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animatedrapture · 3 years

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RINTOBER: [Greet Me With Goodbye]

suna rintarō x reader

word count: 2k

tags: bandmember!suna, angst, implied cheating, toxic relationship, post-breakup, smoking

song: 505 - arctic monkeys

a/n: PLEASE READ THE FIC WHILE LISTENING TO THIS. thank you mous for beta-reading this for me <3

The lights were near blinding as you stood behind the large crowd, having opted to stay where you can only see enough and be barely seen from the front of the stage where he stood.

The start of the song is what causes goosebumps against your skin—like it wants to take your breath away, and if you weren’t having trouble breathing before, you definitely were when you heard his voice again—booming and deep as he sang the first verse of the song. Your heart aches when you remember the first time you heard it, nowhere near finished then.

“I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck?” You read the lyrics out, intrigued, and you look back up to him. His gaze holds yours with unparalleled tenderness behind the gloss of his eyes. You cock an eyebrow at him with an amused smile.

“Reminded me a lot about you when we first started trying to figure the lyrics out,” Suna answered with nonchalance, nodding at the paper held between your fingertips as if to tell you to continue reading through it.

“You’re not wrong,” you commented, humming in thought. “I’d still adore you with your hands around my neck, Rintarou.”

Suna grins, a glint in his eyes evident. Maybe because he knew, even without you telling him. He knew you adored him to a sinful extent.

The cheers and audience singing along to the sound of his voice were loud, but the thunderous beating of your heart was louder. So much louder. That’s when you think that maybe you shouldn’t have come here, you shouldn’t have let your friends convince you to stand directly in front of him yet stand so far away as if you were hiding. Well, perhaps you really were hiding; you could definitely step forward, see his face with a thin sheen of sweat, strumming along the guitar that hung around his torso—God, his torso—and his hair slightly covering the pair of eyes you’ve loved so deeply for a long time. His pretty face looked ethereal from where you stood, the beaming lights surrounding the stage accentuating everything that made him who he was, Suna Rintarou.

Suna’s thumb grazes your lower lip, swiping lightly with his intense gaze locked with yours. It’s hypnotizing like always. Suna’s green eyes—heavily lidded that it made him all the more pretty, all the more breathtaking—set on you as you sat on his lap, the blunt tucked in between the fingers of his other hand emitting smoke that invaded your lungs like he invaded the entirety of your mind.

You can’t look away, not even when he takes a drag of it directly in front of you—it’s frustrating how oddly seducing it was to watch him, your eyes following the way he inhaled the smoke that was toxic to his lungs like he was toxic to your own heart, poison to your own mind, venom in your bloodstream.

His lips find yours immediately, his hand that was on your face moving to the inside of your thighs and it’s enough to make you gasp—your lips parting against his as he blows out the smoke to your mouth and you inhale.

You inhale because it was more like taking him in your system than the smoke that was toxic for your lungs, poison to your mind, venom in your bloodstream.

You inhale and take him in your system. Yet you never would’ve thought he’d vanish like the same smoke going up in the air until you see it no more.

“Not shy of a spark, the knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark,” You wish you were imagining it, the heavy drip of pain and contempt laced in his voice as he sang the words out. He sings like it’s flashing all in his head, every fight you both had—because it’s coming back to you too like a ton of bricks.

Or maybe the sensation of it all coming back to you is more like what the lyrics he sang suggests already, a knife to the chest so deep that there’s simply no way you’d survive from it—no way a relationship could survive from it. The knife to your chest is dug deep enough; how do you live when it’s twisted and turned so sadistically?

“You’re late again,” you mutter, sighing in exhaustion as you looked back at Suna who sat across from you from the table of the restaurant. It was your date night, scheduled already weeks before—yet he came in late—an hour late to be exact. An hour you spent giving tight lipped smiles to everyone’s gazes who fell on you near the middle of the restaurant as you waited, an hour spent smiling politely as you answered waiters who came near you asking if you’re ready to order.

An hour spent wondering why this isn’t the first nor second time he left you waiting on nights that should’ve been about the both of you.

“Look, I’m sorry, yeah?” He quipped, not bothering to even spare you a glance.

He eyes the menu while your eyes begin to sting as you hold back your tears. You want to burst, to say something—anything. Anything that would take his attention, anything that would finally tell him you can’t keep doing this.

“You don’t seem sorry, Rin,” you reply silently, gaze steady on his figure still looking through the menu. He finally looks up at you, exasperation fully evident in his features.

“What’d ya want me to say? I just ran a lil late, alright?” He snapped, the menu falling harshly down the table from his grip.

“You’ve been running a little late for months now—I’m tired of it,” your voice sounds weak, defeated. This is something you didn’t know was like knife twisted into Suna Rintarou’s heart.

“If you’re tired, then leave,” his voice was cold to a scalding degree.

Maybe the mistake was that you didn’t leave that night. That you continued something that you both should’ve tried to end that night—or at least attempted to. You didn’t know this either, but had you attempted to leave, Suna was bound to chase after you and engulf you in his arms.

But you didn’t.

“I'm going back to 505, if it's a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive. In my imagination, you're waiting lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs.”

Every beat of the song felt like a kick with the kind of ache you felt against your chest that seemed so constricting. It’s like you’re inhaling the same smoke from his lungs again, choking you with it.

You’re not sure how it happens, nor does it register in time when bright lights fall just where you stood—not in a dramatic sense like those god-forsaken clichéd romance novels—but simply out of coincidence. Come to think of it, had you stepped forward, you wouldn’t have been there, completely visible in his line of sight when his narrowed eyes zero on you in the crowd so easily as if you were magnet to his gaze, still.

That could’ve been the case before. But not anymore.

Not anymore, you ponder. If you hadn’t walked away and pulled from his embrace that day, would things have been different? He’s standing on a bigger stage now; oddly enough, you also heard he’s had more control of his schedule since. It’s been so long since the last time he’s seen you, been so long since he woke up to an empty bed—your warmth gone and your lingering scent on the sheets faint as if you were barely there to begin with.

Just like that, he wished he could take it all back.

The sound of Suna’s phone felt nagging and relentless. The more days passed, the more it was louder, the more his eyes remained trained on his phone.

His fidelity remained unquestioned even as your relationship with him turned disastrously strained from all the hours you’ve spent waiting, all the days you’ve spent without him, all the replies you never received—all your messages left on read like you’re looking at Suna Rintarou, your own boyfriend, through a static screen.

He continued to fall short and break your heart little by little but knowing he loved you beyond his actions was something you wholeheartedly believed; because his eyes staring back at you remained both tender and fiery like golden balance of true love.

Yet maybe you were wrong.

The final straw is the way your eyes follow the string of messages between Suna and another girl you’ve forced yourself to forget the name of. Your gaze lingers and wallow at the provocative pictures of the woman, enough to make you wonder where you lacked—where you came short.

You wished it was only that which set you apart piece by piece like a puzzle being undone and someone else stealing the pieces of yourself you thought you gave to the man you can trust those pieces with to safe-keep.

But the blue bubble saying, “Meet me in a few minutes,” on one of the nights he came late—bright blue and blinding enough to make you want to gauge your eyes out—and the following, “I’m here, where are you?” burns in the back of your head like his lit up cigarettes against your skin so fervently.

That day, little by little, you packed your things in the most discreet of ways; sure, it should’ve probably taken a lot before Suna would have noticed when he’s barely home with you—but you remained scared that he would notice and you wouldn’t say no if he asked you to stay, because that’s how much Suna had you—line, hook, and sinker.

You take one tentative step back, but your legs feel restrained and paralyzed underneath you when Suna’s eyes lock with yours, meters apart, but you would be lying if you said it’s an illusion when his eyes glimmer the same way—tender and fiery.

“But I crumble completely when you cry, it seems like once again you’d have to greet me with goodbye,” his voice sounds so much louder, so much heavier—especially with his eyes trained on you as he sang the lyrics out without waver.

Your heart swells and you think, it’s unfair. It’s unfair that his eyes looked as if he was pleading for you not to go the same way you knew he would’ve had he only known you were leaving him that day.

Suna was worn-out. Tired beyond effable means or description of words; and he thinks he couldn’t be more exhausted when he rattles on the doorknob of the home you shared with him, the place he came home to with you—only to find it locked. He’s too exhausted to notice the way the house felt emptier, seemed emptier like something—someone was missing when he pushes the key in and enters the place.

Suna was too exhausted to think you’d be gone forever; too drained to ever consider that it’ll take a year since that day before he sees you again.

Suna was too exhausted to notice the letter you left on the bedside table; too exhausted to notice you’ve been gone for a week until he comes home again for a break, only for his heart to break at the sight of the empty house. Empty; defined as: without you

You don’t notice the tears cascading down your cheeks until you see the way Suna’s eyebrows furrowed together from the stage he stood on as he continued to sing, never once taking his eyes off of you, like he’s hurting from the way he watches you cry.

“I'm always just about to go and spoil a surprise, take my hands off of your eyes too soon.” The ring placed as a pendant on the necklace around Suna’s neck glistened under the strobe lights dancing around suddenly felt heavier—so much heavier, as if it’s you who has your hands around his neck.

Maybe you do.

Maybe you do; because Suna runs off of the stage the moment the last beat of his lyrics come as he sees you finally looking away. Your figure slowly dimming away as the lights calm down to the beat of the song slowly dwindling away like you did—but never like the fire that burned in your chest at the sight of him.

You wish you could run but every step you took felt like you had boulders weighing down on your feet; as if no part of you wanted to go—and maybe that’s the miracle that Suna will forever thank whatever deity is out there for, because without it, he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to you as you attempted to drag your body and walk away, trying not to look back.

📞 violet is calling… all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

#suna x reader #suna #Suna Rintarou #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #suna angst #hq suna #suna x you #RINTOBER

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sunlightwoo · 3 years

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Run With Hell | Ride Along Prequel

☀︎ pairing: bad boy!sunwoo x fem!reader

☀︎ genre: summer fling au, angst, squints of fluff, bad boy au, lovers to exes au warning: suggestive/sexual language and content, mentions of alcohol and partying

☀︎ wc: 4.1k

☀︎ plot: summer hues may bring in the summer blues, but this one person you spend your summer with just so happens to be the one person that you needed in that moment. instead of the place that he needed to end up being in, he lets you take him back to your place and see where it goes from there, thinking that maybe it might just be a summer bet and nothing more than that.

☀︎ a/n: this was originally a scrapped idea back from like 2018 and i never brought it back up to surface until recently these last few months actually from when i started planning ride along and then sunwoo’s verse in hate came out, which sparked more ideas!! so i hope you guys enjoy the prequel to it, in which you learn more about the history between Sunflower and Sunwoo’s relationship, even though this is not one of my best oneshots im sorry :( it can be read as a standalone, but it’d be cool if you read this and then ride along if you haven’t read it yet!!

read ride along here!

track one: moonlight | i never knew, you could hold moonlight in your hands

The soft breeze of the summer winds blew past your hair, your arms wrapped around yourself as your eyes were trained on the scenery in front of you. Comforts of the beach seem to have always made you calmer than you have been, and you think that these last two years of your life had been a fever dream considering the roller coaster of events that you have been through.

You remember waking up in a hospital the night that your brother, Jacob, had an important race to compete in, and because of that, you didn’t want to break his winning streak by being bad luck. The moments prior to that were unable to be recalled for as the only reliable information you can get was from the doctor, explaining that you had consumed something before you had blacked out that had made you almost comatose, if it weren’t for someone that had saved you that night.

There were often times where you thought about what had happened at that exact moment, but it didn’t distract you from where your mind had been leading you the following day when you were discharged already because of Jacob. You weren’t sure where he had gone that moment, but all you could remember was reading a note with his scribbles that mentioned where he had left it.

A final decision that he had to decide on with a gig that he had gotten for his music career was what he had been working on, and you couldn’t be happier for him. That following morning, you found yourself at the cafe that was across from where you were staying temporarily, eyes darting across the beautiful cursive chalk that was written on a board for the menu, and you couldn’t help but feel like there were a pair of eyes that were stuck onto you.

With a quick glance around the shop, even if there wasn’t a line behind you, you noticed a guy that sat by the window with his eyes trained onto yours. An accidental eye contact, you might’ve thought to yourself as the handsome stranger had given you a small smirk across his lips, but you have already turned back around to quickly place an order for a tea that was taken to go.

You had known who he was, considering his name was already spread among the city that you lived despite it being your summer before your first year of college. How it had easily slipped from your own tongue if anybody were to ask you, who is the biggest playboy that is known in your graduating class, and it had to be him. If it weren’t for the fact that he had an overpowering aura that radiated from him, then maybe you would’ve gotten to know him more.

But you didn’t want to, because you knew what guys like him were like.

It was guys like him that made you want to hide away into the comforts of your personal safety net because you knew he was too beautiful and confident to be good. A chaotic driven force that you think was meant to be encountered with was what he had seemed like, ready to clash into your lawful good that the more that you thought about it, you wondered what more of him was like if you were to say hello.

Now it was a little over a year later in the summer before your junior year of college and you think that it’s comical that somehow the same stranger had caught your heart. After a semester and a half of trying to win you over as a friend throughout your first year, he was able to convince you that maybe hanging out one spring night at the beach wouldn’t be too bad, right?

“Sorry I’m late, Sunflower. Got stuck trying to find a way to park the car without dealing with some asshole again.”

Your eyes look up to meet the same warm ones that welcomed you as the red hair he had coated this time around seemed to have blended in with the night sky. He takes a seat next to you and wraps his arms around his knees that were being hugged close to his chest, until he takes a look over to you once more with a soft smile on his face.

“It’s okay, Sunwoo. I haven’t been here that long anyways.” You reply quietly, giving him a smile back as you bit back everything that was on your tongue.

You had already been there for almost two hours waiting for him, collecting your thoughts as you wondered what the two of you were in that exact timing. There were times where you wanted to just kiss him as a way to shut him up whenever he rambled or said something dumb, but there were also the mixed signs that made you wonder if he had ever thought about you the same way that you did in the past two years.

One too many shared secrets and kisses were often exchanged, but the two of you had always remained friends with too many benefits as you found your way back to the other. It was almost as if you were magnets, opposites that attracted to another and now you were trying to find a way for it to make sense under the moonlight that was brightly shining tonight above you.

“Can you sing me a song, bubs?”

His eyes turn to look at you, who had been staring at him after breaking away from your own thoughts, as he nods in response and opens his arms for you to find your place in them. He wraps his arms around you securely, holding you close to his chest as the soft voice that came from his throat produced a sweet song that you easily recognized as one that he had told you about for a while.

It felt like you were being put under a sleeping spell as you looked at him, wondering how even under the moonlight, he was almost the most ethereal being in the world. It was as though he was carrying that luminescence in his hands and placed it above his head at all times, making sure that whenever you needed to just be held, he was there to do so for you; another reason why you were so conflicted with what you both had.

However, maybe it was after a confession or two after that soft lullaby that it ended up being enough for you. Maybe being with him was enough for you, and for that you had also regretted it at the same time, because you knew that you were in for a ride with hell’s spawn.

track two: sometimes | cause we’re collecting moments, tattoos on my mind

“Are you ready for our getaway?” You hear someone say behind you and turn to look at Sunwoo, who had been standing at your front door for a moment now.

It was the hot morning of July first after a long night being with him, and it was a spontaneous decision to head out on a little road trip away from the city. You wanted to go to the seaside, you had told him just hours prior, and he had told you about a little place that he used to stay whenever he was in a mood to go on vacation and escape the realities of the world.

So you packed your bags and were ready to go as you walked up to him with a big smile on your face, one that mirrored his own as he pulled you close. By placing his hand against your lower back, the space between you both becomes almost invisible as he pecked your lips in just a quick second, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sudden action that came from him.

Even after a month or so of dating, it still felt like you were floating on cloud nine despite the fact that you had been doing this for two years or so already. Being with him felt like you were able to conquer on the world, and you knew that might not stay long despite the shared whispers of the cursed eight letters that were often said when you spent nights together.

You wanted to tattoo every moment that you were with him into your mind, because from then until now it had only felt like you were living in a daydream. He had given you nothing but love and made you happier than you would’ve imagined making yourself, but you were okay with also accepting the fact that it might not last long considering there were often times where you might clash thoughts and argue.

By the time that you both made it to where you were staying, you were amazed with how elegant it looked on the inside, despite the fact that it seemed smaller on the outside. You think that maybe you were in a movie as you looked around, but it wasn’t until you turned around to see Sunwoo being busy on his phone that you wondered if this mini getaway was going to be worth it.

“Everything okay, bubs?” You ask while putting down your stuff, sitting on top of your bag as he gives you a small smile before nodding in response.

To him, he thinks that you are one of the most beautiful things as the sun was practically shining on your face as it seeped through the large glass windows of the house. It’s almost amazing that he found himself falling for you quickly, but he wonders how much of that smile will last on your face before he does something to mess it all up.

He wants to tattoo the moments where he’s able to make those smiles on your face with his sincerity, the him that he wants to be with you rather than the person that he decides to be to everyone else. Yet somehow, there was something about your innocence to him that made him want more than just what you had then and now, but he was scared of what he might become if had actually gotten it all for himself.

“Yeah, everything’s okay. Let’s go sleep for a bit before we spend the night having fun, hmm?”

track three: bad decisions | You've become my favorite sin so let 'em keep on talking

He knows that he isn’t good for you.

His reputation of being the residential bad boy was no match for your heart, and you both knew that. After spending the first two weeks getting to know the ins and outs of the bay, you made some quick friends even though you spent a majority of your time back at where you were staying with Sunwoo. The way that his hands had always felt like fire on your skin was exhilarating as every kiss you shared was more intoxicating than the last.

You could tell that he was getting tired of it already, because you’ve noticed that the fire that was once in his eyes was dying out, and you were scared of it. Even his words of reassurance of loving you and for not leaving your side by then was made, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to trust his words every time that he spoke of them.

“Are you sure that you’re in love with me?” You whisper after the highs and frustrations that were spent into what you had done earlier had been let out.

The two of you had argued about how he never seemed to have paid more attention to what you were doing when the two of you were out at the street markets today, his phone seeming more important than exploring the depths of shops that were opened by small businesses. You confronted him about it, thinking that maybe he was involved with someone else and that you were just wasting your time putting your love into a relationship that was one sided.

However that wasn’t the case, as he told you that one of his friends was updating him on a situation that involved their family.

“Why wouldn’t I love you?”

Those toxic eight letters felt so foreign at the tip of his tongue as he looked at you, who laid your head on top of his chest. He didn’t know what love was, and he felt like the biggest jerk for also leading you on knowing that in the end, he was going to leave. He wasn’t sure when he was going to do it, but he knew that you were slowly catching onto his plan, and he hated himself for making you feel as though you weren’t enough for him to stay.

He wants to give you the pain that he had felt once in the past, and ruin the sweet innocence that you held in your eyes. He’s heard stories about you as well, the same way that you had heard stories about him, and he knew then that there was something about the way you talked and expressed your beliefs that made him want to be indulged into you more.

“We don’t feel the same anymore.” You whisper, eyes meeting him as the moonlight that used to capture his eyes so perfectly seemed as though it was dying out.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you watched him stay silent for a moment, his eyes still looking into yours but he still held you close to his heart. He doesn’t know what to say at all and he regrets it a little more for dragging you into this game that he started playing with his own heart on his sleeve, but he doesn’t know when he should stop, because to him, it feels like this game that he made was still not done yet.

But he can’t find the heart to tell you to run, before he can do it.

“I promise I’ll love you more than I should be loving you. You’re my sunflower, the same way that I’m your sunshine, and it’ll stay that way.”

track four: leave me lonely | you’re a dangerous love, maybe you’re no good for me

It was a little over a month into your getaway, and it feels emptier than it was when you first started the entire trip.

The nights that you shared together were less filled with meaningful words and actions, but more filled with moments that were there to make the empty void that was present full with whatever you two had wanted to do. You could tell that he was on the verge of just walking out the front door and leaving you because of how the increasing arguments that were made continued to be more present, and you could’ve sworn that if he wasn’t going to be the first to leave, then you would.

It was another occurrence tonight where you had gone out to eat as a date, since you wanted to fix what might’ve been missing these last few weeks of summer that you might’ve not done. However, it didn’t happen to work as you noticed how Sunwoo was already preoccupied on his phone almost the entire time, and you were fed up by the end of the night as he was driving you both back home and he had taken the time to text back whoever it was that seemed more important than you, who had been nothing but patient the entire night.

“Am I seriously not fun anymore, that you’ve spent the entire date texting whoever it is on the other end?” You half jokingly asked while turning to him, watching as he had given you a confused look on his face while the two of you were waiting for the traffic light to turn green to go.

“I haven’t been texting someone the entire time-”

“Then what did we do today, besides eat at the restaurant because we sure as hell didn’t talk the entire time that we were there.” You retort, the joking tone that was previously in your tone no longer there as he looks at you for a split second before putting his phone into the cup holder that was between you both in silence.

The green light finally switches and he drives again as you could tell that he knew you were right, the silence overbearing you both as neither of you spoke afterwards. You wanted him to bite back, but you couldn’t help but be impatient this time around with what he had to say, because he always seemed to brush it off these days about what he has been doing when he wasn’t with you, or when he leaves mid-argument and comes back the next morning making it up.

“You’re just overreacting, don’t worry about it, Y/N.”

He hasn’t called you by your name in a while considering he had only been calling you by Sunflower for a long time now. It was almost like whiplash as you stared at him, who was now driving back to your place with the night sky behind him and you wondered what you had even done wrong when you were just wondering who he would keep texting.

Maybe he was cheating on you and he didn’t want to admit it, you think to yourself as you curled up into a ball in your seat and looked outside your window to hide the pain that was present in your heart. Was there could’ve been something that you might’ve done wrong that could just made him bored throughout the last two years that you’ve known each other, where it was you that might’ve been in the mess up stance?

That night, you couldn’t even remember whether or not you have slept properly considering he didn’t sleep with you, but rather slept on the couch in the living room.

Was this what the start of heartbreak was like?

track five: touch it | Why do you say you want me, then tell me you're not coming in?

“How long have you been lying to me about everything?”

Tears were pricking the corners of your eyes as you stared at the individual in front of you with your heart on your sleeve, wondering what his next move was. Your throat was raspy from how much you were yelling out of anger and frustration earlier, and you wanted to know how long you had been playing his game.

“Two years.” He replies, his facial expression never faltering as his hands were in his pockets and eyes boring into your own.

His phone was placed on the couch beside you as you had found his texts with his best friend about how being with you was all for a bet of money; and he had won. All he had to do was to make you play his game and purposely break your heart, only to win some sort of prize that he would win at the end, but at what cost.

“I didn’t mean anything to you, did I?” You whisper as you cross your arms in front of your chest, waiting to hear whatever else he had to say, but you couldn’t help but wipe away the stray tears that were already falling down the apples of your cheeks.

Yes, you meant everything to me, he wants to say as he looks into your heartbroken eyes, and he was willing to give up everything to walk over to where you were to wipe your tears for you. But there was also the thrill in his blood that made him feel a bit prideful that he succeeded in being the asshole that he made himself out to be to everyone but you.

He had won the game, he acknowledged and it was over for him but he also knew that there was just a little bit of guilt that still lied inside of him. He doesn’t know what to say as he watches you start to crumble in front of him internally, and he knows you’re tired of all the lies that he had been feeding you since the first day.

So he had decided on running away after he said his last words, because like you had predicted, he was hell’s spawn that loved creating a chaotic masterpiece. As much as you hated him in the moment, he knew that you wouldn’t be able to let go for a bit, and maybe this was his chance to leave so that he doesn’t have to think about you anymore.

And he does as he walks away with the wind as he closes the door on you both, leaving with the sounds of his car already leaving and you know that he wasn’t coming back.

You think that it’s your fault anyways for wanting to believe in what you had was genuine, with every time that he had said it was true. But like you thought in the first place, where guys like him wouldn’t last, was true, because now you were in the place that held everything that reminded you of him. You wanted to trash the beautiful pain that was in front of you, but you also felt numb at the same time, not wanting to do anything but to just mourn the stained heart that was on the sleeve of your arm.

It was there for the world to see; tainted with toxic love that only you had for him, and it was now spilling out with his last words echoing in your head.

“I never loved you in the first place, because you were only just a game to win.”

bonus track: lovesick girls

The loud silence of the crackling fire resonates in your ears as you stare at the burning car that was less than 50 feet in front of you. Your knees were tucked into your chest as you stared at it, wondering where it all began to go wrong as the numbness of your heart continued to stay there. He had been gone for weeks, as you had expected him to run away for that long, and you hated yourself for falling for a guy like him in the first place.

He was intoxicating, addicting; the one person that you had given your entity to, only to have it crumble up in the palm of his hands.

You hated him and knew that this would be the last time you’d ever want to see him, since you were going to start going back on track with your goals and dreams. Starting next week you were set to start the fall semester into your junior year of college as it was now almost mid September and ready to run for the life that you wanted to have from the start of the summer before you had met him.

You think to yourself that maybe it was him that had ruined it all, or maybe a piece of you didn’t want to admit that it was also your own for not being cautious enough. The entire summer felt like you were running with the devil himself, and that the air you were breathing in now, the very one that you can finally collect your thoughts in, were your moments of freedom as you blinked back the tears of the memories that had played in your mind of last night that ended it all.

“All you ever did was run away from us in the first place, Sunwoo-”

“And I was wrong for doing it, that day that I walked out and left,” He says and you could see his eyes glimmer with what seemed like sincerity in the form of tears, just as the sun that was setting around you both began to make your skies darker than they were before.

“But that doesn’t mean that I regretted walking out, because I knew that we would’ve only hurt each other more if I had stayed.”

The silence that was overtaking you both was faster than that as your eyes continued to lock onto one another’s. You weren’t sure what you wanted to do in this situation, because you very much so loved him and all his imperfect beauties. However it felt like he was the constant fire that was burning your skin with every touch that he was able to make, and you didn’t want to be a part of that cycle that would continue with him, especially after finding out about his bet with his best friend at the most.

So in retaliation, you did what you should’ve done in the first place, resent and ignore him, as you knew that this should be the last time that you see him again in this life.

“Then I think you should just leave for good then, Sunwoo. Don’t ever try to find me again, and if you do... we will never do us again.”

#ficscafe #destinyverse #deobiwritersnet #tbznetwork #kdiner #kpopscape #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boyz angst #the boyz oneshots #tbz imagines #tbz scenarios #tbz angst #tbz oneshots #kim sunwoo #sunwoo imagines #sunwoo scenarios #sunwoo angst #sunwoo oneshots

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disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

Text

The White Room

The Better Love Series || Join My Tags

a sequel to Shit Hits the Fan

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Bill Stechner makes his move. You never even saw it coming.

words: 6.1k

warnings: 18+, plot, a little angst, a little fluff.

notes: unbeta’d. this is a big one. notes at the end.

<< Shit Hits the Fan || These Hands are Magic >>

MASTERLIST

You take the embassy steps two at a time, wishing you’d have been notified about the change in your schedule just half an hour earlier.

You’d gotten a page just as you were headed out the door of the apartment. Stechner has decided to pull you from Centra Spike’s night flight over Medellín. He wants you at headquarters this evening instead. He didn’t say why.

Part of you isn’t sorry. Escobar has been getting desperate lately, and between the outbreaks of violence in Medellín and the continued bombing campaign in Bogotá, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Javi, too. He’s been spending more and more time at the base in Medellín, and you’ve been spending more and more time in the skies, pulling random shifts through all hours of the day and night.

It hasn’t put a strain on your relationship, exactly. In fact, in some ways, the little moments that you steal with Javi when your schedules just happen to mesh are all the more precious because of it. You’re both exhausted and a little cranky, but there’s been an underlying desperation to your recent interactions that’s only served to stoke the flame that flickers between you.

It’s a bittersweet feeling. You cherish the time you get together, but on the other hand, it seems like even when Javi’s right there next to you, you miss him so much that your chest aches.

Which is why you’re miffed that Bill couldn’t have shuffled you around a little sooner. Javi’s been in Medellín for the past two days. He’d caught an early flight back to Bogotá just as you’d been finishing up another late shift flyover. You’d just happened to run into him at the embassy airstrip, a perfect coincidence. Your eyes had met over the tarmac, and like a pair of magnets, you’d crashed into one another. Javi had wrapped you into a fierce hug, and you’d pulled him into a heated kiss, and the two of you had spent a good five minutes canoodling in a hidden corridor near the water fountains, kissing and whispering and grappling for position as he’d pinned you against the wall. He’d breathed you in, and you’d reveled in the taste of him on your lips, each of you pressing frantically against the body of the other as if it had been weeks and not mere days since you’d been together.

“I’ve got to go,” Javi had apologized into your mouth, breathing the words between a series of soft, desperate kisses. “Fucking… fucking early meeting with Martinez.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you’d reassured him, feeling very much like it wasn’t okay. You hardly get enough of him as it is. This tiny little taste had only deepened your aching need, and you’d felt your heart splitting in two as he’d pulled away from you, a small little grimace of frustration twisting his face.

“I’ll see you soon,” you’d called as he’d hurried away, and he’d responded with a tight lipped smile and another dark look of longing.

Now, you round the corridor toward the DEA office, walking as quickly as you can without drawing attention to yourself. Javi is working late again. If you hurry, you’ll have twenty five uninterrupted minutes with him before your night shift starts.

“Ears!” You stop in your tracks, a little shudder of resentment flashing down your spine at Bill’s overeager greeting. “Just the lady I’ve been waiting to see.”

You school your face into a neutral expression of polite interest. Most days, you like Bill just fine, despite the fact that you really don’t trust him for shit.

Today, damn him straight to hell.

“What’s up?” you ask, quirking your lips into an intrigued little grin. There’s a certain informality and blasé banter that Bill’s grown to expect from your encounters, and he’s sharp enough to sense that something’s off if you don’t perform.

“Oh, loads and loads,” Bill says, leaning casually against the corridor wall with his arms folded.

You bite back a sigh. You really, really don’t have the patience to dance around him today. “Oh, really?”

Bill arches a questioning brow at you, and you remind yourself to be convincing, dammit. Usually, this isn’t an issue. Most days, you like your job, and your boss, just fine.

Most days.

“You’re bored, aren’t you, Ears?” Bill continues, pitching his voice deep, those probing eyes piercing straight through you.

“I -” you start. Bored isn’t how you’d describe it, lately.

Tired, more like.

“No, no,” Bill’s expression is patient, endearing. “Don’t deny it. I’ve been watching you. I know that hungry look when I see it. You want more. You came to Colombia to do something important with your life, I can tell.”

Six months ago, hell, even three months ago, Bill’s words would have been true. Now, the very thought of more is enough to send you crawling into bed and sleeping for a week.

‘Isn’t tracking down Pablo Escobar pretty fucking important?’ you’re half tempted to ask. You hold your tongue.

Obviously, it’s not to Bill Stechner.

“What do you have for me?” you say instead, hoping you sound intrigued, carefully not confirming or denying Bill’s suspicions.

“Real work,” Bill says with a sharp smile. Something cold jolts down your spine at the his use of the word ‘real.’

As if everything until now has been a sham.

“Follow me,” he beckons, and you have no choice but to obey.

Bill leads you past the DEA offices. You catch a glimpse of the top of Javi’s head from the corner of your eye. He’s hunched over his desk, pouring over an open manilla file. You can barely see the deep furrow in his brow. He doesn’t notice you pass by, and you don’t pause to acknowledge him.

Something throbs in your chest at that.

You follow Bill through a few more winding corridors, down into the basement, past Centra Spike’s room, right up to an unassuming little bookcase built into a nondescript wall in the middle of nowhere.

Bill pauses here, turning to look at you with shining eyes.

You meet his stare, giving away nothing.

With an enthusiasm that borders on theatrical, Bill huddles over a little keypad that’s tucked away at the edge of the bookcase. He punches in a series of numbers, glancing over to confirm that you’re still watching.

You definitely are.

Bill steps back, and like something from an Indiana Jones film, the entire fucking bookcase slides aside, reveling a reinforced steel door built into the wall.

“Whoa,” you can’t help but breathe.

Bill’s eyes glitter. He’s eating this up, impressing you.

And truly, you’re impressed. That little spark of interest that had died in the past months of your burnout has flared with a vengeance.

This is the shit that you joined the CIA for, and Bill Stechner knows it.

“Welcome to the white room, Ears,” Bill announces lowly. It’s the soft, knowing voice of a man sharing a deeply guarded secret. He opens the steel door with a flourish, and it swings slowly aside, heavy and creaking, as if its weight alone could announce the gravity of what you’re about to see.

Carefully, you step inside the room, ducking a little to avoid knocking your head against the low hanging doorway, crawling past the steel corridor entrance before you can straighten.

You blink, astounded at what you’re seeing.

Of course, you’ve heard whispers of CIA’s fabled “White Room,” a repository of classified files tucked away somewhere in the embassy basement. Even Javi’s mentioned it a couple of times, always with a hint of resentment, like he’d give his left arm for even a glimpse inside. Rumor is, Steve Murphy’s been in here before, but just once, and he was heavily supervised the entire time. It’s a fucking goldmine of intel, stacks upon stacks of carefully organized file folders, all at the fingertips of the few individuals who are important enough to be need-to-know.

“Okay,” you whisper beneath your breath, taking it all in. Reality is a little different than you’d pictured. The entrance is impressive, sure, but what you’re staring at is even more so. Box after carefully labelled box is packed atop one another, stacked six deep on a never-ending series of steel shelves.

You could spend an eternity here learning all of the secrets of Colombia. The implications are mind-boggling, and distantly, you wonder how many other well-hidden rooms the CIA has tucked away across a spread of foreign countries, a never-ending fountain of secrets related to god-knows-what.

Your brain stutters at the thought.

You realize suddenly that Bill is watching you carefully from the corner of his eye, observing your reaction as if he’s surreptitiously taking notes on every thought that flits across you brain. Again, you school your expression, reverting to that practiced, dead-eyed stare of careful neutrality.

“Cool,” you say, a little breathlessly, knowing that Bill’s eager to wow you, and not seeing any reason not to acknowledge the fact that, yeah, you’re pretty fucking wowed. You turn to face him, ignoring the temptation to sweep your gaze over the many, many labeled files at your eye level. “So, what are we doing here?”

Bill laughs. “I’ll show you.” He leads you past the shelves, and now that you’re behind him, you can’t stop your eyes from tracking over the labels at your eye level. You’re appalled by what you see.

Shelves upon shelves devoted to Escobar, and even more to the Cali Cartel, all broken down into sections of the individual godfathers. Rodriguez, Herrera, Bejarano, Moncado are all names that catch your eye. There are folders on each major sicario that you recognize from Javi’s info board: Mosquera, Lucumí, Vásquez, Gaviria... the list goes on. Even more files files are labeled Castaño. There’s a whole series of boxes on M-19, and a little past that, an entire shelf devoted solely to FARC.

It’s more than your mind can possible comprehend in one quick sweep, and hell, that’s just what you could catch at eye level.

It occurs to you that this is what Steve and Javi are always bitching about. Sure, you’re aware of the ever present pissing contest between the DEA and the CIA, but it’s always been peripheral information to you. Steve in particular is pretty vocal about his frustration with the ‘fucking CIA.’ “Goddamn file’s so redacted that it might as well be scrap,” you can just hear him muttering.

Christ, if this is the kind of intel that the CIA has open access too, you can kind of see his point.

Bill stops at a table in the center of the room, indicating it with a sweep of his hand. Reluctantly, you sit, a little annoyed that you’ve got your back to him now, but not feeling comfortable enough to twist around to track what he’s doing. Your instincts are screaming at you that this is a test. A big one. So you wait demurely in your tiny plastic chair, your hands folded primly in your lap, listening intently as Bill shuffles for something behind you.

After a long moment, Bill leans his hip heavily against the table, just a hair too close to your shoulder for you to be totally comfortable. You don’t have time to think on that, though, because he’s sliding a black and white photograph under your nose for you to view.

The man that leers up at you has a pinched face beneath a deep brow. His nose is long and lopsided, as if it’s been broken at least once. His thinning, limp hair hangs low over his eyes, giving him a mysterious, almost rebellious look. His mouth is wide, crooked teeth exposed in an open-mouthed grimace. He’s angling toward the camera, obviously unaware of its existence, leaning forward with a machine gun cradled to his chest.

“Feo,” you say instantly, your mouth working before your brain can catch up. You recognize him from the evidence board in the DEA office, and even more from your conversations with Javi.

Feo is a low level sicario, one that’s just now caught the attention of Search Bloc, mostly due to the recent chatter that Centra Spike has picked up. You’ve yet to get a positive ID on his voice, but he’s been mentioned in several conversations lately, always in reference to ‘drops.’

Javi’s been working deep in the night to decipher these conversations, eager to learn what ‘drops’ Escobar and his sicarios are so desperate to come by.

“Feo,” Bill drawls, a hint of something sharp licking at his tone. You glance up at him, curious. “That’s an unfortunate nickname.”

He’s staring down at you with eyes that are too aware. Probing, assessing.

Fuck.

“I’ve seen him on the DEA board,” you explain, grateful that you can provide an answer so quickly. You don’t like the way Bill is looking at you, like he’s daring you to confess a sin.

“I didn’t realize there were many photos of him floating around,” Bill says casually. But you aren’t stupid. You read the threat in his statement, loud and clear.

“It’s a new one,” you reply automatically, feeling as if you’re scrambling to claw yourself out of a hole.

But this is also true. Feo has been an ongoing mystery to Search Bloc, one that they haven’t taken seriously until recently. You wonder what it is about this man that’s got Bill so on edge.

Bill hums. “Good eye.” He hunches over the photograph, so close that you can feel his body heat against your neck.

“This is Raul Manriquez.” Bill taps the forehead of the man in the photograph, then turns to leer at you. “Apparently, he’s known to his friends as Feo.”

He’s watching you for a sign. You refuse to give it.

“So,” you ask after a beat. Bill folds his arms across his chest, waiting for you to continue. He’s not giving any signs either, the dickwad. “What does the CIA want with Raul Manriquez?”

Bill has never behaved this way with you before. There’s a certain weight to the way he regards you that hints at paranoia. He’s deeply, almost obsessively interested in this man, and it doesn’t make sense.

Feo is a sicario, sure. But sicarios are far, far below Bill’s pay grade. The thought is laughable, even.

Something drops in your stomach. If Feo is more than a sicario, as it seems he must be, then it is far, far above your pay grade to be this involved.

Bill pulls out a chair beside you and sits heavily. He leans on his elbow, swinging his legs so that his knees brush your thighs.

You echo him, carefully positioning yourself so that you’re facing one another, but no longer touching.

“We have intel to suggest that Raul Manriquez is connected with a Russian weapons ring,” Bill starts. You notice for the first time that he looks tired, too, his eyes a little bloodshot, heavy bags dropping darkly beneath them.

Something clicks in your brain. “He’s Pablo’s weapons guy,” you breathe. The pieces fall together with startling clarity. The drops that the sicarios had mentioned. The fact that Feo seems to stay at the periphery of things, not nearly as involved with the day-to-day bullshit that other sicarios seem to thrive on. “He’s running guns.”

“Among other things,” Bill drawls, seeming thoroughly bored by the turn in the conversation.

You ignore that. Your thoughts are spinning wildly, forging connections, solving problems. Escobar’s got to get his weapons from somewhere. In the back of your mind, you’ve always sort of known this, but the significance of it has stayed firmly out of sight, swamped by other things that, at the time, had seemed far more important.

But if you could catch Feo… If you could choke off Pablo’s lethality directly at the source…

“We could end this,” you whisper, sitting up to look Bill directly in the eye. Your voice rises. “Bill, if we neutralize Feo, Escobar’s lost his access to his guns.” Something swoops in your heart, and you feel brighter, more energized than you have in weeks. “We can end this war!”

“Oh, the fucking drug war.” Bill scoffs, waving his hand in a casual gesture of lazy dismissal. He looks frustrated, disappointed. “Ears, broaden you horizons a little, sister. Escobar is on the run. When he’s gone,” Bill leans in, the glint in his eye damned near dangerous. “And he will be gone, Ears, trust me.” He huffs a deep sigh, shaking his head as he pitches away to balance on the far feet of his chair, rocking back and forth in a way that reminds you of a restless kid in a elementary school classroom. His eyes are sharp, possessive as they pin yours. “What then?”

You stare at him flatly, a little miffed to have nearly a year of your life’s work brushed aside as if it’s just petty bullshit.

You shake that emotion away, blinking hard, reminding yourself of where you are, of who your boss is. With the lines as blurred as they are in Colombia, and your unique position dancing between Centra Spike, the DEA, and the CIA, and Search Bloc, it’s easy to forget that ultimately, it’s Bill Stechner who owns you.

For the first time, that thought deeply unsettles you.

Bill falls forward heavily on his elbows, looking at you with a furrowed brow, and you remind yourself for the umpteenth time that this meeting is a performance, one that you’ve utterly and completely bombed until now.

You brain spins, processing the little bits and pieces of information that you’ve been given. Bill sees Escobar’s fall as in inevitability, inconsequential, even. He’s concerned about Feo in the context that he’s connected to the weapons trade in Colombia.

Quickly, you consider what you know about Bill Stechner. A CIA big wig with a shady-ass military background. A man who’s mind lives in the future.

A future without Escobar. He’s made that much clear.

“You’re looking to fill a power vacuum,” you announce suddenly, knowing instinctively that you’re not far off the mark. Bill Stechner is a man who is always thinking ahead, studying the political chessboard to analyze his next move, and the one after that, too.

And that truth bomb jars free even more thoughts that have been floating untethered in the back of your mind. When he’s not skulking around his office, Bill is gone for weeks at a time, supposedly off in depths of the amazonian jungle, brushing shoulders with his right winged military buddies.

Commie hunting.

The pieces fall perfectly into place, painting a sobering picture, and all the while, Bill watches, a sharp little grin playing at his lips as you connect the dots.

“Bill,” you say, refusing to accept any bullshit. You thump your finger hard against Feo’s leering smirk, pinning Bill with a dark stare. “Is this guy connected with FARC?”

Both of Bill’s brows arch skyward, and he leans back, looking at you with a new light in his eyes. You get the impression that once again, you’ve impressed him.

You’re not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

“I don’t know, Ears,” Bill admits, glancing away to his hands, which are suddenly curling into fists in his lap. You can tell it really grinds his gears, the uncertainty. “That’s what I want to find out.”

You consider him carefully, keeping your face expressionless. This is the most open response you’ve ever gotten from Bill, and you file away that information along with everything else you’ve learned today.

It’s a lot.

“What do you need from me?”

It’s a valid question. Part of you, the part that is equally intrigued and enraptured by Bill Stechner and the CIA as a whole, genuinely wants to help.

The rest of you is just desperate to get out of this room.

Bill’s lips slide into a knowing smirk. “Well, Ears,” he drawls, eyeing you in a way that makes something sink in your gut. “I’m glad you asked.”

“I’m listening.” You deliberately leave off the ‘sir,’ that you’re tempted to tack on to the end of that statement. Damn your army background.

“This is the moment that we’ve put you in place for,” Bill confesses, hunching forward on his elbows. Again, you get the impression that he’s trying to reel you in, seducing you with a show of honesty.

You brace yourself.

“The DEA is interested in this man, too,” Bill starts, shooting you a pointed look that says ‘I know you already know this.’ You keep your face carefully blank, so Bill continues. “I know that they’ve been working to track his location.”

Something cold coils in your heart. “Are you asking me to spy on Search Bloc?” you ask point blank.

Bill shakes his head. “No, no, no, Ears,” he chides with an expression of extreme patience, as if you’re a child to him. “That would be counterproductive. We’re all on the same team, after all.” He pins you with a dead-eyed stare that sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m asking you to fully engage in your position with the CIA.” Bill stresses the last point, again reminding you of who you are, who you answer to. “You’re a liaison.” He hums a little, all casual disinterest, disarming you, reinforcing the bonds of loyalty that he’s forged with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “So, liaise.”

You realize with a starling, icy jolt of clarity that Bill Stechner has tolerated your relationship with Javier Peña for this very reason, that he’s garnered your favor - accepting your transfer request, giving you a raise, buying you drinks, playing your buddy - all in preparation for using you as his own personal mole in the ranks of Search Bloc.

And you’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Your throat works hard to swallow against a suddenly dry mouth. “I understand, sir.”

For the first time, Bill doesn’t correct your formality. You hardly notice the shift, though. You’re still reeling from the implications of what he’s asking of you, of how he’s exploited you, taken advantage of all of your vulnerabilities. Suddenly, you feel as if you’re choking, like a noose is tightening, tightening around your neck. You have to stop yourself from reaching to massage your throat, clenching your hands into tight firsts into your lap instead.

Bill watches it all in cool amusement. “Atta girl,” he praises, and you swear you taste bile. He stands, and you copy him absently, feeling detached and awkward, walking on legs that require all of your attention to keep from trembling.

Bill claps a heavy hand on your shoulder. His eyes flash with something like pride, and you decide in that moment that you hate him, this motherfucker, almost as much as you hate yourself for falling for his bullshit.

Goddammit, you’re so fucking stupid.

“Good talk,” he says, and you nod in a way that you hope is contemplative without being telling.

You follow Bill out of the room on wooden legs, your mind spinning with the implications of your conversation. He nods to you as the bookshelf slides shut behind you, and you nod back, relieved to see that he turns to head the opposite direction from the DEA office.

You glance down at your watch. You’ve got ten minutes if you hurry. With all your heart, you hope that Javi is still working.

You need to see him.

You push past his glass door, swinging it open hard enough that it bangs ominously against the wall. Javi is still slumped over his desk in the exact same position as before, studying a jumbled series of papers, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his lips.

Your breath catches at the sight of him.

His head snaps up at your noisy arrival, dark eyes narrowed at the intrusion. His expression softens when he sees that it’s you.

“Ears.” His voice is a sigh, a release of that same tension that you feel leaking from you own bones, and you dart forward, heedless of who might be watching beyond the glass walls.

“Hey,” you say, shoving aside an opened manilla folder to create a bare space for you to lean against. Javi doesn’t seem to mind that in the least, so you flop up onto his desk, pressing your thigh against his elbow, enjoying the feeling of just sharing the same space.

Javi glances at you, and your something lurches in your chest as you take him in. He looks haggard, exhausted, dark bags gathered beneath his bloodshot eyes like he hasn’t had good night’s sleep in far too long.

“Another little chat with Stechner?” he grouses, peering up at you with narrow gazed suspicion.

Your heart sinks, and you have to blink hard against the onslaught of his ire. Javi’s always been grouchy when he’s tired, and there’s nothing that drives him into a funk faster than any mention of Bill Stechner. It’s as if he has a sixth sense in that regard, like he can smell Bill on your skin.

And that’s a gross thought.

Until now, Javi’s attitude had irked you, and you’d written it off as petty, just another brand of that delightfully obnoxious possessiveness that he’s continuously displayed since your apartment was bombed.

But dammit, you’re the moron here, not Javi. He’d been right not to trust Bill.

You shut your eyes tightly. You wonder if Javi should even trust you, given your most recent assignment.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, not knowing how to put your many worries into words, and Javi must read your conflicted mood, because he lets the subject drop. He huffs, his attention falling back to the open file on his desk, his long fingers working little tapping patterns into its intricate woodgrain.

You follow his gaze, noticing that he’s been pouring over the same photograph that Bill had shown you in the white room. Feo’s ugly mug leers back at you, a knowing, secretive smirk playing at his upturned lips, like he’s mocking you, the motherfucker.

A flood of emotions swamp you. You’ve watched Javi squinting down at this same photo for days, his mind spinning as he attempts to tease out connections, completely stumped as to how this unassuming, ugly man fits into the bigger picture of Pablo Escobar and his sicarios.

And now you know, but there’s not a damn thing you can say about it. Bill’s going to be watching you. Hell, he’d admitted as much today. Verbatim. If he thinks that his little spy is sharing classified CIA intel with her DEA boyfriend…

Well, honestly, you’re not sure what would happen. You just know that it would be bad news for you, and probably even worse for Javi.

You release a deep, broken sigh, exhaling though your nose. You wonder how you’re going to balance it all, working for Bill without betraying Javi.

Well, you absolutely refuse to do that. Fuck Bill Stechner for even asking.

But now, watching Javi huddled over his messy desk, squinting in the dim light because he refuses to wear his fucking glasses, frazzled and careworn and a little cranky, something pulls at your chest.

Refusing to share this intel feels a lot like a betrayal already, and suddenly, you’re desperate to confess it all to him, to crawl into Javi’s lap and spill your guts and cry and beg for his forgiveness for blowing off his concerns about Stechner, for even entertaining the thought of withholding information from him.

Just as you feel like you’re ready to burst, Javi sighs deeply, flopping the file shut. He grinds out his cigarette and turns to glance at you, his eyes dark with need.

Your breath catches.

Then, without a word, Javi pitches forward to rest his head against your thigh. He nuzzles there for a moment, and you find yourself carding your fingers through his hair, helpless against the temptation to touch him, comfort him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a long moment.

“Shh,” you whisper. Guilt gnaws at you. You’re the one who should be sorry.

But Javi huffs a hot little breath against your leg, and you brush aside all thoughts of who should trust who, of loyalty and ethics and treason and chain of command. Right now, your entire universe is resting his head in your lap, and you’re determined to enjoy this moment, fallout be damned.

“Baby,” he murmurs into the rough denim of your jeans, and your heart flutters. You bring your opposite hand to rest at the back of his neck, savoring the softness of his skin there, winding your fingers through the curls that brush against his collar.

Javi shudders at your touch, and you remember belatedly that you’re stroking at his number one erogenous zone, teasing him mercilessly without meaning him to.

Reluctantly, you pull away, resting your palm at the slope of his shoulder instead. “Whoops.”

Javi snorts, craning his neck just enough to arch his only visible eyebrow in your direction. The rest of his face is squished into your thigh.

It’s fucking adorable, and it reminds you all over again how little you deserve him, this precious, perfect man.

“What’s wrong?” Javi asks, like he’s sensed the direction of your thoughts. He twists further to frown up at you. One hand comes up to rest at the juncture of your hip, his thumb pressing deeply into your skin.

It’s a comfort.

“Nothing,” you mutter, because you can hardly say ‘everything.’ You busy yourself with working little circles at the base of Javi’s ear, hoping it’s enough to distract him from his line of questioning.

It’s not. Javier Peña has a mind like a steel trap, and he notices everything. “Bull,” he breathes, shutting his eyes despite his best efforts. “You’re worried ‘bout something.”

God, he looks wrecked.

“I just…” You struggle for the right words to to offer him, come up empty. “God, I hate this.”

That one dark eyes flutters open again, soft with concern.

“I miss you,” you blurt before he can dig any further. And oh, god, that’s not a lie. You miss Javi so much it fucking burns, even with him nuzzled right here in your lap.

Javi draws a deep breath, rolling over to expose the entire left side of his face. His opposite arm comes up to wrap around your waist so that he’s almost hugging you, his fingers digging gently into your flank. “What time is your shift over, baby?” he mumbles, his one visible eye glinting, nearly feverish with need.

“Mmm,” you hum, your pulse hammering away in response to the how he’s looking at you. “I can probably be home by eight,” you say sadly.

And really, that’s pushing it. It all depends on what you hear over the frequencies, and how quickly you can vet it. Anybody’s guess at this point in the game.

Javi blusters a deep sigh that prickles hotly at your inner thigh. “Dammit,” he groans, clenching his eyes shut in frustration.

“What’s your morning like?” In the craziness of the past few days, you’ve completely forgotten his schedule.

“Early,” Javi mutters darkly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Fuck.”

“Hardly,” he pouts against your jeans.

And god, you can’t blame him. Resentment wells hot in you. You just want a break, dammit, just a single fucking day to spend with the man you love.

Is that so much to ask?

Suddenly desperate for more contact, you bend down to drop a gentle kiss at his temple.

Javi inhales sharply as your lips meet his skin, and you lay there like that, contorting over him in a way that makes your sides ache and probably displays half of your bare back to anybody who happens to walk past the glass walls of the DEA office right now.

You don’t fucking care. You need this.

“Can I meet you for lunch tomorrow?” you ask as you finally pull away. You haven’t bothered glancing at your watch, but instinct is telling you that you’re already running late for your shift, and your back is killing you.

Javi sits up, slumping against his office chair with his legs splayed sideways. He’s all wild hair and furrowed brow, and if you weren’t at work, you’d be tempted to crawl into his lap and kiss that contemplative look right off his face.

“That might work,” he says slowly, licking his upper lip a little in that way that means he’s thinking hard. Something coils deep in your belly, and you have to shake your thoughts away from those lips and that tongue, and what all they’re capable of.

Javi cocks a brow at you, tilting his head a little. “What are you thinking?”

Fuck it, it’s late. You slide off his desk, planting yourself in his lap with your legs spread across his, grinding subtly against his thighs. His belt buckle digs into your belly, but you don’t give a shit. You tilt his face to yours, reveling for half a second in his confused, awestruck expression before you plant your lips on his for a deep, gentle kiss. Javi moans a little at the contact, plaint and responsive against your advances, his hands coming to graze at your back reverently.

“I was thinking I’d ride,” you whisper against the stubble at his lower jaw just as you lean in to suck at it.

Javi twitches against you, a tiny jolt of his hips, like he’s tempted to take you right here in his rickety office chair, damn the glass walls.

“I need to see your face,” you continue, pulling his hands up to rest at your ribs as you rock gently against him, a subtle preview of tomorrow’s menu.

Javi shudders beautifully beneath you. “What, this ol’ thing?’ he teases, nuzzling against your breastbone. You can tell that he’s pleased by the thought.

“This pretty thing,” you correct, working your way back to his lips.

Javi bites back a groan as you kiss him. “Was asking about food,” he murmurs against your mouth. “But this is better.”

“Don’t worry about food,” you say, falling forward to nuzzle against his neck. “I’ll take care of it. And it will be perfect.”

Javi snorts. “Better be takeout, then.” He gathers you against his body with strong arms, cradling you close. You breathe him in, reveling in the distant smell of coffee and stale cigarette, all mixed in with a hint of musky sweat and something smoky and dark that is uniquely Javier Peña.

“God, baby, I’m looking forward to it,” he confesses against the hollow of your throat, and you throw your head back, shut your eyes and let him ravage you there, just for a moment.

Javi pulls away far too soon, and you shudder at the loss of him, your body damn near trembling with need.

He rolls back in his chair, glancing up at you with an apology in his eyes. “It’s eight oh five,” he tells you somberly, and you wince, disentangling yourself from him, stumbling out of his chair and straightening your shirt and threading your fingers through your wild hair in an effort to smooth it down.

“How do I look?” you ask after a moment, backing up enough to give him the full effect of you.

Javi’s eyes are burning as he takes you in, damn near shimmering with want and exhaustion and pent up emotion, and you curse Bill Stechner once again for butting his big nose into your relationship, for complicating things that should be so fucking simple.

“Perfect,” Javi says lowly, his lips pursed into a thin line, his eyes glittering with some thought that you can’t name. “Fucking perfect.”

Something wrenches in your chest, and you catch your breath, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. You suck them down, frustrated at how often life in Colombia seems to draw your emotions to the forefront.

Nobody needs that.

You lean forward, unable to resist dropping one last, chaste kiss to Javi’s forehead. “Go to bed, Javi,” you whisper against his skin. You pull away, a gentle, teasing smile spreading across your face. “Seriously, baby. It’s just getting stupid now.”

You wink at him, and Javi huffs a little laugh. “Get out of here, Ears,” he grouses, waving a lazy hand at you, but his smile is gentle and soft, and you know that he’s recognized the reference for what it is.

Feeling lighter than you have in days, you shoot him one last cheeky wave. Javi blows a little kiss at you in response, and your heart stutters at the gesture.

God, he’s such a sap.

You damn near dance to the Centra Spike office, slipping into your headphones a full ten minutes later than you really should. Nobody bats an eyelash, though, and you busy yourself with the normal nightshift bullshit, sipping your coffee and switching to the proper frequencies, the promise of tomorrow glowing in your heart.

♠

notes/confessions:

I struggled so hard with this. I still don’t love it, but I’m sick of looking at it, so here ya go. Enjoy.

Okay, I know I have thrown some massive plot things at you this week. I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s a lot. Feel free to ask me questions. I’ve tried to make things as clear as possible, but I’m only human, Narcos is complicated af anyway, and Better Love is even worse, probably.

Look for updates to slow back down again, because a) I actually do have a job, and b) we’re getting close to the point where I’m going to have to start posting If I Fall, and I want to have my chapters outlined a little better and maybe even a few deep before I do that. Look for a few little fluffy one-shots scattered between then and now, but guys... for the most part, the pieces are in place, and we are in the home stretch - of the setup, that is.

Holy fucking shit.

Tags: @jedi-mando, @perropascal, @hotspacepilots, @mostly-megan, @starlight-starwrites, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty, @lv7867, @pascalisthepunkest, @sarahjkl82-blog, @corrupt-fvcker, @artsymaddie, @leonieb, @justanotherblonde23, @princess-and-pedro

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh, @1800-fight-me, @mandoandgrogu, @hybrid-in-progress, @va-guardianhathaway, @speakerforthedead0, @feminist-violinist, @herefortheart, @dontmindifidontt, @blo0dangel

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #pedro pascal #narcos #narcos fanfic #Javier Peña fanfic #pedro fandom #pedro fanfic #reader insert #fluff #narcos netflix #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #better love #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom

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crispychrissy · 3 years

Text

Connected - Part 4

Summary: Dr. Austin's theory is put to the test, and she shows Tony, Bucky, and Steve the woman behind the mystery. Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2976 Warnings: Angst, medical stuff, stretching the medical science behind the super soldier serum, discussion of Bucky's previous trauma & a mention of the horrible things the Nazi's did A/N: I apologize for the late posting, I fell asleep so hard last night I didn't have a chance to queue this, and then I was out all day (good 14 hours out and about) so I am just now able to post the new chapter since I'm home now. As I mentioned in a prior post, I no longer have a forever taglist, but I will still tag series specific people if they request. You can also follow this story & others on my Ao3 as well. The series was beta’d by the lovely @idjitmonkey and I hope you enjoy! Please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in the series. :)

Series Masterlist – Marvel Masterlist

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Bucky made a quick call to Shuri who, after a thorough interrogation as to why he was asking, assured him his arm would not be affected by the magnets of an MRI machine. So now, Bucky was laying down on his back inside the machine and staring at the small glass covered camera embedded in the inside curve of the plastic above him.

“Stop staring at the camera, Barnes, you’re giving off some crazy resting murder face right now,” Tony’s staticky voice came through the pair of disposable earbuds he was wearing to protect his hearing from the noise of the scan. “Might sell these scans to Ripley’s Believe It or Not. You actually do have something going on in that head of yours.”

“As much as I know you want to answer, Sergeant Barnes, please do not speak or move,” Dr. Austin’s voice came through after what sounded like a small scuffle for the microphone.

Bucky blinked several times in an unnatural yet controlled fashion, and when he heard Steve’s laughter coming through the earbuds, he had to fight the urge to smile, knowing Steve got the message he blinked out in Morse code.

F-U-C-K Y-O-U T-O-N-Y

The scan was over almost a half an hour later, and Bucky couldn’t hide his exhale of relief once the table began to slide out of the massive scanner. Confined spaces still made his skin crawl and flash back to the cryo tube he was kept in, but the MRI was surprisingly open in design and not like the ones he usually remembered seeing in hospitals. When he brought it up to Dr. Austin on their way back to her office, she smiled at him and explained most of the soldiers they treat have PTSD and claustrophobia, so an open MRI design was necessary for the comfort of the patients she treats.

It made sense, and when they entered her office and Bucky’s stomach growled for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes, she tossed him the orange he’d been eyeing earlier before taking a seat at her desk and flipping open her laptop.

“Normally we have to wait for the images to be reviewed by a radiologist, but I’m well versed in how to read brain scans,” Dr. Austin explained, clicking a few times before leaning forward to study the screen. “Oh, wow.”

“What?” Bucky asked, using his teeth to bite a chunk of the orange’s peel off since his right hand didn't have nails long enough, and his left didn’t have nails at all. Once he could see the flesh of the orange underneath, he slid his flesh finger under the remaining peel and began to remove it in large pieces, trying to avoid getting sticky juice on his metal hand.

Dr. Austin spun her laptop around to show Bucky the image on her screen. It was a scan of his head, he could tell that, but the mess of swirling bright colors on the inside where his brain was made his eyes hurt. There were bright greens and blues swirled with more vibrant reds and pinks dancing around inside the image. “This is your brain.”

“Looks more like those posters… the ‘this is your brain on drugs’ pictures if they were made in the sixties, Doc,” Tony said. “I’m guessing it’s not supposed to look like that?”

“No. There’s so much brain activity that it’s likely what’s been burning through your energy and why you’ve been hungry all the time,” Dr. Austin explained. “Any type of brain activity, including emotions and problem solving, requires energy, whether it’s planning a complex strategy of attack for a mission or a simple math problem or crying at a sad part in a movie. Overworking the mind usually leads to tiredness, which leads to sleep, naturally refreshing those energy reserves. Most humans don’t expend enough energy, even when the brain is very active, to require major replenishment. Take Mr. Stark for example.”

Tony looked up and raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes, you’re a very intelligent man, and I’m guessing that when you’re elbow deep in your inventions or developing something, you don’t sleep and will go days without rest… so you find you get somewhat hungry at random times, right?” Dr. Austin asked.

“Well, yeah, I usually keep snacks around the lab that I nibble on so I don’t have to leave to make an actual meal. It ruins the momentum,” Tony said, confusion in his voice. “Pep’s found me passed out over the kitchen counter halfway through making a sandwich.

“Your body shut down and went to sleep before you were even able to replenish that energy via food since sleep is more efficient. So, that is a normal human mind.” Tony opened his mouth to protest, when Dr. Austin rolled her eyes and switched analogies. “Fine, that’s a standard engine, if you will, that can easily be refueled by a small energy source for a limited amount of time before it needs to be shut down and rebooted,” Dr. Austin said, slowly twirling her right pointer finger in a circle.

“Alright, I’m following you so far.” Tony’s head was slightly moving along with the circular rotation of her finger.

“Now, in the case of our super soldiers here, imagine that engine, but amplified almost five hundred percent,” Dr. Austin began to rotate her finger faster and faster until it was a blur of movement. “The need for sleep is suppressed by the serum, since alertness is crucial in combat, so that reboot requirement is easier to put off. In order to keep this kind of engine going at the same speed and level of activity for prolonged periods, it would burn through a small snack, or a small source of energy, too quickly and would signal the driver of the car, if you will, that it needed more.”

“So you’re saying that something is making Bucky’s brain so active, and he’s burning through so much energy, that it’s manifesting as hunger to make sure he keeps up with what’s being expended?” Steve asked, his mouth slightly open in shock. “I mean, I always remember being hungry after mission strategy and planning meetings, but I just assumed it was because I was bored or had skipped a meal.”

Dr. Austin shook her head. “Nope. You were using your brain in overdrive, doing quick calculations and mission scenarios in your head to find the best possible plan of action, much faster than any normal human brain would be able to calculate. It makes you an excellent strategist, but that kind of brain power burns a lot of energy.”

Bucky snorted in disbelief and leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “It makes sense. I was a good sniper when I was first in the Army during the war, but after Zola… after he injected me with that bastardized version of the serum… I could calculate trajectory angles and wind velocities and distances in my head in seconds, didn’t have to write them out to do the calculations. Didn’t even need a spotter anymore.”

Dr. Austin nodded. “Exactly. The serum allowed you extra mental acuity at the expense of more energy consumption.”

“But that doesn’t explain why Bucky’s brain is lit up like a psychedelic Christmas tree,” Tony said, gesturing to the laptop image. “Barnes obviously isn’t doing any kind of advanced calculus in his head right now.” Tony looked at Bucky. “You’re not right?” Bucky shook his head and Tony continued, “so why is his brain so active?”

“And that leads me to my theory about Y/N,” Dr. Austin said, standing up from her chair. “Follow me, gentlemen. And Sergeant Barnes,” he looked over and raised a brow as he trailed after her into the hallway, “please let me know if you feel any increased feelings of hunger or exhaustion. The effects might come on quickly, so please let me know if, or when, you feel anything.”

Bucky nodded, and looked over to where Steve was walking to his right. Thanks to their childhood friendship, Steve could always see anxiety and nervousness in Bucky even when he tried to hide it, like when he saw Bucky off the morning he shipped off to Europe. Bucky kept his face stoic, but when Steve hugged him goodbye, Bucky was practically trembling under the Army-hardened mask he had worn then.

Steve reached over and clasped a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze of reassurance.

The doctor led them down several hallways, until they reached another wing of the military hospital which held secure patient rooms that could be locked down if necessary, whether due to outbursts of violence due to psychological issues from recovering soldiers or to hold prisoners who had been injured and needed medical intervention. Dr. Austin stopped in front of a room at the end of the hallway and gestured to the one-way mirror in front of her.

“Gentlemen, meet Y/N Y/L/N.”

The three men stepped closer and looked into the room, all eyes frozen on the figure sitting upright in the hospital bed. Y/N had shoved herself in the farthest possible corner of the bed, her knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around her legs. The photo in her file, and even the video of her they’d seen looked nothing like the woman before them. She looked almost emaciated, her skin a sickly pale that was almost translucent, and her stringy grease matted hair twitched slightly as her body trembled.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed. “She… she looks like those prisoners… the ones—”

Bucky swallowed and nodded. “From Natzweiler, yeah, I remember.” Bucky took a deep breath, fighting against the telltale tingle in his mind of a long since forgotten memory beginning to rise up like a wave. “Doc… is she eating?”

“She was when she first got here, but only if the food was left for her after she passed out from exhaustion,” Dr. Austin explained. “Now, ever since things have escalated, she rips out her IV’s, pulls out NG tubes, and refuses any food we bring her. I’m not going to sedate her just because it’ll make it easier to feed her, we haven’t reached that level of intervention yet, but we’re getting close. She told one of our staff yesterday, in Russian, that she was not going to eat any of our poisoned food, that she wasn’t some kind of lab experiment and that we were animals for not just shooting her in the head to get it over with.”

All of the air in Bucky’s lungs came out in one hard breath like he’d been punched in the chest, and he had to brace himself against the windowsill to keep his knees from buckling. “Fuck.”

“Bucky?” Steve gasped at Bucky’s sudden weakness, grabbing onto his friend’s arm and placing a gentle hand on his back. ”What? Are you feeling the stuff Dr. Austin mentioned?”

Bucky grit his teeth and closed his eyes at the onslaught of memory fragments bombarding him. “No, I’m… I don’t know, maybe? I just… she’s…” Bucky’s thoughts were so jumbled he could barely form a coherent sentence, even in his head. He made a choked off noise that sounded more like a sob before he lifted his head to look at Y/N. “She’s reliving my captivity with Hydra. This… this was after I was transferred from the facility the Russians held me in after they found me to the one where Zola did his experiments. They were, umm, they were testing the limits of the serum, trying to figure out what I could survive.”

Steve’s face dropped and he took a sharp breath in. Bucky’s captivity and torture was not something he talked about often outside his therapy sessions. Steve only knew a handful of stories, ones that had come directly from Bucky’s mouth, and even then they were very hard stories for him to tell—lots of starting and stopping, frequent breaks, and plenty of tears. But here, with two extra people with him, and one being a stranger?

“Buck, you don’t have to talk about it,” Steve whispered.

“No, I need… she said exactly what I said to the guards who brought me food one day.” Bucky swallowed hard, flexing his fingers against the painted metal of the windowsill, the cold against his flesh hand grounding him. “They were testing different poisons and how the serum would fight it off… arsenic, ricin, even different kinds of snake and spider venom. I had seizures, strokes, and my heart stopped so many times I lost count.”

“Fucking hell,” Tony murmured, leaning against the wall behind them, his face a few shades paler than it was ten minutes ago. “Y/N is reliving your memories, reliving your life.”

“We need to find a way to pull her out of this,” Bucky said, straightening up with determination even though his bones felt like liquid and his mind was full of numbing static. If Y/N was reliving his life, even if it didn’t seem like the moments were in order, he knew it was only a matter of time until she would experience how the Winter Soldier was born, how he was forged, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Dr. Austin nodded and looked back at her patient through the glass. “If my theory is correct, which I believe it is based on your shared memories and brain scans, Y/N’s mind has somehow melded with yours. And your memories, powered by your mind’s energy, have somehow taken over hers, suppressing her personality completely. I don’t know if it was some kind of dormant mutant ability that was activated by the trauma of her captivity and torture, or something else… but there is obviously some kind of link between the two of you that we don’t have the technology to test for and verify. You’re essentially feeding her your memories, which is why your brain is lit up like that and why you’re expending so much energy.”

“It’s like she’s stuck inside one of Stark’s virtual reality headsets and can’t take it off, experiencing everything I went through while my brain keeps playing her different…” Bucky trailed off and his eyes widened before his head snapped to look at Y/N through the glass.

In a flash of movement, Bucky grabbed Dr. Austin’s ID badge from where it was clipped onto her white coat and darted for the door to Y/N’s room, scanning the badge so the door opened with a green light and soft click. Bucky, ignoring the shouts of his name and hands trying to grab at him to pull him back, opened the door and shut it firmly behind him, engaging the door’s auto-lock safety feature that he knows secure wings of hospitals have. The group outside would need to find another ID badge to get in, which would buy him some time.

Y/N’s wide and terrified eyes settled on him, and she tilted her head in an almost confused dog-like fashion, her eyes softening with an air of familiarity. Bucky could feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach turn into sharp cramps that almost made him double over, and there was a soft circle of darkness starting to creep in around his vision.

Bucky took three large steps forward, and even though she flinched away at his sudden movement, Y/N didn’t scramble away to try and avoid his hands as he lifted them. Her weary bloodshot eyes were full of unshed tears, and the closer Bucky’s hands got to her face, the more she began to tremble.

“You’re safe,” he whispered to her in Russian, before repeating the same sentiment in English.

The moment his fingers, both flesh and metal, touched the skin on either side of her face, it felt like he was on the wrong side of an attack from Thor’s hammer. Whatever weakness and hunger he’d been feeling was burned out of his body at the sheer shock cascading through his entire being. It didn’t hurt, but it was bordering on wildly uncomfortable, and Bucky was afraid he’d never be able to let go, his hands stuck to Y/N like a magnet.

There was something different passing between them, more than what touch alone could provide. Trying to understand everything that was happening was overwhelming, but when Bucky focused, he could almost feel Y/N inside his mind, like another whisper of a presence, a ghost in his consciousness. When he reached out in his head for her where he’d felt the ghost of her presence, he was assaulted with bursts of memories he knew were not his own, images of unfamiliar people, places, and things flashing in his mind like photographs. Bucky's curiosity was almost childlike, awestruck and trying to understand what his brain was comprehending, sorting through what Y/N was showing him.

The more information Bucky absorbed, the darker each memory became until it felt like he was wading through molasses, each image being harder and harder to move past. A hoarse whisper of “No” echoed in his mind, and Bucky couldn’t tell if it was his own voice or Y/N’s.

A solid arm wrapped around Bucky’s middle, one much more firm than human flesh would be, and pulled him backward until his hands dropped from Y/N’s face, breaking whatever connection had refused to release him when he’d touched her. Reality came rushing back, and the room and people around him flashed into existence, the change in environment and sound disorienting him and leaving him panting for breath, his knees wobbling.

“She…” Bucky looked over at Y/N, who was just as distressed, and watched her collapse onto the bed, unconscious, before his vision blacked out and darkness took him as well.

***

Connected Tags: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @that-one-gay-girl @fanofalltheficsx @joseyrw @lana-writes-04 @gia-25 @klanceiscannon14 @ahahafudge

#connected #part 4 #marvel series #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #reader insert #bucky barnes x y/n #angst #medical stuff

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renjuseyo · 3 years

Text

pinwheel (2) ; woozi

group: seventeen

pairing: lee jihoon / reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis: even if you get lost and it takes you a while, come round and round back to me.

genre: angst with a happy ending

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

part one got good feedback so here’s part two written in jihoon’s pov :) it’s almost one am where i am so this hasn’t been proof read quite yet! but as always, feedback would be greatly appreciated! <3 you can find part one here

title inspiration: pinwheel by seventeen other songs: i wish by seventeen

there is a time, always, when jihoon closes his eyes and sees you in the center of his world.

when you two were in a relationship, thinking about each other was a given. wondering if the other had eaten yet or what they were up to was practically second nature, though in jihoon’s case, these thoughts were accompanied by his adoration for you. sometimes he’ll catch himself picturing you beside him, laughing so loudly that you’re snorting. it isn’t anything romantic; if he’s being honest, you have one of the weirdest laughs he’s ever heard. but as weird as it is, it’s both endearing and contagious, because it never fails to brighten his day a little more.

or he’ll picture you nagging at him, probably because he’s failed to take care of himself once again, whether it be because he accidentally skipped a meal or spent more time working on a project instead of sleeping. even if you may act like a parent more than a lover sometimes, you’re really taking care of jihoon, and in some ways, you’re the best one to do it. it brings him a sense of comfort, being able to shut his eyes and make you out so vividly in his head.

now, every time he thinks of you, pictures your boisterous laugh or your nagging lectures, all he can feel is hurt. he can’t hear your laugh without hearing your cries, nor can he see you nagging without picturing your painstaking silence. he knows it’s not right, not after he left you crying in your apartment, not even sparing a glance back. he doesn’t deserve to, anyways.

not many things can change all at once, he realizes, even if it’s already been two years. he still wonders how you are doing, sometimes if you’ve moved on, even. today is one of those days, it seems, because he’s supposed to be composing a piece for a project due a week from now. but instead of pumping out poetic verse after verse like the machine he is, he’s laying in bed, staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars sprinkled against the ceiling as he goes down the inevitable spiral thoughts of you bring along. he isn’t quite sure why he hasn’t taken them down, considering how memories are drenched up just by staring at them for too long. even if they provide a dim glow amidst the pitch darkness, it doesn’t make things less lonely.

when he was dating you, he was an absolute workaholic, constantly pouring his all into his projects. ironically enough, now that you’re gone, he spends his days doing nothing instead of working to distract himself. he still goes about his day as usual, but he doesn’t put work above himself anymore.

he sighs, rolling to his side. time helps some and hurts others, but he finds himself somewhere in between in a grey area. he hasn’t quite moved on from the events yet, but the bitterness he felt is replaced with a subtle dullness in his head. it’s a blank feeling, almost as if it isn’t there.

but it is, to his dismay, and he’s reminded of it every time he stares at a blank space for a little too long. jihoon isn’t one to ponder on falling outs for a long time - “everything happens for a reason,” he always says. yet here he is, in the dullest area he’s ever known, being the most unproductive he’s ever been. his friends had long given up on him; even his friend jeonghan, who might be the stubbornest person he’s ever met, has stopped pushing him to hang out with their friends now. wonwoo still tries every now and then, but that’s because he feels a sense of duty as his best friend. besides, he probably has made more progress with you than him, if seeing him drop off coffee at your place each time is anything to go by.

the thought of you and wonwoo together creeps into his mind before he can do anything about it. he doesn’t have the right to feel jealous or uncomfortable - if anything, he’s a much better fit for you than he will ever be, even if it hurts to admit. wonwoo won’t break your heart like he did, and he’s thoughtful and observant, so you won’t have to worry about expressing your thoughts. jihoon knows you could care less about physical appearance, but wonwoo is undoubtedly one of the most attractive people he’s ever met, so that’s a bonus, too. you deserve someone that brilliantly shines like the sun, like wonwoo. not someone who cowers in the darkness like the moon, like him.

but even if wonwoo isn’t the perfect match for you, he knows you’ll eventually find someone who does, because you’re just magnetic like that.

(he isn’t quite sure how long he’s spent wallowing his insecurities. but by the time he comes out of his head, he seats himself at his desk with newfound inspiration, writing i wish at the top of a new page.)

the four years jihoon spent dating you, and the several he spent as your best friend, has undoubtedly been the best years he’s spent. it isn’t like there’s a new adventure every day, because truthfully, you two spend more time being couch potatoes together than going out and exploring the world. but the sense of comfort and security he feels with you, the one that reminds him so dearly of home, is reason enough for him to spend each day contently.

if someone asked you how your relationship worked out as well as it did, he would say it’s because of your mutual respect for each other, and the confidence you had in your love for each other. your respect probably stems from your differences; if you’re loud and energetic, jihoon is quiet and reserved. when you relish in physical touch, jihoon resorts to subtle actions. some may even say you two are complete opposites, baffled at your compatibility, though others might argue that it’s these traits that made things just... work. truthfully, jihoon would argue that there couldn’t possibly be a more compatible pair that just got each other.

with such a perfect fit, how could you two have possibly fallen apart, some might wonder? he wonders this every now and then, too, though the answer to him is clear as day. and who else is there to blame except for himself?

having faith in each others’ love is the pillar to every relationship, and by doubting his, jihoon inevitably slipped down a rabbit hole of insecurities and what-ifs. and with these came the thought of you deserving much better than what he can offer, which eventually led to the mess that was two years ago.

now, if someone asked jihoon if he loves you, he would answer yes, in a heartbeat. but if someone also asked if he had any regrets, he would answer no, in the exact same time span. you deserve someone who won’t fall down said rabbit hole, even if it hurts him to think of you with someone new. love is a powerful motivator, anyways.

(jihoon’s perched on a stool by the bar, a glass of beer in his hand. moments later, wonwoo slides himself beside him, holding a new bottle. he raises an eyebrow in questioning. “bartender said it’s for you, from the girl in the blue dress.”

he scans the crowd until his eyes drift onto someone matching that description. she holds up her own glass in acknowledgement, sending him a flirty smile. he’s a little surprised considering how he rarely stands out like this. unsure of what to do, he sends her a polite smile before looking back at wonwoo. “no thanks.”

wonwoo shrugs, taking a swig of his own bottle. “suit yourself.” the bar is densely packed with people among their own cliques, eagerly engaged in conversation. it’s loud and reeks of alcohol, but jihoon feels like he’s in his own little bubble, save for wonwoo by his side. they both silently drink their respective beverages, taking in the crowd behind them, until wonwoo turns to face him. “care to tell me why you’re here, drinking your sorrows away?”

he rolls his eyes. “i’m not depressed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

he shrugs, holding up his hands defensively. “sorry. forgot you’re all sunshine and rainbows.” there’s a quick pause, and jihoon can tell he has something to say. “you know,” he begins, swirling his drink around, “(name) asked me how you’ve been.”

jihoon can feels his lungs contracting together, but he ignores the feeling, instead intensely staring at his drink. wonwoo continues, “i said you were doing okay.” he turns his head to give him a look of confusion, since wonwoo has experienced firsthand just how “okay” he’s really been. “well, you’re doing better than (name) is,” he explains. “i just thought you might want to know.”

he looks back at his drink, biting his lip. he supposes wonwoo does have a point, because he hasn’t turned into a sobbing mess like people had thought he would be. but then again, jihoon seldom cries, and he isn’t the most expressive, so no one is really surprised. he chooses to think of you instead. did you ask to see if he was still affected? did you ask to see if he was doing better?

his thoughts are running several miles per hour, but thankfully, wonwoo has known him long enough to read his thoughts, and he almost always gets them right. “(name)’s doing better compared to a year ago, but not much has changed.” he pauses to gauge jihoon’s reaction. “you know, i don’t understand why you don’t go back. you still love (name)-”

“no.”

it’s a simple response, really, but from the sudden edge in his voice wonwoo knows better than to pry. he knows it’s because of jihoon’s insecurities and because it would be a complete dick move to ask for your forgiveness two years later. not after he recklessly split your heart in two. you deserve better than a jerk like him, anyways.

jihoon knows this, and he knows wonwoo is only asking because he’s your friend as much as he’s his. he never gets less defensive, though.)

for someone who claims to be laid back, wonwoo sure is stubborn.

jihoon knows this, having known him since high school, yet the observation dawns to him every now and then. now is one of those moments, he notes, having been dragged out of their dorms to the supermarket. he knows fully well that wonwoo is very capable of bringing those groceries in by himself; he’s personally seen him carry two bags loaded with groceries inside without even breaking a sweat. but suddenly wonwoo, who enjoys being by himself more than normal, suddenly craves company from the very person who’s tried to stay indoors more.

“stop frowning, jihoon. you’ll get wrinkles that way,” wonwoo tells him, browsing through the shelves of cereal. “have you seen the honey bunches of oats, by the way? the almond ones.”

jihoon’s still brooding, arms tightly folded across his chest. “you wouldn’t even have to look at my face if i could’ve just stayed home,” he snaps. “and they’re to the right. you missed them a while ago.

he heads to the right as told and makes a noise of satisfaction upon finding what he needed. “come on, jihoon, you need to get some vitamin d in you. staying inside all of the time is bad for you.” wonwoo holds up a box of cereal, grinning. “see? if you weren’t here, i wouldn’t have even found it.”

"it’s night time, and your eyes can’t be that bad,” jihoon snorts, shuffling towards him. he unfolds his arms and shoves them in his pockets instead.

wonwoo rolls his eyes. “you’ve seen me run into a wall because i didn’t have my glasses. i think that itself proves a point.” touche. “anyways, i think we’ve gotten just about everything. is there anything you need?” he asks.

jihoon pauses to think of things they need. “we’re out of ramen,” he answers.

and with that, the two start pushing their cart towards the aisle of asian foods. it’s not surprising to see the shelves of ramen covered by people their age - after all, ramen is practically a necessity for college students. they make their way through the throngs of people when suddenly, one person’s cart abruptly runs into a shelf. packs of ramen fall from the shelves, and they can see someone who seems very embarrassed, bending down to pick up the fallen items as fast as possible. there are people looking at the scene, though apparently none are helpful enough to help.

jihoon makes his way towards the person, helping scoop up the variety of ramen. his eye catches sight of a six-pack of samyang ramen, and he can’t help the bittersweet smile that rests on his lips. you used to compare him to the chicken, and it was funny at the time. now it just reminds him of memories he doesn’t want to recall.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” he hears someone mumble beside him.

he scoops an armful of ramen from the floor and sends you a reassuring smile. “don’t apologize, you’re all right.”

the stranger turns their head so fast that it startles him, when he looks up, he decides there and then the universe really might be out to get him. like some romantic drama, his eyes connect with your wide ones, and your initial nerves seems to intensify more. his smile falls, and he’s staring at you, trying his hardest to remove any signs of emotions on his face. it seems it’s working, because he sees you look away at an impossible speed.

(he hopes you didn’t stare long enough to notice the bags under his eyes, the number of sleepless nights he’s had because of you.)

before he can say anything, you hastily throw the fallen items onto the shelf, even throwing some into your cart. you throw out a quick thank-you before grabbing your cart and zooming down the aisle at an inhumane speed. he’s left alone, crouched on the floor of the ramen aisle, probably looking like a fool with his arms full of ramen staring at an empty space with wide eyes.

as soon as the pile on the floor has been cleared, wonwoo slowly rolls his cart towards jihoon. “was that...” he glances at him to see his reaction. jihoon must have some grief stricken look on his face, because for all of his stubbornness, wonwoo drops the question like hot iron.

they roll their cart towards the cash register, silence lingering in the air. thankfully, wonwoo doesn’t question it, only asking if he’s gotten everything he needed.

he also doesn’t question the six-pack of samyang ramen that had miraculously matieralized in the cart, inserting his card into the card reader. and for all of his frugality, wonwoo doesn’t tell jihoon to pay him back, either.

when they slide into wonwoo’s car after throwing their groceries into the trunk, jihoon turns to glance at him, who’s connecting his phone to the car. “hey, wonwoo?”

he turns to face him, raising an eyebrow in acknowledgement. “yes?”

inhale on five... exhale on ten... and repeat. now that’s not something he’s had to do in a while. he isn’t sure why he feels so nervous - it’s wonwoo of all people. he’s seen jihoon through his worst moments and even lives to tell the tale about it. shutting his eyes, he sighs. “thanks.” he awkwardly rubs his thighs, eyes trained everywhere but at him. now that he thinks about it, he has a lot to thank wonwoo for. for the times he helped him get through his breakup, for the times he’s checked up on you, for the times he forced him out of their apartment, for the times he bought food and groceries for jihoon even though he didn’t need to, for the times he brought coffee to your apartment. for not giving up on him.

wonwoo shrugs, turning the keys in the ignition. “i’d rather not deal with a zombie in my apartment. you still need to pay rent, anyways.”

jihoon’s evening is supposed to look like this: buy groceries for wonwoo and two large bottles of coke-cola for himself, order pizza for the two of them, and spend at least an hour working on his latest project. he’s gotten one of the three parts down, having just come home from the supermarket.

he has two large bottles of coke-cola on the dining table, and if he’s being honest, they’re the only things he’s looking forward to tonight. he’s in the middle of putting carton of milk and fruits in their refrigerator when he hears soft knocks on his door. huh, weird. he sure wasn’t expecting anyone, and wonwoo has keys to their apartment.

he shuts the fridge and starts walking towards their entryway until the soft knocks are suddenly replaced with urgent rapping. he jumps and pauses in stunned silence, before quickening his pace towards the door. when he peeks through the peephole, he’s relieved to see it’s only his neighbor, lee dokyeom, and not a serial killer. he’s in the year below him and is a nice underclassman - nicer than the ones he knows, anyways. sweet, patient guy. definitely not the type to knock on doors so urgently.

jihoon cracks the door open in confusion. “is there something you need?”

dokyeom nervously looks left and right as if he fears something. so perhaps the possibility of a serial killer isn’t thrown out the window, he decides. “i saw someone on the first floor who was looking for you, and they looked really aggravated. just- be careful, okay?” he whispers. before he can say anything, dokyeom scurries away and darts back into his own home.

well he’ll be damned. he supposes this does add a little zest to his mundane routine, and what screams zest quite like an aggravated person looking for him? he shuts the door and locks it before contemplating the events that could have possibly led to this. looks like pizza and his project will have to wait.

a few minutes later, jihoon hears footsteps stoming outside of his apartment. before he can ready a weapon, loud knocks echo throughout his apartment, though they’re much louder and much more aggressive than dokyeom’s. unsure of what to do, he hesitantly peeks through the peephole. when he does, he fully expects to see someone that screams serial killer material. perhaps someone with a gun or a knife, or someone wearing all black with murderous eyes. saying he’s surprised to see you standing outside of his door, angrily clutching onto a sheet of paper, is an understatement.

wait... sheet of paper?

perhaps the potential of a serial killer is better than what he’ll soon face, he decides.

mustering all of the courage in him, jihoon nervously unlocks the door and cracks it open. you’re standing before him, eyes narrowed; if looks could kill, he would be a very dead man. if he’s being honest, this is definitely not how he expected seeing you again. the fates are a funny thing.

“is there-”

“lee. ji. hoon,” you growl, grabbing the collar of his sweater. you drag him into his apartment and kick the door close before pushing him into a wall. under normal circumstances, jihoon would be very flustered. a little turned on, maybe.

but in these circumstances, he’s very nervous and a little afraid. “yes?” he squeaks.

you glare at him, pointing a finger at the sheet of paper in your hands. “what the fuck is this?” so much for small talk. he doesn’t have time to answer, because then you shove the paper in his face. it’s his final song dedicated to you, the one he had written after breaking your heart as a desperate attempt to get over you.

it didn’t work.

“funny that you should ask,” jihoon nervously laughs. “because-”

“don’t act like a smartass right now. you-” you inhale on five... exhale on ten... and repeat. “you wrote me a song like this and a letter on the back trying to justify leaving me without any answers and expect me to just take it?”

looking back, he does realize it is kind of a horrible move. just more reason why he should never get back together with you, because as much as he yearns it, he doesn’t deserve to. “no, i suppose not.”

his nerves quickly disappear when he sees the look of hurt that washes over your face, all traces of anger gone. now he just feels his heart dropping all the way down to his toes. “i thought you left because you didn’t love me anymore.” your voice is quieter, a stark contrast from your yelling, though it’s the way your voice wobbles, the way it sounds so fragile that stands out to jihoon. he can feel the two years of grief hitting him in all directions, seeing you so hurt. “you just disappeared from the face of earth. why?”

you know the answer, having read his letter and analyzing the lyrics of his song. but you’d take the words out of his mouth than on paper any day, no matter how unreliable. jihoon can only give you his guiltiest look, though it can’t even begin to compare to the guilt eating at his heart. he doesn’t respond immediately, frozen in place. the silence hangs heavy between them, and he swears this is all a dream. because you aren’t real, standing before him, begging him for answers.

but the sharp inhale that leaves your mouth is a harsh reminder that this is reality. he’s the one who hurt you as you struggle to keep your composure.

“i’m not good enough for you,” he begins. “i don’t...” inhale on five... exhale on ten... and repeat. “i don’t love the way you do, with your need to touch and for constant assurance. i can’t easily hold your hand or easily tell you i love you, because as blunt as i am, it’s so, so hard for me to just go out and say it. you fall into step with people like soonyoung so easily, because they don’t shy away from touch like i do. and you both can say you love each other without batting an eye and still be genuine about it. but i can’t do any of those things.”

he doesn’t give you a chance to speak. he’s already spiraling down a rabbit hole, too deep to come back out. his secret’s already out, so there’s no stopping it. “i’m not good at expressing how i feel, a complete contrast from you considering how you practically wear your heart on your sleeve. you deserve someone who’s love comes in the form of warm touches and firm affirmations, the same way you love people. i don’t want you to adjust the way you express love just because i can’t.” he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels something wet roll down his cheeks. you’re just as surprised as he is, because he rarely cries. “you deserve better.”

his final words have some sort of domino effect on you, because as soon as he says them, you march straight up to him and squish his cheeks together as hard as you can. he makes a muffled noise of confusion, staring at you with startled eyes.

“you...” you’re already shedding tears, but it’s the fierce look in your eyes that catches his attention. “you stupid, fucking, dumb idiot!”

you’ve always had a colorful vocabulary. “who are you to decide who’s good for me and who isn’t? mind you, i’m only a month younger than you, and i’m quite capable of making my own decisions!”

you continue, “i’m not dumb, jihoon! i was your best friend before your lover, you dumbass! i know better than anyone how much you hate physical touch and how hard it is for you to put your feelings into words! do you think i jumped into this relationship completely forgetting that?” you don’t even try to hide the way your voice cracks anymore. “i’m in love with you because of how stupidly organized you are. i’m in love with you because you feel emotions more deeply than others. but what really made me decide to pursue you is the fact that you never tried to change yourself for anyone! so what happened?” you sob, loosening your hold.

jihoon’s heart clenches. “i thought... having to adjust to fit what i felt comfortable with discomforted you. i thought you would’ve been happier-”

“YOU MADE ME THE HAPPIEST, YOU DUMBASS!!” you yell. “do you not realize that this whole time, these are all things you thought? because you never once tried to talk to me about how you felt?” you let go of him and walk away, turning your back on him. “the only way we can ever resolve issues like these is if we talk things out. i know you don’t like to, jihoon, but look what the alternative did to us.” you gesture at the state you two are in: crying, guilty messes, letting lack of communication completely derail your relationship.

perhaps this was what wonwoo had been trying to tell him all along: communication is key. he realizes this too late, now standing in his apartment with your heart in his hands, and his in yours. the guilt of taking the initiative all by himself without consulting you and the fact that even after everything, you can still confidently say that you love him, is so overwhelming that his knees buckle and he slides onto the ground, tears silently falling down his cheeks. you really were right when you called him a stupid idiot and more. he deserves all of those names and tenfold for doing this to you.

a silence hangs in the air, and he wonders if you’ve gone, too afraid to look up. a part of him wants you to stay, though he can understand if you left. you deserve that much. but then you slide onto the ground before him with matching tear stains, and you cup his cheeks. it’s a silent question of consent, and he closes his eyes, letting himself sink into your hands.

you lean in and rest your forehead against his. it’s warm and makes him feel a fuzzy feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. “you’re really fucking stupid,” you murmur. “what were you thinking?”

“of you,” he whispers. he can feel your breath fanning against his face.

“obviously not, if we had to take a detour to get to where we are now,” you respond. “you’re lucky i love you.”

at this, jihoon opens his eyes and removes your hands from his face, standing up. even after unnecessarily breaking your heart, even after making these decisions himself?

you’ve known jihoon long enough to read him, even if he prides himself in being a closed book. “i’m still very pissed, and i’m not stupid enough to just jump into a relationship and forget everything that’s happened. but...” you stand up and take a step closer to him. it’s careful and precise, like how you’ve always taken care of him. “you jump, i jump?”

it’s something you two always say when you’re about to do something stupid. you and jihoon are an inseparable pair; even if jihoon is the logical one of you two, he’ll still find himself being roped into another one of your reckless shenanigans. he can still remember the one time in middle school you were trying to get a very scared jihoon to ride a newly opened roller coaster at the amusement park you two had gone on for a field trip.

“i would rather keep my remains, thanks,” he remembers saying.

but you’re stubborn personified, and you’re very firm on having your partner-in-crime beside you. “you jump, i jump?” you had asked.

he knew you wouldn’t push him if you really knew he couldn’t do it, but apparently you just know what things he can do, given the right push. that push comes in the form of that phrase, because then he finds himself climbing onto one of the seats, nervously clutching onto your hand.

but this isn’t middle school anymore, and jihoon knows even with these cleared up misunderstandings, it’s going to take a while for both you and him to assimilate yourself into a proper relationship.

yet he’s never wanted anything so badly anymore. he’s yearned for your smile, your laugh... you, for too long, and he would be a fool to give up this second chance. he takes a step towards you and laces your fingers together. he seldom touches anyone like this, and he can tell you’ve missed it, tightening your grip. “you jump, i jump,” he repeats with more confidence.

everything’s a little blurry, probably because of the tears in both of your eyes, but the one thing that’s clear to him is when you dive into his arms, burying your head in his chest. the last time you had done this, he left with your heart in his hands.

jihoon wraps his arms around you. “i’m so sorry,” he mumbles, burying his head on top of yours. “i got a little lost on my way here.” it’s supposed to be a lighthearted joke, though he can hear you sniffle.

“you came back to me,” you quietly laugh, a little unable to believe that you’re in his arms again and that this isn’t just a dream. your voice is wet and raw from crying and yelling, but jihoon’s never heard a prettier sound. “that’s all that matters.”

#seventeen #seventeen vocal unit #kpop #seventeen x reader #seventeen x gender neutral reader #seventeen x female reader #seventeen x male reader #woozi #lee jihoon #woozi x reader #woozi x gender neutral reader #woozi x female reader #woozi x male reader #renjuseyo : seventeen #renjuseyo : fics

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theredconversegirl · 4 years

Note

Hello! Can you recommend any angsty sasusaku one shots or fics that end in fluff or smut? :)

Hi nonny :) Thanks for stopping by!

First of all, sorry for the wait. It took me awhile to go through my ffnet and ao3 fave lists and confirm if the fic did have a happy ending at least. Some here will end with fluff, some with smut, and some will be more subtle but still soft and happy.

So, I’m calling this list:

Angst with a Happy Ending 🍅🌸

My go to story when I’m in this mood is Heartbeat by letmeannoyyoutoday, which I have recommended here before. It’s long and detailed, and it will make you cry before it will make you smile ;)

Now, let’s get started:

A Blue Bathed Litany By: Elegies for Shiva  / @elegiesforshiva

Bad dreams are nothing new for any shinobi. But being comforted is, especially in a fashion as sensual as this. Angst. Fluff. Lots of lemons. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

A Highly Contested Topic By: Annie Sparklecakes

SasuSaku. He's not lonely, he says, Because he has her. In which Sakura desperately tries to form a bond, and Sasuke grows more and more attached by the day. He won't admit it, but the truth doesn't lie. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Ambrosia By: refracted

Dark/AU. In the morning, when all the pretense has dissolved and they have finished the deeds that will become the death of them, he pretends he is asleep when he hears her sob. She breaks too beautifully, he believes. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Being with you By: La coccinelle bleue

At that moment, he could recall comparing her, and her presence, to the smell of fresh paint. [Rated K+, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Blood for Blood By: SouthSideStory  / @southsidestory

It's vengeance that drove Sasuke away from Konoha, and vengeance that brings him back. Staying, though, is a different matter entirely, and it's only Sakura that could give him a home. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

breaking the habit By: the blanket

I'm scared as hell to want you, but here I am, wanting you anyway. Sakura, Sasuke, and breaking habits. And maybe, just maybe, learning new ones. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Cruel Cycle By: EmilyEphebiphobia

She really does hate this sick cycle, but at the same time, she can't help but love it. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Decennial By: fayevalentines

The ten years and ten separate times that Uchiha Sasuke catches himself staring at Haruno Sakura's back chronicled his descent into a maddening, consuming and achingly prosaic lunacy he fearfully acknowledges as love. [Canon-verse and Postcanon-verse.] [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Distant Ruins By: soulaire / @soulairee

AU. One-shot. She is lucky, she thinks, to have Sasuke as her first client. He's handsome, rich, and everything else she's not, and that is exactly why she's here, in his room, giving all of herself over to this stranger she just barely met. She only hopes Naruto never finds out. It would kill him if he knew she was selling her body to keep them alive... [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

don't let go By: theeflowerchild

He made love to her in between the hospital sheets, released her name like a prayer between cracked lips. "I thought I lost you." [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Elevation By: refracted

On day three hundred, he realizes he's probably loved her all along. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Enlightenment By: ClaraDraconis / @claradraconis For Sasuke, clarity comes after the final battle. Sometimes reflecting on the pain you've caused is the only way to realise what you've been missing all along. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Even After Everything By: Rise of the Blossom  / @riseoftheblossom-ff

Once more, her eyes searched through the large crowds of people, searching for that certain face she knew would be lurking around somewhere. At that moment in time, to her, he was all that mattered. He would always be the only one who mattered. [Rated K+, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Everywhere By: flowerslut  / @flowerslut

"Did you—" she hesitated, looking away, "did you miss me?" He did not hesitate, although he did pause and think for a quick moment. "No." [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

finding the inbetween By: glossier 

Whether it's love or hate or something in the middle, his pupils dilate when he sees her. [Rated T, complete] ❣

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

For the Love of the Amaryllis Flower By: theClosetPoet7  / @theclosetpoet7

With them, it has always been like this, him doing whatever he wants and her patiently waiting for his return. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Ghost By: twilightdazzle 

Sakura is officially declared missing on a Wednesday morning. Wednesday, what a stupid day to go missing. Of course, Sakura is the only person he knows that is annoying enough to interrupt the middle of the week like this. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

he said By: the blanket

Sasuke, Sakura, and all that lies between. “I have never expected anything from you. That would have been the height of all foolishness, and say what you want about me, but I was never that. With you, Sasuke-kun, I only ever hoped.” [Rated K+, complete] ❣

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Her Patience Was Rewarding By: DeepPoeticGirl / @xxlovendreamsxx

"I don't care if I throw my life away. If that's what it takes to make your life a little happier, and that this is exactly what you need to fulfill your dreams... then I don't care. Anything and everything for you, Sasuke-kun." [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

how scattered is the shattered glass By: silence.like.sleeping 

Sasuke knows that glass is easy to break and very hard to put back together. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

I think By: Lady Starburst 

She thinks it's impossible to get over something that never was. He thinks there's nothing left. A few years later, Sasuke and Sakura pick up where they left off. Sort of. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Intoxicated By: cherryblossomthundercrash / @uchiharvno

Sasuke always catches Sakura. (TW: alcoholism and drug use) [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Kaleidoscopes By: twilightdazzle 

Because Sakura loves Sasuke in kaleidoscope colors, and not all of them were so pretty. AU. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Magnetism By: twilightdazzle

No," she snarled. "If you're going to leave again, then I want you to be man enough to say goodbye to my face." In which Sakura is stubborn and Sasuke is conflicted. [Rated M, complete] ❣

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

more than enough By: proserandom 

But of course. She never did have a place in his heart. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

One Touch By: Clearheart 

They're always close, but they never touch, and it's killing them both. One touch is all Sakura craves to set things right. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Once More, With Feeling By: JinnySkeans

Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

parting the clouds By: in cages

he points his finger & she bares her teeth; they are in love, or so they're told. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

raindrops falling up By: rawrchelle

“It can’t be anyone but Sakura.” “Why?” “Because she’s the only one stupid enough to love me despite everything.” [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

say anything By: the blanket

Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder. But sometimes radios help, too. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Sickness of love By: GrimmjowKurosaki19 / @grimmjowkurosakidrake

Sasuke falls sick in love and there's no cure. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Tangible By: twilightdazzle 

Sometimes, she feels like she's invisible and they can't see her. Like she wasn't real. And they finally realize she's there just when they're about to lose her. [Rated M, complete]

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The Long Way Home By: the general girl

Sakura finds Sasuke again in Wind Country five years after the war, when he is supposed to be dead and she is supposed to be beyond caring. Neither have been very good at meeting expectations. [Rated T, complete]

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this is how you lose her By: wistfulwhispers 

and that's when you know it's over. as soon as you start thinking about the beginning, it's the end. for most people, at least. [Rated K+, complete]

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Three Months Overdue By: silence.like.sleeping 

There is nothing worse than waiting. Unless you fear that you're waiting in vain. [Rated T, complete]

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time spent By: sincerelyLen / @sincerelylen

Uchiha Sasuke is not oblivious to how popular Haruno Sakura has become over the years. Once in their lives, she tried to spend most of her free time solely with him. However, years later, Sasuke begins to feel a frustrating displeasure rise when he realizes how happily she splits her time with others, especially those who are not a part of the immediate Team Kakashi. [Rated K+, complete] ❣

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yours, forevermore  By: DeepPoeticGirl  / @xxlovendreamsxx He never meant to hurt her, but he did. He never meant for things to fall apart so bad, but they did. And now, even five years later, as he holds the Hokage seat and finds himself juggling more responsibilities than he can bear, Sasuke still tries to find a way to make things right. Hokage!Sasuke AU. [Rated M, complete]

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Well, I hope you find what you are looking for in this list!

And if you enjoyed these stories, make sure to leave some love & feedback. 💕

P.S.: I’m slowly going through other asks and prompts as I have free time after work and when my computer allows it - I’m still having some issues :(

~ Happy Reading & Stay Safe!

xoxo

#SasuSaku #theredconversegirl answers things #nonny #ss fics #Sakura Haruno #Sasuke Uchiha #fic rec list #angst #with happy ending #sasusaku fics #theredconversegirl recommends

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feather-dancer · 3 years

Note

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I've noticed while I'm an angst magnet who occasionally wanders in fluffier directions my niche really seems to be in writing characters with mental health issues and oddly enough I never even intended it?

Jim having anxiety is a given of course, he does in canon, so it's not all that surprising my brain wandered off one afternoon wondering what would happen if he didn't have his support network after being bathtubbed. That one became Ghosts he left behind where we've had stress induced disassociation, dysphoria about his new body plus his fight with anxiety and panic attacks WHICH GIVEN HOW CHAPTER 3 ENDED he's tipping well into breaking point territory making it all the more critical they get hold of him before he completely gives into the monster he's terrified of being. He's fighting it with everything in his arsenal though, the biggest problem is he's been caught in a spiral of awful that is messing with his memories causing him to second guess and has no means of seeing a way out via someone he trusts so it only digs in deeper. Having been in one of these I've drawn on my own experience and they are godawful, this is the perfect storm for Jim to be hit by one and boy is it.

Plot aside in general nobody treats his anxiety as a funny personality quirk or Jim being dramatic, it's completely normalised and steps are in place to help when it has a !! moment which is a rarity in all fiction honestly? There has been a mention that he was on medication but the Darklands incident caused a "hiccup" in how effective they were, Toby mentioning he's particularly worried about that because something really must have freaked him out to not even contact Barbara from past experiences and Claire had been taught some CBT techniques as well. Brain having stupid moments is part of Jim that does not have an easy fix but you can be given means to cope which I hope other anxiety sufferers reading can appreciate. I've seen more than a few that just give him anxiety and either write it badly or he's the only one in the world who seems to and everyone else just ignores it.

Sensory overload has popped up a couple times as well which is another thing I get that does generally need specific circumstances to trigger depending on what your own flavour is. My BIG one is sound and Jim having heightened senses now is discovering how much they suck because it's all new and people are so noisy without realising it. This is part of the reason he keeps bolting for the same place in the woods: It's a lot quieter there and while anxiety brain will still kick off at least so many voices or strong smells from cars and general human habitation that don't seem to stop can't overwhelm his senses there. One less thing to worry about in an ocean of pear shape.

Sliiiight spoiler for As long as there are stars in the sky chapter 3 but Douxie has one here too because of extreme circumstances: Shunted in and out the Void with no warning (Thanks Kanjigar), the existing stress of the situation upped even more by being outted and worry for those outside plus he hadn't realised his bond with Archie got temporarily disrupted so he got slammed HARD with the panic belatedly when back in the Forge. The last was one thing too many, he hit the floor leaving familiar and Zoe to spring into action to ease him through it as it's one of the worst places it could have happened. It's not treated like a surprise to their party because they know him so well and recognise the signs and that it's very different from injury or panic attack because of that all important normalisation again whereas the trolls understandably have no idea . They're gonna need to come up with something suitable to explain it away without anyone finding out they're magic users sure but that is about pat and parcel of the hilarious mess that is this plot.

In Heart of Glass chapter 1 Douxie ended up having a straight up disassociation moment because one of his trauma triggers was (Unintentionally of course) mentioned and his brain just noped out the conversation breaking a pen in the process. How you react when one comes up is unpredictable at the best of times, he ended up going that route because he was already stressed while doing his best to hide that fact as much as possible essentially causing a bsod moment when the limit was shot through in an instant. The thing was even before it happened Archie sensed there was a potential incident waiting to happen and was trying to calm him down which unfortunately didn't work. That said his presence there helped him ease into the other side because even in his worst moments his familiar means safety able to keep alert for danger while being cuddled the shit out of. It had the added bonus of showing how close their bond is as well as just how traumatised the bean is in that verse centuries on without a laundry list of hows and whys.

I'm not sure where it falls under really but there's the touch averse thing that all variants of Douxie I write AU or not share. If it's on his terms or he knows/trusts you it's fine, if it's unexpected or he doesn't know who you are there is always that hitch of panic and looking for a polite out. Why? It can very quickly turn into a grab, the associations of being snatched up by knights or anyone else he's run into over the years remains firmly embedded in the Not Good category. Somewhat ironic when if he's comfortable he's a very touchy person and a hugger but that is of course on his own terms not anyone else's. Some trauma you simply cannot age away from, it’s stuck for life.

ANYWAY TANGENT ASIDE more mental health issues and reactions to trauma being normalised in the world they exist in and given the respect they deserve and not treated like a character trait please. If you can have a character be gay or Trans (Meeeee blatantly hinting Jim is Trans without saying he is is because it'd make no sense to in context is fun) or something like dyslexia without everyone making a big deal out of it you can have someone with anxiety without treating it like "oh they're just anxious lol". I write it myself in the hopes that it might help at least one person understand what it's like or better yet another see somebody writing it that understands what it's like and isn't using it for cheap shock value. I have to put up with all this shit it's about time it does something useful.

#writing #Stars #Ghost!AU #Heart of Glass #That said if I see one more person out a Trans dude with their binder I will go fucking feral

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violetwolfraven · 4 years

Text

Into the Unknown

Warning: Not sure if this is really in-character, and I don’t really know how accepting society back then was in this particular place, so not sure how accurate it is, but basically, Elsa has some internalized homophobia/puts pressure on herself and slight angst/fluff insues.

...

As queen, even if no one said it, there was always pressure on Elsa to marry and have a child, preferably a son, even if Arendelle hadn’t really been doing things traditionally since her father married a commoner.

But there was always those little remarks from nobles who thought they were just teasing. (“So, no possible King in the picture yet?”)There were little jabs from servants who had a little too much to drink at a party (“I’m sure your heir will be quite the handful, Your Majesty.”), or even teasing comments from Anna or Kristoff when she rolled her eyes at them having a moment in front of her (“You’ll understand when you get a boyfriend.”)

That pressure had been there since Elsa could remember. Even her parents joked about Elsa not being so disgusted by Anna’s romantic inserts in their games when she met an nice boy someday.

The pressure had been there so long that Elsa put it on herself, even as she got older and knew most women her age were either with some man or at least gotten a crush on a boy at some point.

Now that she was simply the Ice Spirit, Elsa didn’t have to worry about marrying anyone, but she did. Years of expecting to suddenly fall in love with some boy didn’t go away overnight.

It wasn’t that she didn’t notice men. She knew that Kristoff was kind and Ryder was funny, but she didn’t care about them that way. They were like brothers to her. Friends, nothing more.

The only person she really noticed more than them, or any man for that matter, was...

No. That was not happening. That wasn’t how things worked. It didn’t matter how Elsa felt. How she was drawn to this person like she’d never been to anyone before. It was just friendship. She was just confused.

I can hear you, but I won’t.

Elsa could feel that pull, like she was magnetically drawn to this person, but she didn’t want to. She knew that love could too easily lead to hurt. Not that this was love, of course. Still, it was like there was a bond between them. Like a piece of Elsa had been missing, even if she didn’t know it, and now it was right here in front of her.

Some look for trouble while others don’t.

This was definitely more trouble than it was worth. If Elsa listened to her feelings—if she admitted anything, even to herself—no good would come of it. She would get hurt and the person she was somehow drawn to would feel guilty, even if it wasn’t her fault.

There’s a thousand reasons, I should go about my day.

Making things awkward would help nothing. It would destroy her friendship with this woman, which already mattered to Elsa more than it should. And that was only one reason not to admit anything.

And ignore your whispers, which I wish would go away.

But... Elsa couldn’t ignore the feeling. As much as she wanted to, the...call—drawing her to Honeymaren, was always. right. there.

You’re not a voice. You’re just a ringing in my ear.

No. Elsa couldn’t think about this. Even if she was in love, and even if it was unreciprocated, and even if she knew it would never happen, she couldn’t afford to think about it. It would only hurt her worse than it already did.

And if I heard you—which I don’t—I’m spoken for, I fear.

Elsa already had enough to deal with. She didn’t need to be more distracted than she already was. Being the Ice Spirit—being the only Spirit who could speak to humans directly, which meant she had to speak for them all—was a full time job. She had no time for love.

Everyone I’ve ever loved is here within these walls.

Unfortunately, even if Elsa refused to give in to her feelings, Anna always noticed when something was going on with her. She always confronted her about it. Fortunately, this time, finding enough tact to get an excuse for Sven and Olaf not to be in the room.

“Elsa, what’s up with you?” the Queen asked finally, “You’ve been distracted for weeks.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing, Anna. I’m just tired.”

“Hmph. Well, I was hoping you’d come to me on your own, but seeing as how you haven’t, you’ve forced my hand. You’re not leaving this castle until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Kristoff called over from where he was looking at possible wedding invitation designs.

“What?” Anna asked, clearly confused.

“I grew up with trolls, remember?” the blond said simply, “All the signs are there—she hasn’t been eating when we get together, hasn’t been sleeping much, judging by those dark circles under her eyes, is super distracted, like, all the time, got red-faced when you mentioned it...”

“Oh,” Anna said before turning back to her sister, “Are you dying?! And you didn’t tell me?!”

“What?” Elsa exclaimed, “No!”

Kristoff rolled his eyes, “Oh my gods, Anna. She’s in love, babe!”

“Ohhhh!” Anna realized, “Oh, it’s so obvious! Who is it? Who is it? Who is it???”

“No one,” Elsa insisted.

“Is it Ryder?” Anna pressed, “He’s nice. He’s got this weird thing about reindeer, but I mean, so does my guy, so it’s not like I can—“

“Ew, no,” Elsa said, actually making a face.

Something in Anna’s face changed, and she put her hand on Elsa’s knee reassuringly.

“Is it Honeymaren?”

Elsa stood up suddenly, feeling the temperature in the room drop due to her anxiety.

She couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t tell Anna either way. Somehow, she couldn’t find the words to do anything but walk away, feeling fortunate that Anna didn’t follow her.

I’m sorry, secret siren, but I’m blocking out your calls.

Returning to the Enchanted Forest, Elsa couldn’t face anyone yet. So she just sat against one of the shrines of the different elemental Spirits and stared at the stars.

For the first time, she really let herself think about her feelings. Her confusing love for this fearless, strong, beautiful woman.

I’ve had my adventure, I don’t need something new.

Elsa knew she could never make a move. But that thought became harder to hold onto as Honeymaren herself came and sat down next to her, not speaking. They both just stared at the stars as Elsa tried to calm her racing heart.

I’m afraid of what I’m risking if I follow you.

“Yelana says that the stars form patterns,” Honeymaren said after a few minutes of silence, “I don’t see it.”

“I didn’t either, at first,” Elsa admitted, “Not when I was little. But some of the stars are brighter than others, and they make pictures up there.”

Honeymaren was silent for a second before her brown eyes found Elsa’s blue ones and she spoke softly.

“Can you teach me?”

Into the unknown!

Despite Elsa wishing she could just avoid Honeymaren and her feelings, their meetings out by the shrines became more and more common until they met every night. Elsa would teach Honeymaren constellations and Honeymaren would tell Elsa about traditions that her mother would have been a part of. It became easy, just to talk. They never talked about it during the day, not even to each other. Those nights were theirs and only theirs. No one else needed to know.

Into the unknown! Into the unknown!

It was weeks of this before Honeymaren came out later than usual, her eyes unfocused.

“What’s wrong?” Elsa asked immediately.

“Nothing.”

The other woman sounded guarded, like she didn’t want to talk about it, but Elsa asked, anyway.

“Honeymaren. You know that you can tell me anything, right?”

Honeymaren sighed before she responded, “I love the stars. I love nights out here, telling stories and watching the sky. I can’t go back to the darkness again. If I had to live under that mist again, with no trace of starlight or sky...”

Elsa understood, “Nightmares.”

Honeymaren nodded, “Nightmares.”

The two had talked about their pasts before. Honeymaren was a warrior and Elsa was a queen. They knew everything about each other, which was how Elsa knew she could tell her.

“Sometimes I dream I have gloves on,” she admitted, “Gloves I can’t take off. And I’m locked in a room where I can hear Anna asking me to come out, but my voice won’t work, so I can’t tell her that I want to.”

“That’s terrible.”

Elsa shrugged, “That’s life. I think being human means you can’t ever get rid of your pain. I just thought maybe you’d want to know that there’s nothing wrong with you. That you’re not alone.”

Honeymaren hesitated before she put her arm around Elsa, pulling her against her shoulder.

Elsa’s heart was hammering so hard that it took her a second to realize that Honeymaren was singing slowly, lyrics they both knew.

“Where the north wind meets the sea, there’s a river made of memory. Sleep, my darling, safe and sound, for in this river all is found.”

Elsa joined in the second verse, her voice rising to create a beautiful harmony with Honeymaren’s lower tones.

“In her waters, deep and true, lie the answers and a path for you. Dive down deep into her sound. But not too deep or you’ll be drowned.”

Elsa wasn’t sure if she was diving in too deep.

What do you want?—Cause you’re keeping me awake.

Their moment on the night Honeymaren had a nightmare was somehow too much, as Elsa found herself unable to so much as talk to the brunette afterwards. Two days, she managed to hold out before she had to get answers. Before she had to ride out to Ahtohallan.

Are you here to distract me?—So I make a big mistake?

“What is wrong with me, Mother?” Elsa asked the river desperately, “Am I in love with Honeymaren? Is loving a woman wrong? Mother, please.”

An image appeared—a woman standing with a younger version of Elsa’s mother. Presumably Elsa’s grandmother.

Another woman walked up, throwing her arm around Grandmother’s shoulders and kissing her, much to the annoyance of young Iduna.

Or are you someone out there who’s a little bit like me?

Elsa still avoided Honeymaren when she got back. Actually, she just avoided the Northulda, instead riding to Arendelle to talk to Anna.

No matter how much her internal compass wanted to be near a certain brunette warrior, Elsa needed to clear her head, first.

Who knows deep down, I’m not where I’m meant to be?

“So, Mother’s parents were two women?” Anna asked.

Elsa nodded, remembering the image.

“It’s not wrong, you know,” Anna said, “I don’t care who you love. Oakan is in love with a man, so I’m sure women can love women, too.”

“But I’m not sure I should,” Elsa mumbled, “Anna, a queen is supposed to marry a man. She’s supposed to produce an heir.”

“Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing I’m the one who has to worry about that.”

Elsa took a deep breath. She knew logically she shouldn’t care about this anymore. But she did.

“You made me queen for a reason,” Anna insisted, “Part of that reason was so you didn’t need to worry about all that stuff with having an heir. I mean, sure, that’s pretty far in the future for Kristoff and I, but still. If you want to be with Honeymaren, or any woman, you should do it.”

“But how do I do that?”

Anna shrugged, “Admitting you love her would be a start.”

Elsa took a deep breath, “I love women. I love Honeymaren.”

“Great,” Anna said with a smirk, “So go get the girl. And if she doesn’t love you back, she’s not the one for you.”

Elsa still had no idea how to confess, or whatever she was supposed to do. But she knew she couldn’t keep acting like her feelings for Honeymaren were nothing. Not with the intense, magnetic pull she felt towards the warrior.

Every day’s a little harder, as I feel my power grow.

Honeymaren was waiting, glaring, when she got back.

“Our spot. Sundown. Don’t be late.”

Don’t you know there’s part of me that longs to go?

“What did you want to talk about?” Elsa asked awkwardly as they met at the spot they always watched the stars.

“Seriously?” Honeymaren asked harshly, “Elsa, you’ve been avoiding me for four days. Don’t act like you haven’t. I saw you ditch Ryder a few days ago to avoid talking to me. You’re acting weird. So talk to me. Tell me what’s going on with you, because I can’t help if I don’t know.”

Into the unknown!

Elsa took a deep breath, “Honeymaren, I... I love you.”

Into the unknown!

“I have for a long time. It took me a while to accept it, but I’ve loved you almost since I first moved to the Enchanted Forest. You’re strong, and brave, and so beautiful. And usually Anna’s the one who rambles, but I get where she’s coming from now. The way you make me feel... I just can’t fit it into words.

Honeymaren was silent, clearly not knowing what to say as her face betrayed her surprise.

Into the unknown!

“I’m sorry,” Elsa said wearily, “If I’ve scared you, or ruined our friendship. But I can’t help my feelings. I love you, Honeymaren.”

The way the brunette still wasn’t responding made Elsa feel terrified and excited at the same time. She usually was good at reading people, but this time, she had no clue.

Are you out there? Do you know me?

Then the warrior pulled her close, locking her lips against Elsa’s, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world as they stumbled back until Elsa was pressed between Honeymaren and one of the shrines.

Can you feel me? Can you show me?

“Maren? Someone told me you would be—oh.”

They pulled apart as Ryder ran up, looking as if he wished he could unsee what he’d just seen.

“What do you need, brother?” Honeymaren asked calmly, not moving.

Ryder swallowed nervously, “It was a reindeer thing. It can wait. Until morning at least. Bye.”

As he left, the two laughed a bit, savoring the look on Honeymaren’s brother’s face. Elsa had to admit, it was one of the funniest things she’d ever seen.

“What do you say we go somewhere a bit more private?” Honeymaren asked, “Somewhere my brother doesn’t know about?”

Elsa nodded, “I’m all yours.”

Where are you going? Don’t leave me alone. How do I follow you, into the unknown?

#frozen #frozen 2 #disney #elsamaren #queen elsa of arendelle #honeymaren #northuldra #the enchanted forest #queen anna of arendelle #kristoff #ryder #fanfiction #violet’s writing

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heechulhamster · 5 years

Text

The Truth You Can’t Hide IV

KIM JUNMYEON (SUHO) x Fem Reader

Chapter 4 [The Truth You Can’t Hide MASTERLIST]

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 ongoing

You did it so well for six years. You’ve hid your son from the biggest threat of his life. But one mishap led to the biggest secret in your life being face to face with the man you’ve kept him away from all these years - his father.

Mafia!AU, Angst.

Each muscle of your feet started to ache as the clock struck eight, the current case the law firm you worked as a paralegal in required you to go overtime. You’ve had an internal agreement with yourself to stay in the firm and distance yourself from Junmyeon’s line of work, as you know that his two separate businesses will always coincide with the other - and you wouldn’t want both of Jaejin’s parents to have an indecent track record.

Only a few lights are lit at this time of the night, most of your officemates already in the comforts of their own home and family. An empty sigh of exhaustion escaped your lips as you sat back on your chair, freeing your feet from the tormenting heels before neatly stacking and organizing the paperwork left on your table. Organizing the case files by urgency as you plan to get your hands on it eagerly the first thing tomorrow.

“Did Mr. Goo request you on overtime again? You should take a rest.” A sudden voice spoke behind you, making you turn around. You see Atty. Zhang, one of the associate lawyers in the firm. His cripst white dress shirt neatly tucked in his black pants as he leaned over the table next to yours.

“No, Sir. I did it voluntarily. I’m really absorbed on this recent case.” You said with a light chuckle, trying your best to hide your fatigue from the day.

You heard him take light footsteps on the way closer to your desk, eventually you saw Atty. Zhang’s hands over the pile of paperwork on your desk. “Is this the one regarding the sexual harrasment case of that actor…” He snapped his fingers three times, apparently thinking about the name that’s on the tip of his tongue. “Seojoon? Bang Seo Joon?”

“Yes, I’ve been re-reading his sworn statements and the victim’s.” You stated as he read through the pages of the case file.

“This file’s been through a lot.” He said, smiling over the littered highlights and notations you’ve made all throughout the paper. “Now tell me if there’s anything you’ve found. Are we on the losing end here?”

“There has been inconsistencies with the victim’s sworn statements. Like how she said that Mr. Bang and her met around dinner at that Monday, but she has also stated that her shift as a waitress ends at closing time. She had once said that he went on a date with Mr. Bang on a Tuesday the week prior, so both Monday and Tuesday couldn’t have been her off days. And the timeline of the alleged harassment doesn’t quite add up. There’s a lot of lapses here and there.”

“You’ve really put your mind on this haven’t you? I’m impressed. Poor SeoJoon must’ve been framed.” He said smiling at you, the wells of his cheeks showing as adorable dimples as he shone his bright teeth in amazement. “But you need to rest for now, the case can wait for another day, don’t you think?”

“I’m actually on my way out.” You explained as your hands tidied your desk a bit more, putting the scattered pens and pencils back on the green holder just on the corner of the black modern table.

“I’ll come with you, then.” Mr. Zhang said with a hearty smile.

Your way down the building was filled with short talks, including of which where he asked you to plainly call him Yixing as the both of you are in the same age. It would be an understatement to describe him as attractive, he’s magnetic - naturally absorbing every attention and respect by everyone graced by his presence. Yet oddly humble despite being aware of his huge presence. Yixing know how enticing he is, yet he doesn’t impose the fact on anyone. Just letting his trait speak for itself.

“Where are you parked?” He asked, suddenly rising from your shared laughters as you both walk out of the building.

“I take a cab to work.” You answered simply as a matter of fact.

“Are you serious?” Yixing responded in shock, “Do they really pay paralegals that low here?”

“No, it’s just that I haven’t had time yet to renew my license and fix papers for a new car, you know. It’s a hassle.” You explained.

“Lucky you tonight, “cause I’m morally obliged to give you a ride.” He said lightheartedly, his chuckle low and baritone that it just lingers in your ear.

“You don’t need to.” You waved your hands to accentuate your declination, yet the smile on his eyes told you that he’s insisting.

“Who told you I’m taking no for an answer?” And with his bright smile emphasised with his charming dimples, you wouldn’t even dare to say no.

Only a few minutes in the ride, your phone flashed with a text from Junmyeon. Reading that he and Jaejin are out for dinner in a nearby restaurant and that as per your son’s request, both of them are waiting for you.

“You know that Japanese restaurant near the station?” You asked Yixing, to which he answered a simple yes. “Can you drop me off there instead? Someone just texted and I’ll be meeting them there.”

“Sure thing.” He responded with a chuckle, which stirred a confused look from you on the shotgun seat. “I almost thought you’d ask me out for dinner there.”

His implication made you blush, something that you haven’t experienced for a while. “I’m sorry to get your hopes up.” You said with a chuckle rhyming his.

“Too bad for me, I guess.” Another few laughters was all that you shared while he drove silently. Not yet developing a dynamic beyond being coworkers resulted in an odd silent tension between the two of you. As if feeling that both parties want to speak yet not finding the courage to do so.

“How long have you been working in the firm again?” Yixing spoke, finally ending the tormenting ill-at-ease silence.

“Barely three months.” You answered as-a-matter-of-fact.

“That’s odd.” He simply remarked, sensing a sheer curiosity on the tone of his voice. You expressed a simple hum in the guise of an inquiry. “I mean, three months yet as far as I remember this is the first time we talked properly. Aside from you asking me for staples, of course.”

The growing blush on your cheeks finally bloomed when he spoke of that incident. It was the early weeks of your job in the firm, hardly even familiar to everyone in the workplace. Marking probably the first time you noted of Yixing’s existence, his youthful appearance made you think he was just one of the interns or a paralegal. Atty. Goo was a man who values his time, one that is always in a rush that’s why being assigned in his team challenged you. That day, you were running late for work - your cousin who was supposed to take care of Jaejin was a quarter of an hour late arriving at your home. You carried the files, or bundles of paper which aren’t stapled to Atty. Goo’s liking just yet. That’s when you came across him, carrying his leather suitcase and a cup of coffee, just when panic started to kick in.

“Uhm.. Hi!” You waved your right hand as your left hand tightly gripped the bunches of papers, your feet dashing in front of him. “I’m new here, as much as I would like to do a proper introduction Mr. Goo needs these papers almost five minutes ago, so could you be my savior and lend me some staples?” You tried to flash your sweetest smile, maybe charming people would still work.

“Hold a second.” He answered with his pearly white, magazine cover teeth showed. Probably laughing at how ridiculous you look for your new job. He put down his still steaming cup of coffee on the table nearest to the both of you, before scanning his bag for the said tool. Retrieving a few staple pins in his bag a few seconds later. “This enough?”

“Yes! Thank you so much!” You rushed and not-so-carefully put the pages of case files and statements on the same table. Loading your stapler with the pins and organizing the pages by its groups.

The moment you finished the dreaded task, the striking man was long gone by your side. And you quickly rushed to Atty. Goo’s room, politely apologizing for the delay as you laid down the papers at his desk.

It was later that day that you discovered that the man you ambushed for staples earlier was no intern, nor a paralegal. Just outside Atty. Goo’s room, you saw the office that has been unoccupied for the first few days you’ve been there at the firm. They said that Atty. Zhang was back at China for personal reasons. And now he’s obviously back, and missing a few staple pins in his arsenal.

“Don’t bring that back! Please.” You covered your face from his sight with your left hand in embarrassment. “It was so awkward for me to talk to you afterwards.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, really. I found it oddly adorable, even.” Yixing noted. “I mean, I don’t look that old enough to be one of the lawyers, don’t I?” He said, a notion of cockiness evident in his statement.

And he was just being truthful, the firm was filled by tenured and accomplished lawyers already in their 50’s. It was a shock to learn that he was among them. A tall, singularly handsome and well versed young lawyer already making his mark in the city.

“This is the place, isn’t it?” He pointed to the right, a remarkably cosmopolitan Japanese restaurant in the wealthiest areas of Seoul. “Are you going on a date? This seems to be too extravagant for a simple dinner. Expensive taste.”

“It’s not a date. Easy to say that this person I’m meeting is a little bit too loaded in their bank account.” You said lightheartedly, to which Yixing also responded with a light laughter. “Thanks for the ride, Yixing.”

Before your hand even opened the door, he was able to hold you back by speaking again. “I was wondering if I could keep my hopes up and actually take you out for dinner some time.”

Your eyes almost widened at his indication. “Is this dinner in line of work or…”

“A date? Most preferably so.” He answered as his fingers lightly played with the steering wheel, signifying uneasiness or even nervousness.

“Oh.”

“Does that oh means you acknowledge my statement or does it indicate that you’re declining the proposal?” Yixing’s choice of words made you feel like a defendant in inquisition.

“It meant that oh, I didn’t expect to be in the receiving end of such proposal. But I’ll keep the offer in mind.” You playfully reciprocated his legalese tone.

“How long would the processing take?” Yixing asked back.

“Three working days.”

“Noted, see you on Friday?” He replied, understanding what you meant quicker than lightning. He flashed his charmingly irresistible smile yet again that made you flash one in return.

“See you, Atty. Zhang.”

The dinner was spent with Jaejin’s juvenile astonishment over the fact that fish can be eaten raw. Despite the fact that you haven’t allowed him to eat sashimi just yet, he was already looking forward on the day you’ll let him do so, settling on a good bowl of traditional and expensive ramen. And it’s in these times that you realize how close the two have gotten. How Jaejin and Junmyeon would share inside jokes that would leave you wondering on your own. The fact that the two already have bonded this tight relationship between the two of them that no one can penetrate. And that’s still in spite of Jaejin’s lack of knowledge regarding who Junmyeon really is in his life.

And you’d be lying if you don’t admit to yourself that your life has been easier with Junmyeon in it again. You don’t even have to work the long hours just to make sure that you’ll be able to save enough money for Jaejin’s future while still making all ends meet. Junmyeon already opened a trust fund under your son’s name. The hassle of looking for someone to take care of him while at work was now long gone, with Jaejin having his own sitters that Junmyeon grew up with himself. He was already taking the majority of the parental roles even before he was formally introduced as his father.

“Goodnight, Mama. I love you.” Jaejin declared with a youthful smile on his face just after he finished his nightly prayer. To which you answered the same sentiments before kissing his forehead and eventually walking out of the room.

It was agreed upon you and Junmyeon for you to take the guest room. As Jaejin is now old enough to sleep on his own. And your habitual over time at work could cause a sense of discomfort to Jaejin if he’s still dependent at your presence for sleep.

You were stunned to see Junmyeon standing outside Jaejin’s room after you shut the door. “Oh, Hi.”

“Hey.” He answered thriftily. A few seconds have passed and nobody dared to talk, and all you were able to muster was raising your eyebrows.

“Who were you with earlier?” Junmyeon asked curiously.

“Huh? What?” You didn’t quite catch what he was pertaining to.

“Who dropped you off earlier? I recognized that a Tesla was too extra to be just a cab.” You tried to sense any hint of emotion in his voice yet it just came off as a casual question.

“Oh, it was someone from work.” You started walking, your steps rhyming with the cadence of his feet.

“Workmate or… you know, someone.” He stalled, and you understand the connotation.

“Workmate that kind of just expressed that he wanted to take me out on a date. Kinda.” You couldn’t help but chuckle as you remember that Yixing, an eligible bachelor as one could get, has just asked you out on a date.

“So.. are you going?” Junmyeon’s eyes shrunk in curiosity.

“Yeah. I mean he’s nice, undoubtedly attractive. Would be dumb to not give him a shot don’t you think?” You replied, still wearing a smile on your face.

“I mean, you look excited. So I guess why not.” Junmyeon smiled back, but something in your guts just told you that it was visibly forced.

“We wouldn’t have a problem with us having relationships right?” You tested the waters, as this relationship - cohabitation, coparenting, or whatever the two of you shared surely need to be clarified with bounds soon.

“Yeah, yeah. No worries. We could go both live our lives, of course with Jaejin as priority.”

“Of course. Another thing, I don’t think this would last much anyway. He doesn’t know yet that I have a son, whatever this is would probably end once he knows. I’ll just consider it as a dry run whether or not I still have it in me to be something for someone.” You continued as both of you approached the hallway where you would eventually part ways.

“If he does that, it means he’s an asshole. And it will be his loss, his great loss.” Junmyeon smiled briefly and noticeably faint.

You cleaned your hands on the apron that hung on your neck, dusting its material with a good amount of flour. Finally lining the pan with butter before pouring in the mix and eventually letting nature do its thing once you put it inside the preheated oven. Sitting on the chair at the kitchen island and a lonesome red juicy apple in hand, you just let yourself to detach from reality as you relaxed. The piling paperwork slowly creeping up your sanity, and your only solace was Jaejin’s hugs at night - and maybe the few jubilant smiles that you and Yixing share at work.

The past two days saw a rise of interactions between the two of you. Earlier, he even dropped by your desk to give a thoughtful warm cup of coffee when he saw you taking piles of papers head on. And Yixing’s brand new presence is your life is refreshing. To relinquish that juvenile feeling of excitement is a good thing to feel every once in a while, and for you it’s really been a while.

“How’s parent life with ex holding up?” Your quiet thoughts were invaded by a man who you didn’t notice sit in front of you.

“Minseok. I didn’t see you there.” You said, your widened eyes by shock looking at his feline features.

“I could tell, pretty sure that apple’s gone dizzy from rolling over your hands too much.” He joked, where you answered a laugh to. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How’s things?”

“Well, obviously a lot has changed since you’ve last seen me.” And the last time he has seen you, aside from the unfateful meeting at the mall, was more recent than anyone would expect.

“Yeah, I mean he walks now.” Minseok lightly tapped his fingers on the granite countertop. “Last time I saw him he still needs to be carried everywhere.” You just smiled at the thought, before he continued. “And the biggest change could be the fact that Jun knows now.”

“Probably the biggest change.” You replied.

The scorching heat of Los Angeles hasn’t gotten into your system yet. Your palms and back sweaty and tired from carrying all the grocery bags which you held with much caution. You’re body’s carrying too much, all these produce, milk cartons, and of course the baby that’s growing in your stomach. Struggling to put down the bags as you couldn’t quickly squat, you curse yourself again for deciding to go through this alone.

“Need some help?” An oddly familiar voice presented itself beside you, making a chill run down your spine. He couldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be here.

“Minseok…” You said in shock, your hands quickly lowering the grocery bags in an attempt to hide your 20 weeks pregnant stomach.

“Let me get that, Y/N.” He stepped forward as he softly retrieved the grocery bags from your hands. Your stunned figure unable to protest nor to say anything. “Could you open your door now?”

“Yeah…” You answered with a nod, still unable to process his presence while getting your keys from your shoulder bag.

Still silent, you both entered your small apartment. Barely decent enough for the way you were brought up. But this is all that you have now, and it’s better than nothing. The past four months were the hardest for you. A twenty two year old expectant mother cut off by her influential family and left alone to live and make ends meet in a foreign land. Tough luck, tough life, you thought.

“Where should I put these milk, in the fridge or…” Minseok asked yet you’re quick to cut him off.

“Did he send you here?” You looked in his easily distinguishable eyes, now painted with imminent confusion. “Junmyeon, did he send you here?”

“Send me? I’m not his employee.” He answered with a short almost humorless laugh. “I’ve been in LA for business the past few weeks. Didn’t expect to see you while doing groceries, found a familiar face, so I trailed you down. Too creepy?”

“Does he know?” You asked, not bothering with the small courtesies as you were more nervous of the possibilities of finding him here.

“Where you’re at? Probably. He probably still keeps track of you.” Your breath hitched at Minseok’s response. “That you’re pregnant? I highly doubt. If he does, he wouldn’t let you live alone in this barely modest apartment.”

Your hand uncontrollably caressed your bump, a sense of protectiveness flowing all over you. “Would you tell him?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.” There was sincerity in his voice, and you know Minseok is a man of his words. “Junmyeon is my friend, but you are too.”

He slowly walked over your form that just sat on the sofa. “But first you need to make me understand why you left him and why you’re living in this…” He looked around the bare white walls, the undeniable lack of furnishings and decor “..sad excuse for a home, with no offense meant.”

“Suho.” You dryly answered with almost a whisper, folds forming in his face in your response. “I didn’t leave Junmyeon. I left Suho. Whatever he is, I don’t want my son to do anything with him.”

“You know, don’t you?” You asked him again even before he was able to form any answer.

“I…” He started off, still processing any suitable answer. “I am aware of that, yes.” He slowly nodded, finally sitting down the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of you. “How did you…”

“Your friend was stupid enough to leave a folder full of transactions where I could read it.” You answered bitterly, still unable to accept the harsh truth behind the man you so dearly loved.

“Does he know that you… know?” Minseok was obviously careful in choosing his words, not wanting to upset a pregnant friend.

“You think I’ll be here if he’s aware that I know his dirty secret?” You said with a humorless laugh. “I don’t think I’d even be alive if so.”

“Come on, it’s not the best money maker but Junmyeon wouldn’t kill you. Not in a million years.” You just responded by shaking your head. “But, why are you here? And why in a place like this? I mean, it’s nice that you’re independent. But… isn’t this a little too low for your taste?”

“My parents cut me off when they discovered I’m pregnant. I begged them not to tell Junmyeon, had to make an excuse in my own expense just for them to not to lash it out on him. Told them the baby wasn’t his, a result of a drunken one night stand at a high end bar. Told me I was a disgrace for letting such a man as Junmyeon go, called me a whore for being pregnant with a random stranger. So I guess here I am.” A bitter taste still lingers in your mouth as you relayed what hell you’ve went through.

“But you don’t need to go through all of these, you could tell Junmyeon and..” You decided to cut him off even before he finishes his ill advice.

“And have my child live off the money he makes by breaking the law and ruining people’s lives? I’d rather stay here, Min.” You stated, not even considering to bend your moral compass.

He just sat there, an uncomfortable silence grew between the two of you as he struggled to digest the information. Minseok looked as if he’s thinking for an advice he could give or any action he could take.

“I wouldn’t tell Junmyeon, I wouldn’t tell anyone in one condition.” He finally spoke, which you just nodded for him to proceed. “Let me help you. You’re still my friend, and Junmyeon is my friend, it would be rightful for me to help your child. I can’t let you stay here knowing a baby is on the way.”

“Another thing, you couldn’t stay here any longer. Junmyeon probably has his men tracked on you, and you need to lose them before your belly grows too much to hide. I know a place.”

Minseok kept in contact with you, and he kept his promise too. There has hardly been any indication that Junmyeon was aware of your whereabouts, or the fact that he knocked you up. Minseok was even the one to help you arrange fees in the hospital when you gave birth. He’s an heir to a trademarked coffee shop line that has hundreds of branches so you took no guilt in accepting his offer.

“We kinda lost contact after Jaejin turned two. What happened?” He asked, swirling the contents of his glass making a sound of ice and water splashing around.

“Found a guy, he served as Jaejin’s father at that time. So I figured that I should cut all possible ties with my ex.” You answered, still playing with the unfortunate apple with your right hand.

“Fair enough, I guess. You could only think of how shocked I am to see you in that mall. I don’t even know that you’re back here. I had no idea that I didn’t even think that child was Jaejin.” He suddenly said lightheartedly.

“Maybe it was inevitable.” You answered with a deep sigh.

“Yeah, it was bound to happen.” He replied back. “But he’s doing a great job as a father now, isn’t he? He’s nailing it.”

“I guess. He and Jaejin are inseparable now.” You said, accompanied by a slight chuckle.

“If it makes any difference…” He started as he stood up from his seat, leaving the now empty glass on the countertop. “The gifts were from Junmyeon. Tricked him with the fact that I signed him up as a foster father overseas to help him recover from you. So that’s pretty much it, until next time.” And with that, he left you alone in the kitchen still waiting for the cake to finish. And wondering about the what ifs and what could’ve beens.

The red-bottomed black stiletto heels that you had for years now fitted your feet perfectly as you cautiously walked down the pathway of an exclusive and undeniably expensive Chinese restaurant. The splendid and effeminate white dress clinging to your body in ways that made you feel confident to be in such a place.

“Reservation under Mr. Zhang?” You told the receptionist that wore a red cheongsam. She asked your name for confirmation before she asked one of the butlers to lead you to one of the distant tables.

And there you saw Yixing Zhang, clad in a wonderfully simple black blazer and white dress shirt. A humble outfit that only made his stature and facial features pop out from feet away. The place was exquisite yet he seemingly outshined all crystal chandeliers and golden adorned walls.

“You look fantastic.” He stood up from his seat as he kissed your hand, a trail of electricity climbing up your cheeks resulting to an unconcealable blush.

“You, too.” You answered as he pulled a seat for you. And they say that chivalry is dead but the epitome of a gentleman was living and breathing in front of you.

“Isn’t this a bit too much?” You whispered, a tad bit ashamed at the immense effort.

“I figured that you have a bit of expensive taste. It’s just right to be on your best foot at the first date, right?” Yixing answered, a smile slowly forming on his face and his eyes adorably forming a smile as he does so.

He willingly and enthusiastically introduced you to a myriad of chinese cuisine. Chatting over his childhood back in his motherland that was sparked in remembrance over the presence of cua pao and char siu. The funny stories of his nameless cat and his fond memories shared with his beloved mother. How he transferred from China to Korea for the better law education, and you just willingly listened and admired how animated his hands become while he speaks about something he’s passionate about. Waving his hands around as he hold his chopsticks makes him seem so alive and vibrant, yet his face still tells a story of seriousness and sincerity as a result of his years of law practice.

“How about you? Why stop on being a paralegal? Haven’t you dreamt of pursuing law school?” Yixing asked with his eyes full of earnest intent to listen. And you feel your mood slip down, if the tables have turned and you’re now the subject, it was inevitable to admit who you really are - a mother. And you’re scared of losing this spark that you’re enjoying once he knows the truth.

“That has been my lifelong dream, honestly. But things came up, change of plans…” You delayed your revelation. It’s not that you’re ashamed of Jaejin, it’s more of being afraid of being deemed unworthy over again.

“What change of plans?” He asked as he wiped the sweet and sour sauce on his lips with the table napkin.

“Got pregnant.” You answered simply, trying to put it lightly.

Yixing visibly stalled in front of you, trying hard to digest the bomb you just dropped. And you understand his shock, it’s not the first time a promising date went downhill by the fact. But it still made you a tad bit sad that Yixing’s not an exception.

“Dealbreaker?” You tried to chuckle. “I’m sorry for dropping the truth a bit too late. This dinner was going well but I couldn’t let it go on without you knowing.” You shook your head.

“What? No! It’s not a dealbreaker. It’s… awesome.” Yixing’s charm filled dimples presented itself yet again while he smiled. “I just… I didn’t expect you to be a mother. You don’t look like one just yet.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You said with a smile.

“So how old is he.. He or she?” He asked again, and you could feel like he was sincerely interested in talking about Jaejin. “Wait, you’re not married right?”

“Jaejin, my son, is 6 years old. And yes, I’m not married.” You said with a smile.

“I know this is a sensitive subject but, where’s Jaejin’s father?”

“We live with him, just for the past few months. But we’re not together. We’re civil just for the sake of Jaejin.” You explained.

“So, coparenting?” He asked again.

“Yes, I think you could call it like that.” You answered again, and a period of short silence enveloped the two of you before you spoke again. “Is it really okay with you? I mean, I totally understand if it puts you off I-”

“No! I promise it’s not a problem for me. It made me even more interested in you, really. It painted a whole new aspect of you for me, stronger.” Yixing had a happy tone which made you breathe in relief. “Right now I’m just really looking forward on the day I meet Jaejin.”

And it was needless to say that put a smile on your face and lit a new fire in your heart.

“Is this where you live?” Yixing asked as the automated gates of Junmyeon’s mansion open and he started driving in. You answered a silent yup, trying to digest the clashing of worlds, the new one just ever so casually driving his car in the turf of your old. “So this is your ex’s place?”

“Yeah.” You answered with a low breath.

“You’re uncomfortable?” He asked with a chuckle. “Yeah, me too. This is unusual.” He remarked as he parked right at the front of the huge carved wood main doors and the large white marble fountain.

“So, thank you for tonight?” Yixing spoke again. “And I sincerely hope this wouldn’t be the last. I mean it.”

“I don’t think it would be.” You answered comfortably.

Yixing went out of the car and around to your door as he opened it. The manly smell of his perfume overtaking your senses and now your face is only a few inches from his. You could almost feel your face gravitate to his until a voice called your name behind him.

“Junmyeon…” You quickly fixed the way you stood and closed the door of his car. “This is.. This is,” Your hands moved in an awkward way.

“Attorney Zhang.” Junmyeon suddenly muttered, finishing your sentence for himself.

“Mr. Kim, it’s been a while.” And you swear you could feel the tension rise between the two as you stood there mind boggled on the fact that they’re aware of each other’s existence. Like two overlapping circles on a venn diagram.

“You know each other?” You cluelessly asked, head turning back and forth between the two men who had their eyes intensely looking at each other, almost boring a hole at each other’s heads.

“You could say that we have a bit of a history.” Yixing answered, a dry smile trying to facade the growing friction reflected in his eyes.

#junmyeon #junmyeon imagine #junmyeon fanfic #Suho #suho imagine #exo imagine #exo fanfic #exo suho #exo mafia

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

Note

Hi steph. Do you have a fic rec list of novel- long fics? Ta

AHHHH Nonny you’re in luck! As I’ve been sorting, I’ve been separating them into word length too, LOL. And seeing as it’s National Novel Writing Month, I think this is a great time to give our fandom writers love and appreciation for their novel-length works!

So I Googled how long a basic novel is, and according to this site, it’s between 40k and 90k. Hmm, well, I have them sorted in 25K chunks, so I’ll start at 50K to 100K, since it works seeing as NaNo’s writing goal is 50K :D).

I really hope you enjoy! :D Love all you authors so very much, and I look forward to this year’s submissions!

NOVEL LENGTH FICS (50 - 100 K WORDS)

Triage by scullyseviltwin (E, 51,612 w. || Character Injury, Introspection) – Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking.

In the Dark Hours by hubblegleeflower (E, 51,639 w. || Friends to Lovers, Unreliable Narrator, Closeted Bi John, Angst, Miscommunications, Slow Burn, First Time, John’s Blog / Epistolary) – John, wounded and silent, drifts back to Baker Street for healing...and then goes home again. He visits, gets more upbeat, chattier, smiles, jokes... and still goes home again. Sherlock wants him to move back in - it just makes sense - but John shows no signs of doing so. This is the story of how John and Sherlock learn to say what needs to be said when they're both so very, very rubbish at talking.

The Homecoming Series by sussexbound (M, 51,744 w. across 12 stories, WIP || Domestics, PTSD, Love Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Jealousy, Family Issues, Cuddling) – Sometimes home is all you need. After three years of horror, betrayals, and crushing loss, John and Sherlock find their way back home to one another, and together find new footing in a world that has changed forever.

Spare Change by Ermerness (E, 51,966 w. || Rich Holmeses AU || First Kiss / Time, Holmes Family, Virgin Sherlock, Anal, First Meetings) – The Holmes family is one of the richest and most powerful in England. Sherlock spends his time flying around the world on the family's private jet drinking a lot and shopping at expensive boutiques as a way of trying to alleviate his endless boredom. His mother decides it's time he settles down with someone powerful, wealthy and well connected. John Watson happens to be none of those things.

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w. || Dollhouse AU, First Time/Kiss, BAMF John, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Case Fic) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Lost Without My Blogger by starrysummernights (E, 52,155 w. || Rev. Reich, PTSD, Hurt / Comfort, Fluff / Angst, Psychological Torture, Reunion Fic, Friends to Lovers) – John is abducted and declared dead. How will Sherlock cope without his blogger? How will he react when John comes back from the "dead?" Drama and angst with a healthy dose of romance. Part 1 of I'd Be Lost Without My Blogger

John Watson's Twelve Days of Christmas by earlgreytea68 (M, 53,464 w. || Christmas, Holmes Family, Fake Relationship, Alternate First Meeting, Falling in Love, Fluff and Angst, Hardcore Pining) – It's the holiday season. John Watson needs money. Sherlock Holmes needs something else.

Fan Mail by scullyseviltwin (E, 53,942 w. || Stalking, Obsessive Fans, Angst) – “WatsonChick143 has been rather maniacal in her commenting as of late... she’s left comments on everything you’ve posted John, something so obvious can’t have escaped even your attention."

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (E, 54,437 w. || Post S3 || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world ... and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (E, 55,086 w. || Drumsticks, First Time, Love Confession, Self-Sexual-Discovery) – John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They're in love. You know the drill.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w. || Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case) – Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (E, 58,611 w. || First Time/Kiss, Experiments / Sexual Experimentations, Multi Pairings) – John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.

Bridging the Ravine by SilentAuror (E, 58,887 w. || Post S4, Couple For a Case, Bed-Sharing, First Times, Confessions, Awkwardness, Sex Trafficking) – Sherlock and John go undercover at Ravine Valley, a therapy centre for same-sex male couples in an investigation into a possible human trafficking ring. As they pose as a couple and fake their way through the therapy sessions for the sake of the case, it quickly becomes difficult to avoid discussing their very real issues. Set roughly six nine months after series 4.

The Book of Silence by SilentAuror (E, 60,056 w. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Virgin Sherlock, Rosie / Parentlock, Domesticity, Fluff, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, First Person POV) – As spring blooms in London, John and Sherlock begin to take new cases and cautiously negotiate this new phase of life with John living at Baker Street again. Despite how well it's all going, John struggles to forgive himself for the way he treated Sherlock following Mary’s death as well as trying to figure out how to finally put his long-time feelings for Sherlock into words. Part 1 of The Book of Silence/Rosa Felicia

Scars by SilentAuror (E, 60,493 w. || Rape / Non-Con / Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dub Con Elements, Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending, Mary is Not Nice) – S3 rewrite, showing Mary’s manipulation of John as he realizes his love for Sherlock. Mary is not having it.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom (E, 62,006 w || Sherlock POV, Pining, Angst, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Sherlock Learns About Himself, Happy Ending) – Sherlock struggles with his feelings for John, makes a mistake, and learns just how important he and John are to each other. Non-BBC Mary / John, but it’s a *complicated* relationship.

An Experiment in Empathy by belovedmuerto (T, 62,397 w. across 13 stories || Empath AU || Psychic John, Psychic-by-Proxy Sherlock, Empathy, Psychic Bond, Romance / Bromance) – In which John is an empath, Sherlock is Sherlock, and an epic bromance happens. In the aftermath of The Great Game, John creates an unexpected bond between himself and Sherlock. Now they have to learn how to deal with it. John is better at this than Sherlock is.

Perdition’s Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w. || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

Bedtime Universe by Liketheriver (M, 65,173 w. across 2 stories || Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Angst, Humour, Case Fic) – John's POV during Season 2 and beyond when Sherlock takes up semi-permanent residence in his bed. A collection of codas and missing scenes wrapped up into one long fic and topped with a bow that takes the story beyond Reichenbach and into happy territory once more.

Watches 'Verse by bendingsignpost (E, 66,905 w. across 2 works || Magical Realism, Reality Distortion, Angst, Partial MCD, BAMF John) – First, he is shot in Afghanistan. Second, he wakes to a phone call in Chelmsford, Essex. Third is pain, fourth is normalcy, fifth is agony and sixth is confusion. By the eighth, he's lost track. (John-centric AU) Part 1 of Watches 'Verse

You Have Drawn Red From My Hands by J_Baillier (T, 67,085 w. || Three Garridebs, Heavy John Whump, Hurt / Comfort, Pining, Heavy Angst, Case Fic/Adventure, Slow Burn, Sick Fic, Injury, Guilt & Depression, Just Talk Already Please, Medical Realism, PTSD) – John getting injured leads Sherlock on a path of guilt and revelations.

Electric Pink Hand Grenade by BeautifulFiction (E, 67,718 w. || First Time / Kiss, Seizures, Headaches) – "If Sherlock's brain is a hard drive, then these attacks are an electro-magnetic pulse." Sherlock Holmes does not do anything by half, not even a migraine. It falls to John to witness one of the greatest minds he has ever known tear itself apart, and he must do his best to help Sherlock pick up the pieces.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

Darkling, I Listen by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 73,254 w. || Fairy Tale AU || Loosely Based on Beauty and the Beast, Magical Realism, Suicidal Themes, Romance, Creepiness, Adventure) – No one who enters old London ever comes out. They say that the beast devours them. When his sister disappears, John ventures into the dead zone beyond the wall, and finds a brilliant madman under a terrible curse... Part 1 of Darkling I Listen + Extras, Deleted Scenes

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary's betrayal and Sherlock's deceptions.

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (E, 81,665 w. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent) – They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 83,535 w. || Sentinel / Guides AU, Omegaverse, Aventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he's kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 84,945 w. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Bleed Me Out by antietamfalls (E, 87,987 w. || Vampire AU || Bonding, Vampire Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, H/C, John Whump, Magical Realism) – John isn’t exactly surprised to discover that Sherlock isn't human. His vampirism doesn't pose a problem, even when their relationship gradually grows into something more. That is, until a deadly revelation about John’s blood sends their lives spinning dangerously out of control.

A Case of Identity by jkay1980 (T, 91,009 w. || Fake Relationship, Post-TRF, Case Fic) – John and Sherlock have succeeded in rebuilding their friendship after Sherlock’s fake suicide, but an unusual case puts their relationship to the test. They pretend to be engaged and attend a marriage counseling workshop. Under the pretext of the case, Sherlock turns out to be a master of seduction, and John finally learns he might like Sherlock more than he thought. Slowly, John discovers that he loves Sherlock not only in a friendly, brotherly way, but both men have to fight their own demons before they can think of taking their relationship to a new level… [[I love this fic. It’s a really great long-fic!]]

The Stars Move Still by BeautifulFiction (E, 96,022 w. || Magical Realism, Demons, Slash to Pre-Slash, AU, Happy Ending) – "What could I want so desperately that would make me sell my soul? What could possibly compel me to surrender the part of myself that makes me who I am: the source of my magic, my self-control, everything?"

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #novel length fics #long fics #Anonymous #50 to 100k #long post #nanowrimo

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jasntodds · 7 years

Text

Hurricane || part 2

Author: @punkof-pop Pairing: Theo Raeken x Reader Words: 1,805 Warnings: Angst Request: Anon- TheoXreader imagine with prompts 4, 9, 36, 48 Song: Hurricane (stripped version) - Halsey A/N: This is way shorter than I thought it was gonna be? But please let me know what you think and feel free to send in your requests! Prt. 1, Prt. 2, Prt. 3 Masterlist Prompt list

"Y/n!" Theo yells but you ignore him and continue to walk with blood rushing through your veins.

You know you can't turn around to even look at him. You'll see the pain and pity him. You'll come to a stop, let him explain himself, and forgive whatever bullshit he'll feed you. So, you keep walking. You can't allow yourself to be manipulated by him anymore.

With a throbbing hand that was surely broken, you made your way to Stiles's house. With Scott almost demanding everyone stay clear of him, you knew he'd have nowhere to be besides his house.

"What-what are you doing here?" Stiles asks as he opens the door.

"Getting your side of the damn story and coming clean about mine. Why else?"

"Your side?" His eyes squint as he opens the door and allows you inside.

"What happened? Scott really wasn't giving many details."

"What's your side?" He questions as the both of you make your way to his bedroom.

"I asked first."

He lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. "Donovan, he came after me and," he pauses, staring at his murder board. "I hit him with a wrench to get him off of me and we ended up in the library and I was climbing the scaffolds and he was right there so I pulled one of the hooks and everything fell. When he fell, he fell on a rod and was kind of impaled."

"So, self-defense." You hold your dominant hand in your opposite hand, trying to get the throbbing to stop.

"Yeah, but," He shakes his head as if to be disappointed in himself. "I didn't feel bad about it."

"You can feel good about it and it still be self-defence. He was gonna kill you and your dad." You nod, reassuring him, something Scott should be doing and not you.

"Yeah, try telling Scott that." He scoffs with a hung head. He furrows his eyebrows, looking back to you. "What'd you do to your hand?"

"Punched Theo in the face." You chuckle looking to your hand that was slowly bruising.

"You punched him in the face?"

"I've been seeing him. Clearly, I got played so I hit him." You shrug with the roll of your eyes.

"Wait. You were seeing that psychotic killer?"

"I might have terrible taste in guys but I really thought he wasn't that bad. I mean, he's always been nice to me."

Stiles's face is cold and hard but he allows himself to sigh anyway. "I'm sorry."

"Should have listened. Ya live and learn." You shrug it off, trying your hardest to ignore your heart that was breaking. You shouldn't feel anything but hatred for Theo but feelings don't just disappear. It takes times. "But, we gotta focus on convincing Scott that Theo is exactly the person you've been trying to tell us he was."

"Sounds good to me." His faces loosens with relief. "We should also probably get your hand checked out first though." Stiles points to your hand you nod in agreement.

Stiles takes you out to his jeep and drives you to Beacon Hills Memorial where Miss McCall is working. She takes you in for an x-ray rather quick but you and Stiles lie on how you broke your hand, knowing it would just cause more harm than good. Stiles was quick to say you slammed your hand in the door.

Once your x-rays came back, Miss McCall started wrapping your hand in a soft cast. You didn't actually break your hand but you did fracture a few small bones and needed to be in a soft cast for a few weeks. You weren't too happy about it but there wasn't anything you could do about it now.

Once your hand is done being wrapped and your paperwork is filled out, you head back to the jeep but you decide to have Stiles just take you home instead of going to find Scott. Theo has been blowing up your phone and you'd love to just turn it off but as a family rule, your phone has to stay on unless you're at home.

"So, Scott is probably a little right." You say quietly as Stiles pulls against the curb.

"What?"

"I mean, like let him cool down a day and I'll come with you tomorrow and talk to him. I just think Theo has gotten under everyone's skin and in everyone's head and everyone needs to take a day away from each other."

"If I don't do something now then-"

"Stiles." You shake your head. "You gotta trust me. His whole thing is that you're snapping. Let today cool everyone down to show you're not. It was just Theo exaggerating."

"Right." He nods and runs a hand through his hair. "Tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning." You shut the door with a soft nod.

"Hey, y/n." Stiles says before you could walk away. "I hate him," He swallows hard. "But, are you okay?"

You bite your lip and lean against the open window of the jeep. "Yeah, should have known better, ya know?"

He gives a sympathetic nod. "I wish, I wish I wasn't right...for your sake."

"Yeah, you and me both." You wiggle your fractured hand as a joke to help lighten the mood. "Well, I'm gonna go inside and nap and pretend Theo Raeken doesn't exist. You should do the same."

"I'll see ya." Stiles gives you a grateful smile before you make your way into your house.

You walk into your house that's once again empty. You look at the small magnetic whiteboard on your fridge that says your parents were called into work and they'd be back later. They work for the same place so them being called in together is something you're used to. Them being gone for the day works out for you anyway because you are actually able to go your room and nap in peace and quiet, shut out the world. You also won't have to answer any questions about your hand until later which just makes your chest feel a little lighter.

You make your way to your bedroom and change into sweatpants and a hoodie, getting yourself comfortable in bed with your favorite show playing quietly in the background until you're able to fall asleep. Luckily, it didn't take you very long to pass out. Your head hurt from the events and your chest ached from Theo. All you wanted to do was sleep because it was the only time you were able to actually escape the thoughts of Theo and everything he made you feel, all the guilt you feel still liking him even after he fucked your friends over and you.

A constant tapping wakes you up hours later. You groan but drag yourself from your warm bed and go to your window, knowing it would be Theo. You roll your eyes and open the window, but kneel to his level so he can't enter your home.

"What?" You ask sharply.

"Not gonna let me explain?"

"Nope." You shake your head as part of you wants to grab him and pull him inside while the other part wants to take your other fist to his face.

"Come on." Theo pleads. "You gotta let me explain."

"Why? So you can lie to me again?" Your voice reeks of hurt despite how much you're trying to hide it. "So I have a third story to piece together?"

"Just let me in and I'll tell you everything." His eyes are the prettiest green you've ever seen and maybe that's why he's so much trouble. You allow him inside and take a seat on your bed while he stands in front of you. "What do you want to know?"

"Uh, why you told Scott? What you told Scott? Why you didn't just talk to Stiles? Why you didn't help Stiles? Why you didn't tell me anything? Ask me what you should do?" You list the obvious questions.

"Yeah," His cheeks puff with air and he takes a deep breath. "I thought Scott should know since Stiles wasn't going to tell him. I did talk to Stiles and he said he didn't feel bad about it. I just told Scott what I saw. Stiles hit Donovan with the wrench and killed him. If Stiles was capable of killing Donovan, he's capable of killing me, too. I couldn't step in."

"Maybe he wouldn't have killed him, had you helped him. Chimera verses chimera sounds like a better fight than human and chimera. You say you want in with Scott but when the opportunity arises, you don't take it?"

"Wait. What?" His eyes scan you over as if he had never even put the pieces together.

"You're too busy trying to get in with me which doesn't make any sense that you missed your opportunity. Save Stiles, Scott lets you in. Stiles would still hate you." You shake your head with quick raise of your brows. "But he wouldn't have a leg to stand on. He does now. You've been screwing with me, you let Stiles kill someone, you stood by and watched, you told his best friend and tried to pin them against each other. All of that in a matter of twelve hours."

He's silent for a few seconds, something that you're not quite used to with him. He's usually quick with something to back up his reasoning but not now he actually has to think. "Alright, I fucked up." He admits, catching you off guard. "I fucked up but the one thing I didn't do, was screw you over."

"Yeah? And I'm supposed to believe you now?"

"I don't expect you to but I'm hoping you do." His eyes are pleading but you can't tell if he's just trying to manipulate you or if he's being sincere. He convinced Scott that Stiles killed someone in cold blood. Theo has to be good at manipulating people. "Your heartbeat tells me you do."

"I want to." You narrow your eyes a little as you swallow a lump that's formed in your throat. "But, I can't." Your voice shakes as the words fall.

"So, that's it?"

"Yeah." You nod as the back of your eyes start to burn with tears.

"No second chance?"

"I-" You stutter, trying to find the right words. You know that if he does care about you the way he says he does, you're breaking his heart just like he did yours with screwing over Stiles. But, you don't know if he's lying. "I can't give you a second chance." You speak slowly, avoiding his pain-filled eyes.

"You're gonna regret this." His voice is cold but laced with heartbreak as he makes his way back to your window.

"I know." You say as he exits through the window.

#theo raeken #theo raeken imagine #theo raeken x reader #theo imagine #imagines #imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #hurricane #cody christian

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army-author · 7 years

Text

jimin scenario | my lie for you (pt.2)

part one | part two | epilogue

♡ He’ll keep up this lie to keep you smiling ♡

genre: angst, romance

word count: 6.0k

warnings: mentions of alcohol

For a while, Jimin really is over you. He’s over you unknowingly breaking his heart every day. He’s over you keeping him up every night, stuck in an empty fantasy. He’s over you making him fall in love over and over again, sinking deeper, hurting harder, giving more. And he’s over the flings with girls that will never replace you. He’s over the parties every night, rebelling against his parents just to please you. He’s over the lie he’s sustained for five years to keep you smiling, while you remain cruelly oblivious.

But quickly his resolve begins to fade. He begins to wonder how you are, what you’re up to, how life is with your new boyfriend.

It shouldn’t have been this easy to slice you out of his life. You should have put up more of a fight. But now Jimin finds himself spending school breaks with Namjoon and Yoongi, slowly losing all sense of the friendship he once had with you, and slowly losing his mind.

Namjoon and Yoongi are easier company than you, that’s for sure. They’re so much more mellow; all they ask is that Jimin shows his face at the poetry club, and nods along when they ramble about the joys of writing in free verse. Soon, going to the classroom where their poetry club meets feels routine for Jimin – on autopilot, his legs lead him there every lunchtime. Sitting on one of the desks, surrounded by the comforting smell of old books and chalk, Jimin feels that honesty flows freer here – preferably in iambic pentameter.

Still, he finds it hard to force the truth past his teeth – old habits are hard to bludgeon to death. At least he is able to admit that not everything in his life is peaches and roses: “Y/N and I had a fight. We’re not talking anymore.”

Namjoon and Yoongi’s consolatory words feel alien to him. Seeing their worry fills Jimin with guilt, and reminds him why he never opened up in the first place. His honesty is a burden to others. But he’s too tired to fake a smile. The truth, in the form of a frown, is all he can give at this point.

At least they don’t press him further. After some murmured advice, they go back to their poetry, and leave Jimin to his thoughts. He appreciates their lack of curiosity. He doesn’t want to go into details, doesn’t even know if he can. All he knows is that your friendship cracked in two. He wants to forget about it.

But that’s rather difficult when you’re always there in the background - in the corridor, in class, by the fence outside school, everywhere, reminding Jimin of the raw wound that throbs in his chest. Every time his eye catches yours in the corridor, you both quickly look away, pretending you don’t know each other. Like strangers.

Jimin tells himself he’s not aching inside. Another lie.

“You’re looking pretty down,” Namjoon says, as Jimin enters the clubroom yet again.

“Hmm…? Yeah…” Jimin doesn’t bother saying any more, taking his seat and picking up one of the books Namjoon left lying around: Lawrence Dunbar. Jimin can’t even pretend to understand it.

“Yoongi and I are actually going out this Friday,” Namjoon says, peering at Jimin over the top of his poetry notebook.

“Mmmhmm?” Jimin flicks through a few pages, random words popping out:

We wear the mask that lies and grins…

“And we were wondering if you wanted to tag along.”

Jimin’s cheeks puff out, considering. To him, ‘going out’ means drinking, hitting the nearest club, and then dragging you home at three in the morning. He has a feeling Namjoon has something a lot tamer in mind. “Where were you planning on going?”

“To the diner down town. We’ll eat something unhealthy, talk about our problems, just hang out...”

“What Namjoon’s trying to say,” Yoongi chimes in, “is that we want you to go out and have fun. You’ve been moping around this room every chance you get, and something tells us you’ve been going home to mope around your room as well.”

“I don’t know…” The idea of going out without you is foreign to Jimin. It was always the two of you, facing the world together. It’s as if someone has ripped away his other half and is expecting him to carry on with blood spilling everywhere.

“Come on, you can’t keep living like this,” Yoongi presses, “Seeing the world outside your own head will do you some good.”

Jimin’s nails dig into the paper cover of the poetry book he’s holding. “Okay, but I’m only agreeing so that you stop bothering me about it.”

The smiles of triumph that pass over his friend’s faces almost make Jimin smile back.

♡♡♡

The diner they drag him to is like nothing Jimin’s visited before. With his wealthy family, only the poshest restaurants were acceptable; with you, only the cheapest fast-food was an option. This diner is something in between. Not trashy, but not classy either. The floor is decorated with sticky pink and white tiles, the walls are covered in retro neon signs, and there are novelty coasters on all the tables. There’s even a juke box in the corner, wheezing out old songs.

Namjoon and Yoongi choose a seat by the window, giving prime view to the street outside, where night is slowly slipping in as lights flicker on.

“This is nice,” Jimin comments.

“Aren’t you glad you came out?” Yoongi smiles, as a waitress brings their drinks to the table.

Jimin hums in agreement, and takes a sip his soda, his full mouth giving him an excuse not to speak. As Namjoon and Yoongi go on to joke about their eccentric maths teacher, he focuses on the street outside. Occasionally, his friends try to tempt him into their conversation, but Jimin only manages a few mumbled responses before he slips back to his own thoughts.

The city passing by, with the shoppers, the party-goers, the couples out on dates - it all makes him feel strange. He grasps for the words to describe what it is, but he can’t explain it – all he knows is that he’s missing out on something. The world’s rotating, moving, existing out there, and he’s closed off from it, feeling like he hasn’t experienced enough in his life. Maybe it’s because he was following too closely behind you, living through you, rather than for himself. Still, he feels that somewhere out there, you’re getting ready, going out, having fun without him and despite all his thoughts before now, he wants to be with you, following behind. Even if it robs him of his own life.

He should stop thinking about you, shut off this part of his brain. But… but… but…

… isn’t one of your local haunts close to here? He thought this street looked familiar. If you turn right out of the diner, follow the curb for a few feet, and go down a back alley, you’ll find steps leading down to a club in the basement of an old record shop. You always liked the music they played there. He wonders if you’ll be there this evening.

Instinctively his hand falls to his phone in his pocket, the only connection he has left with you. Your number saved in his contacts is tantalisingly close, just below his impatient fingers.

He pulls the phone out, and taps on his conversation with you, left on mute.

Strangely, miraculously, there are some new messages from you, only delivered an hour ago:

Y/N: jimin, im going out clubbing this evening – do you know the one in the basement of the record shop?

Y/N: come along if you want

Y/N: i hate fighting like this

Y/N: and i hate being away from you…

Y/N: so please come?

How can you send messages like this and expect him to be okay? This is the sort of thing you should text to an ex-boyfriend, not an ex-best friend. With behaviour like this, you were asking for a kiss, getting Jimin confused, conflicted, crammed full of emotions with no outlet, except through his lips against your own.

But despite your cruel oblivion, he hates being away from you too. No matter how strong his desire for a clean break is, his heart is weak, wobbling precariously in his rib cage - barely mended, yet ready to shatter again. He can’t bear it.

“Guys, I’ve got to go,” Jimin says, slapping a few notes down on the table to pay for his portion, “It’s getting pretty late.”

Namjoon and Yoongi let him go without much of a fight, only calling out, “Be careful on the way home,” as Jimin exits the diner. They’re none the wiser to the storm that’s brewing in his head.

Rather than turning towards his house, Jimin heads in the opposite direction, aiming for the alley, where the nightclub lies tucked off the main street. Aiming for where you might be - his magnetic north.

As soon as he arrives, he knows it’s a bad idea. The queue outside is long, and in the plummeting temperature of a sunless evening Jimin would rather be inside, undercovers. Yet, he can’t seem to drag his feet in the opposite direction.

His heart bloating with self-loathing, he steps into line, and waits to be let inside.

This is bad. He can taste it on the tip of his tongue, like the tingling you get from eating too much chocolate in one go. But, he’s searching for you in the crowd, and searching for the empty calories you’ll feed him – making him feel good when you give him attention for a few seconds before returning to Taehyung to give him all your love. Jimin’s craving a sugar rush… and a heart attack.

The music inside is too loud, and the alcohol is too expensive. The heady atmosphere, the swimming lights, and the smell of sweat is all your element, not Jimin’s. He’s not sure how to tackle them without you. Automatically, he turns to the bar, sitting down and ordering himself some liquid confidence.

To his right, a girl is sitting, sipping on a margarita. Over the sugar-coated rim of her glass, she flashes Jimin a smile, before her eyes flicker away again. Jimin knows this game. Giving her a once over, he sees she’s a year or two older than him, her more mature body suiting the short black dress that hugs her curves. Any other night Jimin would return her smile, buy her another margarita, and with a few silver-tongued words he’d have her for himself. But he promised he wouldn’t do that anymore. Filling the hole you left with booze and women never helps. Booze evaporates, and women just drift away in the morning with sighs, smiles, or sometimes tears. Tears are the worst.

He suddenly feels disgusted by the drink in his hand. Turning his attention away from the bar, he scans the crowd, searching faces for the features he’s memorised so well – well enough to reconstruct in his dreams. He’s ready to give up, when finally, he spots you, under the purple and blue spotlights spitting from the ceiling. Your face is squeezed into a wide smile as Taehyung spins you around, hands pressed to your waist.

So he’s found you. Now what? Jimin hasn’t thought this far ahead. Should he go over and talk to you, try to make amends? Should he find another dance partner and live it up, showing off how he’s surviving without you? Or should he just leave?

As he’s considering his options, you twirl away from Taehyung, giggling, and your eyes find his in the crowd. Your smile falters. For a second Jimin almost convinces himself that you’re hurting too. Then the crowd surges, and you’re out of sight. Probably for the best.

He stands up, downs his drink, and turns to the girl at the other end of the bar. Coyly, she smiles his way, and the rest of Jimin’s night is locked in place. With a jerk of his head, he indicates for the girl to join him, and she pulls him to the dancefloor. Under the neon lights, Jimin lets the music sweep him up, finding freedom as his body moves to the pounding track. The girl by his side presses against him. He can feel every curve of her body, as good as the little black dress promised.

Song after song blurs past. Jimin’s breath grows unsteady and his hair begins to stick to his damp forehead. He shouts something to the girl at his side about getting more drinks, and she nods, probably not understanding. Glad of a break, he detaches himself from her hold and goes back to the bar.

At the same moment – the worst… or best timing - you emerge from the crowd, going to the bar yourself. Noticing Jimin, you wave. When he doesn’t reciprocate, you pull out your phone and text something.

Jimin’s hand goes to his pocket, where his phone lies lifeless, your name still marked on mute. Knowing he shouldn’t, he glances at his phone:

Y/N: hey

Y/N: you came :)

Jimin pushes his phone back into his pocket. He’s over you. He meant it. At least… he meant to mean it. But as the evening wove its way along, he forgot all that, let himself get swept up in his own pining.

Now would be a good time to leave.

You stop him before he can get away. Your lips move, but Jimin can’t hear you above the roar of the club.

When he shakes his head in reply, you grab his hand. With surprising force, you pull him into the bathroom by the bar and lock the door behind you. The sounds of the club drains into a muffled haze on the other side.

“What is wrong with you?” Jimin rubs at his wrist where your fingers dug into his skin seconds before.

You run a desperate hand through your hair. “Sorry… it’s just… you – you keep ignoring me, keep running away and... I didn’t know what else to do…”

A cold settles over Jimin. “Yeah, well I’ve been running away for a reason.”

Your lips wobble slightly, but you pull back a smile. “Right…”

Above you, the bathroom lights flicker, the movement sensors shutting down when neither of you move. A thick blackness settles over you as the lights snap off.

“Why is that?” you finally ask, “What did I do?”

The truth struggles in Jimin’s mouth, wanting to get out – if he could just say: “Because I love you, and you hurt me.” But he can’t get it out. This old habit won’t die.

“Whatever,” you say after a painfully long silence, “I guess it’s selfish to want you back.”

Jimin’s face feels hot, pain and pleasure rising up at the words ‘want you’. He’s grateful for the darkness that hides his feelings. “Yeah… selfish.”

“But, Jimin,” you say, your voice seeming softer and more intimate coming from a faint shape in the darkness, “These past few days without you have hurt me so much… I’ll do whatever it takes to get our friendship back.”

What if that’s not what Jimin wants? He wants to scream, shout out, stop it all, but his mouth is dry and his throat is empty. If he can’t have you the way he wants you, he’d rather let go altogether. Being this close, physically, without being emotionally close is torturous. Jimin’s hands fumble through the darkness for the lock on the door.

“Whatever it takes,” you repeat. Jimin hears your feet scuffing the tiled floor as you take a step closer. So close he can feel your breath, sweet smelling, on his cheek.

And then your lips reach his.

A thousand feelings cascade through Jimin. He’s unable to identify any of them except the primal desire, and the primal fear. Your mouth moves against his, desperate, searching – like you’re trying to pry his lips open and spill the truth. Jimin’s body compiles before he can push you away, melting at your touch. He opens up and lets you in to do your worst, all while his brain screams “Stop!”

Ripping you away from him is like tearing off his own skin.

You stumble back a few feet and the lights flicker on again.

It’s Jimin’s turn to get angry. Is this what you felt when he kissed you at the party? Used. Dirty. Empty. He’s just another outlet for your cheap thrill obsession – another way for you to break the rules, break your new boyfriend’s heart, break everything apart. Jimin wants to break something too, smash the wall, slam the door, shatter the bathroom mirror where he sees himself reflected, not recognising his own pale face.

“Jimin…” your voice is small, as you take another step back, leaning against the opposite wall. Beside the white tiles you look ghostly, “I just-”

“What – you just what?” Jimin’s fists ball by his side as he tries to push the feeling of your lips from his mind – so soft… so warm…

A wry laugh escapes you. “I don’t know… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore… I’m going crazy. I just… I miss you, okay?”

“So it’s fine to kiss me while your boyfriend waits outside? What happened to being in love with him, huh?” Jimin shakes his head. You blur in and out of focus as tears rise, “What? He’s not good enough now? Is breaking his heart not enough?”

You bite back a sob, crossing your arms across your chest. “I don’t know anymore, Jimin. I don’t feel like anything’s enough, right now. I’m just – I’m lost without you. I don’t remember what it’s like to keep going without you by my side.”

Whatever anger Jimin has left fizzles out, leaving a heaviness in its wake. “Maybe that’s why we should take a break from each other – remember what it’s like to go on without the other.”

The tears you were holding back begin to spill, clumping your mascara. “Maybe…”

On any other night Jimin would have been by your side in an instant, his arms snaking around to pull you away from whatever’s hurting you. But now – it’s him causing this pain. And he can’t touch you. Not after promising to let go - to keep living without relying on you. You’re his oxygen tank, but he needs to learn to breathe alone.

“Maybe,” he repeats, and the word hangs in the air as he unlocks the door and leaves you shivering in the bathroom.

♡♡♡

Y/N: Jimin

Y/N: sorry… about last night

Y/N: i have a few things i need to sort out in my own mind

Y/N: you were right… we need some time apart

Y/N: im going to do some thinking

Y/N: and i hope you can forgive me when i make it out the other side of this…

♡♡♡

Jimin flicks through one of the books left lying in the poetry clubroom, waiting for Namjoon and Yoongi to arrive after class. He’s searching for a particular poem. At last he lands on the page he wants.

‘We Wear The Mask’ by Lawrence Dunbar. His eyes glide over the words, drinking them up:

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, -

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

The door opens, knocking Jimin from his trance.

“Enjoying Dunbar?” Namjoon asks.

Jimin blushes, embarrassed to be caught in the act. “Yeah… I don’t really understand it, but I like this poem.”

“If that’s the case, you should try to write a response to it.”

Jimin cocks his head at this. “Write a response?”

“Yeah, after all – you’re a member of the poetry club now. You need to write a poem. That was our condition for you staying, wasn’t it?”

Jimin’s eyes fall back to the words in front of him, overwhelmed. “I didn’t think you were serious…”

“I’m not. Not really,” Namjoon says, “Still, if this poetry moves you, you should try to explain why…”

“Well…”Jimin pauses to consider.

Patiently, Namjoon waits for him to sort his thoughts.

“The poem’s about deceit, right?” Jimin begins, “About how we all wear masks, and hide behind smiles, and pretend that our lives are better than they really are. But in the end, we get swept up in our own lies, let them squeeze – like… like snakes – and drain us of anything that we might be… until we’re… we’re nothing but the masks we hold up.” Jimin’s face heats up. He suddenly feels exposed, like he’s turned himself inside out and let Namjoon examine his vital organs. It’s about more than just poetry at this point.

But rather than the laughing, Namjoon says, “You should write some of those thoughts down. There’s a poem hiding in there somewhere.”

“…They were just my honest thoughts,” Jimin says, brushing at the pages between his fingers and avoiding Namjoon’s gaze.

“Well, by being honest, you’re already breaking away from your own mask.” Jimin looks up to see Namjoon’s dimples popping up as he smiles.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

♡♡♡

The next couple of days, Jimin finds himself writing in his spare time, small pieces of poetry (if they can even be called that) scribbled in a spare notebook. Getting his honest thoughts down on paper makes his chest feel a little lighter, allows him to admit the feelings he never realised existed. As his pen scratches at the paper, he scratches away at his own surface.

Sitting alone in the poetry clubroom, perched on a desk with his notebook in his lap, he’s startled out of his reverie by the buzzing of his phone. He glances at the screen, ready to dismiss the notification from Facebook until he sees your face. His finger freezes, ready to swipe away:

‘Y/N just got out of a relationship with Kim Taehyung.’

Jimin’s insides squirm around, body parts jumping to strange places – heart in his throat, stomach in his shoes, brain out the window.

What does this mean?

His thoughts stampede back to your last meeting, the texts you sent afterwards – “I have a few things I need to sort out in my own mind.” Is this what you meant? Dumping Taehyung? He expects the usual rush of joy that comes when you give him a small sliver of hope. Instead, all he feels is a small, sad glow that you let go of the love you were so desperately clinging to – pretending to be happy, because you didn’t want to be lonely.

He’s disappointed that it didn’t work out for you. Despite all his muddled thoughts, he realises he still wants you to be happy.

But a part of him is also proud that you let go. If Taehyung was just another way of alleviating your own pain, then he’s glad that you’re not relying on him anymore. Maybe this time apart is doing you both good. Separate from his blinding love, Jimin’s learning new things about himself, and maybe it’s the same for you.

He gets the feeling, that even if (when) the two of you return to your old friendship, it won’t really be you and Jimin, but two entirely different people that meet. He’s terrified by the thought. But he’s also excited.

The next time he sees you in class, he gives your shoulder a light pat as he passes your seat. You look up at him, eyes still puffy and red from your fresh break-up, and offer a small smile.

It’s not a lot, but it gives Jimin hope. He won’t lose you forever.

♡♡♡

It’s the weekend. The sun beats down overhead as Jimin treks through the city zoo. He had the choice of going to an expensive restaurant with his family or going into town by himself. He’s sick of steak every family dinner, so he’s opted for some time alone. Tramping over a tarmac sea with an empty notebook in his backpack feels oddly thrilling.

He reaches a signpost, marking out the sections of the park: straight on for the lions, left for the penguin exhibit, right for the reptile room. Jimin turns right, towards the building that instilled so much fear as a child – today he’s going to face his fear of snakes.

The air inside the reptile room is thick and warm. Jimin walks past tanks full of lizards, and tortoises, and small corn snakes, searching until he reaches the exhibit he was looking for: the python.

The snake sits at the back of the tank, unmoving, like a log. Jimin stares at the large shape that had scared him for so long, watching bulging eyes staring back from a brown and cream striped face.

The sign beside the enclosure reads: “This is Christie, our Burmese Python.”

“Christie… that’s not a scary name,” Jimin chuckles. The python shifts a little, patterns sliding together like an optical illusion. Jimin realises he isn’t afraid anymore. Just fascinated. He watches the python for a few more minutes, until something catches his eye from the other side of the tank, where zoo visitors are meandering on the far side of the reptile room.

He takes a step back when he sees your face gazing at him through two layers of glass.

He waves.

On the other side, you smile and wave back.

Out in the sunlight again, Jimin finds a bench where, after a moment, you join him with two ice lollies from the cart outside the reptile room.

“This is for you,” you say, holding out one of the lollies, “Consider it a peace offering and we’ll call a truce for the day.”

Jimin smiles, and accepts the watermelon flavoured ice pop. His favourite.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, licking up the half-melted ice, mouths too busy to talk.

At last Jimin breaks through, saying, “So… how have you been?”

It’s so simple, it feels silly to ask.

Still, you respond, “I’ve been… fine. Yeah, fine. I mean, a lot’s been going on, but I feel okay about it, you know?”

Jimin licks at a stray drop of watermelon-flavoured juice that’s dripping onto his hand. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Of course you get it. We get each other.” You bump your shoulder against Jimin’s gently. Your smile fades away quickly though, “Sorry, is it too soon to go back to joking the way we used to?”

“No, this is fine. This is… nice,” Jimin says, “Hanging out with you is nice. Not at a club or anything, I mean.”

You hum in response. “Yeah, we only ever spent our free time partying, we never gave ourselves much of a chance to talk.”

“Can a friendship even be stable, living like that?”

“I don’t believe so…” you pause from eating your ice lolly, drifting into thought as the melted juice begins to run down the stick, “I’ve been thinking about that a lot actually. About how I’ve been treating you…” You falter. “Sorry, I know we called a truce. Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this yet… maybe now’s not the time.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin murmurs.

You press your lips together, giving him the sense that you’re choosing your next words with care. “I’ve realised how unfair I’ve been. To you. To Taehyung. I’ve just been doing what makes me happy, running away from my own thoughts through partying and breaking the rules – anything to make me feel special, like I’m an extra bit of stardust breaking away from orbit. But I ended up hurting those I left in my wake. I wasn’t looking behind me to see the damage.” Tears slip into your eyes as melted ice-cream slides down your knuckles.

“I think there’s always going to be damage as we grow up and change,” Jimin says after a short silence, “What’s important is that you recognise the damage and try to fix it.”

You finally notice the ice-cream dripping onto your hand and try to clean it up, licking it off your fingers. Behind your hand, you offer Jimin a messy smile. “When did you become so wise, Park Jimin?”

“I’ve just been hanging out with Namjoon too much.”

You laugh, “Alright. I’m done being philosophical for one day. Let’s go look at meerkats.”

As you drag Jimin off the bench, he feels the air around the two of you clearing. Being honest with you feels nice.

There’s only one last lie floating between you, one last thing he needs to fix. But not today. Not on a truce.

♡♡♡

“I’ve finished it!” Jimin lays a sheet of paper down on the desk in front of Namjoon and Yoongi.

“This is your poem?” Namjoon asks.

Jimin nods. “I’d rather you read it when I’m not around. It’s embarrassing.”

“Of course,” Namjoon smiles, “Poems are most embarrassing when they’re honest, right?”

Jimin exits the room, and breathes a sigh. Finally finished, he’s managed to get his thoughts into some semblance of order, and although he knows it’s nothing like the poems Namjoon and Yoongi write, Jimin’s proud of it:

Tell me like you’re whispering into my ears

Don’t be like prey

Be smooth like a snake

I want to escape but

It keeps happening even though I run away

I’m caught in a lie.

There’s one more thing he needs to do.

He takes out his phone, pulling up your number. He’s ready to tell you the whole truth.

Jimin: I’ve finished thinking.

Jimin: meet me outside.

Stepping out into the breeze that pulls at his hair and jumper, Jimin finds a bench underneath one of the trees by the football pitch, where he can watch the sun spill dappled patterns onto the grass.

Making the most of these final moments before you arrive, he goes over all he needs to say in his head: “Y/N, I’ve wasted so much of my time lying to you. I thought it would do us both good, but in the end it damaged our relationship. I’m so sorry, and I hope you can forgive me when I tell you the truth – that I love you…” That I love you…

He hears footsteps behind him, and jumps up to see you stop at the other side of the bench, the wooden frame separating the two of you. His heart beat throbs in his throat.

“Hi,” you lean over the bench, smiling.

“Hi.” Jimin’s nose scrunches naturally as he smiles back.

You step around the bench and take a seat, patting the space by your side for him to sit down. “So I believe you wanted to tell me something?”

Jimin obliges, sitting down beside you. A deep breath isn’t enough to compose his thoughts, the well-rehearsed speech shatters and flies away from him, leaving him grasping at empty air. He decides whatever comes out now is probably better than an over-practiced speech anyway: “Actually… Y/N… I’ve been feeling pretty guilty. I spend most of my time lying to you… to everyone... But I want to change that. I want to be honest with you – with myself. I want you to know me for who I am... Maybe you’ll think differently of me once I show you what I’m really like. Maybe you’ll need to completely relearn Park Jimin. But I want you to know me for me.”

“Well, Park Jimin, it’s lovely to meet the real you,” you say, picking up his hand and shaking it, “Tell me a little about yourself.”

Jimin laughs behind his free hand, playing along, “Alright, well… firstly, I have a weird phobia of snakes. And I drink a lot of rum at parties, to make me look grown-up, even though I hate the taste. Oh, and I can’t hold my liquor. At all. I’ve also never really liked clubs, I think they’re too hot and sweaty, and I always feel I’m one step away from running into a drug-dealer. On top of that, although I act like I don’t care, I’m actually really worried about my future, about what college I’ll go to. I don’t even know what I want to do yet. And…” Deep breath, “And I love you. I love love you.”

The tight feeling in Jimin’s chest melts away.

Your hand slips from his, and your eyes fall to the ground. “I see, so I thought right…”

Jimin swallows, and continues on, “I wanted to tell you so that there’s no lies between us, but I don’t expect you to accept my feelings. I don’t even need you to respond to them. I just want you to know they’re there.”

Your hands clasped in your lap grip a little tighter, your knuckles turning white.

“Sorry, Y/N, I’m sure this is awkward for you…”

You shake your head, hair slipping around your shoulders in waves. “No, it’s not awkward. I’m glad you told me. And I agree, there shouldn’t be any lies between us…”

“Right.” Jimin presses his lips together, debating his next words. “And despite all this… I want us to stay friends.”

You finally look, eyes locking with his. Behind your irises, a flux of emotions play for power, tumbling through confusion, pain, happiness. You settle on a small smile, lips easing up. “I want that too, Jimin. But… I can’t help feeling guilty. I’ve strung you along for so long, hurt you so many times. Shouldn’t you just leave me at this point? Find someone who’s actually worth your love?”

Your words squeeze Jimin’s heart. Disappointment wells up at his own weakness. He was hoping that once he got rid of the lies, all his problems would fade, that he wouldn’t get fazed by things like this. But of course, there are problems even for the honest. His emotions won’t sort themselves out overnight. He takes another breath, resigns himself to this fact, and moves on to say, “To be honest, I’m not even sure what I feel for you is love anymore.”

Your eyes bore into him, searching - a deep gaze he used to fear would break through his lies.

“Of course, I care for you deeply,” he says, “But these feelings have been inside me so long, they’re not pure anymore. I adapted them again and again to fit you as we grew up. But in the end, I think I was in love with a dream I’d made up. I needed time away to realise that.”

Looking back, Jimin had forgotten what you told him all those years ago when you first tried to explain the difference between love and love love:

“Don’t you get it Jimin? Love love is the pure kind of love, like what my parents have. It’s gentle, all encompassing, wide ranging. It’s the kind of love where my dad can come home after a long day at work, argue with my mum, and still find space in his heart to love her despite how tough it is. That’s love love.” This was the only explanation you could offer five years ago, not understanding love yourself.

Jimin had watched as you spoke, eyes sparkling in the slits of afternoon sunshine that snuck behind your bicycle shed hideaway.

“Love love sounds amazing,” he said.

“Doesn’t it? I can’t wait till I find it.”

“Me neither.”

Jimin realises now that his feelings were nothing like that. They weren’t gentle, all encompassing, wide ranging. There were just painful. They had blinded him, hiding you behind a veil of fantasies you could never fulfil.

Getting too caught up on what’s love and what’s love love confuses him, but he has a whole lifetime to sort out his mind, to detangle himself from the fairy-tales he’s been fed since childhood, and the bad experiences he’s had with all the girls he never actually cared for. With a breath, he releases his fears into the air, and decides it’s okay to not know. So long as he has you by his side to figure it out.

“For now,” he says, “Let’s stay friends.”

The wind rustles in the trees, and you rest your head on Jimin’s shoulder. The pressure there feels comfy, familiar.

“Friends,” you whisper, “I’d love love that.”

♡ END ♡

A/N: I know it says this is the end... but I actually have an extra part I might post, showing what happens to Y/N and Jimin a year later... I haven’t decided whether to publish it or not... tell me what you think? 😊

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