistan,” Y/N said sheepishly, “I was on the way back when I’d realized that my phone was dead and I couldn’t do anything about it but finish the rest of my journey. I’m really sorry for making you worry, babe.” Y/N’s face was apologetic but he didn’t care. He was so happy at seeing her, at touching her, at feeling her that the very world could explode right now and he would die smiling.

“It’s okay.” Charles grinned before giving her lips a little peck. “I’m just so grateful and happy you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your penalty too.” Her frown could only be described as cute in Charles’s eyes.

He couldn’t even care about his penalty, not when she was here with him. “Don’t worry about it. I have a good feeling about tomorrow.”

“Charles, are you sure about this?”

He nodded. “One-hundred percent, amore. You have two minutes.”

“Babe, I could grab a lot of books in two minutes.”

“It’s your birthday. Go crazy.”

She gave him a steady look. “You know, most boyfriends would just buy their girlfriends a pretty necklace for their birthday and be done for the day.”

He gave her a cheeky smirk. “Don’t worry, Y/N. You have a pretty necklace with a matching bracelet and earrings waiting for you at home.”

She rolled her eyes but not even a blind man could be convinced she was actually annoyed.

Charles didn’t seem to think so but in Y/N’s opinion, he spoils her too much.

Every birthday, anniversary and Christmas meant a lavish gift that in Y/N’s opinion was not necessary. He bought her a Ferrari last Christmas for crying out loud! And though Y/N was appreciative, she just wasn’t used to all of this. Even though Charles had tried his damndest to convince Y/N that the Ferrari was really a gift from the team and not him and that he didn’t even have to spend a dime to get that car, it was still too much.

It also didn’t help that one of Charles’s main love languages was gift giving and it was hard to convince him not to buy her so much stuff when he has a lot of money.

She recalled one time when Charles had gone inside a Rolex store to pick out a birthday gift for Lorenzo and she had gone with him when her eye had been caught by a watch. She didn’t even ask to see it, just simply looking at it through the glass when all of a sudden, Charles had asked the clerk if he could buy that watch as well only to give it to her when they exited the store.

He’s mellowed out over the past few years and has stopped giving her a gift simply for existing. But all that did was ensure that on special occasions when he was expected to give her a gift, he went all out.

This morning, Y/N woke up to flowers and breakfast in bed. When she was finished, Charles had made reservations for a spa day with her and her friends, with all expenses answered by a swipe of his card. When her spa treatments were over, he picked her up for a fancy dinner that probably cost more than Y/N’s yearly salary followed by a trip to the bookstore, where Charles had given her the chance to pick out any and all books for a two minute time period that he will pay for.

“You’re ready, amore?” Charles said as he set his phone’s timer to 00:02:000.

Y/N was more than ready. Books were expensive and though she would normally protest at all of the gifts her boyfriend would give, books were ones of the few things she would never say no to.

“I was born ready. Start the timer.” And then, almost in a blink, she zoomed across the bookstore, grabbing book after book and dropping it on one of the two baskets that Charles was carrying for her. She grabbed whole boxed sets, a plushie and even managed to snag a scented candle and a new e-reader in the process before the timer set off.

“Done!” Y/N squealed as she dropped her last book in the basket.

“I really underestimated you, amore,” Charles said as he struggled to lift the two baskets filled to the brim with books.

“You don’t get between me and my books, babe. You know that.” She grinned as she bent down and picked up the other basket to help him. “Besides, you specifically told me to go crazy.”

“You ran so fast, you were a blur.” Charles laughed. “Even faster than me in a Ferrari! I’m going to have to build you a new shelf for all these books.”

His words gave her pause. He was right. Her current shelf only had one last row before it was filled and then she’d have to get an entirely new shelf for the rest of her books. Maybe she should return the basket she was holding…

Upon seeing the look in her face, Charles stopped and gave her a glare. “Don’t even think about it, amore. You’re getting all these books.”

“But you’re right about the shelf—“

“I can afford to buy you a shelf, Y/N.”

“Yeah but still—“

“No ifs and or buts. We made a deal. Now, come on. Let me pay.”

“Babe, I think we broke the internet.”

Charles looked up from his phone as Y/N settled in on the couch, a giant grin on his face. “I think so too.”

“Maybe posting those pictures was a bad idea.” Y/N laughed as she turned the TV on. “People’s brains have collectively exploded. I mean, I have people at work calling me to ask if it was all true.”

“What did you say?”

“Of course I told them the truth.”

“I have the whole grid calling and texting to congratulate us.”

Y/N grinned as she scrolled through Netflix’s selection, clicking the movie that she and Charles agreed on. “Lucky for us, Pierre knows how to keep his mouth shut. I thought for sure he’d go running straight to Yuki.”

“You know,” Charles said as he continued to scroll through his phone at the explosion of texts and notifications, “I’m thinking of a social media detox tonight.”

“You mean to say after posting those pictures, we just turn off our phones and stop replying to everyone?”

Charles’s grin could only be described as devious. “Yes. That sounds like a great plan, in my opinion. We can turn our phones on tomorrow.”

Y/N’s answering smile was just as evil. “You’re right, babe. That is a great plan.”

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[stuckwith-harry]

cried out to you alone

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

Impossible, is the only thing Harry can stand to think. That there is still sunlight in the world after everything.

Still, it pours out over the Burrow’s kitchen table in bright, luminous yellow, warming the veined wood. Harry and the Weasleys watch it creep over the tabletop, sitting elbow-to-elbow. Molly and Arthur are touching shoulders and brushing through hair as they pass around steaming mugs of tea, as they pour milk and stir in spoonfuls of sugar, the bags under their eyes swollen and purple like figs.

When Harry tries to open his mouth, to offer help, Molly quickly shakes her head at him; pleading. Like she wouldn’t know what else to do with herself.

So Harry stays, cramped between George and Ginny, and lets her place her palm on his back as she places his tea in front of him. Through the open window, a sweet-smelling breeze comes pouring in, the smell of warm soil and flowers and summer rapidly approaching, which seems impossible, too.

Tomorrow morning, they’re going to get out of bed and make breakfast. They’re going to feed the chicken in the yard, do the dishes and read the newspaper. Still, the sun is going to come up.

For a moment, he catches Ron’s gaze; Ron, whose face is oddly contorted and whose eyes are glassy and bright red. Harry can’t bear the sight of it: he stares at the old mug in his hands, examining the faded red dots, hand-painted. Anything that soothes.

Poppies, he realises. On the inside, near a chip at the rim, he can make out the small letters spelling out Ottery St. Catchpole, and below that, half-drowning in sweet tea: Flea Market, 1988.

A memory, then. One he wasn’t a part of, but one he can envision, anyway, the bright red summer day, the bustling and shuffling of the little village, the shrieking of children, strawberry ice cream rapidly melting and dripping on bare knees; a younger, happier Ron –

The scraping of a chair yanks him back, as Ginny abruptly gets to her feet and walks out without a word. No one tries to stop her, and the small, pathetic sound of her bedroom door closing from atop the stairs sounds down to them as though she slammed it.

After that, only silence. No pots stir in the kitchen sink, no footsteps thunder from several floors above, and no chatter, no yelling, no laughter holds the walls of the house together. No explosions sound from the twins’ room.

Death is an awfully quiet affair.

One by one, as the stripes on the tabletop grow long and orange, the Weasleys crawl into their hiding places. Harry knows he’s intruding, so he wanders outside, following the soft clucking of the chicken pecking away at the dirt behind their wooden fence, the only things alive and making a sound.

The solitude is a relief: he has never wished to flee the walls of the Burrow so desperately, only stayed long enough to change out of the black funeral robes and into an old Quidditch jumper. Then he pushed Ron’s bedroom door open far enough to slip out and disappear, and mercifully, Ron didn’t try to stop him, either.

The jumper is Ron’s, technically. It feels like being held, Gryffindor red and worn and entirely too large for Harry. Somehow that only makes him feel worse.

The Weasleys did not hesitate to take him home with them after the battle, because that was their way. They put up the old camp bed in Ron’s violently orange bedroom like they always had, and Ron silently handed him a pile of hand-me-downs so Harry would have something to wear other than the clothes that still reeked of the tent, of sweat and of blood.

Harry props his elbows up on the weathered fence and buries his face in the soft sleeves, breathing deeply. For a while, he simply listens as the hens, who do not know or care about anything, cluck away happily, as the urge to slip under the invisibility cloak, to disappear and never make a sound again, keeps on rushing over him.

“Hi.”

His heart jumps painfully into his throat at the quiet greeting and the sound of footsteps on dry grass that preceded it, and when he turns around to face it, he’s looking at Ginny. She’s changed out of her black dress robes, too, back into worn-out denim dungarees and a striped t-shirt. Scarlet and yellow. Her hair has come out of the braid from earlier and falls wildly to her collarbones again, no longer to her belly button, like it used to.

“I couldn’t stand the silence anymore”, she says, voice oddly throaty.

Harry wants to say, you don’t have to explain, but before he can, she pushes out: “And then I was in my room and it was just as fucking quiet, and I just – I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

She looks older, Harry thinks wildly. He hasn’t let himself look at her, not really, doesn’t even know why, just that he’s been avoiding her most of all. Ever since May 2nd, the quiet between them has stretched and stretched over miles and oceans and continents of wasteland. Harry knows it’s his fault, that he should say something, but he has no words, no words at all.

The first morning after the battle, when he came stumbling into the common room and found her there, they just held each other, and he had no words then, either. There was sunlight there, too, he remembers suddenly, poking through the shattered windows and lighting up every particle of dust floating around the empty room.

“Can we go somewhere else?”, she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Anywhere else?”

Harry nods, mouth dry. For a moment, her eyes seem to linger on him, but then she turns away without another word, and he follows her lead without question or objection. They don’t speak again until they reach the old broomshed, and Ginny suddenly turns to look at him again, face unreadable.

“Any chance you wanna go for a fly?”

“Wh-What?”

She shrugs. “Do you?”

It’s a strange time capsule, the shed. Ginny pushes the wooden door open and sends flurries of dust into the air, catching sunlight; Harry, who is standing behind her, catches a glimpse of Arthur’s old Muggle trinkets and the old brooms lined up against the wall. Ron and Ginny’s are closest to the door; the twins’ brooms are up on a shelf opposite the square window.

For a moment, Ginny is perfectly still, and Harry knows she is looking at them, too. Then she reaches for her broom and silently pushes past him. Harry grabs Ron’s and closes the door of the shed behind him, and together they wander away from the Burrow, over the hills that surround it, where wild poppies are peeking through the unkempt grass and weeds.

Harry thinks he knows where she’s going: their makeshift Quidditch pitch hidden between gnarly old trees from summers long lost, where they used to chuck apples and tennis balls at each other, during all those afternoons spent playing Quidditch two against two.

Tall, sweet-smelling yarrow brushes along their bare shins as they walk, and pink clover, the soft heads bending back to the earth under the weight of bumblebees passing by, thick dandelion leaves spread all across the ground amidst the weeds; and everywhere poppies, peeking through the tall grass, the paper-thin petals fluttering in the breeze.

Tucked behind another hill, Harry remembers, a few minutes on foot further north, is the lake where they whiled away happier summer afternoons than this. The image comes to his mind in bright, sunny colours, Ginny’s wide, toothy grin as she sneaks up on Ron, the thundering splash and Hermione’s piercing shriek, and Ron, emerging, spluttering and yelling, his sopping hair plastered to his face.

But that was centuries ago, and their full-bellied laughter seems miles and countries away already. Here, only silence. Harry wants to ask, are you okay?, or say, it’s going to be alright, but what good would it do?

The poppies are early: they’re not supposed to bloom for another month. There’s no end to them, no matter how far they walk, a sea of red stretching out all over the soft hills. Harry can’t tear his eyes away until the first beech trees they used to climb, black pines and yews throw cool shadows over their heads.

Strange, that it looks the same. The leaves up above their heads rustle softly as they mount their brooms, and Ginny shoots into the air, a quiet cannon. For the better part of an hour, they zoom in circles through the rapidly cooling air, chucking an old Quaffle back and forth at each other. Ginny’s throws are hard and unrelenting: they’re not keeping score, but she’s playing like it’s the last game of the season, like the House Cup depends on it, so Harry lets her exhaust herself. By the time they sink back to the ground, the sky over the meadow is dotted in shades of pink and red.

Ginny hits the ground with such force her knees buckle under the impact and hit the dry grass. Harry gasps, but she is already getting up again, brushing off the dirt without comment.

They find a spot at the outer edge of the pitch and slump into the tall grass with their backs leaning against an oak tree, where they can see the sunset falling on the soft hills and the Burrow in the distance, bright red like poppies. Ginny’s hands are uselessly holding her ribs, her warm eyes staring off into nothing.

“Feel any better?”, Harry asks after a while.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She shifts next to him, tucking her scraped knees to her chest. They look like she’s spent all summer climbing trees and rolling down the grassy hills around the Burrow and crashing her broomstick into her brothers in a spectacular grab for the Quaffle.

“At least I feel a little less like I was buried with him”, she mutters.

I’m sorry, Harry wants to say, but that seems useless, too.

“I wanted to leave, too”, he says finally. “It was so quiet in there.”

“I hate it”, Ginny says softly. “It doesn’t feel anything like home when it’s like this.”

“I’m sorry”, he says despite himself, for what feels like the thousandth time since everything. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Ginny's brows furrow slightly, as if to say, yes, you should. “If you weren’t, I’d still be shut up in my room right now. Going mad, probably.”

After a short pause, she adds: “I wouldn’t know who to talk to.”

It strikes Harry like lightning: she was looking for him.

She looks over at him as though searching for something. Her brown eyes glow golden in the warm light, like honey, her whole face painted in reds and oranges and pinks.

“How do you do it?”, she asks finally, voice quiet, but steady, as the soft breeze continues to rush through the trees. “How do you lose everyone you’ve lost – and go on living? How do you live with the dead?”

Harry looks at her, the way she sits cross-legged and hunched over in the grass next to him, arms hugged to herself, and it sinks in, what she’s searching for, what she’s asking of him.

“It’s not the same”, he says softly.

She scoffs quietly. “How is that not the same?”

Harry looks around their hiding place. Maybe it’s the creaking of old branches around them, almost a murmur, the smell of the trees, that brings them back: his parents in the Forbidden Forest, walking towards him, Sirius’ bright grin, Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station.

The thought of them cuts through him, every beat of his heart sharp and stinging as they remain dead and he does not.

“Your speech”, he says finally, and watches her jaw clench. “I couldn’t have said anything like that about my parents – or Sirius …”

“I can’t believe I wrote him a fucking eulogy”, Ginny mutters, staring at the weeds to her feet, the patches of moss creeping across the earth under the wild, entangled grass. “It makes it feel so fucking final.”

“You did really well”, Harry says. “It was beautiful.”

She merely shrugs, and he doesn’t blame her.

“I’m glad I got to say something, I think”, she says after another stretch of silence. “But, Merlin, he was walking and talking and making jokes just a week ago, and now he’s six feet underground and I’ve written a double-sided page on how sorely he’ll be missed.”

She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Up until today, I really thought he might jump up and laugh it off and make fun of us for falling for it.”

You made it feel like that today, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny.”

She read it out with a completely steady voice, both fists clutching the slip of paper in her hand. She did not bother to find a silver lining this time, or to look for meaning at all; but every word seemed to bring Fred back to life a little, even earning a few teary chuckles from the other Weasleys. Every anecdote and every prank she recounted was a testament to the fact that Fred Weasley had been alive, that he had mattered, that he had left an impact on her, on all of them.

“You know my Mum had brothers”, Ginny says suddenly, looking over at Harry’s hands. “Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

She points, and Harry realises what she’s really looking at: Fabian Prewett’s battered old watch on his arm.

“They died in the first war. Bill, Charlie and Percy say they remember them a little, but the rest of us just grew up hearing stories.”

She picks at the shallow wound on her knee, where droplets of bright red blood have pushed to the surface through the cracks in her freckled skin. “It’s why Fred and George are named after them. A little bit, anyway – you know, Fred and George … Fabian and Gideon … Mum was pregnant when they died.”

Harry swallows. “I didn’t know.”

Ginny smiles sadly. “I liked the idea that they got to live on in the twins a little. I never thought to ask Fred and George how they felt about it, actually. I can’t imagine … how Mum feels.”

Harry watches her wrap her arms around her legs, watches the strawberry blond hairs on her shins stand on end as the air cools around them. She looks tired, but her eyes are dry.

“I never made that connection”, he says softly.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you”, she says. “It seemed important.”

Even over the rustling of the trees, the chirping and creaking all around them, he can hear her clearly, her voice steady, unwavering.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

She looks around at him. “Do you not miss your parents?”

“I don’t know how”, Harry mutters. “Your speech … it was full of memories.”

She doesn’t respond, understanding silently. Then: “What about Sirius?”

Harry shrugs. “He never really got to be my godfather, did he? Not the way he was supposed to, anyway … there wasn’t time. And I don’t remember when my parents were alive – I’ve never known anything else.”

He looks at her, the way she’s quietly watching. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear.”

Ginny dismisses it with a half-hearted gesture, lost in thoughts somewhere else.

“Do you think grieving someone is the same thing as missing them, then?”

“No … do you?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, then shakes her head.

“I just – I just want to talk to him and tell him what’s going on, and I think about how long it’s been since I’ve talked to him and how much I wish he were here and how I’m not gonna get to talk to him –”

She pauses mid-sentence, as though looking for words, and doesn’t find any.

“And then I think about the fact that he’s dead. That his life is over. And that I helped bury him today. And they’re both – awful, but it’s different, I guess.”

Harry nods, more to himself than to Ginny this time.

“And now, I just – I need to know what to do. So it doesn’t swallow me whole.”

Harry is still watching them walk towards him before his inner eye, his parents in the Forbidden Forest, his mother’s hungry face.

“I forget, sometimes”, he says. “For a moment, I think I forget they’re gone. Or I’m – I don’t know, distracted, and I’m not thinking about it – it slips away, and then it hits me again.”

Ginny’s teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I … honestly can’t fathom it right now.”

Harry looks over at her, the way she sits next to him, curled into herself, her hands still uselessly holding her ribs. Like it is physically hurting her.

“I dunno. Maybe forgetting is the wrong word. But when it happens, it always feels like it’s happening to someone else, like I am someone else.”

Ginny watches him intently as he stumbles to the end of his sentence: it feels pathetic already, having said it out loud like that.

“Like you are who you would’ve been if they hadn’t died?”, she asks, in that quietly remarkable way of hers, where she doesn’t treat him like something delicate, but she doesn’t ask for more than he can give, either.

“Yeah, I reckon. But I don’t recognise him at all.”

Ginny hums in understanding. She leans back against the bark of the tree and pulls her knees to herself again. “You would’ve been happier, anyway.”

Harry turns away at that, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

“I know it doesn’t make sense or anything –”

“No, it does, Harry.”

“I mean, I know they couldn’t have lived. Everything would have to be different. We probably wouldn’t be here.”

Ginny sits in silence for a while.

“Do you ever wonder?”, she asks finally. “What you would’ve been like?”

“I guess … more like them. In ways I can recognise, anyway.”

He gestures helplessly at nothing, and Ginny takes that as a sign to push no further.

“I don’t recognise Ginny a week ago, either”, he hears her say, and the muffled sound of her voice tells him she’s wiping her nose on her sleeve again. “Every time something terrible happened, I guess I didn’t. It’s like remembering an old friend. One whose address you lost or something.”

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

“Cheery”, Ginny says in a hollow voice.

“It gets less all-consuming”, he says softly.

“Good”, she mutters. “Right now it’s pretty fucking all-consuming. It’s there when I wake up in the morning, and it’s – in my tea, and on all my clothes, and it’s in everyone I talk to and everything I say.”

Harry stares at the sky overhead, the red rapidly paling. Still, there is that whispering in the treetops, the feeling of being transported back into the Forbidden Forest. Still, his parents, reaching out for him.

“I’m sorry”, he says truthfully. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s all I needed.”

He watches her tug at a poppy near her feet, struck by how long he’s managed to stay away from her, when her company is so comforting. The resolution comes to him all on its own, that he’s going to tell her everything. The Forbidden Forest. King’s Cross Station.

“Do you want to head back yet?”

Ginny looks at him, and she seems calmer somehow. For the first time since they got here, she doesn’t seem to be searching for anything – just looking.

“In a little while”, she says.

Harry looks back at her, really looks at her, and for a long time, neither of them speak, having arrived at some quiet understanding. Still, there’s a murmur in the trees around them, but they pay it no mind, and they don’t turn to look.

#i never posted it in obnoxious long text post form so :-) #here we are. #hinny #hp #fanfiction #cried out

[h34rtizuku]

𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔶

i hate angst without happy endings, but i’m also self-destructive. therapy is expensive, but ripping your own heart out and bearing your insecurities into a full-fledged story for you and others to read? free.

warnings : angst without a happy ending, insecurities, jealousy, mayhaps toxic behavior?? idk if ur looking for a good time, this isn’t for you bestie <3 also i might misspell uraraka’s name wrong a few times, i’ll fix them later :*

being quirkless had its advantages. with such a small number of us being born without powers, it left a lot of the mundane jobs open.

which is why, as soon as pro-hero deku opened his agency, i came to him with the request to be his assistant.

on the daily, he had people coming up to him asking for internships or to be his sidekick. but he never had anyone ask to be his assistant.

being the number one hero often meant that every day things, things one may take for granted or deem insignificant became just another list of things on the busy man’s to-do list.

therefore the appeal of having someone file his paper work and run to get him coffee in the morning was great enough to hire me.

and i was glad he did.

this is what i have been working for since i was a first year in high school. after watching the freckled boy break limb after limb to defeat his opponent.

yeah, i saw it as irresponsible and stupid that he had to break his own body to save others. but i was willing to overlook it.

my one goal during my remaining years of high school and up to college was that wherever that little green haired boy went, i would follow.

and that reigned true as his assistant. i would shuffle after him like a duckling following it’s mother, wherever he needed me.

if he needed me in a briefing to take notes for him, i was there. if he needed me to put in overtime to help him file the last minute paperwork, i was there. if he wanted a particular pastry from a specific bakery half way across town, i was there.

izuku was never mean, or demanding. always thanking me profusely for anything i ever did for him. leaving me to remind him that this was my job, and any way to make his life easier was good enough for me.

but maybe i should have held onto those blushed cheeks and crinkled eyes as he thanked me for the coffee that he didn’t even know he needed, for a just a little bit longer.

you know how a child will open a new toy on christmas and it quickly becomes their new favorite toy? playing with it non-stop, taking it wherever they go. until one day, they grow bored of it and never touch it again as it grows dusty at the bottom of their toy bin.

i know izuku wasn’t doing it on purpose, he didn’t have an intentionally mean bone in his body. i guess you could say, some other toys came around and took his attention away.

and that toy, was a particularly difficult mission in collaboration with uravity’s agency.

the two spent long hours cooped in his office as they went over notes, plans, intel, etc. until the conversation melted into talk about the old days and the wonderful memories they had together in high school.

i went to work the following days with absolutely no energy to handle whatever would be thrown at me. i hadn’t been able to get much sleep, as when i closed my eyes the only thing i could see was the look in his eyes when he saw her.

my patience was already thin given the events of the most recent week, but when the printer started malfunctioning leaving me unable to fax the papers izuku wanted me send, you could say that was the first domino.

i swatted and kicked and pressed any button on the stupid machine. telling myself i was merely trying to get to stupid thing to work, but deep down i knew that the printer was just my temporary punching bag. an outlet to unleash my anger and emotions onto something instead of letting them fester inside me.

so when one of izuku’s sidekicks came by, giving a snarky comment about my behavior, i was able to brush it off with a roll of my eyes and an equally snippy comment back.

but as the hunk of plastic remained steady in its plan to ruin my day, the lack of sleep and lingering resentment started to bubble within me once more.

i heard footsteps behind me and a joking voice say, “having a bit of trouble are we?”

if it weren’t for the white hot anger buzzing in my ears i may have been able to identify the voice before i lashed out on them. but we already established this was not my day.

so as my hands moved to clutch the machine below me, most likely to restrain my abuse to merely verbal instead of physical. i spit out, “listen i’m fucking trying okay? so how about you get off my ass and do something useful.”

i turned around to face who i thought would be another sidekick sent to push my buttons. but i instead came face-to-face with the green haired man himself.

eyes blown wide, mouth agape in shock, a light blush dusted under his freckles as he fought to handle the situation the best way he could.

but i beat him to it with a deep bow and an endless flow of apologies, opting to only blame my anger on the malfunctioning piece of junk behind me and not the several other reasons i was plotting murder in my head.

with a gentle smile and a soft chuckle he placed his hand to the back of his head, rubbing at the baby jade hairs of his undercut. “i see. bad days happen to the best of us.” he replied, his voice like honey.

i became drunk on the minor interaction he was giving me, bringing me back to the beginning days at this job where we would spend late nights trying to keep each other awake under the only singular yellow light as we finished paperwork. or where sometimes he’d invite me to spend lunch with him as he felt he’d enjoy the company.

i got lost in the intricacies of his face as he tampered with the printer. thin eyebrows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip captured between his thick scarred fingers as he muttered to himself.

i fell in a trance, locked on the slope of his button nose, his gemstone eyes, and chubby caramel cheeks dusted in freckles.

he looked essentially like the same boy i saw on the screen all those years ago, yet matured and hardened by the realities of life.

i wanted nothing more than to reach out and protect him any way my small quirkless body could. to be there for him the same way he was for everyone else.

he eventually got the printer to work with a boyish smile on his face as he told me that despite the good roughing up i gave the machine, he was able to locate and handle the issue. “next time, skip the punching and come find me, yeah? i’ll help with any problems you face.” he joked as he made his way into his office to resume his work.

i didn’t know it was possible to fall harder for that man, but he proved with every day of his existence that the impossible didn’t apply to him.

i was finally able to get some sleep the next few nights as my eyelids filled with the blush on his cheekbones and his gaze of concentration.

but my trip to cloud 9 didn’t last very long as the occasional meeting with uraraka became trips to her agency, and occasional meetings in civilian clothes to civilian places, like coffee shops and corner stores.

to anyone else, those would read as dates. to me, they read as dates. but izuku assured the gossiping sidekicks that it was strictly professional ~ nothing more, nothing less.

i knew that i would end up with more fits of restlessness and sleepless nights as i pictured the two of them laughing over a cup of coffee. so i sought out a replacement.

a moment. a look. a sentence.

anything directed at me that would choke out the ugly thoughts and images my brain would show me of the two of them together.

so that afternoon as i brought him his lunch, i placed the box safely onto the table beside him as he continued skimming through the papers littered across the desk.

he muttered a small ‘thank you’ but it wasn’t enough. as my hand moved to place his drink that i held in my other hand next to his food, a different idea popped in my head.

my hand moved faster than my brain could register what it had just planned to do. squeezing just enough for the lid to pop off and slip from my fingers to tumble into his lap.

as soon as the liquid and ice hit his lap he flew up from his seat and away from his desk.

my hands flew up to my mouth as a string of apologies fell from my lips. eyes watering in guilt as they moved around the room trying to locate something to soak up the mess with.

“i am so sorry, my fingers slipped and before i knew it i had lost control of the cup. i-i can’t tell you how sorry i am.” i rambled as i took my blazer off to wipe at the wet stains starting to form at the bottom of his teal suit.

“hey, hey, hey.” he said softly, taking my tinier hands into his large and battered ones. warmth enveloped my clutched sticky hands as he gently urged me to stand from my crouching position in front of him.

“it was an accident. no harm, no foul.” he said with a soft smile.

i should feel bad, as it wasn’t entirely an accident. but the warm and gentle look in his eyes made what little guilt i felt crumble away.

his thumbs rubbing soft circles to my skin as he worked to get the tears to stop streaming from my eyes was enough to get me to sleep like a baby for a good 2 weeks.

until it became a cycle. he would spend too much time around uraraka, and then i would do something all in the name of garnering his attention back on me.

was it wrong of me to do, to take advantage of his kindness? to take advantage of the fact that he was naive to my true intentions? maybe.

but i felt i deserved it. i felt i deserved to be looked at the same way he looked at her.

i wasn’t any different than she was. with the way she used her big brown eyes to pull him in. or the way her cute behavior made him blush. or the way her sweet way of talking made him laugh.

i can’t be her, or compare to her. so i found my own way around it. and no one could fault me for doing so. they just couldn’t.

at the end of the mission, uravity decided to throw a party in celebration of their win. a nice formal gathering, with everyone she had involved.

when izuku pulled me aside one late night to tell me that he was extending the invitation to me felt akin to a marriage proposal.

i wasn’t involved much in the case, merely being used as the one who provided them their lunch on their long meeting days. or filing and organizing the paperwork and notes that they would compile. i wasn’t out in the field, breaking bones like izuku or saving lives like uraraka.

i didn’t deserve to go, but i didn’t care. izuku had invited me personally and damn it, i was gonna be there.

yet, i shouldn’t have gone.

i shouldn’t have spent the hours on my makeup. i shouldn’t have enlisted the help of my best friend to do my hair as i gushed about how izuku had personally invited me, how he was the most perfect man ever, and how i was undoubtedly in love with him.

i shouldn’t have spent the week leading up to the event going from shop to shop trying to find the prettiest dress that was just the exact color of his eyes. i shouldn’t have spent about half my paycheck on said dress when i found it.

i shouldn’t have decided to face my fears and step out of my comfort zone to join a group of heroes that i knew were old classmates of izuku’s as they whispered about something that clearly was a raving topic.

because then i wouldn’t have heard how izuku was planning on confessing to uraraka. i wouldn’t have heard how this mission caused old high school feelings to rekindle. i should have known my place.

and that was far away from here, from the hero scene. i should have grown up to be an accountant or a chef.

when my father took me to get that checkup when i was 5, to confirm that there truly resides no quirk inside me.

i should have left it at that.

when i was riding my bike that day as a first year and i saw the group of boys huddled around a screen as they tuned into the u-a sports festival, i should have kept riding.

as maybe it would have saved me a lot of pain.

i backed away slowly, heels tapping against the tile floor as i hurried out of the building.

i didn’t realize how suffocated i felt until the chilly autumn hair brushed my face and into my lungs.

my whole body felt hot, i felt numb. i stumbled onto the sidewalk as i looked into the dark azure sky glittered with stars.

the tears finally spilled from my eyes as the stars muddled together into a messy blur. my stomach swirled and tensed as pit of nausea sunk in my stomach.

my chest heaved as it tried to process the crisp cold air into oxygen, but my throat was too tight to let much in.

i gasped and sobbed as my back hit the brick behind me, my legs wobbling unable to carry my weight much longer.

i slid into a crouched position as my tears mixed with the black of my mascara. streaming in pools down my cheeks, neck, and chest.

in the midst of my sobbing and heaving, i called my friend who was still at my apartment awaiting details of that night when i came home.

knowing it was far too early for me to be calling her she picked up the phone with confusion. it didn’t take much words from me, not like i gave her much, to convince her that she needed to come pick me up.

as she hung up the phone, my hand slipped from my ear, falling limp to my side as i placed my head into my other arm resting atop my knees.

this was inevitable and i knew it. no matter how many ways i was able to manipulate a sweet glance from him, it didn’t mean anything.

izuku was nice to everybody. sweet to everyone. kind to anyone.

but with her, it was different. he treated her that way, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

they had years of memories, of laughs. they were perfect for each other, both smart, and kind, and always looking to help others. never acting selfishly or for personal gain.

they shared soft touches like they did old stories. they looked at each other with the same respect and admiration.

i was wrong. uraraka and i are nothing alike. she didn’t have to beg izuku to look at her like she hung the moon, he did so without asking.

unbeknownst to me, as i was manipulating izuku into these fabricated moments of gentle gazes and kind words, i was manipulating myself.

lying to the deepest parts of me that knew that this wasn’t real. that i wasn’t her. that he didn’t think of us the same way.

to him, uraraka is an old friend, who views the world the same way he does, who shares his same passions, who built her quirk to do some good within this world.

to him, i was a coffee-getter, the girl who knew his lunch orders like the back of her hand, the girl who filed his papers. the quirkless little fangirl who practically begged him to give her a job under him.

i heard the metal door open and snap shut announcing that someone was now outside with me. however, i just assumed it was a party-goer stepping outside for a smoke or a phone call so i didn’t bother to look up.

i also wasn’t in the mood for if the person happened to be a drunk girl who was ready to become my therapist as she saw me crouched on the sidewalk wishing to become one with the cement and simply cease to exist.

“there you are, i was wondering where you went?”

i would have taken the amateur therapist over this.

the voice belonged to izuku, dripping with sugar and default kindness.

if i could become one with the bricks just a little bit faster that would be great.

“hey, are you alright?” his tone became worried but i still didn’t dare to look up from my arms.

“do you feel sick? did something happen? do i need to take you home?” there he goes, into hero mode. ready to drop anything to help anyone facing the slightest of inconveniences.

“please just leave me alone.” i mumbled, throat tight and voice wavering as i try to hold the tears that still remain to fall.

“what did you say? i didn’t quite hear you.” he said softly, gently setting his large hands onto my exposed shoulder.

they should feel like welcoming warmth, but instead they felt blistering hot as i shoved them away as quickly as i could.

“i said leave me alone.” i said, slightly louder as i no longer was stuffed in my arms and knees.

he immediately saw the mess my face was in, i could tell by the way he quickly reverted fully into deku.

“hey, what’s wrong? whatever it is, i can help. didn’t i say you could come to me whenever you ne-“

“oh my god just stop! i can’t take it anymore.” i snapped, finally able to look him in the face.

but not for long as i saw the same look on his complexion as the first time i snapped at him.

“you’re too fucking nice. leaving you vulnerable for people to take advantage of you. giving them a reason to be selfish.”

“i dont-“ he tried to start but i cut him off.

“i don’t need a hero, izuku. there are people you just can’t save.”

as he worked to wrap his head around what was happening, my friend pulled up in my getaway car.

i bent down and grabbed my purse, but before i could fully escape this night, izuku grabbed my wrist causing me to stare into his eyes.

now lit aflame with desperation, “please just tell me what’s wrong. let me help you.” he encouraged softly.

but i wasn’t going to fall for it, not again.

i wasn’t gonna be played for the fool as i took the soft look in his eyes for anything but the gaze of a hero hoping to add another save to their statistics.

“god you never know when to quit!” i yelled as i yanked my wrist back. “and i hate that i-“

loved that about you?

no, love that about you.

i shook my head, thankful that for once my brain caught my actions before i spilled and made a mess again.

i walked quickly to the car, opening the passenger door almost as fast in hopes that within its metal sanctuary i could finally escape this hell.

“y/n- i-“

“mr. midoriya.” i just about whispered, my energy long since drained.

he laughed gently and i cursed the way my heart squeezed a little at the sound.

still head over heels for the angelic sound.

“you haven’t called me that in a long-“

“i quit.”

“w-what?” he muttered in disbelief.

i wouldn’t believe it either, not after the way i came to him nearly 4 years ago saying i would even be willing to clean toilets if he asked me to, so long as i got to work for him.

“i quit.” i repeated.

“you don’t mean that.”

he’s right i didn’t, not really.

hot tears started to dribble as my lower lip puckered in a sour quiver.

“no i do, sir.” i shook. “i will send someone to collect my things on monday.”

and with that i closed the door.

“drive.” i whispered to my friend who after a moment of looking at me, trying to read me, silently put the car into drive and started forward.

leaving izuku behind to stumble after the car, mouth muttering, trying to form any sort of sentence or sense.

but i couldn’t see him, knowing not to look at the mirrors situated on the side of the vehicle.

for they too are liars, as objects in the mirror are farther than they appear.

*** my little blue bitch working overtime

🧼 also mayhaps “soap” by melanie martinez fits this story… unintentionally ~ but if i’m wrong it’s cuz i haven’t listened to it in a while

#izuku #izuku midoriya #deku #deku x reader #izuku x reader #my hero academia #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #izuku angst #deku angst #deku headcanons #deku imagine

[anti-plexus]

This chapter is dedicated to @moffywaifu

Ben Drowned x Reader

Title: Spilled Dreams (Part 2)

Pronouns: They/Them

Warnings: Mentions of murder and death. Also an abuse scene (In this part).

————

————

You silently crept into the old house. The floor squeaked softly as you gingerly made your way through the kitchen and up the stairs. There were four doors in the second floor, one for your parents, a bathroom, a guest room, and a door leading to the attic.

You parents didn't care where you slept of what you did, it didn't matter to them as long as you were still alive.

So they can collect their child support money, you thought bitterly. A couple of years ago, they had filed for child support checks, although the money was never used for you. Your parents used it all up on drugs and alcohol.

The attic was a cozy space, just big enough for a small bed plus a couple items of furniture. It used to be your parents drug room before they had you, but you'd managed to convince them that the guest room was bigger AND better.

You silently shuffled across the attic floor and sat at the small desk opposite your bed.

The Majora cartridge felt heavy as you pulled it out of your pocket and inserted into your Nintendo 64.

You had played Majoras Mask before, but it seemed different this time. The game would often glitch and freeze for a few seconds before returning to normal.

But the weirdest part wasn't the glitching of the game. It was the feeling of being watched.

Your fingers began to tremble as the screen went completely black.

And then you heard something.

It sounded liked the "Elegy of Emptiness" but different. You wracked your brain, trying to figure out what was going on.

Is... Is it playing in reverse?

Yes. Yes it was.

You gulped. Something was definitely not right. Suddenly, Link started moving on his own, heading toward a pond. Your finges flew over your controller, trying to regain control of Link.

This was not part of the game... It was like something (or someone) was controlling Link, and it definitely wasn't you.

You watched in horror as Link drowned himself. Each little red heart popping out of existence.

What. The. Fuck.

You waited for the game-over screen to appear, but it never did.

The screen flashed white as your Nintendo 64 made a sparking sound. Words appeared on the screen. You squinted, trying to read the small text.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

You whipped around, nearly falling out of your chair.

A man stood behind you, clothed in green. He looked like... Link? His red and black eyes curved upward, indicating he was amused. You, on the other hand, were not amused.

"W-Who are you?!" You demanded.

The man chuckled, his voice echoing through the room. "I'm BEN. BEN Drowned."

"D-Drowned?" You echoed.

"Mhm. Because you drowned me!" He laughed sadistically. You felt your chest begin to tighten from fear. What did he want from you?!

"Now," BEN interrupted your thoughts. "You're probably wondering why I'm here, so I'll make this quick. You found my cartridge, so I'm going to kill you now."

Your throat dried up at his words.

No.

No, you were not going to die, to give in to this man's sadistic ideas. You were going to live.

"N-"

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON UP THERE?!" You heard your "dad" yell.

Oh shit.

You turned to face the door as you heard heavy footsteps getting closer and closer.

Your dad stomped up the stairs, his face pudgy and hungover-looking. He towered over you like an angry bear. You tried you sneak a glance at BEN, but he was gone. Which left you alone with your abusive prick of a dad.

"YOU HAVE ONE JOB, BITCH! DON'T GET IN OUR WAY! NOW YOU'VE FUCKING BROKE IT!" Your dad screamed, slapping you harshly. You let out a cry and stumbled back, but your dad grabbed your shoulder and began to beat you.

Pain erupted all over your body, sending you into a state of shock. Every punch and kick hurt, but it hurt even more knowing that no one would come save you.

The beating lasted for what seemed like hours until your dad seemed to run out of steam. You didn't dare move until his footsteps slowly faded into nothingness.

Wincing from the pain, you managed to haul yourself onto your bed, laying down with a painful plop. You were just about to close your eyes when you saw a flash of red.

BEN was back.

————

I'm definitely making a part three :)

(I apologize for any grammatical errors in this story, it is, after all, approximately 3:00 in the morning...)

Link to Part 3

#ben drowned #x reader #ben drowned x reader #creepypasta #ghost and hauntings #horror #creepy #spooky #majoras mask #angst #jeff the killer #slenderman #lost silver #nintedo

[sketchguk]

lover to lean on; pjm

➳ pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

➳ genre: neighbor AU, flower shop AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 20k

➳ synopsis: for months, you can hear your no face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. you’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course you’re bitterly single. but one day, the apartment is radio silent. and one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. so on valentine’s day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other. 

➳ warnings: explicit language, pining, unrequited love 🤔, accidental voyeurism, unhealthy eating/sleeping habits, praise kink, body worship, nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, penetration, fluffy sex

➳ a/n: oops, I uploaded this later than I expected because the word count really got me. anyways, this fic is inspired by the song call me by keshi x rainlord. go give it a listen! 

Wake up and smell the roses.

That would be a great philosophy for life if you didn’t have to wake up to the sound of sex at 2 in the goddamn morning. 

Perhaps it’s your fault for not checking on the thickness of the drywall prior to moving in, but it wasn’t exactly the first concern that came to mind when touring the flat. Now, it’s more of a personal problem than anything: you being bitter about not having sex while your neighbor and his girlfriend are going at it like rabbits 5 feet away from you. It’s not a very valid complaint to bring up to your landlord. He’d probably tell you to suck it up and get laid. 

And he’s right. 

Besides, it’s not so bad most days. You hardly even notice the sound of running water through the rusty pipelines every morning or the whizzing of the ancient radiator on cold nights. In fact, you welcome it. It’s become part of the rustic building’s old-school, pre-historic charm. 

That, you can get behind. 

But one thing is for sure. You’re never going to learn to appreciate the strangled garble of a morning blowjob in the steamy showers or the banging of the bedpost against the paper thin walls when you’re in desperate need of some beauty sleep, well deep in a state of REM. 

It’s anything but charming. 

The 3 inch thick divider between you and your not-so-considerate neighbor does absolutely nothing to drown out the soft moans and hard grunts. You can hear them loud and clear through the dead of night as if they’re right beside you. 

“My god,” you sigh, rolling around your bed restlessly. Your hand blindly palms at the sheets in search of the pillow that rests beside you, placing it over your face and sandwiching yourself between the cushions. If you can’t kill your neighbor, you might as well suffocate yourself first to avoid incrimination, shamefully persecuted for third degree murder. 

A frustrated groan falls from your lips, but it’s stifled against the buffer. The banging stops almost immediately. 

“Shit,” you hear from the other side. 

Did he come? Is it over? 

You pray, hold your breath, and lie still as if you’re the one caught red-handed. But you’re not a voyeur. At least not on purpose. 

It isn’t your fault for being a light sleeper because the only thing to blame is the flimsy partition your landlord dare considers a wall. If you could have it any other way, you would. This is far from ideal granted that you didn’t even ask for any of this, but it’s far too late to get a refund. 

Lately, you’ve been spending your nights muting out vulgar dirty talk, the occasional squelches, and the obscene skin slapping on skin. Over time, you’ve come to know your neighbor on a much more intimate level than you would have liked despite never seeing him around. Like the fact that he thrives off of edge play and praise kinks. Yeah, it’s probably for the best that his identity is kept a secret otherwise you wouldn’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again with the knowledge that you have stowed away in the crevasses of your brainー knowledge you would prefer to forget. You don’t even know his name, but you’re long past the point of being acquainted with one another, so it would pretty be awkward to ask for it now. All you know is that he’s stuck in his own bubble, too blinded by love and lust to even consider his poor neighbor. 

Most nights, you even make the effort to stumble through your cluttered, moonlit studio apartment in search of your cheap headphones that usually dangle precariously over the edge of your desk. You’ve made a mental note to invest in some earplugs and a more effective set of headphones too. 

Truly, you’re not the type to invade one’s privacy. You have nothing to be sorry about because you respect your neighbor, his girlfriend, and their sexy time. If anything, they should be the ones apologizing for keeping you awake for three consecutive nights. No less on a Tuesday. 

But perhaps the act is already done and you can let bygones be bygones. Maybe he’s already come, and as unfortunate as that may be for his girlfriend, the chances are he's low on stamina tonight. The vivace metronomic thuds against your shared wall would suggest he was going pretty hard at it too. Not that it’s any of your business. You’re happy that your neighbor is so in love, and that he can have sex all day, all night and fall into the comfort of his lover’s arms, unlike you. You’re not bitter. 

Not at all. 

You don’t mean to get invested in his relationship, but it’s just that tonight, he finished rather early as opposed to the hour it usually takes him to climaxー foreplay and edge play and all. You don’t keep track of the time per se. That’d be a little creepy, but it’s hard not to do so when you’re losing out on a precious hour of sleep each night. Especially when you’re stuck in your own overactive imagination, wondering how good his stroke game is and what type of lingerie he’s intoー

“Sorry!”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Then the realization hits you momentarily. 

He’s talking to you. 

They must have heard you groaning through the stupid, thin walls, and therefore, you’re responsible for this very awkward exchange. 

Your grip on the pillow loosens as you lift it over your head. 

“It’s okay!” Your voice cracks with a heightened tone, “Just make sure you use protection!” The cringe settles into the pit of your stomach as soon as you respond. You squeeze your eyes shut and mentally facepalm yourself. You should have left it alone, but your cursed mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. 

The couple whispers to one another, but it’s hushed and hurried. Faint and hard to decipher. Angry, even. The wall must be really selective on what it chooses to mute out which is absolutely perfect when you actually want to know what’s happening on the other side. 

However, moments after, you can still hear the rustle of sheets and the patter of footstepsー two pairs. Even the harsh close of the door and the soft turning of the deadbolt, a resounding click that could be heard if you were to listen close enough. 

Once again, there’s a shuffle of feet that skid across the hardwoodー one pair. A few creaks echo from the aged floorboards. And then there’s a squeak from the bed slat, a heavy mass pressing on the mattress. 

You sit in silence with eyes wide open as you trap air into your lungs in fear of breathing out. Correction, in fear of your neighbor making comments on your rude interruption. If you could pretend that you’re asleep, maybe the problem will disappear into the night. 

But it doesn’t because it never works that way. 

Moonlight filters through the pane glass windows, right between the cracks of your curtain. It illuminates your face and keeps you awake longer than you need to be. You manage to let out the breath you’ve been holding when something else breaks the silence. 

You can hear it faintly. The soft hum of an unfamiliar tune before the soft outbreak of vocals. The song is bitter, but the voice is sweet.

Your neighbor has gotten into the habit of singing whether it be at dawn or dusk, yet you can never complain given his velvety voice. Sometimes it’s accompanied by the strum of an acoustic guitar or the tap of an electronic keyboard. But one thing that never changes is his love for the same old bubble gum pop music that’s rinsed and repeated on the radio. Nothing but love on the brain. Mushy lyrics that bear no meaning to you, and frankly, to anyone who’s painfully single and/or heartbroken. 

You would have expected nothing less from this man though. His taste in music is a given. Most days, you can physically feel his warmth and kindness based on the dulcet timbre of his voice. Although you’ll never care to admit it to him, it helps you fall asleep on nights when you’re drained from work. They’re comforting songs that warm your heart, especially because he’s singing such sincere lyrics about his girlfriend. 

His love for her is pure, and it’s disgustingly cute. 

No matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you’re happy for the lovely couple while internally cringing during their late night endeavors, you’re wondering if you’re subconsciously longing for a relationship just like theirs. 

But you’d be crazy not to dream about that kind of love story. One in which the guy cooks a meal for you at the end of every night, served alongside a hot cup of peppermint tea to help you sleep better. In which he runs a bath for you, flower petals, candles, soap suds, and the whole shebang, only to hop right in behind you. Someone to keep you company while giving you a back massage, working on the hard-to-reach knots that line your shoulder blade after a hard work day. Of course at his own volition, never having to be asked to do so. 

Perhaps you’re more invested in your neighbor’s picture perfect relationship than you thought, knowing all these little, intimate details no one else should know. But once again, the thin wall is to blame. You’re not an eavesdropper. You’re just a hopelessly hopeless romantic who needs to wake up and smell the damn roses. 

Because apparently, not every relationship is as perfect as it seems. 

“Everything okay?” You don’t know why you open your mouth, but you do, and you can’t take it back. He’s long since stopped singing, but the residual silence is louder than the gentle voice that once filled the space. 

He sighs deeply. The frustration is unmistakable, and you regret ever saying anything. 

“Yeah… Just trouble in paradise.” He chuckles dryly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to it. 

The room is quiet again. You debate with yourself, wondering if you should hash it out with him or go to fucking bed knowing that you have a 7 am shift tomorrow. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The kindness of your heart outweighs all else, but you cross your fingers and secretly hope that his answer is no just so you can finally get some shut-eye. 

“Uhm… I wouldn’t want to bother you.” His voice wavers. He sounds tired, but maybe it’s the exhaustion from navigating the rocky waters of a relationship. You’ve been there before. 

Everyone’s been there before. 

Your eyes are closed, and just when you think you can go back to bed, your mind and heart betray you. 

“I wouldn’t be bothered,” you tell him, “I’m already awake too.” 

His chest rumbles with a true chuckle this time. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m probably gonna invest in some ear plugs tomorrow,” you quip, waving it off. 

“You really don’t have to,” he deadpans. There’s a pregnant pause, and you’re left confused. He continues with a shaky breath, “I’m not sure we’ll be back together after this.” 

Now you’re even more confused. Were they not just ravaging one another moments ago? 

“Valentine's Day is coming up next Friday…” you muse. “You could still win her back, you know?” 

The radiator whirs in the background. It’s silent. 

“Do you love her?” You query, thumbing the pilled edges of your blanket. 

“That’s a loaded question.” 

Now it’s your turn to stay silent. 

“I think I do,” he starts. His voice is rough. “Love her— I mean.” He falters in uncertainty. “Sorry, I’ve never admitted it to myself before.” 

“That’s okay.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but the situation is totally out of your hands. You don’t even know the full picture, yet it somehow feels like you’re on the other side of the breakup even though you’re just sitting in the audience, watching, or rather hearing, the drama unfold. 

Your fingers interlock with one another, resting over your chest as you lie flat on your back. The heavy weight of your heart sinks lower into your stomach. Maybe love isn’t real, or maybe it’s not meant for people like you and him. Or is it just some misconstrued concept jumbled up in your brain? Some romanticized notion you’ve only ever dreamed about or seen in movies and read in fanfiction?

You gulp, pondering over how things could possibly go wrong in their seemingly perfect relationship. Well, there are millions of reasons, but maybe you’ve only ever heard the good times roll. Days when they’re frolicking in a meadow of sunshine and nights when they’re singing and dancing and laughing, head over heels in love, and everything is just peachy perfect. Maybe the bad and the dirty have yet to expose itself to you, still hidden behind an extra layer of stucco drywall and eggshell paint coatings. No matter how many times you bitch about them, the innermost part of you is still rooting for the couple you’ve had the displeasure of listening to have sex every night. But it’s always worth it, or so you think, for the sake of them being in a good place. To be undoubtedly quote unquote in love—

“Have you ever been in love?” It surprises you that he’s the one asking instead of the other way around. 

You stare blankly at the ceiling with a racing heart. Biting your lip, you speculate whether or not you should reveal such intimate details about your life to a total stranger.

“Nope,” you shake your head. He can’t see you, but you hope that your response is convincing enough. 

“Would you want to?” 

You can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, what kind of question is that?” 

“You’re right, it was stupid.” He chuckles. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you warn him, “You don’t have to.” 

“Sorr—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll personally come over and flick you on the forehead,” you say, reprimanding him. 

His laughter is even sweeter than his voice. “Harsh. But nice? I guess?”

That’s the perfect description for someone who works in the service industry, which unfortunately, you do. 

“It’s for your own good,” you suggest, nodding your head in self indulgent pleasure. Kind of like how avoiding love is for your own good.

The silence quickly settles in, as does the existential dread. Your eyes shift around to the empty apartment before you, and you soon realize that you’re painfully alone.

The radiator goes off again and the clock ticks perpetually. The moment escapes you. 

His voice fills up the room. “Can I ask how you’re doing?” 

The corner of your lips curl up in a fond smile. You exhale a deep sigh, one of contemplation. “I’m okay… Just... learning how to deal with unrequited love.” 

“Harsh,” he echoes back.

“Yeah.” You curl up on your side, sighing and reaching for a pillow to spoon. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

You gnaw on your lip. It’s a bad habit to have. “There’s not much to talk about. It’s just some guy who always walks in at work. We make small talk, flirt a little bit, and then he leaves until the next day.” A highlight reel flashes before you, and you tug on your blanket, nuzzling into the warm fabric that offers you some semblance of comfort against the outside world as you dig your nose into the soft linen. 

“How do you know he doesn’t like you?” 

You shrug to yourself. “It’s just a feeling.”

You think the conversation is over at this point. Moments go by until your ears perk up at the faint sound of his voice. “You should ask him out.”

Your neighbor surely seems to enjoy making a fool out of you. It’s a nice thought to have though. To think that you have the confidence to ask a guy out. The guy you’re crushing on, no less. 

You satiate your neighbor anyways just to entertain the idea a little longer and give him a little push towards his own love story. “Only if you make amends with your girlfriend though.” 

“Girlfriend? Oh— no, she’s not my girlfriend,” he says in defense. 

You’re perplexed. “Wh-? She’s not?”

“No... uh, just friends with benefits,” he confesses with a cough. 

Flashbacks start to go off in your head as you try to connect the dots like some mathematical formula. Is love actually an illusion? Maybe love knows no labels, but a small part of you still wants to believe that they’re wholeheartedly in love and on the verge of marriage or something. But that delusion instantaneously bursts into dust and ashes, confirmed by none other. 

“Hey, I’m kind of tired, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I’ll make it right with her so long you talk to the guy.” He lets out a huff. “Don’t let him miss out on a good thing because of the what ifs.” 

Comfort washes over you at the sound of his advice. In a way, he’s right. Maybe it’s time that you put yourself out there in spite of the possibilities. Even if it’s utterly terrifying. 

“Goodnight,” you mumble back, wrapping your arms securely around the pillow. 

He hears you loud and clear, “Goodnight. Thanks for the talk.” 

He knocks out soon after that, but it’s hard for you to sleep when you’ve got nothing but love on the brain. 

Waking up is hell, especially when you’re running on nothing but 0 hours of sleep and a single cup of black coffee. The only thing that makes the fatigue worth it is the peaceful lull at sunrise and the absence of your noisy neighbor’s daily blowjob. It’s as if some higher power read your mind and decided that you’re worth the divine intervention just for that one fleeting moment of jubilation. 

But just like the law of gravity, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and your contract with the universe calls for some cosmic karma. It’s like you’re being punished because you can never seem to catch a break. 

Work is unusually hectic, but with Valentine’s Day around the corner, it’s expected. If Black Friday is the worst nightmare for every retail worker, one can imagine a florist’s week leading up to Single’s Awareness Day, or much less commonly referred to as “A Shallow, Capitalistic Attempt to Buy Affection Day.” 

Despite owning a flower shop, you still stand firmly against Valentine’s Day and all that it represents. Maybe you’re spiteful because you’re pitifully single and surrounded by lovey dovey mush at every single corner. But as of right now, it has more to do with the extra workload that lies at your feet. 

Not only do you have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to open shop and prepare for the deliveries, but you also have to cut and process flowers, organize dozens of overnight orders, and arrange bouquets for the day’s purchases, all before 9am. The to-do list is endless, and not to mention, the number of calls you’ve picked up in the last hour alone has already backed you up on a number of orders. It’s stressful and incredibly time consuming to say the least. 

By 10am, you’re ready to call it quits, but you constantly remind yourself that this job is your only source of income, and therefore, you have to barrel through with a bright and shining customer service smile on your face. 

At this point, you really wish you did smother yourself with your pillow last night. 

But the only thing that keeps your sanity in tact after the morning rush is the chance to make arrangements for the front display. It’s therapeutic to pick and choose foliage, sprucing them into beautiful pieces of art for passersby to enjoy. You’re grateful for the scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath which is remedial to your burgeoning headache. Even the sight of your favorite carnation is enough to ease the pounding pain against your skull. 

However, making arrangements isn’t all sunshine and flowers despite popular belief. The worst part about it is the heavy lifting. It’s labor intensive to pick up large plants like the full sized leatherleaf fern in the back room, which is now carefully lodged into a concoction of gardening soil, compost, mulch, and active charcoal. But if nobody else is going to do it, you’re going to have to do it alone. 

Lifting the hefty plant isn’t difficult to begin with, but it progressively becomes taxing when you have to carry it to the front of the store. As you emerge from the back door, the bell of the entrance chimes, signifying a customer’s presence.  

You can hear him before you can even see him. 

“Good morning!”

You nearly jolt at the sound of his chipper voice. Of course Jimin had to walk in at the peak moment of you struggling, looking like a disheveled mess with soil accumulated in your hair like a burrowed nest. You just hope and pray that it’s not smeared across your forehead like Simba.

Out of pure embarrassment, you hold the pot higher to hide your burning cheeks behind the plant despite your arms giving out. Would all of your problems disappear if you act like you’re not there? Once again, of course not, because he spots you in an instant, and you’re just not fated to have the good things in life. 

He calls out your name before stopping to place his things down at the table and rushing over to you, “Here, let me help you with that.” 

You have an ironclad grip on that ceramic pot, holding on to it as if it’s life or death. “No, it’s okay, I got it,” you say out of pure, frantic determination. 

“Don’t be silly, let me.” He reaches for the bottom of the earthenware. His hand grazes over yours before you can pull away, shifting the responsibility onto him. 

You offer him a grateful smile that extends your eyes, and he sends one back your way. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks. You can’t even get a word in before he turns on his heels and makes space for you through the narrow aisle. 

Leading the way, you show him the spot you’ve marked for the fern to hopefully reside for the next 24 hours. “Here’s good,” you tell him, pointing to the empty tile. 

Jimin bends down and gently places the plant into its new home. Then he reaches into his messenger bag, pulling out a packet of tissues before gravitating towards the spray bottle.

“I’m a big girl, you know? I could do it myself,” you whine with a slight pout. 

He grips on your right shoulder, and you’re locked in place. “I know, but I want to help,” he says with the utmost care, “And you can ask me for help whenever you need it, you know?” Jimin smiles at you, and his eyes lower into crescent moon shapes, the corners slightly creasing. Before you know it, there’s a cool sensation on your forehead. The tissue in his hand is thoroughly saturated and now damp against your skin. You recoil on contact and reach for Jimin’s wrist, ready to yell at him for the lack of warning. 

“Hey!”

“Stay still, you have soil on you,” he alerts with sharp eyes. 

You let go of his wrist and give in to his kind gesture, murmuring out a “fine”. 

While he concentrates on cleaning you up, you can’t help but look up and lock your eyes on his. You swear you could spontaneously combust and astral project from the intensity of his stare. His close proximity makes you heat up, so you’re forced to avert your eyes elsewhere out of pure intimidation. Your line of sight meets his lips, and you’re stuck in place, staring at them. They’re so pink and plush, and his tongue even pokes out a little like a sleepy kitten with slack jaw. Most of all, they’re right there in front of you, and if you could just lean in a little more, you’d be this closeー

“All clean!” He says with cheer, tapping your shoulder.

He turns around in search of the dustbin, and you shake yourself out of your own daydream before he can catch sight of you. 

You laugh it off and offer him a toothy smile, “If you really want to help, you could have gotten me a cup of coffee.”

“You’re making demands now, huh?” He asks.

“It’s more like a suggestion than anything,” you teasingly yell from the back room, grabbing the remaining flowers for the display. Meanwhile, Jimin lingers behind in the main room, admiring the freshly cut flowers laid out on the counter ready to be made into floral arrangements.

You manage to recompose yourself from that one moment of weakness by taking a glance over at the cute doodles of artwork that line your office wall. They’re little bits of happiness that keep you calm and remind you that there’s light in your life, and he’s standing in the other room waiting for you to pop a very important question. 

Upon grabbing the necessary items, you make your way back into the store. You stop immediately in your tracks, nearly colliding into a solid figure at the sharp turn of the doorway. Your heart almost stops, but you shudder away before you could tip yourself over. 

Jimin stands in front of you with his hand extended out, clenching onto a steaming, white paper cup. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of me and coffee now,” he laughs, reaching out once again, “Only one of us bites.” 

“That’s for me?” You ask incredulously. 

He nods his head, “Yeah, of course, silly.” 

You take the drink from his hands, and before you can thank him, he chimes in. “It’s just how you like it. Black and full of caffeine.” 

You press your lips up against the cup, taking a sip and humming in satisfaction at the drops of heaven. “Thanks, but why? And how’d you know my coffee order? Don’t get me wrong, this is really nice, but…” 

“I saw how dead you looked yesterday,” he justifies cutting you off before you can ramble on. Honest, but harsh. 

You put the cup back on the counter and continue with your task at hand, and he trails behind you. 

“Thanks, that’s what every girl wants to hear,” you banter with all the sarcasm you can muster, pulling at the flower stems despite them already being placed exactly where you want them. 

“Girls like it when guys pay attention to the little details, don’t they?” He asks with a gleam in his irises. 

You look up at him briefly before averting his eyes and wiping clean the leaves on a near fiddle leaf tree, spraying food soil at its roots. 

“Love it,” you gulp wryly. 

Jimin takes note of how seemingly busy you are, so he walks around the shop, examining the new inventory of flowers. After making your round through the store, watering all the plants that need to be watered, you return to the disembodied zinnia on the counter, waiting to be arranged. 

The silence is refreshing until it isn’t. 

“Is the coffee good?” He queries. 

“Huh?” You stop what you’re doing to casually glance his way. His back is turned to you, but he seems overly invested in the rose display. 

“The coffee,” he repeats, back still turned.  

You look at the untouched cup at the edge of the table and smile to yourself. You didn’t notice it before, but there’s a red doodle that contrasts against the white paper cup, no doubt customized by Jimin himself. It’s hard to pick out what it is exactly, but you’d recognize the flowers of God any day. The ruffled petals and thin, straight stem are simply unmistakable. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s good,” you answer politely. 

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?” He asks curiously as if he’s playing a game of 21 questions. It’s a question you’ve answered numerous times before, but facts like these can easily slip through someone’s mind. 

“Easy, carnations,” you respond without any hesitation, pointing at the display in the right corner of the store when he turns around to look at you. He makes his way to the stand, eyeing the flowers. 

“They’re pretty,” he comments, pulling out one of the bouquets to examine as if he didn’t already know. 

You hum, and maybe the exhaustion is evident in your voice and your oddly scarce exchange of pleasantries. 

Jimin carries on with the small talk anyways. “You’ve been sleeping okay?” 

You snip away at the hard, green stems, tossing them into the trash beside you. Shrugging, you mindlessly answer. “Yeah, as much as a florist can during Valentine’s week.” You snicker with good spirit. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest well,” he scolds you all in good faith, eyes now scanning the small assortment of cards. You hum in affirmation. 

If anything, he should be telling that to your noisy neighbor who refuses to let you get a wink of sleep. 

A creak rings through the air as Jimin rotates the card stand, thumbing through the variety. “Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day by the way?” 

You can feel your hands clam up as they stop fiddling with the lemon leaves. Your heartbeat picks up, and you’re left winded by the question. You hide behind the hesitation, nervous as to where this may lead. How could you possibly play it cool when your crush asks you whether or not you’re busy on arguably the most romantic holiday of the year? 

Play it cool because remember, you loathe Valentine’s Day. 

Your hands fumble as you pick up the lemon leaves again, snipping at the branches nonchalantly. “Uh, no, not really, you?” you gulp. Your eyes are distracted, too fixed on the greenery. 

But you look up the moment Jimin approaches the counter with flowers in one hand and a card in another. 

“Oh, who are these for?” you feign innocence in your voice as you reach for the brown kraft paper and the roll of red ribbon. 

Jimin scratches the back of his neck, hesitating. “My girlfriend,” he mumbles, but it’s loud and clear, audible enough for you to apprehend like an echo in you ear.

“I don’t have much planned yet, but we’re probably going to grab dinner on Friday,” he shrugs with hands burrowed in his pockets. He shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, eyes focused on the gray specks of the ceramic tiles beneath him. “Something casual. I’m not really huge on the whole Valentine’s Day thing.” 

It seems like every man in your life paints you like a giant fool destined for humiliation. Of course the hopelessly hopeless romantic within you deluded yourself into believing that some Prince Charming would visit your flower shop in anticipation of seeing you. Of course the flowers that he buys everyday has to go somewhere, you just never expected that each and every morning at the crack of dawn, the flowers you carefully hand-pick and wrap with unconditional love would be sent off to his girlfriend. 

Of course you’re a huge idiot who isn’t destined for love. 

It almost hurts to plaster the tight lipped smile on your face when your heart is prickled with thorns like the roses in your hands. 

You lick your lips and painfully gulp the spit down your dry throat before you open your mouth again.

“Jimin?” 

“Yeah?” 

You pause. “You can’t give these to your girlfriend” 

His eyebrows furrow and his hands run through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“They’re white roses.” 

“So? She likes white flowers.” He doesn’t seem to get the point. 

You almost chuckle in his face, and you would have if your heart didn’t hurt so damn much. So you refrain. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that white flowers are meant for funerals?” 

His cheeks are dusted with a pink blush. He shakes his head no. “Uh, what do you suggest I give her then?” 

You sigh, looking at the hopeless man in front of you. “Do you love her?” Not even a second goes by before you ramble, not very eager to hear the answer. “You could uh- give her that fern you helped me carry earlier.” You walk back to the front display, keeping a safe distance to hide your woe, extending your arms out like a game show host revealing what’s hidden behind door #1. (Hint: it’s your heart). 

“Call it your love fern?” you shrug, laughing it off. 

“I think a bouquet is fine.” Jimin staggers behind you, checking out the other flower displays, opting for door #2. “How about the carnations you mentioned?” He pulls out a bouquet of variegated carnations painted with pink and red tips. “These are nice, don’t you think?” He looks at you curiously with doe eyes in await of your approval. 

Your mouth opens to interject, ready to digress into another lesson on the history of variegated carnations, but you bite your tongue back. 

Jimin spots your reluctance, but quickly puts it to rest. “Look, I don’t think she really cares about the meaning behind the flowers. You said these are your favorite, and you’re the expert right?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice. “Mhmm.” Even your hum cracks. “But uh, maybe the deep red ones would be more appropriate?” You cock your head to the side and quirk your eyebrow. 

“It’s fine, I swear” he reassures you, placing the bouquet on the counter before putting the white roses back in its stand. 

Your feet refuse to move as if they’re cemented to the ground, but Jimin stands there in front of you with rosy eyes, awaiting for you to wrap up the object of his affection in a pretty red bow. So how could you refuse?

You walk past the carnation display on the way to the counter, and pick up another bouquet. Pink and red variegated. “Here, these are a little more fresh. The buds are tighter, so in a few days, you’ll see them nice and big.” You smile, closed lipped. “Just in time for Valentine’s Day.” 

Jimin’s jaw loosens and his lips part. He knits his brow in a frown. “Uh, these aren’t actually meant for Valentine’s Day,” he says, running his hand through his perfectly imperfect raven hair. “She’s kind of mad at me right now,” he gives a mirthless chuckle while playing with his hands, “so I’m hoping I can make it up to her with this.” 

Ah, your favorite flowers are reduced to nothing but a gift of pity.

“She’d be crazy not to accept your apology,” you say in a soft voice, gritting your teeth behind your tense jaw, eyes fixated on the little nursling in your hold. With a soft hand, you unravel the kraft paper and delicately wrap it around the bouquet. The very one you picked up this morning and arranged the hour prior, wondering if you’ll be able to send it off to a loving home. 

Now you know for a fact that it’ll be in good hands. 

“Do you think she’d like it?” Jimin chirps in. 

It feels like your heart is on the threshold of bleeding out as he sends another prickle to the soft organ. Your concentration doesn’t even falter as you snip the ribbon. 

“I know she will.”

You tie the fabric into the prettiest bow you can muster and slide the gift of love across the glass counter. Jimin looks down at the beautifully wrapped flowers with an ear to ear smile on his face. “Thank you so much for the help, I really appreciate it.” 

“Just doing my job,” you remind him with a counterfeit smile, scanning the barcode at the back of the card. It’s a really cute card too. Sometimes I wonder how you put up with me then I remember I put up with you. So we’re even ❤️ 

You hate yourself for the fond smile you almost crack, masked behind the pained one you send his way. 

Jimin passes you a $20 bill and grabs his merchandise from the table. 

“She’s really lucky to have you,” you lament honestly with glistening eyes as he walks out the front door. 

He doesn’t catch a word you say, but he manages to shout back a “thank you!” and a “see you tomorrow!” before speeding out, setting off the bell at the top of the door without ever looking back at your dejected figured. 

You’re left alone to finish the rest of the work day, surrounded by none other than the sickly, sweet scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath, all while taking in the putrid sight of variegated carnations. 

They say that you are your worst enemy, and they are 110% correct on the matter. You don’t know why you would think that you’d have a good day on the basis of your neighbor having a crummy one. It’s not like there’s some kind of transfer of energy. It’s been proven to you time and time again that divine intervention and karmic justice just aren’t real, and apparently, neither is science. Otherwise, by that logic, you’d have a superb day. 

You would have slept through last night and woken up to a pretty pink sunrise painted across the sky— nothing but peace. To the chirping of birds in the distance and to the passing of cars on an empty street. You would have had enough time to prepare a proper breakfast— pancakes, eggs, bacon, and maybe even a nice cup of hot chocolate. Not a measly cup of black coffee to keep you awake for the rest of the busy day. You would have had a nice chat with Jimin at the flower shop about the capitalistic corruption of Valentine’s Day while he’d try to convince you otherwise. He’d prove you wrong, and you would have walked home with a blooming garden in your heart. 

But science is bullshit and the transfer of energy is a complete lie— photosynthesis being the only exception. The only thing you got out of today was a huge migraine and a withering blossom in your chest. 

So just when you think that the day could not get any worse, it absolutely does. 

You can probably blame the poor mindset you boxed yourself in— having a cynical outlook on love and life because of the dreaded upcoming holiday. Maybe it was because your crush just stomped all over your garden and plucked the flowers to give to some other girl. Or, you can put the blame on past you, the big freaking idiot who previously stripped off her bed sheets at 6:30 in the morning in hopes of being productive by doing weeks of piled up laundry. At this point, all you want to do is curl up in a warm bed, too exhausted by the trials and tribulations of life, but you can’t even give yourself the satisfaction of that because you thought you were some kind of changed woman who could manage her stupid laundry.

Newsflash, you’re not. 

The naked mattress in the corner of your apartment mocks you, so grudgingly, you take your laundry basket down to the laundry room for your most hated chore. With heavy steps, you trudge through the cold, cement basement. It’s dark and dingy down there. A little scary too, given the flickering lightbulb at the end of the hallway. Nevertheless, you march through the doors and into the rumbling alcove. 

What you find in there is startling, yet you can’t say that you’re surprised seeing that this occurrence is far from rare. You almost consider walking back upstairs and knocking on your floormate’s door, asking him if he’d be willing to do your laundry in exchange for $5 just so you don’t have to sit there, listening to some couple make out in the back corner.

Apparently, everyone in the world is foolishly in love except for you. 

You crank up the volume a little louder so your cheap headphones can drown out the sound of them locking lips with one another, but the poor quality does absolutely nothing for your abused ears. The boisterous public display of affection is deafening over the sound of your “Wallowing in Self Pity” playlist. 

You’re only capable of catching a brief glance in their direction before gagging and veering off. She’s sitting atop of the washing machine as he stands between her parted legs. They’re so lost in their own world that they don’t even notice your presence. 

Out of respect for yourself and the horny couple, you choose to occupy a washing machine at the opposite corner of the laundry room. But perhaps you can save yourself the irritation as well as the $5 in your wallet because you can hear their hushed whispers. They’ve separated themselves long enough for the guy to convince her to move to a more private location. Although she still leeches herself onto his neck, he’s attentive enough to know that they aren’t alone. He picks her up and drags her out of the laundry room with her legs wrapped around his waist, unwilling to part from him as if holding his hand simply isn’t enough. 

You roll your eyes, thankful for the quietude and the money you’ve saved yourself, but as you sit alone in the drafty basement, doing the chore you hate the most, you can’t help but think how much better it would be to do it with someone else at your side. 

Somehow you’re convinced that crossing paths with Jeongguk in the hallway is fated after thinking about him moments prior. Because it’s very uncommon for that boy to leave his apartment, cooping up all day long with his video games, only to catch a breath of fresh air for his nightly gym sessions. When you see him locking up his apartment door, you offer him $5 anyways just out of the kindness of your heart. He could probably use the money more than you anyways. 

Although you didn’t have any intention of doing a good deed today, karma still finds a way to punish you. As always, it’s bullshit. 

Upon entering your empty apartment, the space is already filled with the sonorous sounds of orchestral music. Violins, violas, cellos, flutes, oboes, and harps all performing in perfect harmony. It’s played through the walls, coming from none other than the speakers of your beloved neighbor. You wouldn’t mind the soothing classical melodies to cure your migraine so long it’s accompanied by white noise. But your neighbor’s laughter rings above the music as you can hear him count “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3” in a triple metre. 

You know that he’s not alone because there’s also another voice laughing alongside him. The same one you’ve grown accustomed to over the months. Her high pitched squeals are unmistakable as they greatly resemble other sounds you’ve heard come from her mouth on many unfortunate nights. So you can safely assume that your neighbor and his not-girlfriend made up with one another already—

“Look at me, not at your feet!” 

“I don’t know where to put them!” 

“You’re stepping on my toes!”

“Sorry!” 

“Oh yeah, you’ll be sorry!” 

It’s hard to picture what’s happening behind the wall when you don’t have faces to match with the voices. But you don’t really need it when their bed slat creaks beneath their weight and their headboard slams against your shared wall. Not when her yelps erupt as a result of the tickle fest they’re currently immersed in. The sounds are vivid enough for you to know much more than you need to know. It almost feels like you’re intruding on an intimate moment that’s not meant for your eyes, let alone your ears. 

Meanwhile, as you struggle to tuck the fitted sheets beneath the four corners of your mattress, you wonder whether it’s worth it to leave the apartment again after such a hard day. Of course for the sole purpose of avoiding a home made porn video being filmed in the process. 

Maybe it’s not too late, and you can still catch up to Jeongguk. You could head to the gym and snatch back the $5 you generously handed him because the more you think about it, the more you believe that someone owes you for your miserable time spent in this apartment complex. But you can’t take your anger out on the poor boy from down the hall when he doesn’t deserve it. 

The sanctuary of your bed calls your name like a siren, so instead, you do what you’re forced to always do— plug in your cheap headphones, blare out some music, and move on with your day. 

And it works for the most part. 

You’re able to successfully put on your bed sheets after struggling to play a big game of tug of war with your mattress. Despite the internal push and pull, you also will yourself to do adult things like tidying up the studio, making the space somewhat habitable for humans. By 9pm, you can finally sit down and enjoy a nice, hot meal. However, you’re forced to keep your headphones on because your neighbor’s not-girlfriend decided that she couldn’t go a single day without her not-boyfriend’s dick in her mouth. 

You swear you’re going to ask him tonight why he hasn’t made it official because it’s clear as day that they’re in love with one another. You know that you definitely would be if someone offered you oral every single day. Unfortunately, nobody’s offering. Thus, you’re forced to live vicariously. 

So as midnight approaches, and the moon reaches its apex, you settle into bed with a book in hand, ready to suffer through the night. It’s difficult to concentrate on the text when your music is blasting, but you suppose it’s better to listen to lo-fi hip hop beats as opposed to the scream of “daddy” over and over and over… 

Although you applaud her for her shamelessness, you would still prefer if she could keep to herself.

Thankfully, these moments are only temporary. 

With your eyes squeezed shut, you let out a lethargic yawn. Looking over at your nightstand, you spot your ticking alarm clock. It’s nearing 1 in the morning, and you decide that you’re exhausted. Well, you’ve decided that long ago, but going to bed before midnight is admitting defeat against your own body. Nevertheless, no matter how tired you are, you know in the back of your mind that there’s no way you could have dozed off with your neighbors going on a Netflix binge with speakers fully blaring audio from The Office. It’s as if they don’t know what headphones are. 

But after “one more episode” and a disgustingly long makeout session, you can hear the shuffle of feet across the floor boards and the turning of the lock. 

It’s nearly 2 am, and the radiator hisses. It’s quiet. 

But then that’s when you hear it like clockwork. The delicate hum before the pleasant tune. Tonight, it’s not a song you’re familiar with. Something about the universe moving and happiness that’s meant to be. Mentions of penicillium and a calico cat? There’s lots of talk about letting someone love you, and that’s when it really hits you in the gut. You’re not so sure about the song, but as always, it sounds pretty. It’s not typical to call a guy’s voice beautiful, but it is what it is. It’s serene, and it’s the promise of tomorrow. It’s something you wish that would never stop. 

But of course all good things come to an end. 

There’s a purposeful knock against the wall which startles you. “Hey, I know you’re up. How’d your day go?” Your neighbor asks, breaking the silence and dragging your attention towards his voice once again. 

You tug your headphones off and walk to the other side of the apartment to lay your book down on the desk, gracefully avoiding anything in your wake because your apartment is finally clean.

“You know, sometimes I wish you would catch me on my good days so I wouldn’t have to tell you such sad stories.” A wary smile surfaces your lips. 

“Why, what happened today?” He asks with concern laced in every syllable. “Did you take my advice?” 

You climb back into bed, pulling your covers over your torso. Sometimes you feel bad about how many silent complaints you have about your neighbor when he’s actually a really nice guy. He just lacks the proper etiquette knowing that the walls are paper thin.

“IIIIIII tried to.” You drag out the vowel, hesitant to recall the embarrassing story. 

“Yeah, and how’d it go?” 

“He doesn’t like me back,” you say plainly after a moment’s reflection. 

Your neighbor scoffs. “He’s an idiot then.” 

You try to fight back the smile because as untrue as it is, Jimin is anything but an idiot. But it’s comforting to know that someone has your back, defending you in all your honor. 

This time, you genuinely chuckle. “It’s not that.... He uh, actually has a girlfriend.” It hurts to admit it out loud. “And I’m sure she’s lovely if he likes her that much.” 

“Like I said, he’s an idiot for losing out on the best thing in his life.” 

It’s impossible for you to fight back this bashful smile because it makes your heart flutter. This may be the first time you’ve felt good about yourself this whole day. 

“Thanks, but I don’t know about that though—” 

He interrupts you, “Come on, don’t say that. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” 

You shake your head in disbelief, “You’ve never even met me, and you don’t even know what I look like.” You roll your eyes, but a chuckle unintentionally falls from your lips. 

“It’s not about what’s on the outside, okay? I already know you’re beautiful because that’s what you are on the inside.” 

“Shut up, that’s so cheesy.” You flip over on your bed and dig your face into the pillow, flustered by his kind words. There’s absolutely no way people this nice exist in this world. “I could be a troll or a vampire or something for all you know.” 

“Vampires are kinda hot. Haven’t you seen Twilight?” He banters. “And I’m sure this guy isn’t even all that great. Like, tell me something you hate about him.” 

Your hands cover your mouth, stifling a laugh. “I’m not gonna hate on him because he doesn’t like me back. It’s just the reality of it. Besides, he’s perfect.” You roll your eyes, annoyed by how flawless Jimin is in your eyes. 

Your neighbor prods at you. “I reaaallly doubt that. There has to be something. Not even a pet peeve? Maybe he’s chronically late to everything? Sings out loud in a quiet place? Has a super annoying laugh?” 

“Yes, yes, and no.” You flip your pillow over to the cold side and settle in to lie in a more comfortable position, slipping your hand beneath the cushion. “I can excuse the lateness,” you lick your chapped lips. “He also sings like an angel, and his laugh is really endearing. He does this thing where he laughs with his whole body, and he falls over every time. I like it because I know he’s at his happiest then,” you remember zealously.

“Damn, I guess I’m just projecting my own flaws now, huh?” You can hear him snort from laughter, rolling his neck and cracking the joints in his body, and then the click of his knuckles, 10 of them, one after another. 

“Ugh,” you scrunch your nose, “Don’t do that. He does it too, and I guess that’s the only thing he does that really gets to me.” 

Your neighbor cracks another joint somewhere on his body just to annoy you, and you cringe. “See, now we’re talking.” 

“I was gonna tell you that you sing well too and that I like your laugh, but maybe I’ll have to reconsider,” you taunt. “But still, you shouldn’t put yourself down for the things that show off your happiness.” 

The bed creaks from the other side. He must have switched positions for that to happen. “Thanks,” he offers. His voice is muffled, face most likely pressed up against his own pillow. “How about you tell me about the things you like about him?” 

“What? Are you trying to wound me?” You ask, slightly hurt. 

He scoffs, “No, I’m trying to prove a point here. So, tell me.” He implores like this is some kind of couple’s therapy session. Apparently, without your other half. 

As moonlight filters through your curtains and the cars whiz by on the empty street below you, you consider all the things you love and appreciate about Jimin. 

“I love how selfless he is. He’s caring and attentive... He’ll know when I’m tired and he’ll offer me coffee. He also scolds me for sleeping late and he lifts my burdens for me, even when I don’t ask him to.” You close your eyes in retrospect of Jimin and all the good things in life that he embodies. “It’s not even the things that he does for me that make me like him.” 

Your neighbor hums, letting you continue. 

“I guess it’s the principle that’s important.” You play with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, pulling on the edges to give yourself some comfort. “There are people in this world who aren’t… the nicest? I guess. And… he’s one of the purest people I know. It’s like he goes the extra mile to make sure I’m happy… and healthy.” You take a deep sigh before your mind wanders to the darker parts of your brain. “But I also know he treats everyone else like that too. Because he’s that nice. So... I guess I should have seen it coming that I wasn’t so special anyways,” you recall with tears welling up in the brim of your eyes and a knot tightening in your throat. 

“Don’t say that, you’re one of a kind,” he assures you sternly, “What’s his name? I’ll go beat him up right now.” 

You give a bitter laugh, wiping away at your eyes with the back of your hands. 

“My point is that there are other guys out there who are just as caring. And they should make you feel special because you are, and it’s what you deserve. So if the next guy who comes along doesn’t treat you that way, I will beat his ass, okay?” He says in the most nonthreatening voice ever.

You chortle, “Okay, yeah, sure.” You’re not totally convinced of that. 

“You’re probably right, I don’t want to fight and embarrass myself after promising you that,” he giggles. 

“I appreciate the sentiment though.” Earnestly, you do. You don’t know many guys who are this nice, Jimin being the exception. “How ‘bout you though? It sounds like you made up with your not-girlfriend? I hope that wasn’t you in the laundry room earlier,” you tease, deflecting the attention away from you with a raised voice. 

He gladly takes the bait. “Oh shit, that was you? I’m so sorry.” He rolls around the bed in a fit of sweet laughter, and the slat creaks. “And yeah, we did,” he breathes out with a shallow huff after regaining composure. He sounds nonchalant about it. 

“You don’t sound very happy?” 

“No, I am,” he deadpans. 

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Can you tell me what it is that you like about her?” You ask. 

He doesn’t answer immediately like you’d expect, but he’s dwelling on the answer. 

“I love how kind hearted she is,” he thinks out loud. “She’s a natural nurturer.” 

You can hear the smile in his voice, and you can’t help but reciprocate because of how pure that is. 

“Like... she’s always so bright, and…” he stops. “I just don’t know how to explain it. You’d have to meet her to know what I mean.” 

“Yeah you should invite me over so I can meet her.” You both chuckle knowing that you should meet one another before meeting his fuck buddy. 

“I think you’d like her actually. She has this beautiful soul… I- I don’t even know. She just sees the best in everyone. I know that she probably has her own struggles, but I don’t think she’ll ever let anyone know about them,” he mulls over, going on a tangent. 

“Why’s that?” You curl up on your side, hugging your pillow like you do during every conversation with him. It’s as if he’s recalling a bedtime story for you. You let out another yawn, and although you’re on the verge of falling asleep, you stay up a little longer just to hear him talk. 

“I’m not so sure why… I guess I love her and hate her for this...” He reflects. 

You hum, acknowledging him while urging him to continue his train of thought. 

“I don’t know... but she’s the type to suffer in silence for the sake of seeing other people around her smile. And… I don’t think she’ll ever admit when she’s hurt or when she needs help. She puts others before herself. Like, she’s so hellbent on putting on a happy face so that others can be happy too.” 

You nod to yourself, understanding what he means with every word. 

“And It’s not like she fakes her happiness or anything,” he continues as if clarification is needed. “She’s just… such a joy to be around. She makes everyone feel welcomed… and comfortable… And when she’s really happy, like genuinely happy, it feels like everything is right in the world.” 

You can tell he has a big, doting smile on his face. One simply cannot talk about a love like this and not smile. 

“I only wish that she’d be vulnerable with me so I can make her world a little brighter too.” 

“That’s really sweet, and also, I lowkey feel attacked right now,” you let out a dry chuckle. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “But I think that’s why you two would get along well.” 

“Set up a date, and I’ll come over,” you joke with raised brows. 

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about it,” he teases. “Oh, but uhm... if we’re still on the conversation of what I like about her, physically, I love her smile. I swear to God I stopped in my tracks the first time I saw her… and it still happens every time.” 

“That’s cute,” you smile fondly. 

“When she looks at me, I think the whole world stops for a second because I can actually feel myself get vertigo,” he giggles innocently. “And she’s also got this super adorable snort-laugh that never fails to bring out the best in me. God, it’s beyond cute, you don’t even know.” 

“It sounds like you’re in love,” you suggest, curling up tighter into a ball, squeezing at your pillow. “I don’t see why you haven’t made it official yet.” 

The pause is filled by the whirring of the radiator and the ticking of the clock. 

“Yeah… I don’t know either.” 

Waking up, you find out that going to bed with a broken heart is a little easier than going to bed with a hopeful one. Perhaps it’s the emotional exhaustion that puts you to rest, but it doesn’t mean you’re any less fatigued. All your efforts are put into your work, and in a way, tending to flowers has served as a distraction from the wilting ones that reside in your chest. 

When in reality, you should find a way to revive those instead. 

But as Jimin stands before you, you can’t resist the shriveled petals that land in the pit of your stomach like cherry blossoms in the midst of spring. You really don’t know how you manage to bear discourse about Valentine’s Day when he’s unknowingly sitting there with wide eyes, listening to you talk about unreciprocated love that’s so obviously directed towards him. 

“You mean to tell me that you read romance novels and watch rom-coms, but you hate the most romantic holiday of the year?” 

“Exactly,” you nod as if it’s indisputable. 

He gives you a questioning look with a crease on his forehead and lips pressed together in a straight line. “Make it make sense,” he challenges.

You finish chewing on the forkful of salad you popped into your mouth before answering. “Can I rant about it?” 

Jimin gives you the go ahead and you continue, “I don’t think you understand how much of a die-hard hopeless romantic I am.” 

“Actually, I think I do,” he scoffs and raises his shoulders confidently with eyes closed as if it’s a matter of fact. “That doesn’t prove your point though,” he counters. 

You put your hand up, motioning him to stop interrupting, “Let me finish.” 

Jimin shrugs and grins from across the counter, allowing you to proceed. 

“When I love something, I put my heart and soul into it. I believe in passion, chivalry, and true love.” He hums in agreement as you count down each item with your fingers as if it’s an unofficial list of all the things that encompass a hopeless romantic. “And for me, Valentine’s Day is a poor excuse to spend money and show off all the things you’ve received from your significant other.” 

“That’s valid,” Jimin nods, agreeing while munching on his fries. 

“Like, why spoil someone on this particular day? What happens during the other 364 days?” You spew. 

Jimin mouths “365,” correcting you on the technicalities of a leap year. 

You click your tongue, moving on to the point. “Are they not cherished for the rest of the year? I would hope that my boyfriend makes me feel special for more than a single night.” Your forehead creases, too livid at this point to even realize how sadly single you sound. 

You’re too busy ranting, accidentally speaking over Jimin to hear him reassure you that you are special. “Also there’s just so much pressure to make the night special, as if they have to plan something, otherwise they’re not the ‘perfect couple’ or the ‘perfect man.’” You emphasize with air quotes. 

“I felt that one,” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“You see my point now?” You acknowledge him sullenly. There’s a tug on your heartstrings at the mention of his girlfriend, but you drive your point forward in hopes of changing the direction of topics. You don’t even want to think about whether or not he’s made plans with his girlfriend yet. 

“And what’s the deal with chocolates?” You yell, completely frustrated, throwing your arms up. “They’re totally overpriced. And cards? Cheesy and terrible. My Instagram feed? Flooded with PDA, and it's a big stab at singles like me.” You enunciate angrily, driving your fork harshly into your salad once again. 

He laughs and nearly falls off the stool he’s sat on top of before swiftly catching himself. You snicker at his unadulterated cuteness. 

“How ‘bout flowers?” He questions with ketchup lingering on the corner of his mouth. 

Picking up a napkin from the edge of the counter, you mindlessly reach across to wipe at his lips, still in the process of ranting. “Don’t get me started on flowers,” you shake your head, folding up the napkin on the table. Jimin smiles at you as your eyes train on the fork that digs through your salad, stabbing into the poor vegetables. “Florists overcharge for them, and I hate it because I didn’t get into this business for the purpose of cheating people out of their money.” At this point, you’re rolling your eyes, seething at the thought of Valentine’s Day. 

“Why’d you get into the business then?” He asks, silently offering his fries to you, the ones you’ve been eyeing ever since he revealed his lunch. 

“Because I love flowers,” you say plain as day, reaching to grab a fry. “Because they make me happy, and when I send them off to someone, I know it’ll make their day a little brighter too.”

You wave the fry around in the air before sticking it in your mouth. Capping off your empty bowl of salad, you don’t seem to notice how Jimin looks at you and the understated beauty you exude. 

“It’s cheesy, I know! You don’t have to look at me like I’m crazy,” you whine, briefly looking up at him with round eyes, turning around to toss your garbage. 

Jimin flashes you a big, toothy smile, “No, you’re not crazy. You’re just... exactly what I thought you were.” His voice is low, almost as if he’s thinking to himself. As if they’re words you’re not meant to hear. 

“Thanks? I think,” you giggle, unsure what he means. “Are you saying I’m predictable?” You inquire.

“I meant refreshing.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes form as he grins. “I’m just trying to figure out why you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day.” 

“First of all, I don’t need a date,” you say in defense, teasingly offended. 

“I know that, and you know what I mean. But you deserve to be treated like you’re speー” 

“Second of all, I do have one.” 

“Oh. You do?” He asks, creasing his brows and biting his plush lips. 

“Yeah, with myself,” you jest with a smile, elbows resting on the counter with hands cupping your face. 

Jimin’s chest deflates with an exhale, finally letting out the breath he’s been holding. “What, are you gonna watch The Notebook until you cry?” He pokes at your shoulder like a tease. 

“I’m not that predictable,” you eye him with a gleam in your iris, fully knowing that it is the case. “But maybe,” you affirm with a sly smirk, “after I close up the shop at midnight though.” 

“Knew it,” he scoffs. “But why are you closing so late? You should go home early so you can cry and watch The Notebook.”

“Mmm.” You hum, standing up from your stool and turning to hide the downturn of your lips. Running a rag underneath the faucet, you turn to wipe down the counter free of any crumbs. Jimin lifts his elbow up as you glide the cloth across the glass until it’s squeaky clean. “Let’s not forget that it’s Valentine’s Day, and I run a flower shop, Jimin. People are going to come by for a bouquet until the last second.” You exasperate, shaking your head in disapproval of all the last minute shoppers. 

“You can’t get anyone else to lock up?” He suggests. 

“They’ll hate me forever if I force them to work until midnight,” you reason, “Besides, it’s not like they’re single, so it’s fine. I can do it myself.” 

“I really think you should be resting though. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, right?” He asks with concern in his intonation. 

“I can take care of myself, I promise. I’m gonna treat myself after work anyways.” You do a little dance that consists of shimmying your shoulders and bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet. 

He smiles at you endearingly with wide eyes, “I don’t think crying to The Notebook is a form of treating yourself.” He repeats as if the joke will never die. 

You shake your head and click your tongue exclaiming, “If you must know, I’m gonna bake cookies.” 

“Are you gonna share with me?” He pleads. 

Your tongue pokes at your inner cheek as if you’re thinking about it. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might eat them all in one night.” Your lips purse in a taunt. 

His mouth forms a pout, and you’re forced to give in to him and his bright puppy dog eyes. 

“Ugh, fine, but only because you asked so nicely, I guess I can make some extras,” you groan, pressing your lips together straight like an arrow. You nudge his shoulder with your own despite the squeeze at your heart and the softening of your eyes, “For you and your girlfriend.” 

It’s not like you had to mention it. But it’s been on your mind since yesterday, and you’re sure that the only way to fix a broken heart is to learn to accept it. Even if it means plucking out the thorns that are lodged in your heart until it feels numb. Empty and devoid of life. 

“Girlfrie- oh, right, right. That’d be nice,” he sputters out, body stiffening, “Butー”

“Maybe I can bake them Thursday night?” You offer. “So you can pick them up on Friday if you buy flowers for her?” Your eyes blink in a failed attempt to wink. 

Jimin stifles a laugh at your pitiful endeavor. It’s really pathetic how hard you try, pretending that you’re not hurt right in front of the guy who stormed into your garden. 

But you suppose flowers can’t grow without a little bit of downpour. 

He licks his lips, and his smile falters. “Riiight, but it’s okay, you should enjoy your cookies on Friday night because I’m not sure I’ll be around to buy flowers that day anyways.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask, perplexed, head cocked to the side. 

“Uh, don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, brushing it off before taking a look at his watch. “I have to head back to work though, my break is almost ending.” You watch him carefully with narrowing eyes as he collects his belongings, scrambling to head out the door. With the exit half opened, he turns around to bid you goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

The bell chimes and he’s out of sight. 

You can’t even process his words because you’re too busy staring at the exit trying to figure out what the hell just happened. 

Adulthood is just an endless cycle of sleeping and working, but it seems like you’re lacking in the former activity seeing that all you do is work. In the final stretch of Valentine’s Day, with a few more days to go, you’re just about ready to crash and burn. 

Upon entering your quiet apartment tonight, you fail to do anything productive. You nose dive into bed and curl up into a cocoon at the strike of 10 pm. Somehow, you don’t even care enough to tug off your jeans or remove your smudged makeup. You’re ready to accept the consequences of bad skin and a stained pillowcase because the only thing that matters is that you knock out the moment your head hits the soft linen. There’s no time to replay the events of today or plan for tomorrow when your eyelids weigh you down into a deep slumber. 

There’s not a single thing that can spur you. Not even the shining of the moonlight over your profile or the rhythmic whizzing of cars on the empty street beneath you. Even when there’s a police siren ringing in the distance or a rumble from a descending airplane in the atmosphere above you, you don’t bat an eye. You can’t even hear the hum of the rusty pipelines when your neighbor hops into the shower at the breach of dawn. Even the whirring radiator and the ticking clock blurs into nothing but white noise. 

They’re all there to keep you company as you lie down in a bed of withered roses. To offer you comfort in your barren Renaissance garden. 

You can’t seem to put your finger on it, but you wake up feeling like it’s the best night of rest you’ve gotten in the last week despite it being a short lived slumber. It’s definitely the most consistent night of sleep you’ve had in a while. And even though you went to bed without dinner, it didn’t hinder your sleep whatsoever. It only means that you can eat a full breakfast to power through the day. 

And powering through is what you do best. 

Apparently, the world is up against you because you can’t remember the last time you even got to sit down. You’re constantly on your feet, attending to customers and fulfilling orders. There’s no time to breathe even when you’re literally enclosed in a greenhouse. There’s always something to do, and stopping to take a break means slowing down the process. It’s not an option you want to take. 

At the end of each day, you’re wobbling back home with sore muscles and blurred vision. Your ability to function is beyond your own imagination. Your definition of “functioning” has diminished to standing on your own two feet although that still bears a challenge for you. 

The sustenance in your body is nearly nonexistent, especially because you’ve been neglecting your self-care. Typically, you don’t think about eating on the job. It’s honestly not on your mind because there are only two things that occupy your brain space: (1) Work and (2) Jimin. 

Somehow, Jimin takes better care of you than you do yourself. And without him around, you’re a walking corpse. He’s always providing you with lunch and snacks, leaving you sticky notes with reminders to hydrate yourself. You didn’t realize that you needed him this much to remind you of the simple tasks like drinking or eating or… smiling.

Sometimes he draws cute flowers or scribbles plant puns on the post-it notes, sticking them onto obscure places that are hard for you to find. Your favorite one being the time he wrote “I love it when you call me big poppy.” 

He claims that the notes are designed to make you laugh, even for the few that are not very funny. They definitely do brighten your day, especially when you have the ephemeral chance to glance at them hanging up above your desk in the back office. Smiling at the itty-bitty illustrations has become second nature to you. When you’re going through a rough day, aka everyday, and you’re in need of a breather, you wander into the back room to pace around, only to come face to face with a kaleidoscope of doodled butterflies spanned across a string of rainbow post it notes.

He once drew a sunflower and said something cheesy about how your laughter is the embodiment of sunshine— how it would be a crime against the flora population if you were to go a day without laughter. 

It was corny and far from being right, but it was so perfectly Jimin. 

When he does stupid shit like that, it makes you feel like the biggest lovesick idiot in the world. In your naive past, you thought that the smiles he sent your way were ones reserved for you and only you. You were convinced that the shameless flirting was a silent mechanism used to express his inclination towards you. You assumed that the daily visits to your flower shop were formidable attempts to get to know you better. A little part of you hoped that the songs he shared with you equated to sharing a piece of his heart. 

You absolutely were sharing. You just didn’t realize that you’d be sharing with someone else. 

So when Jimin consigns adorable puns that melt your heart, and he stops by with a cup of coffee, just know that they’re acts of friendship. When he spends his lunch breaks at the flower shop and sings songs that remind him of you, he’s coming from a place of kindness, not attraction. 

It is true that Jimin’s your sunshine, but it’s also a fundamental principle to botanists that too much of something is bad enough, and too much of nothing is just as tough. And deceiving yourself into believing that he was all that you needed had scorched up all the flowers in your garden. 

The drought he put you in didn’t prepare you enough for the brewing storm. 

It pains you to say that you need him more than he needs you because even if he isn’t romantically interested in you, you would have hoped that he’d stick around as a friend. His waning presence leads you to believe that he’s simply not interested. 

Maybe you were too invested in what could have been between the two of you, you failed to see what was right there in plain sight. 

Somehow, you still wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. And it’s pathetic granted you’re incredibly busy with work and your own crippling health. Yet thoughts of him still pop up throughout the day more than you would like. No matter how much you want to forget about your infatuation, you simply can’t will him away because of how often his beautiful face flashes before your eyes. You want to push him to the back of your mind, but whether you’re in need of a breather during your hectic schedule, admiring his stupid puns and butterfly mosaics, or you’re in need of some company in your eerily quiet apartment, doing laundry or having a meal all to yourself, you still can’t get the sound of his sweet laughter out of your head. 

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you manage to close up shop long before midnight. It’s a blessing and a curse because you are absolutely wiped out. Not only are you mentally checked out, but ironically, your flower shop is destitute of flowers, completely sold out from the holiday. As you clean up the barren space, you can’t help but feel as if a big weight has been lifted off your shoulders. The stress of Valentine’s Day is over, and you can finally go home, lie in bed with a tray of cookies, and enjoy the beauty that is Ryan Gosling. 

You even consider closing the store all of tomorrow because you need the day off to recharge. So as you print out and paste your notice on the glass door, you’re dumbfounded to come across a sliver of paper that’s already attached on the other side. Opening up the door and letting in a gust of cold air breeze by you, you remove the sticky note that’s been unknowingly attached to your entrance. 

Not a daisy goes by that I don’t think of you.

The smile that tugs on your lips grapples against the ache in your heart. Quickly, the fond smile melts into one of hurt and disappointment. Your left hand balls into a tight fist, marring crescent moon shapes into your palms. Meanwhile, your right hand delicately fiddles with the tiny square between your fingers, debating whether or not you should crumple up the paper and toss it away to be long forgotten. You’ve never been so confused about your feelings until Park Jimin came into your life, but you tuck the little daisy doodle into the pocket of your coat with a sigh. 

With every passing year, Valentine’s Day becomes a little more bearable than the previous. Tonight feels like any other night, but better. You’ve come to accept that if there isn’t someone who can make you feel special, you might as well do it yourself. 

Making a meal for you that doesn’t consist of ramen or 5 minute rice while dimming the lights and sparking up some candles is undeniably part of the healing process. And that’s what tonight mainly consists of. It’s all about love and self-care. 

With your laptop perched on top of your dinner table and your Netflix queue lined up, you mindlessly mix at your wet and dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Nothing has made you feel more at ease than the comfort of watching your favorite movie on repeat and the sweet taste of raw cookie dough on your tongue. Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that can put a smile on your face. 

As you wait for your cookies to bake, you settle into bed with your legs crossed and back pressed against the headboard. Laughter from the speakers of your laptop fill the space, and you can’t help but laugh along with the characters, disrupting the peaceful ambiance of your apartment complex. The rumble of your laughter subsides, and the movie rolls on from scene to scene. 

Your ears perk up like Pavlov’s dog when the oven goes off. You turn your head so quickly you nearly get whiplash, but it’s all worth it for the love of chocolate chip cookies. The aroma of sugar is enough to will yourself out of bed and conveniently press pause on Ryan Gosling’s charming face. 

Pulling on your oven mitts to retrieve the hot platter, your body begins to sway around to the sudden echo of music. The soft guitar strums reverberate through the walls and against the vacant space of your studio. Your body stops moving to the acoustics when you realize where the noise is coming from. Looking up, your eyes bore into the eggshell walls as if you can see through it. But you soon space out, focusing on the vibrations of the nylon strings instead. 

The song fades out and the quietude breaks you out of your reverie. You blink in confusion, trying to remember the last time you heard from your neighbor. Although you haven’t spent much time in your apartment in the past week, you miss the late night chats with him. Lately, you’ve been knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow for some much needed rest. You haven’t heard his voice in forever, and especially not his angelic singing voice. Even tonight he refrains from singing in place of just practicing his guitar. 

It’s a bit out of the ordinary. 

His side of the wall is surprisingly quiet tonight. You would have expected him to be out and about with his girlfriend, but at this point of the night, they would have been jumping at each other's bones. Yet the gentle patter of footsteps and the lack of banging would suggest that he’s flying solo tonight. 

Despite your curiosity, you’re not sure whether or not you’d want to bring it up in case it reopens some wounds. You think it’s best to leave it alone for the time being until he’s ready to come to you instead. 

So as you proceed with bingeing your movies, there’s something in the back of your mind that still distracts you. It’s literally a crime that you’ve sat through 2 hours of The Notebook, yet you haven’t shed a single tear because you’re not even focused on the film in front of you. Rather, you’re thinking long and hard about the last time you heard your neighbor laugh in sincerity. 

You really couldn’t care any less about the end credits that roll in front of you. Rather, with your chin propped up in the palm of your hands, you listen intently to what’s happening on the other side of the wall. It’s bizarrely quiet, aside from the sad symphony of string instruments that ring in the background of the ending credits. 

When your screen turns black, you shut off your laptop and stow it away, knowing in your heart that you’re no longer in the mood for a romantic movie marathon. You make your way into your kitchen and reach for the cookies that have cooled off by now. But somehow, it feels wrong to sit here in enjoyment of your own company. Yet at the same time, this batch of cookies was the only thing you were looking forward to all week. 

Nothing seems to satisfy you. 

The only desire that creeps upon you is the desire to spend the night with someone else by your side. Frankly, it’s stupid because you know that you don’t need a man, and even the whole world knows that you don’t need one. Especially not on Valentine’s Day because you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate February 14th with every fibre of your being.

However, the idea of having a friend at your side doesn’t seem so bad at this point. 

You transfer all the cookies from the tray onto a smaller plate, arranging the delectable morsels into a presentable fashion. 

With your slippers on, you make your way out of your apartment, letting the door close softly behind you. Standing in front of your neighbor’s abode, you nervously shift your weight on the heels of your feet. Midnight is approaching, and you wouldn’t want to disrupt his night like this, but it just feels right to knock on his door and offer your company. Just to check up on him because perhaps he’s in need of some companionship just like you. And who wouldn’t want some chocolate chip cookies? Baked with 80% sugar and 100% love. 

Mustering up all the courage in your body, your hand comes up in a tight fist, knocking at the wooden door. You wait a moment, but to your dismay, there’s no evidence of movement on the other side of the partition. You would have heard his footsteps by now, and perhaps the turning of the deadbolt, but it’s dead silent. 

Perhaps he didn’t hear you, so you knock a little harder this time.

Nothing. 

As you stand outside, lost in naivety, you wonder whether you should try to make a fool of yourself and knock again. It’s been a good 5 minutes of you debating between speaking up to get his attention or giving up and retreating to your studio in embarrassment. Then you mentally facepalm yourself remembering that it’s incredibly rude of you to drop by without any kind of warning. 

But still, you had his best interests in mind. 

You think that the third time’s the charm, so in a last attempt, you knock with full force. 

“Uhh, hey!” Your voice shakes and cracks. Blame it on the nerves. “I made some cookies, and I thought I’d share some!” You semi-yell in hopes of catching his attention. 

“One second!” Oh, thank God. You can hear the bed frame creak on the other side and the skid of footsteps across the floor boards. 

Your heartbeat weirdly picks up because of the fact that this is quite literally the first time you’ve come face to face with your neighbor. The late night chats with him have always made you feel comfortable, but there’s a certain nuance to meeting him that shakes your nerves. 

You brace yourself as you hear the lock turn, eyes casting down towards the plate in front of you. 

“I didn’t know that today’d be the day we meet like thiー” He says as the door swings open. 

You look up expecting to greet him with a smile, but the one you had prepared falters from your lips. 

“What’re youー” 

“Y- You liveー” 

You stutter over one another, lost in confusion. Staring into the very familiar set of brown eyes in front of you, you’re confounded by your new discovery. 

Jimin stands before you, running his hand through his black locks as he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you through. 

“Hey, neighbor?” He sounds disoriented, untrusting of his voice. 

You’re stood frozen at the foot of the entrance, unsure as to how you could possibly process all of this. 

“I heard you made cookies?” He asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Here, come in.” He gently tugs on your sleeve, coddling you because of the state of shock you’re in. 

You nod your head, barely cognizant of what’s being said. But your feet still shuffle through the entryway, and you slide off your slippers at the front door. 

“This is so crazy,” he says, taking the plate of cookies off your hands. You’re both surprised that you have yet to drop them. He places the plate onto his coffee table, and his back is turned to you as you stand to the side, playing with the sleeves of your sweater. 

How much weirder can this situation possibly get? 

“You mean to tell me that we’ve been neighbors all this time and we didn’t even know?” You ask, sucking your lips inward, cocking your head to the side. Your words are a jumbled mess, but Jimin has become a master at deciphering your incoherent words through the thin walls many nights in a row. 

“I’m just as surprised as you! I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots?” He exclaims in dismay, patting the seat beside him on the couch as an invitation to you. 

Your brain feels as if it’s lost all of its cells because you have so many questions, yet you can’t seem to articulate them. As you sit down, you close your eyes and rub at your temples, praying that you’d wake up from this odd dream. 

“There’s no way I could have connected the dots,” you sputter in collection of your thoughts, completely exasperated. “I just don’t understand.” 

You fiddle with your fingers, and Jimin takes your hand in his. His touch is soft, and as much as you want to pull away, you give into him because there’s no way you’d ever deny him, especially not when he looks at you with those big round eyes. 

“I have so many questions,” you admit, rubbing at your eyelids. 

“Shoot.” 

“Uhm,” your head shakes wildly. “I don’t even know where to begin?” Your eyes widen, shocked by how nonchalant he’s acting. As if he didn’t just lead you on and ghost you days on end, pretending that everything’s okay now. 

“Take your time,” he chuckles reassuringly, offering you a calming smile. 

“Uhm… How are you? I guess? Th- that’s kind of the first thing I wanted to ask you before… I- you know.” 

Your heart gallops because he’s looking at you, biting his lip. And you, you are completely weak for the man who holds all of your affection in the palm of his hands, yet you can’t handle his smoldering stare, so you avert your eyes elsewhere. This is downright cruel and unusual punishment. 

You continue, “Because I haven’t spoken to you much lately, you know?” 

“You wanted to check up on me?” 

You blink away, eyes now focused on the vase of wilting flowers on the coffee table. Pink and red variegated carnations. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself and regulate your breath. Your body stiffens and your shoulders tense. Even your jaw tightens, but you manage to nod your head. 

“I’ve been better,” he admits sullenly. 

Your hand lets go of his, pulling back to seek comfort at your side. It just doesn’t feel right to hold his hand so intimately when he’s made a mess of your head and your heart. You just can’t do it to yourself, and you can’t do it to him or his girlfriend. Especially not when his heart belongs to her. 

You open your mouth as if you have another question to ask, but none of them are coherent enough to utter. There’s plenty of noise ringing in your head, but it’s all nonsense. 

Jimin gently rests his hand on the ball of your knee, almost like a graze, but his touch is hot, and you brush him off with the recoil of your leg. 

His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. His hands retract to his lap, respecting your wishes. He gulps, and noticeably the lump in his throat goes down in a swallow. 

“Hey, it’s just me, okay? You don’t need to be scared.” He displays his palms out to you as a peace offering. A symbol of vulnerability. The tension in the air is palpable, but you still manage to keep your guard down in front of him. 

Because this is Jimin. The guy you’ve come to know and unfortunately love. But it’s just that you’ve never seen Jimin like this.

“Yeah and that’s kind of the problem,” you breathe out. Your brows knit into a frown, and he looks at you in bewilderment, with wide eyes, parted lips, and stress tousled hair. “I- I don’t know if you’re Jimin the mysterious neighbor who’s been nothing but nice to me, or Jimin the guy from the flower shop who pretty much made it loud and clear he doesn’t want to see me,” you scoff. 

“B- butー What do you mean? We’re the same person.” His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head subtly trying to convince you. He fiddles with his fingers, cracking his knuckles out of bad habit.  Shifting his body so his knees are pointed towards yours, nearly in contact, he refrains from the much needed skinship. The heat radiating from his body is something you’re familiar with, and although it once brought you comfort, you can only feel resentment. 

“Of course I want to see you? Iー I?” He’s a stuttering mess, shaking his head from side to side as if you’ve got it all wrong, but you interject because you have so much to say, yet you haven’t expressed yourself to your liking just yet. 

“I don’t know about that!” Your hands clench up at your sides until your knuckles turn sharp. “Because neighbor Jimin is telling me he has a fuck buddy he thinks he’s in love with, and flower shop Jimin has a girlfriend he doesn’t want to talk about. So what is it? I’m hearing a lot about mixed feelings for this one person, and… if you’re involved with someone, I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” you spit out more harshly than expected, inching further and further away to the edge of the couch with your arms crossed over your chest. You gulp down a thick glob of spit in hopes of washing down the acidic sting in your throat, but it’s like bile just sits there on your tongue. 

“Let me explain, okay?” He begs of you. 

You sit there in sullen silence, staring at the carnations in your peripherals, ready to have him break your heart all over again. You nod, but you don’t even bother turning to face him, unsure whether or not you’d be able to hear him talk about how he’s in some complicated relationship with someone else. 

“Please, look at me?” he pleads with a sniffle, “I need to know if you’re okay.” His voice cracks, and you finally look his way. You’re far from okay, but seeing him with glossy eyes, you also know that he isn’t either. 

He licks his lips, and his hand comes up in desperate need of tucking the stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face. But he decides against it in fear of rejection, and he rests his hand on the ball of his knee instead. Your line of sight falls to his shaking leg. You hesitantly reach across to close your hand softly around his in comfort. His movement stops instantly as he lets out a huff. 

Licking your lips, your eyes gaze towards your hands, and you can’t help but imagine how they’d slot into one another so perfectlyー 

“_____?” Your eyes shift to lock with his and there are tears that brim at his corners, but they’re kept at bay, refusing to fall. 

“I-” He exhales. 

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, and you don’t know if it’s more for yourself or for him, but it gives him the strength to continue on. 

“Look, that girl and I? We weren’t in a relationship. I promise you. I told you that we were friends with benefits because that’s what we were.” He insists, hoping the message gets across to you, but your heart drops lower into your stomach at his admission. You don’t even want to picture him with some other girl, yet you know way more about their relationship than you would have ever wanted. 

Hell, you were even convinced that they were in love. A highlight reel of the last few months spent in your apartment flashes before your eyes, and your grip on his hand loosens. You think back to the days when Jimin was just some faceless guy, dancing around with his supposed girlfriend, having pillow fights, running warm baths, making out beneath the stars, and fucking around with her like they were in love. 

But he continues in hopes that you’d understand his point of view. “It was easier to tell you the truth because you didn’t know who I was, and you wouldn’t have judged me for it. So I was an idiot, and at the flower shop, I told you she was my girlfriend because it would have been easier to explain this complicated mess.” A single tear cascades down his cheek, and he wipes it away with the crook of his elbow. 

“I mean, she wanted it to be serious, but there was just something pulling me back. And do you know what that was?” 

You shake your head no and pull away, unsure how much more of this you can take. 

He looks you dead in the eyes, but you can’t even look at him for another second because the wilting carnations are sitting there, mocking you. 

“_____, you asked me the other day what I liked about her, and I was wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer... It wasn’t easy because you were the only person I thought about.”

A sudden tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, unbelieving, but you compel yourself to look back at his visage, checking for any tells of a lie. He doesn’t even falter. 

“She and I? We fought so much because she was convinced I had feelings for someone else. And you know?” He shakes his head,  “…It’s true. I couldn’t think about the things I liked about her, but then when I thought of you. My god, it was just so much easier to talk about the things I loved about you because you’re the one I like. I didn’t know how to express that, okay? The songs that I wrote? The ones you hear me sing day and night? Fuck…” He rubs at his eyes, and they’re evidently red from all the tears welled up. “They’re all about you, and you didn’t even know,” he sobs out. The first drop of tears came out steadily, but as you examine his face in total shock, the tears begin to cascade down his face. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, now understanding where he’s coming from. It’s all a little more clear to you, and there’s no need to continue on if he’s in hysteria like this. His arms instinctively squeeze around your waist, holding on tight, too afraid that he’d lose you if he were to let go. 

“I didn’t have my feelings sorted out because I was comfortable with where I was, but it’s not like it made me happy,” he confesses. You hush him, running your fingers through his hair and caressing his slumped back. Sitting in silence, you can only hear the sound of your breathing falling into sync with his. Occasionally, the radiator would go off and a car would drive by on the street beneath you. 

You tell him that it’s all okay and that all is forgiven, but he still continues in justification of himself. “And I was convinced that you’d think I was a horrible person for liking someone else when I’ve got a complicated relationship going on, okay? Because that’s how I felt about myself, and I swear we broke it off, but I was too embarrassed to come to you because I didn’t know how to explain the mess I got myself into. It’s all my fault, and I’m so so so sorry, you have no idea.” 

He’s wracked with sobs, but you hum, listening intently to his every word. They’re coherent enough for you to realize that you’ve both made mistakes because of a huge misunderstanding. 

The Jimin that you know and love is right here in your arms, and there’s nothing you can do but forgive and forget. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he cries out with a hiccup. “I promise you that you’re the only person I care about.” 

You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, hoping that he calms down because there’s really nothing to apologize for. “What did I say? You don’t have to be sorry, okay?” You remind him. 

He lets out a breathy exhale, “I messed up,” he hiccups, “I don’t deserve this. You.” 

Your hands rest on his shoulder, gently pulling back from him, but he clings on tighter to your waist. Looking down at the sweet man beneath you, you smile to yourself. 

“Jimin,” you murmur.

“Hm?” 

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You shake your head, and a soft chuckle vibrates through your chest. Still, you keep him in your embrace because although it may seem like Jimin is the one in need of a hug, you need it just as much as he does. 

“Can I tell you a story?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tickling the skin at your sternum. 

“I think I caught feelings for you the first time we met. Do you remember that?” He hums as you reminisce on the memory. “It was some random Sunday, and you walked in looking for a bouquet for your mom, but you realized you didn’t have enough cash on youー” 

Jimin laughs beneath you, and it’s the way that he laughs that makes you realize you need that in your life. A cheshire grin spreads across your lips, and that’s when you know you can’t go a single day without hearing his laugh again. 

“You didn’t have enough cash, so you pulled out a post it note and scribbled an IOU.” You can barely get the sentence out without chuckling to yourself. Jimin has stopped sobbing at this point, being reduced to a few sniffles here and there. You deem it as the right moment to pull back from his embrace so you can look him in the eyes. 

“You drew a little daisy for me and that’s when I knew you were really something else.” 

You cup his cheeks, and a grin tugs on his lips, matching the one on your face. His eyes shine in the dim light, just like how the sun radiates in the day time. A single tear trickles down his plush cheeks, and you wipe it away with the pad of your thumb. 

“Look, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I have to admit that it hurt me when you said you had a girlfriend, but it really hurt me when you left without saying anything.” 

His eyes cast downwards as if he’s ashamed, but you place your hand beneath his chin, bringing his attention back up. 

“Know that I’d never judge you for the decisions you make and for the relationships you have, okay? And I don’t think you’re horribleー” 

“You don’t?” He cuts you off with his big pleading eyes. 

“No, far from it,” you beam, “I still think you’re the most selfless person I know.” 

Jimin’s face drops at your confession, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you’re not special, because to me, you’re the most extraordinary person in this world.” 

He cups your face, noticing that your eyes are starting to well. Drops of tears roll down your face, and Jimin’s quick to dry them away, pressing his lips against your cheeks to collect the drops of salt water. As you smile, another stream of tears pour from your ducts. Soft pecks are trailed against your skin, and you think you’ve successfully washed away all the pain. 

You can feel the flowers in your heart slowly starting to bloom in preparation for spring. 

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, opening up your eyes. He’s merely a few inches away from you, stuck in a daze. 

His eyes can’t decide whether they want to look at the gleam in your irises or at the curvature of your lips, flickering between the two. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Your whimper is hardly loud enough for your own ears, but he hears you loud and clear. 

His hands rest at the sides of your neck as his thumbs run over your cheeks, grazing over the flesh of your lips. “Can I show you how special you are to me?” 

You nod your head, and Jimin is overcome with the urge to kiss you, inching closer with puckered lips. They’re soft against your own, plush and pillowy. You melt into his touch as if he’s the light of your life. You think you could cry again from the sheer amount of euphoria built up in your little heart. Having him in your arms is all you could ever ask for. 

He pulls back slightly in need of a breath, and you take the opportunity to climb into his lap, with knees settled on either side of his taut thighs. 

“Missed you,” you whimper against the column of his neck, nosing at the sensitive skin. 

Jimin’s breath hitches as he bites back a moan, “Missed you more.” 

“Not possible,” you trail gentle kisses against his collarbones, pulling back on the cotton of his t-shirt to expose more of his neck. 

His hands rest on your outer thighs thighs, squeezing tight on the muscles. You reach behind you to grab at his forearms, urging him to move his hands higher onto your body. He takes the hint immediately and experimentally squeezes at your ass. Your lips part from his neck, and Jimin takes the opportunity to latch his mouth back onto yours. 

His lips are gentle in contrast to the firm grip he has on you. But with your weight resting on top of him, core pressed up against his crotch, you can feel how hard he is beneath you. In need of some release, you start to move your hips back and forth, grinding over his hard on. 

Jimin gives you a lingering kiss on your lips, pulling back with a harsh groan. You offer a teasing smile, and he leans forward. He supports your weight at the bottom of your ass as your legs wrap around his waist. You nearly yelp when he stands, holding you up in his arms. 

“I got you,” he reassures, pressing his lips firmly against yours, walking towards his unmade bed space. He lays you down gently on top of the messy covers, climbing between your legs. You whine upon the release of his lips, but his mouth leaves hot kisses down the column of your throat, causing you to gasp.

“Is it okay if we take this off?” He asks, thumbing at the hem of your sweater. 

You nod sitting up, and he tugs the material off for you, tossing it to the edge of the bed. Upon sight of your bare chest, he molds into you, lips suctioning around your pebbled nipple. His other hand massages at your unattended breast, squeezing at the supple flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” he hums against your body.

You’re easily affected by his words as your back arches and your legs hook around his torso. Canting your hips upward, you signal to Jimin with a whine that you’re desperate for his touch. 

“There’s no need to rush, baby, we have the whole night,” he warns you, leaving a kiss between the valley of your breasts. 

You cry out in frustration, but it soon subsides when he satiates your needs. You relax when his hand lowers into your sweatpants, cupping at your heat. His middle finger traces at your entrance, running it up and down your panty clad slit. Your hips lurch once again, but Jimin presses your hips down, flush against the mattress. 

As his tongue circles around your sensitive nipple, his fingers decide to dip into your underwear. The obscene sound of your juices squelching can be heard when he presses his finger into your tight hole. Inserting a finger in, you can feel your walls stretch around him. A cry falls from your lips as he begins to rub at your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

Jimin inserts another finger, and your cunt feels so hot with the amount of friction. Pumping two fingers in and out, there’s a pleasurable burn that ripples throughout your body. Beads of sweat form on your hairline, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand. You can practically feel your heart beating out of your chest. 

“Tell me how it feels, okay?” He asks, switching over to your other breast.

“You feel so good,” you mewl. He hums against your nipple in affirmation, biting lightly at the perky bud. 

“Jimin?” You call out for him. 

He parts from your chest to look into your eyes, fingers still pumping in and out of you with flexing biceps. 

“I think it’d feel better if you’d fuck me,” you admit, no filter needed. 

“Shit,” he groans, slowing down the pace. “I want to eat you out first though.” 

He retracts his hand, and you feel empty without him inside. Your sweatpants and panties are tugged off in one swift motion, casted to the side along with your sweatshirt. Looking up with stars in your eyes, you can see that Jimin is still fully dressed. You open your mouth to tell him about your wishes, but he must have read your mind because he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it with no regard. 

Beneath his clothing, he reveals to you his robust body. You’re dripping with lust, and it must be so obvious from the way you stare at his abdominals. Everything about him is so well-built, and you curse the talented dancer in front of you. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, winking at you as he descends down your body. 

“Love it,” you moan. 

His breath is hot against your wet pussy. With juices dripping down your ass, you ruin the linen sheets beneath you. His fingers play with your core, spreading your swollen lips to reveal your flower, admiring how pretty your cunt is. 

Sitting up with elbows propped, you look down in frustration between your bent legs to see Jimin licking his lips, staring at your heat like he’s ready to devour you. He kisses at the long, dark lines of stretch marks that reside on your inner thighs before his tongue presses softly against your wet clit, kitten licking at the bud. Reaching out, your hand balls around the white comforter to anchor yourself down. As you spread your legs wider, Jimin’s hands hook around your limbs to rest at your thighs. He presses them down, restricting your movement. 

His tongue laps at your heat with no mercy, licking a stripe up your sex and tracing letters onto your clit, sending your nerves aflame. Your breaths are shallow as you pant, melding yourself to the mattress. He flicks his tongue, prodding it against your hole and delving in and out. He massages your tight walls as it clenches around his tongue. 

There’s a knot in your stomach that forms embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it when his plush lips give your cunt so much attention, sucking harshly on your clitoris. He looks over at your features, taking notice of your reactions, licking over and over the parts that make you squirm the most. 

Your face scrunches in pleasure, nearly toppling over the edge. But you’re not ready to come. Not yet at least. Not without having Jimin’s hard cock inside of you. 

Jimin is relentless against your pussy, but he doesn’t even let up when you call his name out. Your grip around the comforter loosens in favor of digging your fingers into Jimin’s luscious black locks. 

“Jimiiiin,” you whine, tugging lightly at his roots. “I need you, please, please,” you beg. 

He leaves a kiss at your bud, and you shudder in response. Jimin climbs up your body, and you shiver at the loss of contact. 

“You need me, huh?” He teases, “You want to come?” You nod your head ardently when he presses his red, swollen lips against yours. He grapples with your mouth in a bruising, passionate kiss. With clicking teeth and suckling tongues, you can taste yourself off of his plush lips, completely drenched in your arousal. 

Trailing your hand down Jimin’s sturdy body, you can’t resist running your hands over his perfectly sculpted abs. But on your descent, you pull on the strings of his heather gray sweatpants, loosening the elastic around his waist. 

Your palm slides beneath the band, tucking beneath his boxer briefs. His eyebrows scrunch, and he gasps against your mouth when you wrap your hand around his hot, veiny cock, stroking at his erection. His cheeks flush as you swipe your thumb over the head, collecting beads of precum on your fingers. 

He shudders at your touch. “Oh my God, I might die if you keep doing that,” he nearly cries. 

You smile against the skin of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Meanwhile, Jimin reaches over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom. He nearly falls off the bed, losing balance on his knee when you stroke his cock a little faster. 

As Jimin sits up, trying to open up the packaging, you careen forward to pull off his sweats. You can hardly pull it down below his thick ass given the position he’s sitting in. But it’s enough for you to pull his dick out and wrap your hand around his girth in all its glory. 

While waiting for Jimin to take out the condom, you decide to tease him like he deserves. Switching positions, you lie down on your stomach in front of him. With a glob of saliva built up in your mouth, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching it drip down the shaft and onto his balls. You glide your hand up and down to spread the saliva, making sure he’s nice and wet. His balls tighten the moment you suckle your lips around his slit. 

You look up at Jimin with wide eyes in hope of some praise. 

His eyes stare into yours, but he quickly throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m not gonna last, please, I know your mouth is like heaven, but I want to be inside you,” he rambles. 

He tucks your hair behind your ears and rests his hand beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. His lips meet your forehead in a sweet kiss before you lie back down on the bed, spreading your legs wide open as an invitation. 

Jimin ungracefully pulls off his pants down the rest of his legs. He pumps his thick cock in his hands before sliding on the condom and lining himself up at your entrance. You groan, reaching out for his wrists as he glides his length up and down your folds, making sure you're nice and wet for him, fully prepped. 

The callous on his thumb is rough against your clit as he rubs down on it, easing the discomfort of penetration. Your velvety walls stretch around his member as he sinks into you inch by inch. 

You’re gasping for air as he sheaths himself inside you, but you remain calm because Jimin peppers kisses all across your face. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned. 

“Mhmm,” you hum, “Might need a second.” 

His nose nudges at your cheek, “Take all the time you need, baby.” 

Moments go by until you’re comfortable with the stretch. You don’t know how Jimin has so much patience with you when you can literally feel his dick twitch inside your pussy, impossibly harder than he was moments prior. But like the angel he is, he still waits for your go-ahead. 

“Jimin, you can move,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and offering a butterfly kiss. 

His mouth finds his way to yours, and he kisses you with so much fervor. You’re too distracted by the kiss to notice him slide out of you. 

But your lips part slightly, letting out a gasp when he drives his dick back into you, setting a moderate pace. Your hands reach for the skin of his back, latching your nails onto the smooth surface. The slap of skin on skin is obscene as his hips meet yours, pumping himself inside of you. The delicious burn has you digging your nails into his shoulder blades, scratching at his taut muscles. 

You weren’t wrong to say that you can’t go another day without hearing Jimin’s laughter, but at the time, you were not privileged enough to hear his moans against the shell of your ear. That is the one thing you don’t want to ever live without, too spoiled by the sensual man above you. 

Jimin fucks into you deeply, changing his angle as he shifts his weight onto his knees. His calculated thrusts to your g-spot sends you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes focus on your pussy, watching his dick disappear inside of you like an addiction. With a firm grasp on your hips, he lifts you higher to help you reach your orgasm. 

“Jimin, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, gripping your walls tightly around his length. 

“I know, baby, you can come.” He lowers himself onto his elbows so he can come face to face with you. His hands reach down between your bodies, and he rubs harsh figure eights on your swollen clit. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body trembles beneath him, moaning his name like a vice. 

Jimin rides out your high, pumping into your tight hole until your legs nearly give out. He doesn’t dare pull away, continuing to circle your clit until you’ve nearly reached your limits. Your walls pulse around his cock, squeezing around his shaft until he’s nearly at his edge. His hair is matted to his forehead, slicked by sweat. You brush away the loose strands with the tips of your fingers. 

“Are you close?” You breathe out, hush and quiet, cupping his jaw with the palm of your hands. 

“Mhmm,” he gulps, rutting into you, pumping your cum in and out as it sheaths his shaft. 

His pace falters as he approaches his orgasm, hips stuttering against yours. Jimin nearly collapses on top of you as he spills himself into the condom, moaning into the cusp of your ear. His chest presses up against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

You trace soothing circles onto his back as he basks in the afterglow of post orgasmic sex. 

His breathing soon evens out, and it’s comfortably quiet, that is with the exception of the radiator hissing in the corner of the studio. 

“Wow.” He kisses your temple before pulling out, letting the remains of your cum flow out of you. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“So on a scale of 1-10, how special would you say you feel right about now?” A smug smirk tugs on his lips, and you playfully smack his pecks. 

“Does this answer your question?” You ask, peppering 10 kisses onto his lips. 

“Mmm, no, I didn’t quite hear your answer” he says, leaning in for another kiss, “Tell me one more time?” 

And as Jimin kisses you goodnight, you know in your heart that the heartache and the loss of $5 are all worth it in the end if it means you get to wake up and smell the roses with Jimin at your bedside. 

#bts smut #bts fluff #jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin #park jimin #bts angst #jimin angst #bangtan #bts #fic: lover to lean on #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #flower shop au #jimin x reader #bts fanfic #bts fan fic #bts fanfiction #bts fan fiction #bts x reader #jimin scenario #jimin imagine #bts scenario #bts imagine

[livmarauder]

𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 | 𝙨.𝙢

simon minter x reader (part two)

warnings: just lots of fluff and a couple of swears requested: - notes: this is a part 2 so please read the first one if this doesn’t really make sense :) enjoy! <3 wc: 1,531 words

part one // masterlist

3 months later

“y/n/n! wake up!” i groaned a little, taking the pillow by my side before smacking freya with it. “ouch-- y/n!”

i opened an eye, giggling a little as freya huffed and brushed at her bangs and smoothing out her hair that i just messed up with my ethics.

“rude.” she states before grabbing the pillow and whacking me back causing me to yelp as i scooted away from her, before wrapping a hand in-front of my stomach. “don’t hit the baby!”

she laughed a little before dropping the pillow and rolled her eyes, “the one day i decide to be nice and wake you up before we go for our meeting, you decide to bash me with a pillow.”

i shrugged my shoulders as i got out of my bed, “what can i say, the baby makes me do unpredictable things.”

“i think it was even before the baby came.”

i scoffed as she let out a laugh as she walked out of my room, not before yelling, “get ready in 10 minutes if not i’m leaving your ass behind.”

i shook my head at her ethics before going to get ready for the day. as soon as i was ready, i glanced at myself in the mirror before rubbing my hand above my growing baby bump, smiling to myself.

-flashback-

“oh my god! you must be waffling.”

i smiled, tears of joy in my eyes as i held up the stick as talia and gee started screaming on the call while freya sat next to me, the biggest smile on her face.

“congratulations babe!” talia yelled as gee continued screaming on the facetime call making me laugh as i started to cry again, hugging freya who was sitting next to me.

after we calmed down, the golden question finally came up.

“have you told simon yet?”

freya and i looked at each other before i looked back at them and shook my head, “this was the one thing that simon was scared about before going on our business trip, if i tell him now, he’s going to shit himself.” i state as i looked down at my stomach, rubbing it slowly.

“because you have him whipped?” talia asked, causing us to all start laughing.

“maybe.” i replied cheekily, “but i don’t want him to worry about it now, i’ll tell him soon but he just has a lot going on for him right now.”

the girls nodded in understanding, going quiet for a little while before gee spoke up.

“so, how about a round of cards against humanity?”

that was nearly 3 months ago and i haven’t told simon yet. we have been facetiming every other day and just texting the rest of the way because of how busy his schedule was.

i sighed at the thought of him before changing out my shirt into an oversized hoodie which concealed my baby bump nicely, i’ll worry about that another time.

7 hours later

“ugh, my legs are killing me.” i whined out as freya and i walked down the hallway towards our rented apartment. freya let out a sigh at my complaining but nodded nonetheless.

having being out for 7 hours since 10am this morning had definitely taken a toll on us. meetings after meetings as well as constant walking around to the meetings had taken a toll on our already swelling feet and it didn’t help that it was really cold in la.

as soon as we reached our door, i froze as i heard the shuffling of footsteps and shadows behind the closed door.

“shit.” i muttered out as i turned to freya, “i think our flat got broken into.” i whispered to freya as her face paled a little. “okay, here’s the plan, i’ll swing open the door and you charge in with your backpack.”

i gave freya a look, “so basically, i’m the sacrifice?”

“well, i have the key.”

i scowled at it before muttering a ‘fuck it’ and stood beside the door.

freya inserted the key and unlocked the door as quietly as she could before mouthing a countdown. as soon as she hit one, she flung open the door and i charged in, ready to attack the attacker until i spotted the familiar looking lanky noodle with blonde hair. he donned his usual crisped off-white hoodie that i loved to steal as well as his worn out basketball shorts as he stood there, his cocky smirk on his face.

i dropped my bag in surprise upon seeing him as my mouth gaped, not knowing what to say as my heart started beating a million miles an hour.

“are you gonna keep gaping or you gonna get your ass over here and give me a hug?” simon joked as he opened his arms wide. any other time, i would’ve scoffed at him and not given in but my legs moved on their own and before i knew it, i was wrapped in his bear hug as i jumped into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist as i started to cry.

i felt simon chuckle before digging his face into the crook of my neck, smiling into it as i buried my head further into his neck.

we stayed in that position for a little while longer until we pulled away, simon’s eye crinkled as he smiled at me before giving me a peck, “i missed you too.”

a million questions rambled out of my mouth as i tried to process what was happening but instead of answering them, simon pulled me into a kiss to stop it.

“i missed you too, but for the love of god, please shut up.” simon joked after we pulled away.

i rolled my eyes as simon placed me back onto the floor before i looked behind him to see my roomie of 4 months stood there, a big smile on her face as she leaned into her significant other while the other guys stood by his side, one of them filming the whole thing while the rest looked at us, smiling happily.

“hey, didn’t see you guys there.” i joked as i intertwined my hand with simon and smiled at all of them.

they let out a laugh as jj went, “yeah, we can see that.”

after all the hugs and the ‘i miss yous’, i pulled freya to the side as i gave her a big hug, “thank you.”

she hugged me back muttering a no problem before she pulled away, a serious look on her face now. “are you ready to tell him?”

i looked at simon who was deep in conversation with tobi and ethan before turning back to freya, biting my bottom lip before nodding.

she gave me a reassuring smile, squeezing my shoulders gently before i walked towards the trio and wrapping my arms around his waist.

simon turned towards me, “hi babe.” ethan and tobi looked at me, smiling as i unwrapped my arms and intertwined my hand with simons. “is it okay if i borrow him for a little while?”

ethan and tobi nodded before going back to their own conversation as i dragged simon to my room.

“are you okay babe?” simon asked me as soon as i closed the door.

i nodded, biting my lower lip before ushering towards the bed, “you might want to take a seat for this.”

simon glanced at me anxiously but sat down on the foot of the bed before i went to dig out the box which held my pregnancy test.

i handed the box to simon and sat down beside him nervously as he looked at the box before looking back at me, confused. “did i miss an anniversary or something? what’s the occasion?”

i shook my head, laughing slightly as i urged him to open it. he hesitated slightly before opening the box, peering at its contents as my nerves hit the ceiling.

he stared at the box for what seems like eternity before looking back at me, shock evident in his eyes. “is this real?” he asked softly as my eyes started welling up with tears for the second time today as i nodded vigourously.

“i found out quite a while ago but didn’t want to tell you because i didn’t want you to worry.” i said, my voice soft as we sat in silence for a little while.

“i’m going to be a dad?” he asked, his eyes filling with tears as well. “you’re gonna be a dad.” i confirmed.

a wide smile cracked on his face as he placed the box down onto my bed and picked me up into his arms and gave me a big hug, excitement radiating off of him as we both cried happy tears.

he put me down before running out and yelling out the news to all the guys before i heard many congratulations and harry yelling out a “WHAT” before all of them clambered into my room and gave me a group hug as i smiled at my little family, knowing that the newest addition in five months would have an amazing life.

it was almost inevitable.

#sidemen #sdmn #simon x reader #simon minter x reader #simon minter imagines #miniminter imagine #simon minter one shots #miniminter one shhots #miniminter x reader #sdmn one shots #sdmn x reader #sidemen x reader #sidemen one shots #sidemen imagines

[fandomsilhouette]

the presents they measured (the presence she treasured)

Love is a powerful motivator. Jealous is even more so. Suddenly, someone finds themselves falling faster than they knew how to breathe, before they knew they were even walking to the edge of a cliff, too quickly to enjoy the scenery on the walk over, and all they know is that by the time they crash-land, they’d better be ready to fight. Someone pushed them over the edge. It’s time for revenge.  Happy @felinettenovember​, y’all! Yes, we are in fact back to happy times. This has been written in collaboration with @musicfren​, who will be posting the second part on his account tomorrow. It continues to be fluffy fluff, don’t worry... for now >:3 We’ll be doing every weekend pair together, so follow him if you don’t already or you’ll be missing a whole chapter!!! 

Part 1 below. Part 2 upcoming. 

“...did I miss Marinette’s birthday?” 

“Dude, what are you talking about? Mari’s birthday is in April.” Nino shoots a pointed look at the snow drifting down to the streets as he shakes the now-sludgy water off his snow boots and starts unwrapping himself out of his winter gear, piling them up in a wet mess on Felix’s desk. Felix, for once, chooses not to complain, opting instead to focus on the main issue here. 

“Well, but there’s a gift on her desk and November seventh is definitely too early for holiday gifts.” Felix smirks slyly at a camera no one else can see as he said the date, making Nino send him a weird look. Then again, Felix was weird all the time. Nino is used to it by now, so he doesn’t comment any further. 

Nino shoots him a sidelong glance. “Dude, why are you specifically checking her desk?”

“Unimportant, I saw it as I walked in. Do you know who put it there?” Felix says, swerving the discussion violently back to the most salient point. 

“…bruh… her desk requires you to turn almost 180˚ from where you would need to go for your desk.” 

“Unimportant, I said.” Hopefully his Ladybug-red blush doesn’t show under the still-flickering half on lights that no one has bothered to flick the other switch for. The back half of the classroom is bathed in residual light and Felix can hardly see his own hand in front of him, but by Nino’s amused smirk, his blush is clearly bright enough to light up the path to his doom. 

Nino opens his mouth, but whatever snark he was going to respond with is lost under a quiet “ooooooh!” and the sound of wrapping paper being carefully pried apart. Felix turns and his meticulously coiffed composure slips a bit. 

“Marinette!” He half-falls out of his chair as he scampers anxiously to her side. He stands protectively behind her as if about to pull her to safety, hands hovering awkwardly around her waist, but she seems far too engrossed by the present before her to notice. Later, Felix will blush and be glad she didn’t. Later than that, she’ll admit she saw and just chose to ignore it, and Felix will blush again. 

“I wonder what it i-- ooh!!” With a small happy gasp, she pulls back the paper (a disgustingly garish shade of green, easily three shades off of the correct shade, obviously) to reveal a dainty box of chocolates and an elegant white card, ornately decorated in gold leaf print. Marinette curiously picks up the card as Felix cranes his head intently over her shoulder. Inside, in pretentiously penciled cursive, is a simple phrase:

“With love, your secret admirer <3”

Felix immediately scoffs, grabbing Marinette’s wrist and pulling her into his chest, but she scarcely pays him any mind, so engrossed is she in her gift.

“Gosh, that’s really thoughtful of them, picking my favorite!  Who… whoever they are…”

“It’s not even your favorite kind of chocolate!” Felix screams in his head, and refuses to acknowledge the follow-up question of whether he even knows what her favorite chocolate is. He’s quickly distracted, anyways, when Marinette giggles, which is a very distracting sound, Nino, stop looking at him like that!

“Haha, I could even say it’s… sweet! of them!!” She pops a chocolate in her mouth and Felix is riveted to the way her lips purse around the sweet, the way her tongue swirls around her finger as she sucks the last of it off. 

Nino shoots him an impressed glance and mouths, “Dude, nice!” but Felix’s mind is too busy spinning to process why. What on EARTH was happening?! 

It takes him the next two classes and most of lunch to work up the courage to ask. “Um… what’s a secret admirer?” 

Nino pauses mid-bite, fork dangling in the air, to give Felix such a dumbfounded look that Felix immediately chooses to google the term instead, furtively hiding his phone under the bench. “Dude… why did you use that word if you didn’t even know what it meant, you walnut??” 

Felix slams the lid down on his food and walks away immediately, footsteps echoing to the sound of Nino’s laughter. 

He hopes to put this baffling incident behind him, but to Felix’s immense distress, the parade of gifts does not stop there. At her locker the next morning, Felix finds himself needing to push through a group of students all cooing over… something he cannot make out from behind the crowd. As he gets closer, he notices flowers pinned up in the shape of a heart over her locker, with a grand bouquet of roses pinned in the center. Felix’s nose twitches, itches, and then-- 

“Achoo!!”

Rose petals go flying everywhere and Marinette laughs, delighted. Kim nudges into him. “Sick show, bro! She loved that, how’d you time that sneeze??” 

Felix doesn’t know. He’s confused. He wants to go home.

Two days after that, the PA system crackles through the classroom five minutes before the class  is scheduled to end. Principal Damoclese clears his throat with a sharp peak in the audio and says in his most bored, reading-off-a-paper voice: “Marinette Dupain-Cheng to the courtyard, please, that’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng to the courtyard.” Bustier winks and ends class early, and everyone floods outside to see a teddy bear holding a cute little love-heart. Marinette makes a beeline to it and hugs it immediately, burying her face in its fur. It’s adorable, actually, and Felix tries very hard to not be jealous of a stuffed toy. 

He does not succeed. 

“OHMIGOSH, Felix!!!” Rose squeals, “That was so romantiiiiic, you’re sooooooo good at this!!! How are you being this sweeeeeeet??? <3 <3 <3” Felix can hear the hearts in her voice. Juleka mumbles something that he can only assume is agreement. Felix just sits down where he was standing and puts his head in his hands. Why did nothing make sense?

Felix leans his head against the window of the car, letting the bumps in the road thunk his forehead against the glass in a nice, soothing, repetitive dull pain, better than the constant headache he’s been living with for the last week. Their words spin about his head, hounding his thoughts. His chauffeur is silent for once

“Dude, nice!” “Sick show, bro!” “How are you being this sweet???”

And that’s when it hits him, making a hollow thunk off his empty skull.

Someone is getting her these gifts. And they think he did it. 

Another heartbeat. 

OH NO, THEY KNOW HE LIKES HER! Wait. He likes her?! ...oh no. He DOES. 

Staring out at the road speeding by far too fast, Felix clenches his hands into fists. He’d never expected to find himself here: head over heels crushing on a girl that everyone knew he liked before he ever worked it out on his own, a week late into a competition he doesn’t remember entering. 

Well, no matter. There’s still time to enter, catch up, win.

The next day, Marinette finds another chocolate box on her desk, bigger, more expensive, and exactly the correct shade of green. Each one is handcrafted into increasingly more elaborate designs, laced with caramel and toffee and candied pecans. The spread takes over her desk and Alya’s, and Felix grins smugly. 

“Wait. Didn’t you already do this?” Nino asks, but Felix is too busy. There is an entire wheelbarrow of flowers to deliver by lunch. 

His competition moves quickly: by the end of the school day, the PA is playing a serenade for her in front of the whole school. As soon as the bell rings, he cancels his next order and places a rush on the biggest size they offer: clearly, he’s going to need to do better. He doesn’t bother to look at the sizing or the price. Nothing is too big or too expensive for Marinette. 

The next day Marinette finds a third box, so big it doesn’t even fit on her desk and instead sits next to it like an awkwardly crouched gremlin. Felix glowers at it, not having realized exactly how big it was going to be, and becoming increasingly concerned as she shrieks with delight, yanking out the artistically crinkled tissue paper and tossing it gleefully behind her, climbing into the giant box as soon as she makes enough space for herself. 

Terrified, Felix shuffles over and peeks over the edge. She’s curled up in the paws of his giant stuffed animal, half asleep, looking so cozy he can hardly bear it. 

...oh, goodness, he’s getting jealous of a toy again. His own toy, even!  

There’s nothing for a few days, and Felix relaxes, and then--

The entire classroom is covered in flowers of every kind come Thursday morning. Bustier cancels the first period and directs everyone coughing and sneezing to the nurse, and convinces everyone who can stand the pollen to help her move it out of the way. 

It turns out the class has been talking about the secret admirers-- a lot more than Felix expected. Sometime after the impromptu courtyard concert by Jagged Stone and the last minute fashion walk between classes, and between the endless planning and scheming and glowering, Felix finds himself cornered by Nino, who’s lost his hat, glasses hanging half off his face in a way Felix could’ve sworn they didn’t used to bend, looking more feral than Felix had ever seen him. 

“ENOUGH, FELIX.” And then Felix finds himself being dragged bodily to an empty classroom where at last he faces his opponent-- nay, his nemesis. He recognizes them at once, because of the way they, too, are being held prisoner, the only other put together person in the entire room. 

Oh, he really should’ve known. 

#Notte Writes #Notte Collabs #Fanfiction #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #ML #Miraculous Ladbug #Miraculous: Adventures Of Ladybug And Chat Noir #Felix #PV Felix #Felix Agreste #Chat Noir!Felix #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Felix/Marinette #Felinette #Absolute Madmen #Rich Boys Go Hard I Guess #Is She Even Having A Good Time At This Point??? #To Be Seen #Fluff #Felinette Month 2020 Day 7 #Felinette Month 2020

[myluciferiscody]

i loved you first. p.3

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 2,843

warnings: au! in present time, language, angst, light fluff

*title inspired by joan’s song*

part 1 part 2

3.

The rest of your friends had followed you home. You were somewhat grateful, unsure if you could handle being alone right now. The look on Xavier’s face when he slammed the door on you refused to leave your mind.

Chet was very pissed off. Montana was equally as angry, but she had more time to ruminate on the situation, which would make sense as to why she was quiet.

“He’s such a fucking dick!” Chet spat, pacing the length of your living room. “And that’s coming from me.”

“I’m sure he’s chewing the bitch out now,” Montana said, drinking from the beer she stole from your fridge. “If not, I’m going to kill them both.”

Ray and Brooke were both quiet, sitting next to each other, holding hands. You felt a pang of envy watching them. 

Chet glanced at you, but you looked down at the pillow on your lap, seeing a feather sticking out. You pulled it, rolling it between your fingers. “I might have to join you guys,” you said lamely.

“y/n, you’ve already suffered enough, she’ll get her comeuppance,” Montana said, smiling at you. 

Chet chewed on his lip, standing next to your television, which was still off. The room was too quiet for you. You reached over, turning it on and seeing it was left on the news. You kept the volume low, trying to focus on the weather for the next week.

“Could we report her to the police?” Ray asked, looking between Chet and Montana. “For theft?”

You shook your head, “I highly doubt that. She stole my journal, they’d probably laugh at me the moment I told them.”

“What about making a key?” Chet offered, looking pleased with himself. “Assuming that’s what she did.”

“It could be considered breaking and entering, but it probably won’t hold up in court. She’s dating Xavier. That’s already a problem.” Montana said, and you nodded in agreement. 

“This is all bullshit!” Chet said, before plopping on the floor. 

“Calm down, man,” Ray said, his arm around Brooke now. “I’m sure Xavier already dumped her ass.”

“That’s not enough,” Chet said, reaching underneath him to pull out the notepad from earlier. The energy in the room shifted; you didn’t realize he kept it. “This has to be.”

“What else is in there?” you asked, alarmed as Brooke brushed off Ray and crawled on the floor towards Chet, who was reluctant to give it to her. Brooke read a few pages, her mouth falling open with quiet gasps as she shut it, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

“What!?” you asked again, standing up and approaching them. Montana and Ray were simultaneously trying to grab it from Brooke, who remained speechless.

“You can’t read it, y/n,” replied Chet, his eyebrows furrowing as you tried to take it as well. “She’s a horrible person who belongs in jail.”

“If it’s about me, I deserve to know!” you hissed, finally able to grab it from Brooke, who yelped when Montana accidentally stepped on her bare leg. You quickly flipped it open, skipping the first page, which you already saw earlier. The notepad was small but completely full of writings.

I tried to get it out of Xavier today if he has any history with y/n. I don’t know if he is dense, but he really didn’t say much other than they’re “good friends.” I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. y/n is clearly in love with him. Every time she looks at him, she gets this god awful dreamy look in her eyes. 

You flipped the page, once again finding another passage about you and Xavier.

I was forced to spend time with y/n today. God, I don’t know what else I could do to get him away from her. She’s so desperate, so fucking pathetic. I can’t really blame her though, if I had to see Xavier dating another woman, I’d have to kill the bitch and make it look like an accident.

 Another page:

We’ve been dating over a year already! I finally got him convinced to move in with me. He deserves it, he’s been working so hard lately. :(

I’d tell y/n myself to see if she’d cry or beg him to stay. Seems like the kind of thing she would do. But he didn’t seem as excited as me. :( 

You skipped through a few pages just bearing your name crossed out, and the others just watched in silence as you sunk onto the couch, feeling your heart beating wildly out of your chest when they got more aggressive.

Xavier was really sad today. He barely touched me. I tried to initiate sex, but he said he wasn’t in the mood. This isn’t him. He must be boning y/n. This is the second time this week!! We move in together in a month. When we do, y/n isn’t going to step foot in our fucking place. I’ll see to it myself.

I saw my ex-boyfriend Christopher at the store today-

“Who in the?...”

You let out a scream when the front door swung open, hitting the wall. Montana and Ray both yelled in fright, seeing an angry Xavier slam the door shut, kicking off his shoes. Chet stood up, glaring at his friend as you shut the notepad, feeling your adrenaline running on high.

“Well?” Chet asked, crossing his muscular arms.

Xavier looked at all of you but refused to meet your eyes. You stared at him, willing him to look at you, your hands trembling. 

“I need a minute.” was all Xavier said before breezing past the group and into the bathroom. After a few minutes, you could hear the shower turning on.

“What a fucking imbecile-” Chet began.

“He does that when he’s upset,” you countered, ignoring the pleased look Montana and Brooke gave you. “Give him a break, Chet. He didn’t know.”

Chet nodded begrudgingly, sinking back down in his original spot. 

Xavier was in the shower forever, and the others were growing tired as the time slowly ticked towards one in the morning. The news turned into reruns of a sitcom you couldn’t get into, and you ended up turning off the television. 

“You guys should go,” you said, looking at them from your spot on the couch. Brooke was passed out against Ray, who was barely keeping his eyes open. Chet was lying on his back, staring at nothing. Montana was on her phone, but you could tell she was exhausted. You were too.

“We don’t want to leave you,” Montana said, frowning at you.

You smiled a bit, hearing the shower turning off. “I think it will be easier on Xavier if it’s just the two of us.”

After some convincing, your friends each hugged you goodbye, before shuffling out the door. Something told you Montana wouldn’t be going too far, as she winked at you before she left. You knew she’d be waiting in her car for you to give her word everything was fine. Or that it wasn’t.

You cleaned up the pillows, your heart beating faster, hearing Xavier move around in the bathroom. You stared at the notepad sitting on the coffee table, before grabbing your journal and taking it into your room. You lay on your bed, flipping through the pages to your last entry, which was earlier in the year.

“I wish I could get over him. I’m tired of feeling this way. It’s exhausting, being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. It’s not fair. All of that time, I could have told him how I felt. I didn’t do it, and this is what I get. Chloe is beautiful, and he is head over heels for her. She got what I was too scared to go after. I some times think of what could be if I just spilled everything out to him. Even if Xavier didn’t or never reciprocates my feelings, him knowing is better than me keeping it all bottled up inside. But what if he also felt the same way? What if he was also scared of telling me? I could have started the conversation! I feel like it’s all my fucking fault. I love Xavier, but I don’t know how much longer I can take of this. If they get married, I don’t think I’d be able to watch it and survive.” 

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you heard soft footsteps approaching you. You slammed the cover shut, looking up to see Xavier frowning at you. His eyes were red, and you had the urge to joke about getting soap in his eyes. 

“Why are you crying?” Xavier asked, sitting beside you. 

“Uh, nothing,” you shook your head, putting your journal back. You wiped at your eyes, faking a laugh. “I just read something stupid, is all.”

There was no way in hell Xavier believed you, but you didn’t bother to continue with the lie. You felt like you needed to apologize to him. The others weren’t supposed to witness anything. You understood why Chet was so angry, but Xavier was just as clueless as you had been. If it weren’t for Montana, who knows what the next few months would look like. 

“I uh, I wanted to apologize for what happened,” you said, looking back at your lap. “I didn’t mean for that to happen in front of everyone...” you whispered.

“I don’t want you apologizing for anything, y/n,” Xavier scolded you, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes met his, and you almost melted. “I would have preferred it to be a little more private, but... That’s how life works.”

You nodded, gently pushing his hand off your chin. He dropped it, still maintaining eye contact with you. “I just want you to know that if I had known who she was, I would have never brought her around you. I never would have dated her.” 

You frowned, wondering what he knew. “What happened after we left?”

Xavier looked uncomfortable now, clearing his throat and rubbing his hands on his sweatpants. You noticed he was shirtless, and you looked away, wondering if you should turn the air conditioning down.

“Well, I knew it was your diary, and I knew you wouldn’t make anything like this up, so...” he sighed deeply. “I knew if I wanted to get the truth out of her, I needed to play down to her level. I convinced her if she just told me the truth, I wouldn’t break up with her. It took a while, but she finally cracked.”

“Chloe told me she had been arrested for stalking and harassment a few years before we met. She didn’t say much about her boyfriend, but I don’t think I really want to know,” he winced. “I grilled her about what she was up to, and she said that she felt threatened by you. I always thought there was jealousy, you know?” Xavier frowned at you, “You’re my best friend. I told her about you before we even started dating. I tried to convince her that there was nothing between us, but...”

You nodded, feeling like your heart was just crushed. You held back your tears, wanting him to continue on and get it all out. This was your worst fear, right after thinking about him spending the rest of his life with someone else. He only saw you as a friend. 

“I would have been a liar too,” he said slowly, his cheeks slowly turning red. 

You perked your head up, wondering if he meant what you thought he was saying. “What are you saying?”

Xavier felt like he was going to throw up. He watched you, gauging your reaction. Your eyes were brighter, but he could see the hurt and hesitation in them. This was the moment that could change his life for the better or, the worse.

“y/n, I just want you to promise that what I’m about to say, it won’t ruin what we have?” he said carefully, his stomach now full of butterflies. You nodded.

“I started dating Chloe because I thought it was the right thing for me. I liked you for a long time. I started having feelings for you in high school. But I was too scared to ruin what we had. I tried to flirt with you a bit, to see if maybe you felt the same way. But I thought you weren’t interested because you would never really acknowledge it, so I gave up. I’m such a fucking idiot, but I thought my time ran out, and I thought that this would help me get over you. But it didn’t.”

Your mouth was hanging open as Xavier finished, gawking at you while his words processed in your head. The nerves you had felt this entire evening were easing away, and you felt your head become lighter at his admittance to how he felt about you. 

Xavier Plympton, liking me? Like that?

This had to be a sick joke. This wasn’t a movie, this was real fucking life. 

“This makes me sound like a fucking asshole, but I hoped that if you had feelings for me after I got with her, you’d... I don’t know, admit that you liked me too? I’m such a dick!” he spat, his blue eyes alight with frustration. “I started dating another girl, a fucking psychopath, just to get over you. I used her. I...”

You placed a hand on his arm, and Xavier immediately stopped, giving you a puzzled look. “Xavier, stop talking.” He nodded, watching you.

“I wanted you to come sweep me off my feet like those 80s rom-coms you force me to watch once a month,” you said, cracking a smile. Xavier grinned at you. “I’ve loved you for a long time...” you nodded. “I wanted to tell you the first night I met her, but it was selfish. So I didn’t. I wanted you to be happy.”

“It is selfish,” he laughed a little. “But I would stop the world if it met I could call you mine, y/n,” 

Hearing his voice say your name sent chills down your spine. You almost forgot about the real problem Chloe was when he ran a hand along your cheek, his fingertips tracing the length of your cheekbone. 

“Do you love her?” you asked softly.

Xavier shook his head, “No. I know this because what I feel for you is so much stronger.”

You always imagined yourself jumping up and down in excitement when the truth finally came out, possibly even passing out in your dramatics. But this was more heartfelt than you ever imagined. Plus, Xavier wasn’t fresh out of a relationship in your imagination. 

“I loved you first,” you responded.

Xavier nodded, and you had the urge to kiss him. You wanted too. But this was all too fresh, and you didn’t want to push Xavier into anything he wasn’t comfortable with. Now that the truth came out, that was all the reassurance you needed at the moment.

“Do you think she’ll be a problem?” you asked, nudging him when he stared at his feet. “Like a threat?”

“She was crying when I left, but... I don’t really know, y/n,” he said, before looking you in the eyes. “She won’t lay a finger on you. I’ll see to that myself.”

-

You had fallen asleep on the couch with your head snuggled into Xavier’s back. You had slept through the night. The sun was shining brightly through the windows, and you pulled the blanket up to cover your face as Xavier snored quietly next to you. 

There was something off when you woke up, wiggling your way off the couch. Xavier slowly moved into your spot, his head rolling to the side as his snores slowly subsided. You rubbed your head as you glanced around the apartment, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. 

You decided to shower, planning on cleaning up the house before you returned to work the next day. Xavier would probably be asleep for a while longer, and he’d be well-rested enough to help you. Despite feeling unsure, there was a new warmth in your chest, which bubbled up until you were smiling. 

Xavier Plympton liked you.

You admitted that you loved him. You understood that his life changed in a second. Xavier was leaving a relationship that you had so selfishly wanted to end. You didn’t feel too bad about it now, given the circumstances of who Chloe Smith was. This was a different kind of waiting; it was less painful because you knew it was only a matter of time until Xavier would finally be able to say he was in love with you. You could live with that.

After your shower, you changed into comfy clothes. You weren’t surprised to see Xavier sitting up on the couch, awake. But the look on his face stopped you. It was panicked.

You took a final step closer, seeing an angry and rumpled Chloe, standing in front of him with a gun.

taglist: some tags aren’t working, hope I didn’t miss anyone!

@the-walking-daryl @trichy-knitts @shydragonrider​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous @lemonwhiskers @jetblackpayne @langdonsvcrd @okoktrinity22 @uwonman @stefanmikaleson1864 @sevenwonderwitch @rubbrninja @iamnotjesha @leatherduncan @imshakingandcryingrn @bratzblitz @goblackcat69 @brookethompsonownsme @bookoffracturedescapes @zodiyack@bitchchatter@guiltyfiend @psychobitchtess  @aangrana  @thexmancometh @wtfcas @pleasforhelp @capshoney @agentnightshade44​ @frenchlangdon​ @morganelizabeth-99​ @fathoe69333​ @infagnito​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @arthurismybby​ @fandoms-allovertheplace​

#xavier plympton x reader #duncan shepherd x reader #michael langdon x reader #xavier plympton imagine #ahs 1984 #ahs imagine #montana duke #chet clancy #brooke thompson #ray powell #Cody Fern

[unknownblanked]

Shameless self promotion

Main character: OC

Pairings: OC x Reborn

My fic:

*Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn*

*Rating M*

Summary: I have never wanted anything other than to be a boss. Sorry dear brother of mine, but I will become a better boss than you would ever become. Warning: M for a reason, not for innocent souls. 2 days updates

Kinda BL since MC who used to be a girl became a guy after transmigration. But idk what to even say at this point

Genre: fantasy/adventure/romance

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13908034/1/

First chapter preview:

Chapter 1

"Eff you! Eff me! Eff the world!" She shrieked with her lungs, hand pointed at the sky.

"I wanna hold guns and look cool in suits! I wanna be pardoned by university to become a boss! I wanna have a gang while playing background music!"

"IF I EVER REINCARNATE TO KATEKYO HITMAN REBORN, I'LL BECOME VONGOLA DECIMOOOOOOOO!"

Darkness enveloped her as she sunk deeper into the abyss, not knowing what was going on after that flash that blinded her eyes. Could it be isekai truck-kun? She scoffed at her own words, not believing a single thing that came out of her own thoughts. She felt a shuffle, then a thump as her whole world lifted in the air. Suddenly, a baby's cry chortled beside her, screaming.

What was going on? Was she being carried into some kind of ambulance? A hospital? Did she give birth-What? But she was still 19 years old and never touched a man's hand! The baby's cry grew louder, almost piercing her in the ears.

Was it even possible for her to remain conscious even though she couldn't open her eyes? She tried lifting her eyelids, but it remained glued shut, as if this impenetrable force was clamping down her eyes, telling her not to look.

A waft of air blew on her chest.

"[Papa! Look at them! Twins!]"

A woman's voice rang out loudly, but her tone was soft and melodic as the sounds of humans floated into her ears.

'...Japanese?'

"[Ah, but one isn't crying.]"

A man's voice rang out this time in front of her as she tried deciphering the words with all her experiences of watching anime for over 10 years. Crying? Did the man just say that 'one isn't crying?' Was he pointing to someone in the room?

She felt her whole world tip over before trying to flail, confusion ringing inside her mind before-

Slap!

"Waaaaaaaaah!"

'What the eff, bro?!'

She felt so sensitive-so...naked!

'Call my lawyer! I will sue you till you don't even have the freedom of speech! Lawyer! Lawyer!'

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalw!" She yelped her syllables that couldn't pop out of her mouth and tried again.

"Wawawawa-"

Something was weird. Very weird.

"[I think we've got ourselves a little weirdo from the get-go!]"

Her butt stung as she tried blinking her eyes, gasping twice and shaking her head to wake her up from this bad dream. Her vision stung the moment she did, lights blinding her as she screamed again, trying to bat away the light with her flimsy small fists. Through her blurry vision, she saw a man grinning from ear to ear before throwing her over his shoulder and patting her on the back. She humped, dry launching from the action as the woman's soft laughter rang from behind as her own eyes closed shut again.

What did she see? She didn't see clearly, but the world was so...colorful.

"[I think I have a name for this little weirdo already!]"

Name? What name? What the hell were these two strangers talking about? And why in the hell was she able to understand Japanese so clearly? And they messed up her pronouns-and-

She tried hard, fighting her clamped eyes, 'Almost there!'

"Sawada Isago! Golden dust for my career!"

Isago slammed his eyes open, blinking rapidly at the man who was now throwing his small body into the air, his golden-amber eyes completely dazzling Isago.

"Waah da dak."

His first words were swear words in English.

She stared absentmindedly out the front porch. No, he stared absentmindedly out the front porch this fine morning. The sky was bright blue while Isago glanced at the buzzing street of Namimori, a small town located at the edges of Japan. In the corner of his eyes, he saw a small bird land on one of the tree branches before someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Isa..go! Let's play!" Tsuna smiled sweetly at his younger brother, holding up his teddy in one hand. They were at the young age of four, Tsuna being born just minutes earlier than Isago. They seemed like twins, but one preferred a shorter hairstyle than the other, and their hair was in different colours.

"Hm...sure! What do you want to play?" Isago answered like how a four-year-old should and pushed himself onto his feet. Tsuna squeezed his teddy, pondering a bit before tilting his head to the side.

Tsuna was exactly the same in the anime, with spiky brown hair and brown eyes that shone brightly in the sun, his soft features held more of some baby fat than what was portrayed in the graphics, but still, Tsuna resembled Vongola Primo.

'Definitely a descendant of the Vongola family,' Isago quirked his lips as Tsuna explained his game of hide and seek, except the purpose was to hide and find teddy.

"Sure!" Isago chirped, holding his hand out for the teddy. "I'll go first then, since you never do, Tsuna."

Tsuna beamed brightly at his younger brother, giving his teddy over before Isago pointed to a wall in the corner of the room and Tsuna plodded over, covering his eyes as he started to count down from 100. Isago smiled slightly, tip-toeing to the washroom and turning on the lights to hide the teddy behind the rows and rows of shampoo bottles in one of the cupboards.

Isago frowned a bit when he realized that he couldn't reach the board, placed the teddy on the table and walked to the toilet that was beside the sink. He stepped onto the toilet, using it as his stepping stone and slammed his small hands onto the table, heaving himself upwards. Snatching the teddy from the original spot, Isago opened the cupboard and organized the bottles as a coverup, arranging the bottles so that not even the ears of the brown toy were visible from an adult's point of view.

Isago stepped down the table, plopping quietly onto his feet before listening to the countdown from Tsuna's mouth at the number 40. Isago smiled carefully, closing the lights as his gold eyes flashed through the mirror once, and Isago made his way to Tsuna's bedroom. Mom was cooking in the kitchen and humming about dad's arrival today.

Isago had retained his father's golden eyes, and yet had a shade of mocha as his hair color. Neither dad nor mom had the hair color, but Nana assumed that it was because her predecessor's hair color was close to black in the past. In contrast to Tsuna's spiky hair, Isago had flatter hair and was long, to the point that it was possible to tie it into a semi-ponytail. He had bangs covering the front in a slanted way, almost completely contrasting to Tsuna's cute and fluffy hair. Well, not that it mattered to Isago.

What was concerning to Isago, was that he was born as a boy.

"Ready or not, here I come!"

Isago heard Tsuna call from the bottom of the stairs before his small footsteps plattered onto the wood. Isago stared momentarily at the door before purposefully closing it and plopping down on Tsuna's bed. The bedsheets ruffled, crinkling a bit and Isago stared at his own crotch.

What the heck, this was so weird to have. It was so tiring to constantly have a thing dangling in between his legs. Even though it didn't hurt or feel uncomfortable, this new addition was a very mind-blowing...experience. Manspreading was also a new thing.

"Isago…?" Tsuna's face peeped into his own room and giggled before skipping over to his brother. "You must have placed teddy here!"

"I don't know," Isago replied with a small smirk. "Why don't you try and find it?"

"Teddy! Teddy!" Tsuna called cutely as if the bear was able to reply back to him.

"Tsuna, if you can find it then I'll ask mom to make your favourite Salisbury steak that she only makes when dad comes home!" Isago called as Tsuna's eyes fired up intensely.

"Steak! Steak! Steak!" Tsuna batted his fists on his crouched knees and started to chant it like some kind of song. Joy could be seen all over his face as he rustled his piles of stuff in the closet, then turned over to his desk and started rummaging in the drawers.

"Steak, steak, steaky, steak-"

Isago smiled secretly, knowing that Tsuna had no knowledge of dad coming home today. Honestly, Isago didn't know what to describe his dad. A good dad? No, he left his wife basically widowed from the moment they were born. A bad dad? You couldn't say that either.

Then again, mama never worked, so it was plausible to think that the house was bought and supplied with money from dad every year. Not to mention that the house was quite large for a family of three. Dad was probably also preparing the house to be the main hideout for the future Vongola.

"Iemitsu Sawada, huh?" Isago murmured his dad's name under his lips.

There was a reason why his dad stationed his family near the unknown town of Namimori. It was probably in order to protect them from the mafia. So in the end, was he a good dad? Isago watched Tsuna's fluffy hair swish in the lights as the sound of tires echoed into the neighborhood.

Isago lifted his eyebrows at the sound, turning his head to Tsuna's open window to see a short black car parked a few meters away from the Sawada residence. Isago stood up slowly, walking towards the window and hopped onto a small step box and leaned on the wall, crossing his arms together as he peered outside.

"Tsuna, let's rank this game harder. You have exactly 100 seconds like the countdown to find your teddy, or else the promise is off," Isago turned to Tsuna who's eyes widened like saucers, gasping before throwing his hands into the depths of his drawers.

"That's not fair, Isago!" The boy whimpered as Isago started to count the numbers from 100, forcing the small boy to sweat. Inside, Isago spotted a blond head popping out of the driver's seat.

The man was wearing orange overalls that were only pulled onto his waist. His dirty sweatshirt was worn in a fashion that showed his armpit hair clearly even from far away. The sight was disgusting.

"Men," Isago made a face, recognizing that it was his father. "66...67...68...69…"

"Isago! Slow down!" Tsuna wailed and rummaged through his toy box, tears streaming down his face at the decreasing numbers. Iemitsu pulled a construction hat out of the front side, then walked to the passenger's seat, opening the door to reveal another man wearing a blue vacation shirt with pink flowers on it.

The man stepped out of the car, smiling widely at his assistant who passed him a straw hat. As if the man noticed, his eyes flashed to the window, meeting the gaze of Isago. There was curiosity and wonder that passed through the male's eyes, but then greeted the child by lifting his hat and giving a salute which Isago returned with a polite nod.

'Vongola ninth,' Isago addressed the man quickly, curling his lips at the status before turning back to Tsuna, the numbers ending with the last count of zero.

"Isaaaagoo!" Tsuna sobbed into his long-sleeved sweater, sniffing as the sleeve soaked up his snot. "I couldn't find it-I'm sorry!"

Isago's eyes softened at the small boy, hopping down from the stepping box before crouching next to Tsuna who was on his knees.

"Tsuna, Tsuna, why are you sorry?" Isago patted Tsuna on the shoulders. Tsuna threw his arm down, staring at Isago who had a soft smile on his face.

"Be-because Isago's favorite...also steak…" the young boy blew his wet cheeks and Isago chuckled, pulling his brother into a large hug. That was not exactly true, Isago's favourite was sweet parfaits rather than savory main course meals, but Nana had never brought the two to a sweets cafe so Isago had made up his preferences to match Tsuna's.

"How about this, I'll magically transform the steak onto the table if you promise me one thing," Isago patted Tsuna who blew into his shoulder. Momentarily, Isago made a face of disgust, but once thinking that they were from the same blood, a smile was forcefully plastered onto his soft features.

Tsuna also realized his own misdoings, instantly freezing before wiping his own sleeve on Isago's shoulder, trying to correct the snot, only to make it smear even wider on the hoodie.

"I'll have to change my clothes," Isago sighed before pushing Tsuna away and walking to his own room. Tsuna followed like an abandoned puppy. His two fingers fiddled as he watched Isago pull his T-shirt off, and grabbed a random sweater before pulling it over his head.

"Mm sorry Isago…" Tsuna trailed off, staring guilty on the ground as Isago's head emerged out. "I will promise anything that you want! Forever!"

'What a dangerous promise, Tsuna,' Isago's eyes glimmered before turning towards his brother. The shadows in his room casted upon Isago's face as his grin widened almost too maliciously.

"Then promise me Tsuna, no matter what the circumstance you must not harm me. If you do, then our relationship as brothers are over." Isago's hair fell over his eyes as he brushed it back, getting a clear look at the boy's small face.

"Harm?" Tsuna tilted his head curiously at the word, repeating to make sure he pronounced it correctly. "What's that?"

"It means that I will be gone from your life forever, Tsuna," Isago's voice deepen with glee at the horror that flashed through the boy's face. Tsuna's hands instantly clutched the sides of his shorts, shaking his head furiously.

"I will never harm you! I will never! Never!"

"Good," Isago walked closer to his dear brother, jerking his thumb under Tsuna's teary eyes. The young boy looked fragile and broken at Isago's words, almost as if he couldn't imagine living without Isago.

"Because I love you so much that it may serve as a double-edged sword to both of us," Isago gave little Tsuna a small peck on his cheeks, smirking at Tsuna's pouting face as his fingers clutched the edges of Isago's sweater.

"I wove you too," Tsuna buried his face into his brother's sweater, murmuring the phrase until the front door was pushed open and mama's clear voice rang through the house, calling the two boys down.

It was true, Tsuna was a precious little brother to Isago, even if Tsuna was legally the older one. But that didn't matter in front of power. If Tsuna stood in the way of succession, then Isago would cut off Tsuna's arms and legs to prevent Tsuna from overtaking the throne. That was how cold-hearted Isago was.

But then again, was Isago able to do it?

That's why Isago would give Tsuna the choice. He would not harm Tsuna until his own brother decided that Isago was a threat to the family and his life. He would let Tsuna break their relationship, and make him wallow in despair. As long as Tsuna loved him, Isago would let him go. But if Tsuna disobeyed, then everything will be over.

"Come on, brother," Isago gestured towards the door, stepping forward with Tsuna holding him. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Iemitsu was grinning at both boys, arms extended.

"Weirdo Isago! TsunaTsuna! Papa is back home!"

The two boys huddled over to their papa, Tsuna waddling towards him while Isago was pulled into a large embrace, dad's hand ruffling in his hair as Isago grinned at the man. The smell of sweat and tobacco filled Isago's nostrils, instantly making him suppress a sour face at his own father. Mama giggled at the family reunion while Isago's eyes trailed to her, gesturing for a group hug.

"Oh, dear!" Mama threw herself into the group hug and Iemitsu kissed her sloppily on the cheeks, rubbing her face with fondness. It was then Tsuna noticed a stranger behind dad, smiling sweetly at the family after Tsuna opened his mouth with quivering fear.

"Oh, Tsuna! Don't worry, this is Timoteo-" Dad looked over at the grandfather figure, releasing all of us as he gestured politely at the man. "-My boss."

"Welcome!" Nana grinned, lowering her body into a 90-degree bow. "Thank you for taking care of my husband all this time!"

Isago glanced towards his mom, then followed, repeating the same words of thanks. Tsuna only stood there, confused and not knowing what to do and hid behind his mother, clutching her apron.

"Tsuna!" Mom bickered with a sigh but smiled soon afterwards. She patted me on the head as a 'good job' before apologizing for her son's imprudence.

"That isn't a problem," Timoteo said, softening his eyes at us before crouching down to our eye level. "I have to thank you for having such a wonderful father that I can trust."

'Of course, you're literally naming his son as successor,' Isago thought bitterly before pulling Tsuna out from behind mom. 'So who is it going to be? Tsuna, or me?'

Vongola ninth had to choose between the two of them because they were the only ones that would be left in the Vongola bloodline. If what Isago remembered was correct, there was more than one successor to the Vongola line, but they all died, which left Tsuna being the only one that could inherit the family.

Tsuna's hand started to quake before Isago squeezed it reassuringly, giving him a small nudge. Tsuna was still hesitating so Isago started first.

"I'm Isago, this is Tsuna, my older brother!" He deliberately said, lowering his head as Tsuna, this time, followed his younger brother's lead.

"Oh, he's the older one, huh?" Timoteo turned his gentle gaze towards the older brother and nodded. Isago pleaded that they were going to leave the throne of successor to the worthy, not the older. Isago was going to prove himself worthy, prove himself, to be a better leader than his brother.

Tsuna was not suited as a leader, maybe in the long run of taking care of his family members, yes, but Isago was more of a leader in the expanding and influential way.

'Give the role of successor to me, and I will hold Vongola to its glory. I will make Vongola the strongest in history, and it will flourish more than the past ten generations combined.'

Isago wanted the Vongola position. He wanted it desperately.

As if Timoteo could hear Isago's thoughts, the grandfather's eyes turned to the younger sibling, staring at him hard. Isago didn't move his eyes, only stared back and tried to convey the message through his gaze.

'Give it to me, I want it. I need it.'

Timoteo's gaze deepened, opening his mouth to say something as conflict passed through his face, then clamped his mouth shut. Iemitsu, sensing that something was sort of amidst, invited his boss into the house, telling the group that he was famished. Nana gasped, pardoning her forgetfulness before guiding the guest to the table.

Isago let go of the breath he held inside, looking towards Tsuna who was staring at the grandfather.

#katekyo hitman reborn #romance #fanfiction #ambitious #original character #reborn x reader #sawada tsunayoshi #katekyou hitman reborn fanfiction #katekyo home tutor #fanfic

[neon-junkie]

The Terror of the Grizzlies - Chpt.2

Summary: All your men are dead, but you've somehow managed to catch the famous gunslinger, Flaco Hernández. Sadly, your horses flee during a bear attack so you're left to transport Flaco on foot. Will you manage to turn him in? Or is his constant flirting going to finally break you?

Pairing: Flaco Hernández x f!Reader

Word Count: 1469

Rating: SFW

Tags: Bounty Hunting, Grizzlies west, Bears, Flirting, Del Lobos, Fighting, Violence, Slow burn, Enemies to lovers, Trust issues, Fluff.

Notes: hehehehe next chapter CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3 | FULL FIC 

You wake in a state of panic, that sound far too familiar and scarier than any bounty you've ever faced. And to make matters even better, it's pitch black. You can't see a fucking thing. But oh boy, you can hear that beast coming. You can hear the thudding of its footsteps as it approaches.

It's a bear.

You're quick to your feet, grabbing your gun as you climb on top of the prison wagon. You look over in the direction that it's coming from but to no one's surprise, you can't see anything. You can, unfortunately, hear the horses scream and bolt.

"Fuck!" You yell, looking in the direction of the horses. You hear the sound of their hooves disappearing, running for their lives. Literally.

That bears still nearby, roaring again. You fire off a couple of warning shots, hoping that you'll either accidentally hit it, or scare it away. Maybe both.

"Give me a gun," Flaco says from underneath you, looking up to faintly see your outline on top of the wagon.

"What?! No!"

"I know where it is. I've lived in these mountains a lot longer than you have. I know how to hunt in the dark." Flaco has a valid point, but you don't trust this man at all.

"No, Flaco. I don't trust you," you bluntly tell him.

"Come on, chica, I ca-"

"NO!" You shout at him, cutting him off.

Flaco's taken aback, sitting down and staying silent. You fire a few more shots in random directions and thankfully, one of them's a hit. You hear the bear let out a whine as it scurries away. You stand and listen, hearing its footsteps get quieter until finally there's silence.

You climb down from the top of the wagon, sighing. You sit down, head in your hands as you question what you're meant to do.

"The horses are gone," Flaco blankly states.

"Yes, Flaco. I know the horses are gone!" You snap at him again. "I'll look for them in the morning. Goodnight."

You get back into bed, your gun propped up against the driver's seat in case that bear came back. You barely slept, stuck with a perfect divide between fear that the bear will return, and questioning how you were meant to get Flaco back down to Strawberry. Flaco doesn't sleep much either; you only know that from the lack of snoring.

Morning's here. As soon as it's light enough, you're up on your feet, ready to start tracking the horses. You shove your breakfast into your pockets, deciding to eat it on the way.

"I'm going to go find the horses," you tell Flaco as you head off.

"Flaco will stay here then. Sitting in this cage as bear bait," Flaco huffs. You don't respond, trudging your way over to where the horses were last seen.

Thankfully, there are tracks. You spend all morning trying to find them but those horses must have ran far. You can feel your heart sinking a little more with every step you take, knowing that you're not going to find them. The sun is now overhead and you give up all hope, accepting the fact that they're long gone. You begin your depressing journey back to Flaco, deciding how you were going to transport him.

Maybe this was how it was all meant to end. Maybe Flaco would shoot you the second you let him out of the wagon with some hidden gun he had. Maybe he'd push you off a mountain, or wait till you're asleep and run off. That'd be a good thing, the journey would be much easier alone, but then this would have been all for nothing. If Flaco managed to escape then those poor nine men died for nothing. You were going to get Flaco Hernández to Strawberrys jail, even if that's the last thing you ever do.

You're finally back.

"Wow, look at those horses," Flaco sarcastically says as you appear in his line of sight emptyhanded.

"I preferred you when you were more flirtatious and less sarcastic," you tell him as you approach.

"Oh, you enjoyed my flirting, huh? I knew I'd eventually get through to you."

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night," you tell him as you pack up your belongings. You always pack light, keeping everything in one rucksack. The only problem was, there wasn't enough food and your tent was a single. As much as you wanted Flaco to sleep outside like the dog he is, you also can't let him freeze to death. You'd figure that hurdle out when you get to it.

Before approaching Flaco, you take out another set of chains, a much longer one. You hide the key in your coat pocket as they auto-locked and you didn't want Flaco knowing where the key was. You put your rucksack on and approach him, standing in front of the bars.

"Here's what you're going to do," you begin as you draw your gun, lazily pointing it at him. "I'm going to keep your cuffs on and chain the two of us together. Only I know where the key is, and this means you can't run off. We're going to walk all the way down this fucking mountain, then I can chuck you in jail, get my money, and go home for a goods night's sleep. Understand?"

"That's it? That's your plan?" Flaco asks, trying not to laugh.

"Yes, that's it. That's all I got to work with."

"You spent all night on this brilliant plan of yours, princesa?"

"I have bags under my eyes, Hernándes. Of course I did," you sigh. You're tired.

"Oh, my poor cazadora. Flaco will do whatever you say."

For some reason, you want to believe him. Something in your gut says this will be a lot easier than you imagine, but you know damn well not to trust this guy, nor your gut when it's clearly speaking nonsense.

You let Flaco out, instantly regretting your decision when this beast of a man stands towering over you. There's no way this is going to work. There's no way this man isn't going to just push you aside and run for it. He could easily pin you to the ground, grab your gun, and shoot you. But he doesn't. Flaco puts his bound hands out, allowing you to chain one of your wrists to his. There's about 2 meters of chain in between you two, room for him to walk slightly ahead whilst you point your gun at his back.

"You going to keep that gun there the whole time?" Flaco asks you as he begins walking.

"Yes, Hernández," you tell him, following closely behind. You take one last look over your shoulder at the wagon, still enraged, one bad thing after another.

"You can call me Flaco, you know," Flaco tells you.

"I don't want to get friendly with you."

"Ah, why not? I think we could be good amigos, you and me, hopefully more." There's a flirtatious purr to his voice, briefly looking over his shoulder at you.

"I know you only say these things to wind me up."

"No, no. Flaco would never just say these things. You can keep on pretending like you don't enjoy it, but I'll be carrying you away in my arms before this journey is over," he lightly laughs.

"Whatever you say, Hernándes," you sigh.

Flaco's silent for the rest of the day. He occasionally slows his pace, letting himself walk beside you rather than in front. You don't often realize it straight away, too tired to click onto Flacos gradual loss of pace. You click on to it once you feel his eyes on you. You'll huff and point your gun at him, to which he chuckles and goes back to walking ahead.

What was this man trying to do? Push your buttons? Get so fed up you'd kill him? Whatever it was, it was working.

By sundown, you're just letting him walk beside you, your gun still in hand but lazily at your side. You're exhausted and Flaco can see it in your eyes every time he looks over at you.

"You going to set up camp, chica? A big strong woman like you needs her rest," Flaco informs you.

"I probably should," you sigh.

You chain Flaco up to a nearby tree, enjoying the feeling of not having that heavy chain around your wrist. Flaco makes another comment as you're securing him. 'We're only just met and you're already eager to tie me up, huh?'

Flaco watches you as you set up camp, making a comment about how the tent was far too small.

"I'll let you sleep against the tree then," you sarcastically respond.

"And let Flaco freeze to death? Come on, querida, you're smarter than that."

Flacos right. The two of you were going to have to cram together in this tiny one-man tent. Up close and personal with an outlaw. Fantastic. You untie Flaco, keeping his wrists bound. He sits in your tent and watches as you cook some form of dinner, using up whatever rations you had left in your bag. Once the two of you have eaten, you're more than ready to sleep.

"Sleep on your side, then we'll have more room," you inform him as you squeeze in your tent beside him. You lie down, facing away from him, your eyes shut as you face the canopy. You can feel Flaco shuffling and settling down, followed by his breath hot on the back of your neck.

"Face away from me, Hernándes," you sigh.

"What? You don't want to cuddle old Flaco?" He jokes, though you know he's also somewhat serious.

"Just roll over and go to sleep," you tell him.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Goodnight, Hernándes," you sigh, your body begging you to let it sleep.

"Heh," Flaco chuckles to himself as he rolls over. "Goodnight, mi amor."

Flaco's right. You didn't answer his question, you completely avoided it. Were you... getting soft? You'd known this man for 48 hours and he was already managing to chip away at your hard exterior. As if you were allowing a heavily wanted outlaw to worm his way into your heart. No way. Nope. All this flirting bullshit was just some tacky attempt for him to gain your trust and kill you the second he had the chance. You needed to keep reminding yourself that, to keep your barrier up and shoot him down more often.

That was the plan, along with ditching him as soon as you reach Strawberry. It WILL happen.

#rdrwriting #rdr writing #flaco hernandez #flaco #flaco hernández/reader #flaco hernández x reader #flaco hernández #bounty hunting #bounty hunter #grizzlies west #bears #fighting #del lobos #violence #slow burn #enemies to lovers #fluff #cuddling #Red Dead Redemption #Red Dead #Red Dead Redemption Online #red dead redemption 2 #red dead online #red dead fanfic #f!reader #reader insert #female reader #fem reader #rdr2 #rdr 2

[pickalilywrites]

Please Wait for Me (I Miss You) 

Rivetra. Modern AU. 

Can You Please Stay With Me series | i 

2860 words

Buy me a ko-fi or read this on ao3!

Levi should be accustomed to sleeping alone. Back in his and Petra’s old apartment, the gray couch in the living room had practically become his bed during their last month together. He doesn’t know how he managed to sleep alone for so long. He had fooled himself into believing that being away from Petra was less painful than being with her, but he now realizes that the reality is far worse than he could have ever imagined. Every night he lies awake, smothering himself in Mike’s pillows and blankets in the hopes that it will help him forget Petra’s scent. It’s useless, of course, and he finds himself missing her familiar aroma of peaches and magnolia flowers. After tossing and turning for nearly an hour, Levi gives up. Nobody gets hurt if he remembers, he thinks. Only he does.

He’s always lonely now. He’s been lonely ever since Petra left, but there’s something about being awake at 2 a.m. that makes him feel even lonelier. It’s the darkness, he thinks, that reminds him of her. There was something about early morning hours that made him love Petra the most. No … it’s not that he loved her the most during those times, but it would be at those hours where he would realize just how much he loved her. Right now, the quiet reminds him of how much he still loves her. Even though she’s gone, he can still imagine her expression as she sleeps, her brow relaxed after having it furrowed for most of the day at work. He still remembers the shape of her, the curve of her waist as she lays on her side with the blanket draped loosely over her. He can even recall her breathing, shallow and slow, as she dreams of things she’ll share with him in the morning. Levi misses her warmth, the feeling of her soft skin as he reaches out to stroke her cheek with his thumb, so he turns around. He reaches out for her, to find her hidden underneath the blankets, and hold her closely against him. It’s only when he finds himself falling, hitting the ground with a loud thud, that he awakens and finds himself alone once more.

Levi doesn’t get it up, instead choosing to lie there with his cheek pressed against the carpet. His head is throbbing from the fall, but somehow it doesn’t hurt as much as it should. He only looks up when he sees a pair of feet in front of him, and he finds his friend Mike looking down at him.

“I’m fine,” Levi mumbles, clutching onto the edge of the sofa and pulling himself up before Mike can offer him a hand. He flops down onto the couch, not even bothering to sit up straight. He knows exactly what expression Mike is making right now. He closes his eyes, not caring to see it.

“Are you sure?” The sofa sinks more as Mike takes a seat beside Levi. “Because it sounded like you hit your head pretty hard.”

“Can barely even feel it,” Levi replies. He opens his eyes, realizing just how bright it is in the apartment that Mike shares with Nanaba. He searches for his phone, spying it on the coffee table in front of him, but he finds he has no energy to reach for it. He feels like it’s only been a few hours since he was last awake, but it looks as though more have passed. Tiredly, he looks over at Mike and asks, “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Mike replies.

Jesus, Levi thinks, but he doesn’t say anything. He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, and then stands up. He’s already rifling through his backpack, looking for a change of clothes so that he can leave the apartment.

“Are you leaving already?” Mike asks, an eyebrow raised. He gets up from the couch, standing behind Levi. He towers over him, that damn giant. “You don’t want to eat breakfast or anything? I could whip something up for you really quick.”

“I’ll find something to eat outside.” Levi grabs a ragged pair of jeans and a faded gray t-shirt. He’s about to head into the bathroom and change, but Mike’s hand stops the door from shutting.

“Levi, don’t you think you should talk to Petra at least once?” Mike asks. He sticks his foot in the door to prevent Levi from closing it, wincing when Levi tries to slam the door shut anyway. With a grunt, he opens the door wider. “You could call her. Ask her how she’s doing.”

“No,” Levi replies. He tries to shut the door on Mike once more, but it doesn’t budge. He glares at Mike, but the bearded giant shows no signs of moving. He’s beginning to regret telling Mike everything that happened that night, but it’s his fault for drinking too much. “We broke up. It’s done.” He kicks Mike and it’s hard enough for Mike to stumble backward, allowing Levi to finally slam the door shut. He can hear Mike cursing him behind the door and he smirks. He listens for a moment. It’s so quiet that he thinks Mike has already left. Levi is halfway stripped of his shirt when he hears Mike speak again.

“You know, just because people leave doesn’t mean they’re gone forever.” There’s a pause. “I know you’ve lost a lot of people in your life, Levi, but … those people didn’t have a choice. And this time … you were the one who left. You chose to leave.”

There is one thing that Levi never mentioned to Mike. He had seen Petra one last time before she boarded the airplane. He hadn’t planned on seeing her off. It was only a mixture of madness and longing that forced him to run to the airport at the very last minute, hoping that he would be able to chase her down and beg her to stay. He hadn’t anticipated the crowds, cursing when the cab he took was stuck in traffic at least a mile from the airport where Petra was departing from. Tossing all the money in his wallet at the cab driver, Levi had jumped out, sprinting as quickly as his legs would carry him towards the security checkpoint. Other people stared at him while some cursed at him as he pushed past them. He didn’t give them half a second of his attention, his focus on someone else entirely. He finally made it into the building, breathing heavily. Glancing at his watch, he was worried that he was far too late when he spied a familiar shade of ginger at the top of the escalator. His legs ached, but he found the strength to follow her, practically running up the steps. When he reached the top, he could feel himself on the verge of collapse, but he was too far to give up now. Seeing her in the distance, he called out her name and he felt his heart beat violently against his chest as she turned to find him. Mustering up the last of his energy, he began to walk towards her. He was sure he saw her face, almost certain she did, but she turned around just as he was about to shout her name again. As Levi’s steps slowed to a stop, he watched her leave him once more.

“You don’t know anything,” Levi mutters. He strips off his shirt and discards it on the floor, shrugging on the faded tee in its place. His pants also fall to the floor and Levi shuffles on his jeans. When he opens the door, he’s not surprised to see Mike still there. Not wanting to listen to any more unwanted advice, Levi pushes past his friend, shoving his dirty laundry into his backpack and fishing out his wallet. He can hear Mike try to talk to him again, but he filters out everything Mike says and walks toward the door, mumbling about how he’ll be back later this evening. Fingers brush against Levi’s elbow, grabbing for him, but he pulls away from them and slips out the door.

He’s not sure where he’s going. Just somewhere where he can find time to think. Time to forget. Levi finds he can’t stand to listen to the sound of his steps, feeling as if the rhythm is off without Petra beside him to match his tempo. He slows down as he walks, thinking that this new cadence will help keep his mind off his ex. Eventually, he settles on a stilted pace, his feet dragging against the sidewalk. It’s awkward and odd, but it no longer has him thinking about how Petra’s footsteps should be here to accompany his. In spite of this, he still finds his thoughts returning to her.

As he wanders around the city, Levi wonders where he should go. He can’t keep going down this current street. If he does, he’ll bump into their favorite cafe, the one they used to frequent on Saturday mornings. Even now he can smell the croissants from down the streets. Vaguely, he wonders whether or not they’ve run out the danishes Petra always ordered. She always liked the strawberry ones best.

Quickly, Levi goes around the corner, almost bumping into somebody else because of his sharp turn. He hastily mumbles a half-assed apology, not bothering to stop and check to see if the person is alright. As he walks down the streets, he curses himself. There isn’t any space in this city where he can’t find a trace of Petra. He can see the ghost of her in the corner bookstore, the only one they ever bothered to visit because it didn’t reek of Starbucks and suburban mothers wearing too much perfume. Beyond that is a pet store, one that Petra would always drag Levi into even though he never wanted to have pets. She always looked so giddy petting the kittens, letting them climb all over her lap, that Levi almost changed his mind over half a dozen times. Levi walks faster, trying to get far enough away from the memory of her, but there’s always something - a restaurant, a quaint antique store, a grocery store - that brings his thoughts back to her.

It doesn’t surprise Levi, then, when he emerges from a flower shop he had absentmindedly stumbled into. In his hand, he clutches a bouquet of flowers. Magnolias. He has half a mind to run back in the store to return them, but he can’t bear the thought of explaining himself. He finds himself wandering the streets with the bouquet in hand, the water dripping from the bouquet onto the street where it leaves a trail of where he’s been.

Levi thought he would be used to people leaving. It feels as though that’s all anyone ever does anymore. They might stay for a little while, some longer than others, but they all leave in the end. Isn’t that why he’s alone now? First, his mother. Some would say it was his father that left first, a deadbeat dad who left before Levi was even born, but his mother was the first one who mattered. Then it was Farlan and Isabel. Next, it was Erwin. Then it was Hanji. Some of them left because they had no other choice. Others left for better opportunities. And now it’s Petra who’s gone just when Levi had started to believe that she would be the one who would stay behind.

You were the one that left. You chose to leave .

Levi stubbornly refuses to believe the words that Mike had said earlier this morning. True. he had been the one to pack his bags and leave first, but Petra was going to leave him anyway. It’s not as if he had a choice. She would have said goodbye to him eventually.

We’ll make it work. It’ll all work out, Levi .

He remembers her invitation to join her across the ocean, one that he had ignored. Why couldn’t he take her hand that time and agree to come with her? It’s not as if she had been adamant about going alone. It’s not as if she had wanted to leave him behind. He had somehow convinced himself this was the case, but now he realizes it was because he had wanted to stay behind. Why, though?

Levi stops in his tracks, looking to his left. He sighs when he sees the gates to the cemetery. Of course, he thinks. Of course, I couldn’t leave. I could never leave.  

He doesn’t have to search for his mother’s grave. He knows the path to it by heart. Even as he walks there, his head is filled with thoughts of Petra, her broken expression when he walked through the door. He was cruel enough not to even give her a final glance as he left even though he so desperately wanted not to. He can’t blame her for not looking back at him when he had called her name through the airport.

His mother’s grave sits on the top of a small hill, one that gives him a half-decent view of the city. Farlan’s and Isabel’s headstones are nearby. Levi can find theirs almost as easily as his mother's. He’s been here far too often.

With a sign, Levi lays the flowers on top of his mother’s grave. The words are so faded that they’re getting difficult to read. Kuchel Ackerman. Loving mother. He reaches out to trace them, the letters rough underneath his finger. He looks at his finger when he pulls it away, grimacing at the dirt on his skin.

Levi takes a tissue from his pocket and wipes away the grime, his mind drifting towards Petra once more. He wonders if she likes it in Manchester, if it’s cold there, if she misses him. He wonders if she’s changed in the few days since she’s left, if she’s still wearing her favorite coat to keep warm, if she’s cut her hair yet. He wonders if she’s found a favorite restaurant already, if she misses the food here, if she misses eating with someone.

He finds himself with his phone pressed against his ear, the dull beep bleating as he waits for someone to pick up. He doesn’t have to check his screen to know he’s calling Petra. He should probably hang up now and make her believe it was just a mistake, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’d rather have her ignore his call. It would make him feel more justified in staying behind. After a while, he’s convinced that Petra has chosen to ignore his call and is letting it go to voicemail, but he’s surprised when she picks up.

“Levi?” Her voice sounds so close that Levi can almost imagine her next to him. He closes his eyes when he listens to her speak, wishing that she were here. “Levi, are you alright?”

No. I’m empty without you, Levi wants to reply. He wants to explain himself, wants to tell her everything that has happened since she’s left, wants to ask her to wait for him, but he knows it’s selfish. It’s cruel after everything he’s already done. So he stays there a moment, letting the silence linger between them, before finally hanging up. There are things that Levi still wants to say to her, things he needs to say, but they aren’t things that can be said over the phone.

Levi pockets the phone and turns back towards his mother’s grave. The corner of his mouth quirks upward. His breath is shaky, but he’s never been one to cry. “Hey, mom,” Levi says, voice trembling. His hand rests gently on his mother’s headstone. “I have to leave. But you understand why, right?”

A gentle breeze brushes past him just then, caressing his face tenderly, and Levi takes this as a sign. It’s a sign for him to move on.

------

He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going. He has a vague idea. He knows he probably should have planned for this better. Only someone crazy would fly across the ocean in search of someone, someone that might not want to see him at all, but it will be fine. It’ll all work out in the end, Levi thinks.

He sits back in his chair, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible. The seat is cramped and small, and it seems Levi will be unable to extend his legs completely despite not being a large man to begin with. As he’s busy adjusting his seat, a flight attendant walks by, checking on all the passengers.

“Are you alright, sir?” the flight attendant asks. He gestures towards the cart he’s pushing around filled with snacks and refreshments. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“No, don’t worry,” Levi says with a shake of his head. The flight attendant is already nodding and walking away, getting ready to help any other passengers that might require his assistance. Still, Levi speaks anyway, the words needing to be said as he sinks down into his seat. “I’m fine.”

#snk #rivetra #levi ackerman #petra ral #modern au #can you please stay with me series #my rivetra loving ass rly almost tagged this as petra ackerman

[heres-harleyyy]

Redemption Ch.2

Pairing - Natasha x reader (F)

A/N - thank you so much for the positive response to chapter one:)

Summary - this is the story of how you met the infamous Black widow, but you know her as Natasha. Meeting by pure chance thanks to your ability to teleport, a friendship blooms and turns into something more.

Warnings - none that I'm aware of.

.Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter six // Chapter seven // Chapter Eight //

------

You'd been with Natalia for little over half an hour before the questions started. She took you into a room located a few doors down from what she told you was the sleeping quarter's.

"So you've never travelled like this before no?" She askes sitting down in front of the door, motioning you to sit down on the floor as well.

"No never. I don't even know how it's possible," you reply looking at your feet not really knowing what to say. You looked at her sitting on the floor, she looked relaxed, too relaxed. "Where are we?"

"Russa," she shrugged, you snorted rolling your eyes, she smiled at your reaction.

"Yeah I guess that with the whole you speaking Russian to me," you sigh sliding down the wall opposite her, eyes glued on you, her face was still unreadable. "What is this place?"

"A closet." She replies, causing you to let out a frustrated groan.

"Helpful!" You bring your knees up to your chest and let your head fall back and stare at the roof, wondering how to get a straight answer out of this girl.

You hear her chuckle, snapping your eyes to her. She hadn't moved but she was smiling at you, the glint in her eyes reminded you of how a cat plays with its prey before devouring it.

"You should ask better questions if you want answers," she smirks her Russian accent making her words sound like a song. You can't help but narrow your eyes at her.

"Ask better questions?" You snorted, straightening your legs out and leaning forward, arms falling into your lap, "What are you some sorta spy?"

"To a degree."

"I'm sorry what?" Again she chuckles.

"You've never question anyone before have you?" Scrunching your face up in confusion as she smirked slowly leaning forward.

"Why would I need to question someone? I'm only ten years old!" You exclaimed, " wait you can't be older than me, how old are you?"

"We are the same age." She replies, her face becomes a neutral mask again, she pulls her legs close to her body. Suddenly something clicks into place. The beds, the Russian, the not answering questions.

"Are you trapped here?" You finally ask, searching in her eyes for a sign. Your school had done some assemblies over kidnapping and the whole stranger danger. She didn't look at you or answer, she just shifted slightly out of discomfort. "Natalia, please..."

Reluctantly she looked up at you, her emerald eyes threatening to spill tears, full of an emotion you couldn't read.

"You will be too if you don't leave." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. You don't know why but you shuffled over to her and sat next to her, slowly placing an arm around her. She watched you and looked at you as if you had grown a second head, body tensing up. "What are you doing?" She whispered.

"Giving you a hug. I'm not gonna leave here." You whisper back. Her eyes bore into yours, curiosity filling her, slowly she relaxed into you.

"You are a strange person, Y/N." She sighs, looking down at her hands. It is only then you see her red swollen knuckles littered with small cuts. "You should go, this place will break you."

"What is this place?" You ask again, bearly louder than a whisper. She slowly looks up at you with a sad expression.

"A place of death."

Before you could ask her what she meant. The sound of doors slamming open made you jump. Followed by the sound of multiple footsteps, reminding you of the rush of kids at recess. Natalia shot up, panic written across her face.

"You need to leave now!" She grabs the door handle to keep it from moving.

"What why?" You clamber to your feet reaching out for her.

"There's no time for questions, leave now others you will die." She barks looking at you her face again devoid of emotion but her eyes where pleading with you to listen.

"Okay," you sigh nodding. She gave you a small grateful smile, "but I'll come back. In two days in here same time okay?"

"Yeah okay just go now!" She says quickly before slipping out the door. You felt sad to see her go but you know you'll see her again. Closing your eyes you picture your bedroom imagining you're inside it, wanting to be there. You slowly feel a warm sensation grow from within you. The sound of doors slamming open and thick Russian accent nearly breaks your concentration but just as quickly as you heard them... they disappeared. You open your eyes to find yourself back in your room, letting out a sigh you couldn't help but let out a small giggle and smile.

Things after that became more of a routine. Every few days you and Natalia would meet in the small closet and talk. You'd tell her about your boring everyday life and she'd listen to you as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. She, in turn, told you little of what happened in the walls outside the closet, only she was a ballet dancer for the Red Room. You'd looked around in for anything about a Red Room but you never found anything you even asked Mrs Wells but she too said shed she'd never heard of it. Natalia would never tell you anything more, so in turn, you suggested she teach you Russian which you could tell she loved.

"You know what tomorrow is don't you?" You said looking up at Natalia, your head in her lap, smiling like a madwoman. She chuckles looking down at you opening another packet of M&M you'd brought with you.

"No tsvetok what is it?" She grins popping some of the candy in her mouth before dropping two in your own.

"Tomorrow marks five years of us meeting." She let out a laugh throwing her head back slightly, before smiling down at you.

"That is true." She sighs contently fishing for more m&ms out the small bag.

"I was thinking, rather than spend our day in here like always," you began looking up at her, she stops what she's doing looking down at you raising a crimson brow, "maybe you'd like to come with me tomorrow?"

She sighs placing the candy down on the floor before shifting back slightly, you knew that meant she wanted you to sit up and you did. Giving her a small pleading smile, she pulled her legs back in towards her before taking your hand in hers.

"Y/N you know I'd love too," she starts before trailing off, squeezing your hand.

"But.." you sighed giving her a sad smile. She returns it.

"You know I can't." You pull your hand out of hers, she winced, before you stand up and begin to walk around in the little space there was.

"Come on krasnyy, please just for a few hours!" You pleaded looking down at her giving her your best puppy dog eyes. She sighed looking down, muttering a few curse words under her breath before standing and walking over to you.

"Fine, only for two hours any longer and we'd be pushing it." She says reaching for your hand again. You smiled and pulled her towards you into a hug. She tensed before relaxing letting out a small giggle.

"Yes! You're gonna love it, what time will I come and get you?" You say as you pull back from her, she again giggles at your excitement.

"Three pm, I have the dance graduation tomorrow morning." She replies taking both your hands in hers.

"Are you ever gonna let me see you dance one of these days?" You giggle, narrowing your eyes at her. Over the past five years, youd learn to read her pretty damn well and soon clicked on to the fact that 'dancing' was just a code word for something else. What that was you weren't sure and Natalia was sure as hell make sure you never found out.

"Why don't we just dance now," Natalia laughed before letting your hands go and placing her arms around your neck, you place hands on her hips and smile as you slowly begin to move together.

"You know that's not what I meant." You smirk as she pulled you closer resting her head on your shoulder.

"I know," she sighed. Yous stayed like that for a while slowly moving in sync with each other, slowly Natalia pulled back, emerald eyes bearing into Y/E/C. Just as slowly you both start to move closer to each other, you close your eyes and close the distance. Your lips met hers, a sense of peace and happiness wash over both of you. You felt her strong arms pull you closer.

"chto zdes' proiskhodit?" A voice booms as the door slams open two large men with guns pointed at the two of you.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romonova #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #queer fic #marvel fic

[cuteandtwisted]

Hey, wiss, is there anything you can share avout the next bfyt chapter??? I miss them 💛😭

(heii 💛 here’s a snippet of these 2 idiots)

It’s almost time. They have an hour at most. Isak can tell because the sunlight is cutting through the floating shelf holding the most valuable thing in this room: his collection of pre-socratic classics.

He feels Even shift behind him then – his weight alone filling Isak with both comfort and dread – as though he’s heard Isak’s thought and taken offense in it. His arms curl around Isak’s stomach and hold him tighter, his breath gets even closer.

Even is spooning him. They’re in Isak’s new bed and it’s past noon. It’s almost time for Even to leave.

Fine. Maybe second most valuable.

The inane thought makes Isak curl around himself further, the fluttering taking over his insides and turning him into incomprehensible mush, a jumble of contradicting emotions and embarrassing sounds he refuses to let out (so they just erupt inwards instead, setting butterflies inside of him.)

It’s embarrassing. Lying like this in his own bed with his back turned to Even because he can’t bear to look at him after what they did, after what they’ve spent two days doing, holed up in his new apartment like junkies whose drug of choice just so happens to be one another.  

My drug of choice.

Isak shuts his eyes tighter. It’s almost time. Even is leaving soon to catch his train back to Oslo and Isak can’t bring himself to wake up and face him. He can’t bring himself to look into Even’s eyes after all that and walk him to the train station. He doesn’t want to. So he lies there and hopes Even will tire of waiting for him to come to and just pack up and leave. Isak just plays dead.

“I miss you already,” Even says into his shoulder blade.

Isak’s chest feels tighter. And it’s embarrassing how much it physically hurts, how fast his heart beats, how twisted his insides feel. It’s embarrassing how he can’t bear thinking of lying in this same bed alone after Even leaves, how he wishes he could bottle Even’s scent and spray it all over his bedsheets to make this feeling last longer, this insane feeling of comfort, and ease, and warmth, and belonging.

Play dead. Just play dead.

Even doesn’t seem to buy into Isak’s act, but he doesn’t seem offended by his little performance either. It’s as though he’s learned to decode Isak’s antithetical actions and built a compiler to parse through his language and attach true meaning to his doings. It’s as though, somewhere along the way, Even has learned that when Isak turns his back to him and pretends to be asleep, it’s because he’s feeling too vulnerable and raw to do anything but.

Isak keeps his eyes closed and focuses on controlling his breathing and inhaling deep and slow.

Even’s lips brush against the skin on his neck then, right behind his ear and beside his jaw, right where Isak feels the most. Even doesn’t suck or bite or lick or attempt to channel any of the messiness they’ve been indulging these past couple of days. He just slowly kisses his neck with his full lips, his full plump lips that leave Isak’s head spinning for days at a time from memory alone. It takes everything not to moan right then and there.

Even kisses his neck again, this time tightening his grip around his waist, spooning him closer to his chest, the roughness and despair of his hold contrasting with the softness of his kisses – mere little pecks, slow and unrelenting, wet and agonizing. It all drives Isak into a frenzy, the slowness, the tenderness, the gentleness, making his toes curl, his back arch, his lips part He’s flushed all over. He knows he is. His ears are probably red.  

“I know you’re awake,” Even whispers right below his ear, before kissing the skin there, again and again.

No shit. Isak wants to reply. His breathing is hurried and ragged and he’s writhing in Even’s arms. Of course he’s awake. But his stubbornness won’t let him give in. He’s given in and up plenty these past couple of days. If Even needs a visual and verbal reminder of how much power he has over Isak, he can just revisit his own memories. Surely, he must remember how embarrassing Isak acted last night. Surely, he must remember what Isak said to him before leaving for Trondheim, the night they stood and stared at the moon and both lost their minds.

“You’re shaking,” Even says and Isak whimpers in his head. It’s true. He’s shaking.

After two days of being lost in each other, Even kissing his neck still makes him tremble.

What was the word that Even used again? Insatiable. Isak is insatiable, as though his body has decided to make up for lost time and indulge every single touch it can get. His body has a mind of its own, and it’s starting to react to Even’s kisses with more than just tremors.

Even notices.

“Want me to-”

“No!” Isak finally mouths.

No, he doesn’t want Even to put his hands on him. Not right now. It’s absurd but he doesn’t want to sully this. It’s too pure. He wants to keep this way.

“Okay,” Even says, not even reacting to the fact that Isak has given in and stopped pretending to be asleep.

He doesn’t even make fun of him for shaking like some over-sensitive thirteen year old. He just resumes kissing him and holding him.

Even holds him until he stops shaking.

.

“I have to go,” Even says from the edge of the bed. He’s sitting up, putting on what Isak guesses are socks.

“Okay.”

“My train is in an hour.”

“Well, then go,” Isak replies, his back still turned.

It feels cruel given the happiness that Even brought him this blissful weekend. It feels cruel but he can’t help it. He doesn’t trust himself not to say those stupid meaningless words again.

“You’re not coming?” Even sounds hurt, but only a little. What’s the saying? Disappointed but not surprised.

“Unless you need directions, I don’t see why I should.”

Fuck you, Isak. Just fuck you.

“Okay,” Even mumbles after a long pause. “As you like.”

But it doesn’t sound passive aggressive. Even just resigns to it like he doesn’t have the mental or emotional bandwidth to get Isak to budge.

“Cool.”

“Yeah. I’m just gonna get ready then.”

Isak hates the way the mattress feels under him when Even gets on his feet. He absolutely hates it. He feels sick thinking about how empty he’s going to feel when Even leaves. He feels sick.

“Even, wait.” He hears himself say, finally leaving his fetal position behind and half-sitting on his stupid bed.

“Yes?” Even turns around immediately, his blue eyes shining with something one might call hope. It takes Isak’s breath away and only leaves him with one stupid thought roaming his paused brain.

Definitely him. The most valuable thing in my room is him.

“Uh, just make sure to get the safety lock before you leave so that the door locks behind you.”

Fuck you, Isak. Fuck you.

Even’s eyes lose the sparkle.

“Okay.”

.

Even doesn’t leave right away. Isak can hear him walking around his miserable apartment. He hears him take a shower, fantasizing about how it would feel to be with him in there. He hears random shuffling that he assumes is Even packing. He hears the water running in the kitchen, the toilet flushing, light footsteps turning into louder ones signaling that Even has put on his shoes. Isak just lies there in his bed and listens with his heart thudding in his chest, hoping he won’t regret this too much.

“Okay, I’m off,” he hears Even say in the distance, probably by the front door.

Isak doesn’t respond.

The door unlocks a moment later, and then it closes not too long after that.

The silence is crushing.

.

He nearly trips over his own feet trying to leave his bed, his legs still wobbly from all the kissing and activities from the night before. For a moment, he thinks he’ll find Even by the door still, that he only pretended to close the door behind himself to get Isak to finally come out of his room. But Even is no longer there.

His scent lingers.

Isak walks to the kitchen and realizes dumbly that Even did his dishes.

Who does this? Isak dismisses him in the harshest of ways and Even goes and does his dishes. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ Isak is suddenly angry.

But he’s not really. How could he be? He spots a note sitting atop folded laundry on the dining table.

It takes him a second to realize that’s not laundry. Those are four of Even’s shirts. The ones Isak used to steal all the time. Even left them on his kitchen table.

`i stole some of urs during ur sleeping beauty act. thought u’d want some of mine (in case u miss the chemicals or whatever)’

`C43H64N12O12S2 u :)`

Isak looks at the chemical formula and his heart begins to hammer in his chest again. He doesn’t know what to focus on, the fact that Even got the formula for oxytocin wrong or that this cryptic message is some sort of declaration. Oxytocin, the “love chemical”.

It makes his throat tighten. Even has been nothing but lovely all weekend and Isak can’t get over the fact that he might have said some embarrassing things during sex again. What an idiot.

.

Isak leaves his apartment with shoes but not socks. He sprints down the stairs and runs in the direction of the train station in shorts and one of Even’s shirts.

He doesn’t really have a plan. He just runs. He shuts his brain off and runs.

.

“What exactly are you doing?” Even asks, but he doesn’t look too surprised. He’s smiling and carrying his enormous backpack over one shoulder.

Isak will never understand why he won’t put on both straps. ‘It’s just cooler this way’ ‘are you twelve’ ‘a twelve year old wouldn’t do what I just did to you an hour ago’ ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’ laughter, fake outrage, happiness, home.

Isak feels sick. He hunches over to hold his knees. He’s flushed and out of breath.

“Did you leave your phone charger in my bag?” Even asks, amused and smug. “Is that why you ran all the way here after being in a coma all morning?”

“Fuck you,” Isak mutters, still out of breath, but it’s playful.

“You did already. Twice, if I remember correctly.”

Isak groans, feeling suddenly shy and dizzy. He looks up and finds Even beaming at him. He looks away, suddenly questioning running all the way here.

“Do you have something to pick up near the train station? You mentioned a book you really need to buy. I saw a bookstore on the way.”

Even. Sweet, wonderful Even, who finds him excuses for tagging along, to make this less painful and embarrassing.

“Yeah,” Isak takes the stupid bait. “Yeah, I need to get that book.”

“Cool. You can walk with me then.”

“Yeah.”

They walk, Isak in his sleeping outfit, mortified and flushed from ear to ear, and Even smiling brighter than the sun by his side.

“You shouldn’t have done my dishes.” Isak remembers.

“You did mine when I was feeling like shit. You cleaned and did laundry too.”  

“It’s not the same thing.”

“It is, though,” says Even. “Plus, I used most of those things trying to make us something to eat last night. So it’s no big deal. It’s just dishes.”

Isak feels like a sullen child that’s just gotten chastised. He doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t say anything.

They walk, the two of them, Isak and Even roaming the streets of Trondheim. Isak knows that from now on, the city will be divided into two: streets he walked through with Even and streets he didn’t.

He looks at Even and finds him smiling, content. He hopes he feels this way all the time. When they take a random turn left, Isak realizes that either Even is planning on missing his train or it’s departing a bit later than what he let on.

“My train is in an hour. I lied,” Even confesses like he’s read Isak’s thoughts.

“Why?”

“Thought you might chase after me,” he says with a smile. Isak blushes and frowns.

“I did not chase after you.”

“You just ran in your underwear. I know.” Even laughs and Isak doesn’t have the heart to resent him.

He did run after him in his underwear. It’s true.

“Whatever.” He huffs.

They meander through the streets side by side, until Even reaches for his hand and clasps it in his own, making Isak gasp out loud.

No one knows who we are here. It’s okay.

“My shoulder hurts a bit because of my bag.” Even clears his throat, looking ahead as if addressing someone else. “If you hold my arm, it could restore the, uh, the balance.”

Isak would snort out loud if he wasn’t smoldering inside from the hand-holding.

“The balance,” Isak echoes.

“Yeah, you know. Like gravity. Like if I have two things pulling both my shoulders down, it’s better. Hurts less,” Even blabbers.

It’s almost endearing.

“Gravity,” Isak repeats again.

“I mean you know.” Even is blushing. It’s quite a sight. It makes Isak smile.

Or you could just put on both straps, you know.

Isak doesn’t say anything. And after they cross the next street, he links their fingers together, looking away when Even gasps.

“For gravity,” Isak says. “You know.”

“For gravity,” Even repeats.

“Yeah, for your shoulder.”

Isak cracks a smile as he says it, because they’re both idiots.

“We’re so fucking annoying,” Even laments out loud, breaking character a little. He’s smiling too.

“Talk about yourself.”

Isak isn’t sure who kisses the other first. They both move in unison, as though cued in. It feels like coming home. 

It must be quite a sight. Isak and Even kissing in the middle of the street. Even throwing his bag on the floor so he can wrap his arms around Isak’s back. Isak smiling into the goddamn kiss in his boxers with his fingers in Even’s hair in the middle of the day.

For gravity.

Isak has a million things to say, a million questions to ask. Am I gonna see you again? I hate that we never talk. This weekend made me happier than I’ve been in months. Is Sonja still a thing? Did you only come visit because you knew I would fucking break and cry the moment you touch me? Did you come visit because you had to feed this weird bond we have? Why did you come? Did you mean what you said in your note? Did you mess up the formula for Oxytocin on purpose? Why didn’t you say anything back the night I said those words? Why didn’t you run after me in your underwear? Why-

Even pecks him one more time.

“See you soon, Isak.”

“See you.”

.

Isak spends his nights in Even’s shirts.

yearning.

#bfyt #anon #isak x even #skam fic #i've been reading so much lately and it usually makes me want to write so badly so here u go #it's june so of course i miss them so much i just #skam #<333

[paperpenz]

[ Moments in Time ]

A short story I did back when I took creative writing classes. I’ve edited and made some minor changes since then.

Hope yall enjoy this small read !

-

Songs to listen to as you read:

1.  데려가줘 | TAKE ME by GIFT

2. Someday, The Boy by Kim Feel

3. Still Fighting It by Lee Chan Sol

-

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The gentle beating of the heart monitor echoed through my cells and bones, as my consciousness slowly seeped back in, causing me to stir awake.

My eyelids, heavy with drugs, fluttered open as the constant shuffling of feet filled the large white room, my home for the past 3 years. The smell of alcohol and disinfectant still dancing around my nose like bees in spring, groggy, I felt a weight on my arm. Staring down at the white bandages wrapped neatly around my arm, confusion filled me. Then, slowly images filled my mind …

A little boy’s cry of dismay…

A balloon snagged on a tree trunk…

My hand, inching towards the balloon…

A heart-wrenching snap beneath me…

A sharp pain…

Blackness

 “I see that you’re awake now.” A calm and deep voice broke through my thoughts.

 “You had a bad fall. Thankfully, you didn’t sustain any major injuries except for a broken arm, which would heal soon enough, if you don’t strain it too much. Now Grace, mind explaining to me how you, a perfectly sensible soon-to-be 18-year-old young lady, would be doing on a tree?” His calm voice now laced with worry and concern.

 “I wanted to help the poor boy retrieve his balloon?” I smiled sheepishly at the man in white –Dr Raymond, Ray for short chided.

 “You need to be more careful Grace. You can’t afford to injure yourself.” He said while jotting down the readings of different monitors and scribbled them down, all part of the routine.

 “Looks like your readings are normal. I’ll come back later in the evening to check on you again. Please stay out of trouble and within the hospital vicinity.”

I simply nodded, but we both know that it’s simply not possible.

The moment his footsteps were out of hearing range, I slipped on my slippers, slowly draped my cardigan over my shoulders, grabbed a pen and a piece of paper hidden under my pillow and snuck out to a straight cemented path behind the hospital. It led to a single willow tree perched on top of a small hill. Tugging my cardigan tighter around me as the wind kissed my already rosy cheeks, I hastened my pace along the path I knew all too well before they realised I was missing.

Rumour had it that before the hospital was built; a young lady born into a rich family was to be wed to a suitor of her father’s choice. However, the young lady already had someone in her heart, a young lad, born to serve her family. They were madly in love but not only did her father disapprove of their relationship, but the young lad was called away to serve their nation in times of war. Heart-broken, they pledged their love under the tree and the young lad swore to return for her. Unfortunately, fate wasn’t kind towards them. The young lad had perished during battle and when the young lady heard the news, she was grief-stricken. She made her way back to the old tree where they once pledged their love and decided to join him in the afterlife, for life without the young lad was already a death sentence. Ever since then, people claimed that they would sometimes hear soft wails in the middle of the day… Or so they said.

I’ve always had a thing for tragic love stories; maybe that’s why I was attracted to this looming, hollow, arched tree that I now call Fingers –due to her overhanging, tear-drop like leaves, gracefully dancing along with the wind. Her arched branches tower over me, resembling a mother’s hand –protecting me from the harshness of the sun. With her I felt safe, she was my refuge. I would write to her each day, leaving my notes in her hollow trunk –the perfect hiding place.

However, 2 years ago my notes were replaced with an unfamiliar one –a reply. Clearly somebody had found my notes and not only decided to read it, but to respond to it and even had the audacity to sign off. Anger and embarrassment stirred within me, I felt exposed, naked but above all curious. Out of curiosity, I decided to respond to this so-called “J”.

Eventually, exchanging letters became our way of communicating.

He –yes, I managed to establish that “J” was a ‘he’, understood me in a way nobody could. We talked about all sorts of things, from his noisy drummer neighbour, Mark, to picturing the perfect vacation, to even describing how our days went.

The only thing is; he doesn’t know that I’m a girl with an expiry date. He thinks, or how I led him to think that “Grace” is an average soon-to-be 18-year-old girl. And I intend to keep it as such.

Slouching by her slender trunk, Finger’s leaves rustled as I jotted down my ‘little adventure”. Ever since we exchanged our letters, it became my way of picturing life as a normal teenager, doing what every other girl should be doing. It helped me forget that I’m not what people considered to be ‘normal’.

“Today, I saved a little boy’s balloon that was stuck on a tree branch. The poor boy cried really badly, I felt bad for him and decided to retrieve it. Although I can’t say that I left unscathed. I broke my arm in the process, but thankfully it wasn’t my dominant hand. School was boring, as usual, the same old class, teachers and tests. Hopefully school has been better for you.

-G”

But of course, “going to school, taking tests and complaining about teachers” were only half-truths. Signing off, I dropped my note into Finger’s hollow trunk and headed back.

 “You look better than when I first saw you earlier in the day. Something interesting happened that you would like to share with your Doctor-in-charge?” Dr Ray asked playfully. Dr Ray found out about “J” by accident one day, but never once did he mention “J” to anyone else.

 “Has it got to do with that secret lover of yours?”

 “Firstly, yes. And secondly, “J” isn’t my lover of any sort. He’s just a good friend that I have never formally met and besides he thinks I’m a normal girl enjoying her life.”

 “Be careful, for all you know he might be just some creep preying on unsuspecting young girls such as yourself.”

 “Yes, ‘mum’.” Rolling my eyes at his comment.

 “I know “J” isn’t some sort of creep, even if he were to ask to meet up, I don’t think I have the courage to let him see me –the real me, ‘the girl who probably won’t be able to live past-’”

 “What’s wrong?” I asked upon seeing Dr Ray’s brows frowned in confusion.

 “Well, this can’t be right” The way Dr Ray rubbed his chin unleashed waves of uneasiness in my heart. “It’s probably nothing, don’t worry about it and get a good night’s rest. I’ll check up on you tomorrow morning.” Before I could ask any further, he disappeared into the never-ending corridors, leaving me with my raging thoughts.

It’s probably nothing like he said; you’re overthinking again Grace. I assured myself before dozing off to the endless possibilities of becoming healthy once more.

Or so I hoped…

Sitting under Fingers luscious thick leaves, my hands tightly clutched “J”’s letter unable to process what Dr Ray had just explained to me.

What am I going to tell “J”? I can’t simply tell him, “Oh hey just so you know everything about me attending school was a big fat lie and I won’t be able to write anymore, cause apparently my time got cut short. Looks like I won’t even make it past to see my 18th birthday since the cancer cells are growing at a ridiculously fast pace. Thanks for everything up till now’.

I simply can’t tell him that. What would he think of me?

Tears clouded my eyes when I remembered the piece of paper that was now crumbled in my hand.

“On behalf of the boy that you risked your arm for, I thank you. No really, you are a hero.

School’s been the same old cycle, you wake up, go to school, hear teachers preach about their subjects and soon you’re home again doing the same old homework. Thankfully, I had good old Mark and his drums to accompany me through the night; I swear I could hear him even in my dreams. Do you think they’ll notice if he goes missing?

On another note, I respect not knowing each other’s identities, but I do want to meet this amazing person behind these letters if that’s okay with you.

-J”

He wants to meet me. “J” wants to actually meet me, the girl whose time got cut short. He wants to meet the “normal teenage” Grace, but nothing about me is normal, especially when your due date is almost up. Why can’t I be like every other teenager? Why of all things did I contract leukaemia, why can’t it be some other curable disease? Is that too much to ask? Biting my lip, I let the tears fall.

Letting it all out sure did feel good, but the problem remains unchanged. “What am I going to tell “J”, Fingers? Should I tell him the truth? Should I even meet him since I wouldn’t live any longer? Gosh, why is it so difficult? I guess after writing this letter, I have to say goodbye to you too huh Fingers.”

Feeling her rough woody bark under my fingertips for the last time, I began crafting my final letter.

“Mark definitely deserves the Best Neighbour Award of all time (note the sarcasm). Jokes aside, I have something to tell you. I do want to meet you, really, I do… But I’ll be going on a trip soon and I’m not sure when I’ll be leaving or when I’ll be back. Before leaving, I want to let you know that you are a special existence to me and our time writing was surreal, unfortunately, it’s time to say goodbye to those days. Thank You for everything.

-G”

Every word penned down on that piece of paper took a piece of my heart with it. I figured that this was the best decision for us, I guess mostly for me. I couldn’t bear the thought of meeting him only to leave him soon after. It’ll be too painful. I didn’t go back to see Fingers, neither did I return to see his reply.

And just like that, 2 months passed. I spent most of my time in the hospital, going through tests which honestly, I don’t see any point for, considering that I’ll be gone soon. Not seeing Fingers and not being able to write to “J” killed something inside me. I guess I was already dead before I knew it.

 “Grace, you have a visitor.”

Turning my attention away from the window, my pale blue eyes met a pair of hazel eyes that belonged to a lanky boy dressed in a plaid shirt with brown pants, and a chocolate-coloured hair that was slightly covered up by his grey beanie. “Grace, this is Jack, my younger brother.” Dr Ray introduced. “Apparently he has something that he wants to tell you; I’ll leave you two to chat. I’ll be back in the evening to check on you again.”

 “Hey”

 “Hey”

 “Well, it’s nice to finally be able to talk to you live, and not through a pen and paper, G”

That’s when it clicked. Jack is “J”. And “J” is standing in front of me. He –the boy who made me forget that I was ever sick, is standing right in front of me. He found me and he knows me –the real me.

Suddenly, I felt self-conscious, with the way his gentle eyes met mine, how his cheeks flushed to form a slight pinkish shade and the way he rubbed his neck sheepishly. While my eyes seemed hollow and cheeks drained of any sort of colour.

 “But… But how? How did you know that I was here and not someplace far away?”

 “Well, it’s sort of a long story. I knew that you’ve been living in the hospital 3 years ago since I’m a frequent here, poor immune system and all that. You intrigued me, a girl that found out she contracted leukaemia 3 years ago was filled with so much spirit and life. It was pure coincidence that I discovered the notes that you left inside Finger’s trunk, I also figured you didn’t want me to know about the whole hospital thing, so I kinda left it as that. After reading your letter, I knew something was up and I may or may not have asked my brother subtly about your condition. And I may or may not have also begged him to let me finally meet you.” He grinned, his cheeks forming a small dimple.

Having him by my side was no easy decision; but somehow, he managed to convince me. Since then he visited me each day without fail, telling me stories of his hopes and dreams, just like he did in those letters. He silently supported me, giving my hand a little squeeze each time I went through the tests.

When I was bored of being cooped up in the room, we would sneak out of the room to race each other to the hill, lying on the grassy patch, gazing at the endless array of stars in the night sky. Eventually, my body became too weak and I no longer had the energy to walk, let alone stand. Even so, Jack still stayed beside me.

Whenever the pain felt unbearable, he would hold me close, patting my back as he whispered words of assurance and comfort. The room was always filled with life and laughter. Every moment spent with him was truly more than I could ever ask for. I loved him wholeheartedly and I knew that Jack did too.

Soon, my time was coming to an end and we both knew it.

 “Jack, I have a request. I want to see Fingers one last time.”

Pushing my wheelchair up the hill was no easy feat but he still did it nonetheless. Waves of nostalgia consumed me, memories of us writing to each other were now far behind us. Leaning against his shoulder, I felt safe and protected like I once did. His fingers interlaced with mine, like two fitted pieces of a puzzle –his hands fitted to mine. Breathing in the cool evening breeze, we sat in silence, but our thoughts roared like lions.

Taking one last glimpse of the fiery sun slipping beneath the clouds, I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the world in the palm of my hand, and the earth beneath me. Memories of the days spent together replayed in my head.

Leaning on his shoulder, I felt safe. 

I whispered a word of thanks before drifting off into an endless dream, awaiting the day where we would share more moments in time together. And maybe this time, I would be normal once more.

-

I left the ending open-ended so it’s up to yall to guess what happens to her in the end. Does she simply fall asleep? Or has she passed on? The ending is up to your very own interpretation!

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this small read :)

#short story #romance #creative writing

[siyeonrk]

MGA SEASON FIVE !      EP. 2 → PART ONE: MAIN SKILL CHALLENGE       ( SINGING ONE 0:59 - 2:59 )

she’s never felt as nervous as sitting amongst so many talented people waiting for each name to be called. for a moment, she’s bitter that her family name hadn’t been ahn or bae so the metaphorical band-aid could be ripped off early, but at least she isn’t yoon siyeon. a silver lining amongst her sweaty palms and trembling fingers, perhaps, but it isn’t enough, especially as they reach the nohs and she knows park must be next.

there’s no doubt in her mind that they’ll skip straight past her name. after all, hadn’t it been a miracle that she’d gotten here in the first place? being part of the top hundred ( for whatever reason ) had already been barely believable, but getting any further than this— isn’t it impossible? but then they skip straight past jeno and siyeon’s eyes widen and her jaw drops as she looks over at him, unsure how to read his expression. if they eliminated jeno, who undeniably brought far more to the competition than she did, there’s no way— but she does and she feels like her heart stops, her breath caught in her throat. 

and then the guilt settles in. not just for jeno, but for all the contestants who were easily more talented than her, more passionate, more desperate for this chance. she’s so grateful, of course, and still in shock long after the recording ends and they’re all sent home, but she can’t help the lingering thoughts that there are people who felt like this was their last chance or worse, their only chance, that she has taken the place of. 

“they chose you for a reason. they didn’t choose them for a reason. it might not make a lot of sense to you why, but they know what they’re doing.” her grandmother reassures her when they watch the episode together on the following saturday. “you worked hard, siyeonie. be proud of yourself.” 

she finally decides on a song for the next round on sunday morning. spending the last few days testing out different tracks from her endless spotify playlists, she’d become so overwhelmed to the point where she almost resorted to picking one from a hat, but the idea alone makes her grimace. putting her position in the show in the hands of fate seems like a risky move; siyeon’s never had much faith in letting things happen as the world intends. if you want something, you work for it, you don’t wait for it to fall into your lap, after all. 

it’s still a slower, softer song like the tracks she’s performed before. this time, however, it’s a piano ballad entirely in english. whether or not the choice to sing in a foreign language will backfire on her she doesn’t know, though she can’t imagine it would. even if they can’t understand the words, hopefully the emotion she intends to lace into her voice will be enough to move those watching regardless. 

her mirror is her audience for the following few days. at first, seeing her own expressions reflected back to her makes her cheeks flush to match her vibrant hair, but eventually, she grows used to the lines on her forehead as she puts her all into singing each word. she becomes familiar with the way her eyes delicately close towards the end of the pre-chorus, with the way her heart hammers in her chest as she belts out the outro.

as the filming nears, she becomes more energised, more nervous but excited. she has a good feeling about her performance — that even if she doesn’t make it to the next round, she’ll have at least stood and given her all, given something that she’s proud of. 

when she arrives and takes her seat, flattening her dress beneath her and over her lap, the nerves ultimately begin to take control. her eagerness to perform had dwindled seeing the forty-nine chairs laid out for the other contestants, some already in their places, and the five ceo’s seats, looming over them. singing for them will get easier, she’s sure, but for now, it’s still terrifying. they’ve seen, worked with, the best of the best and here she is; not a formal singing lesson to her name, barely even a singer at all, and yet standing on stage ( in due course, anyway ) and silently begging for a chance to continue progressing through such a heated competition. 

surely, this has to be the end of her journey here, right? she closes her eyes momentarily, stares down at the floor to recompose herself. 

eventually, filming starts. 

she’s fourteenth of twenty-one singers to go up if she remembers correctly. again, comfortably in the middle, with enough people before her to psych her out, but enough after that at least she doesn’t have everyone to follow on from. ( although, on the other hand, her performance would’ve been the freshest in their mind from singers, but she figures that with all the dancers and rappers still to go after them, it won’t make any difference. ) 

“park siyeon.” her name has never sounded so unfamiliar. she almost doesn’t realise it’s her turn, almost doesn’t move to take the stage once the previous girl has taken her seat again. she tugs on the bottom of her dress as she makes her way there, stands ready in her spot with a microphone in her hand. 

before the music can start, she transports herself to her bedroom in front of the mirror. she’s just singing to herself again, to her audience of old childhood teddy bears and her grandma who thinks siyeon doesn’t know she has her ear pressed to her bedroom door. she sighs an inaudible breath out, moving the microphone to her mouth only when she’s done. 

“hello, I’m park siyeon,” she announces in a smaller voice than usual from her. usually, however, she isn’t stood before fifty-four watchful eyes and countless cameras. “I’ll be singing one by lewis capaldi.” she shuffles on her feet, waits alertly for the music to start. she only has a single note, a single second to prepare herself to sing, after all. the worst thing she could do now is miss her opening cue. 

she gave you love, but it wasn't enough you had your mind set out on other things can't sleep at night, now you're paying the price you let another come and take your place

english, having been her primary language for the better part of three of the last four years, nearly sounds more comfortable on her tongue than her native. it flows smoothly, confidence spilling out of her perfect pronunciation, syllables clear and accent distinct. she’d perhaps had preferred a tinge to her voice not so ‘posh’, but how can she have avoided picking it up at boarding school? she loved her friends back in england but she couldn’t deny that they weren’t all the stereotypical queen’s english rich kids she’d seen in movies. that was their charm, though, and now it’s her’s, her voice unique against the other contestants. she doesn’t think it’ll give her much of an edge but every little helps, right? 

the song allows her to fully experiment with runs, lines often ending in drawn-out notes that the original singer flaunts his own colour through. her voice is softer than his as she moves through the second ( but her first ) verse, but it doesn’t take long for it to pick up both in volume and power. that’s where it stands out so starkly from the songs she’d sung previously. whilst it still has its ups and downs, a ballad such as this requires her to put a little more oomph into her tone than before. instead of making her audience feel relaxed or happy, he wants them to feel her gratitude — the singer’s gratitude for the man who didn’t realise what he had until she was gone, until she met the singer. siyeon hasn’t been through anything like that before, can’t completely relate to the emotions he’s feeling, but she knows she doesn’t have to have. what’s important is that she can convey it regardless, and she thinks of other things she’s grateful for that she could have easily lost or never had. her grandmother’s thriving health now that she’s here to help around the house. this opportunity. the love her parents showed her growing up, their support with this show, with any dream she’s ever had when they could have easily demanded she followed in their footsteps, been the heir to their business that they had been for her mother’s parents. as always, her eyes flutter closed as she moves through the pre-chorus, her voice fluctuating through strong and soft as she draws from all the fluttering in her heart and the nerves in her stomach. 

you don't know what you got till it's gone know when it's right till it's wrong in search of perfect when you had it with you all along you broke her heart down with ease now I'm pickin' up every piece you must be so hard to please

she takes a deep breath as she transitions into the chorus, finally hitting — so far — the highest notes and strongest belts. for others, perhaps this would be a walk in the park, but for siyeon, it’s meticulously practised, it’s smoothly executed thanks to countless hours repeating it over and over until it had been perfect and then over and over again to make sure it’s always flawless. hard work pays off, she reminds herself. viewers don’t want to see someone who can already do everything perfectly, they want to see growth, effort, passion. or maybe she’s just telling herself that. 

throughout the week, she’d tried her to best to push away her urge and instinct to belt the final word of the chorus a little too fiercely. her fear of falling flat overwhelms her each time, so much so that sometimes she doesn’t even realise she’s done it until she’s reaching the higher notes later in the song and realises it’d all been the same power instead of allowing the end to be the true climax of the song. it takes all of her focus and that becomes easier in the comfort of her bedroom, but even as she imagines she’s still there, she isn’t and her nerves push her voice a little louder, a little harsher than it needs to be as she repeats the last word, building up to drop back down for the bridge. 

I wish I could say thank you for all the mistakes thank you for all of the pain I guess somebody else's loss is another's gain I'm saying thank you to the one who let her get away, away

finally, the small contrast in the track arrives and allows her once again to experiment a little with what her voice can do. her control isn’t anything special but it’s enough to do a couple of fancy tricks even if they could be better thought out, better performed. realistically, she should have stuck to the original, copied it perfectly so she wouldn’t embarrass herself with a potential voice break or a flat note, but there’s nothing impressive about that in her eyes, especially with a song so easy to play with. when there are so many opportunities to add your own colour, if she didn’t, she already knows they’d ask her why. she’d rather do it slightly wrong but try than disappoint by not. maybe that’s her first mistake. maybe that’s not her first mistake, but amongst many. honestly, even with her eyes having reopened during the chorus, contact made with the judges, she can’t think about anything else but getting through this in one piece. anything she’s already sung is forgotten, only what’s spilling from her lips at the time and what’s to come important to her. 

thank you to the one who caused her heart to break oh thank you for giving me a soul to save thank you to the one who let her get away

following the bridge, the song drops down to its quietest, softest tone and so does her own voice. it’d been a little too deep for her initially during practice, but by now, she’s found a happy place where she can still capture the mood of such a drastic change, yet confidently pull off the vibe the verse requires. 

it only lasts a few seconds before she immediately builds back up to the chorus, her expression, her eyes finally conveying the song’s full desperate gratitude, the immense love the singer has for the woman who has captured his heart. she wonders if she’ll ever experience love like that, like something out of a movie. she’s still young, though; she has so much more to focus on for now, like getting through to the end of this song, to hearing the last piano note echo out over the venue. 

you know I wish I could say thank you for all the mistakes thank you for all of the pain I guess somebody else's loss is another's

oh I wish I could say thank you for all the mistakes thank you for all of the pain I guess somebody else's loss is another's gain I'm saying thank you to the one who let her get away, away

she’s breathing heavily when she finally finishes, her back immediately bending into a bow. she doesn’t know how well she’s done, whether she made any glaring mistakes, but it hardly matters. if this is the end of her journey, at least she’ll be leaving with her head held high. she’s proud of the performance she gave, proud of how far she’s come already. everything now is in the hands of the ceos. all she can do now is enjoy everyone else’s performances, will her heart not to jump out her throat. again, she flattens out her dress as she takes her seat. the next performer is already taking to the stage. 

she smiles to herself. a voice echoes in her mind. “you worked hard, siyeonie. be proud of yourself.” 

I am, grandma. I am. 

#rkmga5 #rkmga5skill #* mga5! #* solo! #( wc; 2138 )

[oh-roman]

didn’t you love anything?

I.

Bill has the job no man wants. He spends most of time in the hospital waiting room these days.

.                         .                       .                         .                        .                    .

Hospitals are no place for hate, but Bill is a bit fussy at himself this particular morning—nipping at his lip and clenching his fist, all while bobbing his thigh up and down in the waiting room chair. He isn’t going to cry (he promised himself in the car), but the rate the his heart is beating, is making it nearly impossible to swallow the lump in his throat. Especially since the ER isn’t the most peaceful place in the world, surrounded in sob-stories and families saying prayers aloud. For a while, Bill keeps an open eye out for a doctor to rush in and tell him the news, but after the first 2 hours pass, his eyes close completely (partially out of sleepiness and fright that if a doctor actually did rush in like the movies, he might faint in fear that he’d hear something tragic).

Bill doesn’t immediately fall asleep. For a moment, he focuses on the closest idea to peace and somehow ends up recounting a vague memory of the time he stole flowers for her.

It was freshman year at the university and whenever Y/N got a knock on her dorm room door at six AM, she could be certain that it was none other than Bill.

“Surprise,” He motions toward the bouquet in his hands, made out of four dainty lilies tied together with a hair scrunchy at the stems. Lilies are definitely her favorite flower (and it makes her cheeks grow hot that he remembered), but these ones looked a bit worn out. She takes them anyway to be nice, but wonders where she could put them or how she could possible revive them. She mutters a thanks, before sending him a cheeky smile. “Flowers, courtesy of your my mother’s garden and scrunchy from your backpack,” Bill gave a toothy smile and a giggle tickled his throat. She rolls her eyes and thumbs over the softness of the petals. They’re actually quite beautiful (despite obviously being manhandled), she thought.

“I take it you like Care Bears?” He rocked back and forth on his heels, with hands stuffed in pockets.

“Wasn’t exactly expecting company.” Y/N smoothed her hands over the suede of her pajama shorts, decorated in a colorful, childlike pattern. The more she started at the fabric, the faster the wave of insecurity ran up her arms and soon, she was biting at the inside of her lip.

“I like them too,” He said. It came out as more of a whisper—a small token of adoration, in his case, because he did really like the shorts and if he were honest, every other article of clothing he’s ever seen her in. A crush was an understatement for the way his chest welled up and his breathing picked up for her. But then, she hadn’t responded and he felt completely stupid. “Well, I meant—“

“Thank you,” Y/N’s an asthmatic and no, it’s not comfortable, but Bill finds it absolutely adorable when he sees her chest rose and fall faster when she’s nervous. He couldn’t deny that that his breathing was becoming a danger to his body as well and suddenly, he wished he could stand there, feeling out of breath forever.

“Mr. Skarsgård,” Her lips formed around the words, as if they were foreign to her mouth. “Mr. Skarsgård...Mr. Skarsgård,” Soon, she was rambling on and on about his name in a way so eery, he practically shook himself away.

Breathing for Bill is worst when he first wakes up. So much that, Y/N is usually waiting bedside for him with an inhaler (that he’s too manly to use on his own).

The white, hospital lights are blurry for a moment and his head feels murky—like he’s drowning and can’t quite grasp the concept of exhaling, until he’s being lightly shaken awake. Then, he quickly stumbles to his feet. “Y/N,” He mutters, though it came across as more of a whine.

His breathing isn’t where it needs to be, but he settles on an uncomfortable rhythm, good enough to assure him that he’s alive and that the figure who shook him awake is not Y/N— and definitely not a woman, but a man—a doctor (presumed by his clothing)—mouthing something inaudible to Bill’s ears. It’s not until, the doctor reaches out his arm far enough to touch Bill’s shoulder, are his words coherent.

“Mr. Skarsgård?” He tilts his head to the side, hoping to get some sort of response, not necessarily wanting to hospitalize him and his fiancée. Then, Bill nods nervously, though he was moreso afraid than nervous. “I’m here to talk to you about your fiancée,”

There’s this moment when everything changes. You look back and there’s the moment before—when Y/N lifted her shirt a bit and Bill saw her tummy for the first time. The small bump that meant so much and he’d cried that night after she fell asleep, thinking of names that might fit the baby depending on it’s gender and how soft it might feel in his hands one day. He thought of how happy she made him and how much happier he’d feel after the baby’s birth. This only made him sniffle more and in the moment, he realized how long it had been since the last time he cried—the last time he felt so in love.

Then, there’s the present, where he’s hearing all the words he’s never wished of hearing.

“What’s wrong with her? Is it the asthma again? Is it hurting the baby?” He didn’t mean to stutter, but how he sounds is the farthest concern in his mind.

“The blood tests show that Y/N isn’t pregnant,” The doctor waits for a response and Bill swipes his tongue over the chapped skin of his bottom lip, before feeling a bit weak in the knees and plopping back onto the chair he’d fallen asleep in. “I understand you two were under the assumption that she was pregnant, but unfortunately pregnancy tests aren’t always as accurate as they seem.”

Bill’s thigh isn’t bobbing anymore. Instead, he’s looking for some sort of sign in the doctor’s eyes; that good news was coming. “We,” He sighs and rubs his eyes. “We never took a test, she just sorta felt it and the bump,” He sighs again, shaking his head against the swelling in his heart. Blinking keeps the tears at bay. “The bump—I felt it, our baby,”

“Well,” the doctor shiftes in his seat a little and turns toward Bill. “Sometimes a mass this size can mimick pregnancy.”

Then, Bill takes a much needed deep breath and looks away from the doctor, because surely, good news wasn’t much of a factor anymore. His leg was bouncing again and he had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from screaming, or crying, or storming out of the room. As if the swelling feeling in his chest wasn’t enough, the lump in his throat grew, the more the doctor spoke. “Bill,” He said, glancing at the papers in his hands. “It’s ovarian cancer,”

His bite loosened on his lip and suddenly, Bill found it difficult to get a grip on anything—panting with a quiver at his lip and small shakes throughout his entire body. He’s still forcing the lump in his throat down, using every bit of strength to ball his fists up. “My girl,” he mutters, furrowing his brows at the doctor. “She’s my girl,” He chokes, tilting his head to side slightly and losing complete grip of the wall he’d built up in his mind. “Mine—she’s my girl,” Losing the fight against his stubbornness, he fell forward and rested his elbows on his knees, starring ahead, but not focusing on anything in particular.

He wound up sitting in that position for a long while, feeling himself shake with every sob; replaying moments from when Y/N told him things and he didn’t listen. He should’ve known—should’ve taken her to the doctor the first time she complained--shouldn’t have brushed it off. Thought it was just a stomach ache or maybe she had cramps—thought maybe she was about to start her period. God, she was always in so much pain during that time of the month, even had to take off work for a week once a month.

“Some women just have it harder than others, sweetheart,” Bill whispers, snuggling her close and thumbing soft circles on her hip in his position as the big spoon. Peppering kisses on her ear and shoulder when she whimpers.

Bill hears a soft shuffle next to him, but doesn’t bother to lift his head.

“She needs you,” the doctor muttered, patting Bill on the shoulder assuringly; the sound of his footsteps growing farther away.

Bill doesn’t say it aloud, but he silently agrees with the doctor. She needs him and he hopes there won’t ever be a day where she doesn’t. He’s proper fallen for her so many times that he admits he’d do anything—anything at all—to make sure she’s alright. To make sure she’s always going to need him.

Nearly an hour later, Bill fights just about everything holding him down and stumbles to his feet. He knuckles at his eyes, trying to dry the damp skin underneath his eyes and the bit of liquid running from his nostrils. He speaks softly to the lady at the front desk, asking what room Y/N would be in. So softly, the woman has to stand up and peer her ear toward him to make out his question.

It hasn’t really dawned on Bill yet—cancer’s a tricky subject, but he’s more concerned about how terrible his missus must be feeling, considering she went into the hospital anxious to know the gender of the baby, petting her tummy the whole ride there. “Hello, sweet thing,”

Then, Bill pauses right outside her door. He fell in love with a tumor invading her body—even cried over it and kissed it when she was sleeping. His eyes welled up again and he wanted to fight it—he really did—but he could barely ball his fist anymore. “I’m gonna be a daddy,” He closes his eyes when the tears fall, eventually tasting the saltiness on his lip. The hallway is quiet, minus his sniffling and the faint sound of beeping machines and murmuring nurses. When he feels he’s had his fair share of sadness for the time being, he’s sniffling more calmly and wiping at his eyelids again, before exhaling a shaky breath.

When she he shuts the door behind him and looks up from his boots, Bill finds it hard to breath, or walk, or speak. He’s  practically paralyzed, feeling particularly fragile. There’s a male nurse near the bed, arranging a plate of food, but Bill can’t see much of what’s on it, because the room is so dimly lit. Y/N seems to be asleep, but he really can’t tell and isn’t exactly making an effort to, because he genuinely can’t move. He doesn’t want to mess anything up—doesn’t want to hurt her.

“She said the lights were bothering her,” The nurse explained, finishing up the plate and flicking on a small lamp near her bed. “You’re...Bill, is it?” He asked, reading off a clipboard and walking toward him. Bill nods, sniffling again, before shaking the man’s hand. “She’s just sleeping right now. It’s been,” He peeked at his watch. “Five hours now. She hasn’t been sleeping very well these past few days, but that’s completely normal given the circumstances. However, it’s imperative that you don’t let her sleep too much, because we need to monitor her movements and make sure she’s eating on time. Also, she’s been a bit nauseated, so there’s a tin next to the bed and the bathroom’s right over there.”

The nurse, who introduced himself as Liam briefed Bill on Y/N’s state and Bill tried his best to remember it all, nodding after each sentence and periodically glancing at Y/N. When Liam was finished, he exhaled a little and folded his arms with the clipboard tucked underneath. “There’s a blueberry muffin, glass of water, and pill on the tray. It’s best that you wake her as soon as possible so that she eats.” He explained with a friendly smile and Bill nodded again.

The door closes behind him and Bill sighs, walking toward her. He sits in a chair placed next to her bed, quietly. He’s placed his hand atop her’s and notices the small tube bandaged to her arm. Her breathing is soft, like gentle puffs of air with every take and he silently admits that if he could, he’d settle on only being able to listen to her soft bouts of air and nothing else, for the rest of his life.

He cups her cheek in his hand and stretches over the bed to press a peppered kiss to her forehead. He’s whispering something lightly, urging her to wake up, but she only snuggles her face further onto the warmth of his hand. This makes a small smile dawn at his mouth and if it hadn’t been for the forming sore throat from crying, he would’ve giggled a bit.

She’s whimpering a little when he goes to move his hand and he thinks it’s the sweetest sound. “It’s me, sweetheart,” Bill whispers and Y/N’s lips part lazily. Eventually, her eyes are fluttering open and Bill’s got his hand stretched over her hip, stroking it over the hospital gown. She stares at him for a while when her eyes open, blinking the sleep away and making out his features with help of the small lamp. She notices the cherry blush on his cheeks and tip of his nose and the glossy streaks in his eyes.  

Bill hasn’t got much of anything to say, feeling rather stuck. She speaks instead and her voice is just as soft as he remembers. “Missed you,” She murmurs, voice low. He can tell just how weak she is, by the drain in the color of her irises. His fingertips trace over the side of her face and she’s silent, parting her lips again to speak, but he presses his pointer finger to his lips and shh’es her instead.

“You’re my girl,” He says and goes back to feathering his fingertips along her face. “And you’ll never have to worry about a thing.”

She doesn’t mean to cry; Hell, she’s done enough of that, but it’s the way he speaks to her—like she’s the one he’s ever wanted to spend his energy on, the only one he’s ever wanted to lie eyes on. It was true, what she was thinking. When you’ve found the person that you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

Bill stands up and leans over her a bit, breathing faintly so it fans over her eyelashes. “Sweet creature,” He mutters, running the pad of thumb under one eye, then the other. “My sweet girl.” He stares at her for long while.

“Like honey?” She asks, slowly bringing the palm of her hand up to press against the fabric of his shirt. His heart was pounding in his rib cage and that reassured her for some odd reason. Then, she remembered and it wasn't so odd at all.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Bill explains, standing in the pool--the water just below his chin. He just got this job as lifeguard in a fancy hotel uptown, and surely, it wouldn’t look good if the manager walked in on the two, far after the pool closing time, but Y/N admitted that she couldn’t swim and Bill just couldn’t go to sleep with that kind of atrocity.

She’s sitting poolside, lightly kicking her feet back and forth in the water, slightly nudging Bill in the side every time she kicked forward. He's holding her by the waist and winks up at her. Romantically, it’s been about a month they’ve been dating and it’s her first time seeing him shirtless and on top of that, he’s soaking wet and squeezing her hips, because he’s needy. “You’re not very convincing,” She said, just before sliding forward and squeezing her eyes closed when the dry parts of her body hit the water. Bill is a giggling mess, holding her up by the waist and spinning a bit in the water. “It’s...cold,” She musters, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. When she finally opens her eyes, he’s already starring and she realizes that for the first time, they were eye to eye and she made out the little scar near his eye and ran her thumb over it.

Before she could even fathom the words, he presses his lips to her’s and waited to exhale, until she grew comfortable and kissed back. Then, they were breathing (finally) and Bill furrows his eyebrows in concentration, because she feels so fucking soft. He was her first and she wasn’t sure how long kisses are supposed to last, but she wonders if it’s possible to kiss someone all day, because she’d be willing for Bill. When Y/N pulls back with a wet smack of their lips, it was because her inhaler was all the way in their hotel room and she couldn't risk an accident.

“You’re sweet,” He says, nodding his head, like he knew it already.

She puckers her lips to the side to unsuccessfully hold back a smile and tilts her head to the left. “Like honey?” She mocks.

He begins spinning them around again and a small smirk falls on his lips. “The sweetest.” Surely, Y/N had asthma since she was young, but everyday spent with Bill made her believe that it was him all along--the reason she can’t seem to breath steadily. Still, she shakes her head a little, smiling down between them.

“Here,” He takes her hand and guides it over his heart. “Feel that?” It was thumping against the skin (surely, breaking the rib cage, she thinks) and she raises her eyebrows, because he didn’t look the least anxious. “Pretty girls make me nervous.”

She sighs, feeling defeated and moves her hand back to it’s place on his neck. He narrows his eyes at her. “You don’t believe me,” He blurts and she bites her lip, because it's true, shaking her head no..

“Nonsense,” He says, beginning to twirl them around again--this time, not stopping until she’s in a fit of giggles, resting her head in his neck. She’s panting now, lifting her head with her lips curved. “You have to believe me, sweetheart,” The pet named slipped and she almost lost her grip on his shoulders. “Didn’t you love anything?”

She was too out of breath to muster any response, but she silently admitted it to herself, later on that night. Yes--she loved him; more than the desire to breathe.

“The sweetest.” Once Bill has cocked his head to the side enough, his lips brush against her’s and their breathing grows more labored by the second. Bill was silent, not daring to break his lips away. From the way she has her hands guided on the back of his neck, like her life depended on it, he fears she might beat him bloody if he did.

Kissing is a strange thing. You’re supposed to breathe, but if you’re doing it right, you shouldn’t feel obligated to, because when you’re pressing against the lips of the person you love most in the world, breathing and every other job we take on, becomes more a choice. Just as long as you can feel them--nothing else matters.

“Jesus,” Bill gasps, pulling back at the sound of Y/N’s heart monitor beeping rapidly. “You’ve got to breathe, bunny,” He’s panicking, checking her face to make sure he hasn’t hurt her, but she only smiles, steadying her breathing. ”Why didn’t you breathe?” He asks, more curious than afraid.

“Didn’t you love anything?”

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