#no wonder I keep crying every day this summer. I already cried at least once a week bc this has been the worst year of my life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crash-cinematic-universe · 3 years

Text

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!! (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names , @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up.

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew.

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture.

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love.

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames.

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in.

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him.

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though.

“That would be nice,” He said softly.

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24.

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces.

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway.

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower.

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights.

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it.

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about.

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around.

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though.

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head.

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers.

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive.

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death.

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be.

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep.

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

“What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants.

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask.

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.”

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape.

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away.

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--”

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins.

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid.

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away.

“Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed.

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that?

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top.

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside.

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.”

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made.

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.”

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it.

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun.

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology.

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet.

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways.

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it.

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine.

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back.

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad.

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet.

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear.

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

“So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do.

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist.

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him.

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face.

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime.

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

#Evan Peters #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x reader #wandavision #xmen fanfiction #xmen

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twdbegins · 3 years

Note

when you can, can you do a Simon age gap smut, where the reader keeps turning down all the boys her age that try to get with her because she likes older men, can older men do it better and cuz ya know Simon is breathtaking, please and thank you

This got lost in my inbox somehow! So sorry for the wait!

Preferences

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Language.

Word Count: 1,651

“Are you saying it’s because I’m attractive?”

Being in your early twenties is a hard time for anyone. You’re now out of your adolescence years, being thrown into the deep end of adulthood and trying to navigate your way through life. Being thrown in a zombie apocalypse doubled your struggles.

“How many times do I have to tell you no?” You snapped at the puppy eyed guy that had been following you around for the whole day.

Travis was a sweet guy. He meant well and he was always kind to you, but you simply weren’t interested. He was rather persistent that you go out with him or even at least give him a chance. He tried to keep up with your fast pace as you whisked through the hallways.

“Come on, [Y/N]. I’d just like to go out with you sometime,” He attempted to persuade you; “It doesn’t have to be a romantic thing.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. That’s what they all said. It always ended up being a romantic thing, and you weren’t sure how many different ways you could turn him down easily before having to get aggressive.

“Travis. I said no and I mean no.” You said, stopping your fast walk and hoping he’d catch the sharp edge in your tone.

Defeated and dejected, Travis let out a heavy sigh and hung his head. He pushed past you to go sulk for the rest of the day. You didn’t like hurting anyone’s feelings, but sometimes the men around the Sanctuary just couldn’t take a hint. You leaned against the nearest wall, rubbing your forehead stressfully.

There weren’t many younger Saviors here. There were maybe 15 or so that were actually close to your age, and you had turned down probably about 8 of them over the course of your time at the Sanctuary. You just didn’t feel attraction towards any of them. You heard heavy footsteps approaching, accompanied with a low whistle.

“Damn, sweetheart. That’s the third one this week you’ve turned down.” The familiar voice bellowed.

You looked to see Simon striding towards you, his hand motioning to Travis who he had just passed by. You groaned.

“He’s the most stubborn one yet.” You announced, feeling a slight blush as Simon took the vacant spot next to you on the wall.

Truth was, if there were any man at the Sanctuary that you wanted the attention of, it was the infamous right-hand man. Simon was a real man. He was built, strong, intelligent, charming, and devilishly handsome. You had a gut feeling that he knew his way around a woman. If only there was a way you could put your theory to the test.

“Travis is a great guy.” Simon noted.

“Yeah, and so is Alan, Ron, and Cedric,” You said, referring to the other guys you had shut down; “I’m just not interested.”

“You know, most women would be flattered at the amount of attention you get.” Simon pointed out, crossing his arms and looking over at you with his dark brown eyes.

You could smell his cologne. It was faint, but it was heavenly.

“Yeah, but is it because they’re actually interested or because I’m the only available woman around?” You questioned aloud.

You were well aware that (other than Negan’s wives, who were strictly off limits) you were pretty much the only young, spry woman around. The Sanctuary was of male majority, and most of them were incredibly sexually frustrated, especially the younger ones.

“I was that age once. Trust me, there’s other reasons.” Simon said boldly, a grin appearing on his face.

You scoffed, but hid the deepening blush on your face. He was one smooth charmer.

“Are you saying it’s because I’m attractive?” You suggested, really hoping that’s what he meant.

He shrugged.

“Maybe. I mean, if I were in their shoes, I’d try like hell to even get you to spare me a passing glance,” He admitted; “I’m not so sure you’d want to get involved with me though. I’m not exactly 25 anymore.”

You felt a spark of thrill. You had a chance. This chance was too good and too perfect to pass up.

“You might be surprised.” You flirted, trying not to sheepishly smile.

He was surprised. He turned his frame towards you as realization washed over him.

“You saying that you have a thing for older guys?” He pondered.

“Maybe.” You repeated what he had said slyly.

He smirked, a dark chuckle erupting from his chest. He leaned his arm against the wall, drawing closer to you. He was dangerously close. Your lips almost touching.

“I thought I was crazy for thinking that you’re always eye fucking me,” He chided; “I guess my old intuition is still in working order.”

You laughed, slipping just your fingertips into his waistband. This is what you were interested in.

“I wonder what else of yours is in ‘working order’.” You hinted.

He hummed lowly.

“You sure you want to go for it?” He asked for consent.

“Hell yes.” You replied immediately.

His lips crashed into yours, rough kisses that were hungry and unexpected. His hands were under your ass in seconds, hoisting you around his waist and carrying you to his room that wasn’t too far from the hallway you were in. You were making out like a mad, horny teenage couple that hadn’t seen each other for a long summer. You had never been in his room before, but you didn’t care much for looking around at his decor.

He tossed you onto the bed, earning a squeak from you when your back hit the mattress. Both of your clothes were strewn across the room, your naked bodies pressed against one another warmly. His lips were hot on your neck as he sucked harsh hickeys, the slight pain and immense pleasure were a perfect mix. Your moans and the sounds of his lips on your skin were the only sounds in the room.

“You’re already so wet.” He said, reaching and rubbing slow circles onto your clit.

You whimpered out, his fingers working magic on your sensitive sex. He slipped two of his fingers inside of you, his fingers curled and massaged your inner walls, feeling how she was coated with slickness. You had almost forgotten that this was supposed to be about him, but that didn’t stop you from rolling your hips as you began to grind into his fingers.

“Shit. Oh...” You breathed out as he pumped his fingers and curled mercilessly.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” He growled into your ear; “You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of seeing you like this. You deserve someone who knows what they’re doing to make you feel good.” He said, bringing you close to the beginning of your climax.

But you didn’t want to finish just yet. You stilled his hand, making him withdraw his fingers. He looked you dead in the eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. You felt prideful when he did so.

You purposefully moaned in his ear, sending him over the edge. He was between your knees, having your legs around his waist in seconds. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you firmly around him. He scanned over your naked body that was sprawled out on the bed.

Seeing you laid out underneath him, squirming with expectation was arousing and maddening. There were so many things that you did (some intentional and some not) that drove him absolutely wild. You way you bit your lower lip whenever you caught him staring at you, only using your imagination to wonder what he was thinking when he looked at you.

He pushed his shaft through your folds, relishing and groaning at the feel of you once more. Your alluring sigh signaled him to start moving, pulling out and back in at a rapid pace. Your inviting sounds were music to his ears.

You pushed your body down to meet each of his thrusts, allowing him to hit just the right spot. You could feel the pent up tension that he had built up with each rough entrance back into you. He held your hands above your head, his other hand pinning your hips to the mattress.

He pulled out again and one particular slam back into you caused you to moan louder than normal, causing Simon to speed up even more. Your chest bouncing with his every thrust. You were completely focused on the feeling of him dragging in and out of you. He let out a noise that resembled a growl that sent vibrations all through your body. Every cell in your body felt like it might combust with pleasure.

“You’re such a good girl. Taking me so well,” He said thrusting hard and pounding back into you; “I didn’t know what I’d been missing out on.”

Your face was contorted with ecstasy and pleasure. He watched how your breasts bounced every time he railed back into you, your loud sounds were music to his ears.

“You feel so fucking good. There’s no way Travis could’ve fucked me this good.” You praised, meeting his thrusts halfway.

Simon moved your leg over his shoulder and pounded into you even harder now. You almost cried out at the new angle. Your other leg tightened around him, his dick twitching deep within you.

You involuntarily clenched around him with a pitchy cry, releasing and hitting your high. He felt his own spiral, thrusting a time or two more and spilled his release into you. He groaned in solace, pulling out of you. Your hearts were pounding and your minds were racing. You looked up at him and smiled with joy as the look of euphoria in his eyes. You persuaded him to fall next to you so he didn’t totally collapse.

You grinned at him breathlessly.

“Yeah. I am definitely into older guys.”

#simon #simon x reader #simon twd #the walking dead simon #twd simon #simon x reader twd #simon the walking dead #simon twd x reader #simon twd fanfic #simon twd imagines #twdbegins

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isthisthingeven0n · 3 years

Text

you’re still here : s.r

spencer watched you die in his arms, believing you were gone forever. but when he learns the truth that you’re alive in london, he can’t help but wonder why you’ve hidden away for so long. (2.4k)

all my links

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

Salem, Oregon

“No, no, no Y/n, please,” Spencer pleads as he holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as your body becomes weaker by the passing second. “please don’t go,” His cries intensify as his arms shake, watching as your eyes begin to close. “no, please.”

“I’m sorry,” You manage to whisper as tears fall from Spencer’s eyes, the last sight you ever saw as your eyes closed, and your head fell back.

“No,” Spencer mutters, shaking you lightly. “no, you can’t be, no!” His cries turn to yells as Morgan approaches him slowly, resting his hand on Spencer’s shoulder as it shakes violently.

“Reid,” Morgan sighs, afraid to look down and see you lifeless in Spencer’s arms. “it’s over, I, I’m sorry.”

Looking over his shoulder, the rest of the team with solemn faces walk over and shield around Spencer whilst the police take care of Jason Lodgings; your murderer.

“Come on, Spence,” JJ speaks softly as she kneels beside Spencer as tears fill her eyes.

“I’m not leaving her.” Spencer states firmly, still not letting you go from his embrace.

“Reid,” Hotch calls out, his voice firm as he stands tall, watching as Lodgings walks away in handcuffs, glancing down with sorrow at the blood oozing from your cream jumper, dripping onto the wooden floorboards. “we have to go.” Hotch tells the team as they slowly rise to their feet, not wanting to start an argument with their superior.

Closing his eyes, Spencer releases a shaky breath as he gently lowers you to the ground. He pushes your hair out from your face and brushes his fingers across your cheek for the last time.

“Goodbye, Y/n.” Spencer whispers to you as he stands up and turns around, ignoring JJ’s open arms and walks out.

London, England - Two years later

It was always going to catch up with you, this life was a mere facade for your sake to have a sense of normality, but normality was never something you wanted.

Nearly two years had passed by since they last saw you. You hadn’t seen Garcia flirting with Morgan, heard JJ talk about Henry with such joy or avoided the stern looks Hotch shot over when you joked with Rossi and Emily for two years. But the one thing you’ve missed more than anything was seeing Spencer smile. You missed everything about Spencer, but seeing his smile brought a sense of indescribable joy.

This was never going to last forever, and you knew that coming into the situation. Hotch and Emily helped you figure out what to do, where to go in order to keep you safe. But keeping you safe meant everyone believing you were dead in the eyes of Jason Lodgings and his team, otherwise, they’d kill your team, your family off one by one just to get to you.

Having experienced the trauma from Emily’s ‘death’ you knew this wasn’t going to be easy on the team. You were lying in Spencer’s arms, close to death as you heard him cry for you. Every part of your body screamed to react, to tell him you’d see him again soon. If only you could have, just to provide him with some sense of relief in the long term. Yet if you did, it would’ve ruined the entire plan.

Wandering through Hyde Park, you knew he was close by. Maybe he had seen you already and was too afraid to believe it. The last time you spoke to anyone you knew was a year ago in Paris with Emily.

* Paris, France - One year Ago *

“How are they all?” You question as she sits down opposite you, files in hand as she places them on the table.

“They’re healing,” She answers, sliding the files across as you grab your bag, putting them inside without any hesitation. “it’ll get easier, but they’ll always miss you.” Emily sighs knowingly. “That contains everything you’ll need to get to London and set up a life there. But please, don’t trust anyone easily, Y/n.” She warns you as you nod.

Rising to your feet, you shrug your bag back onto your shoulder as you look down to one of your oldest friends for the last time. “Thank you, Emily.” You smile to her, wishing you could say more.

“Stay safe, okay?” She tells you, unable to form more words as thousands hover behind her lips. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

With a nod, you turn on your heels and walk down the street, not daring to look back as you’ve got to carry on.

Exhaling deeply, you bury your hands further into your coat pockets. Autumn was approaching as the Summer nights came to an end. You can’t help but kick through the piles of leaves that line the pathways as children giggle with their parents behind you.

“Did you know after June 21st, the Summer Solstice the sun’s direct rays will begin to shift southward from the Tropic of Cancer toward Earth’s equator?” You can’t help but tense as you hear his voice, filled with pain behind you. “As a result, the summer days become shorter, but that isn’t noticeable for a few weeks until late August when we near Fall.”

With a heavy heart, you begin to turn around and face the one person you owe the most to.

Your eyes remain locked on his feet, an old pair of sneakers lined with dried mud. Slowly, you raise your gaze past his trousers and toward the knitted sweatshirt vest, one you remember vividly even after all this time. As your eyes reach his shoulders, you can see his hair is long again and you can’t help but want to reach out and run your fingers through it like you once did.

“Hi,” You breathe out, unable to meet his scared gaze. “hi, Spencer.” You mutter, tearing apart the tissue in your left pocket as your nerves spread through your system, igniting undiscovered anxieties about this situation.

Spencer remains silent, taking in the sight before him. He never thought he’d see you again, the last time he saw you he held your lifeless body in his arms as he cried for you to stay with him. Yet you’re here, in London, alive.

“Do you wanna sit down?” You motion to the nearest vacant bench, and Spencer walks alongside you without saying a word.

Sitting down beside him, the gap between you feels too big. You’re used to the times of sitting together on the jet, resting your head on his shoulder and drifting off peacefully.

“Been up to much whilst here?” You ask, unsure what else to say. You can see out of the corner of your eye he’s looking straight ahead at the squirrels scaling the trees like buildings in the city.

“Why?” Spencer breaks his silence, his voice firm with you which takes you back by surprise.

“I,” You pause, lowering your head in defeat as you stare at the faint scar on your hand from the initial knife wound that Jason struck you with. “I had no choice.” You admit, hearing the gunfire as you blink away the memory.

“Everyone has a choice, Y/n, always.” He reminds you and just hearing him say your name causes your heart to drop. “You could’ve told us, we would’ve kept you safe, you know I,” Spencer pauses as he exhales his frustration. “we could’ve protected you.”

“I know, Spence,” You mutter, now turning to look up at him for the first time. “but I couldn’t do it, Hotch and Emily assured everyone would be safer this way.” You try to explain as you see the pain that lines his eyes, the heartache held in his gaze as he focuses on you.

He looks older, still sleep-deprived, but there’s a hint of happiness in the lines that surround his lips. A reassurance that he does have good days, the one thing you wished he'd have since you left.

“So you just left knowing we thought you died in my arms? Do you have any idea how I felt?” He’s angry, and rightfully so. “I, I thought I meant more to you than that, Y/n.” His anger subsides as his voice softens, his defences down.

You can’t help but reach out as you look at your hand on top of his, not daring to move it as you study his reaction.

“You’re the most important person to me, Spencer.” You reason, feeling his hand take a hold of yours, resting it in his palm as he curls his fingers over your hand, refusing to let go. “That’s why I had to let you believe I was gone, as Lodgings’ team would know, they’d always know and you would be in danger because of me.”

Spencer shakes his head. “We would’ve found a way, we, we,” He stumbles over his words as you squeeze his hand.

“You think me faking my death was plan A, Spence?” You chuckle, noticing a faint smile crossing his lips. “That was plan Z, actually version 3 plan Z if we’re being specific.”

“Did you ever plan on coming back?” Spencer quietly questions as his words linger around you for a moment as you slip your hand out from his.

“What did Emily tell you, Spence?” You ask, looking up at him as you hide your hands in your coat pockets, picking at the tissue once more.

“Besides the fact you’re alive and in London?” He nervously chortles, catching you rolling your eyes playfully. “She said you were doing okay, and that you were safe here.”

“I am, with Lodgings’ team having been sentenced, I’m no longer a target to them. My life is my own again, I can finally carry on living it.” Looking up, you watch as pigeons fly overhead, swarming down on the chunks of bread left for the swans. “But I made an agreement with Hotch, I’d stay away for at least three years. Three years to ensure my safety and for Lodgings’ team to be dismantled and dealt with.”

“Three years.” Spencer repeats, and you nod along. “You’re not planning on coming home, are you?” Your silence answers his question without you needing to respond. “I understand, Y/n. Three years is a long time to be gone from us all, and people change.” He reasons to himself more than to you. “I, we all thought you were gone, and finding out you’re alive I,” His voice trails off as he clenches his jaw, fighting his emotions that have been pent up for so long.

“Spence,” You mumble his name as tears fall from his eyes. “I want to come home, I do. I just don’t know if it’s home anymore.”

“Home is where the heart is.” Spencer comments.

“Elvis Presley.” You chuckle, lifting your hand up as you wipe away his tears, feeling him tense momentarily from your touch.

“Please don’t go, Y/n.” Spencer whispers as he lifts his hand up, resting it on top of yours as you cup his cheek. “I want to be selfish, I don’t want to lose you again if I don’t have to.”

Tears glaze your eyes as Spencer scans your face for any uncertainty. “Six months, Spence.” The words are barely audible for anyone passing by, but you know he heard you.

“One hundred and eighty-two point five days.” He nods as you lower your hand from his cheek, but he still keeps his on top of yours. “Then you’ll come home?”

“I can’t promise, Spence.” You know lying would be useless with him, you were never the most confident liar around him. “But before I go, I just want to tell you something.”

“Anything.” Spencer responds in a heartbeat, his entire body facing you now as you lower your gaze and take a steady breath.

“When you held me in your arms as I was,” Even after all this time, you still struggle saying the word. “well, fading, there was one thing I couldn’t help but think as you pleaded for me to stay.”

Spencer edges closer, your thighs touching as the previous gap between you both on the bench is gone. “What was it?”

“I wanted to tell you how much I care for you, how much I love you. And I wanted to thank you for being there for me through everything.” Your eyes remain locked on his as you pour your heart out to him, knowing if you don’t say it now, you never will. “But I didn’t have enough life in me to say all that then.” You nervously laugh. “So I thought I’d say it now, as it’s still true. You are a wonderful person Spencer Reid.”

A comfortable silence falls between you both as echoes of children's laughter surrounds you. And for the first time in years, you feel perfectly content.

“You know, Rossi once told me something,” Spencer speaks up, looking down at your hand as he brushes his thumb over the scar Jason caused. “scars show us where we have been, they do not dictate where we are going.”

“Wise words from a wise man.” You comment quietly as Spencer pauses.

“I know you have scars, Y/n. Externally and internally. But I’ll always be here, wherever you chose to be.” A small sweet smile lines Spencer’s lips as you focus on him, wishing there was so much more you could say. “And I’ll always love you, I’ll always miss you. But if I know you’re healing, then that is all that matters.” He lifts your hand up to his lips, kissing it softly before lowering it back to your lap, unaware of your heart-shattering in your chest.

“I’ll see you soon, Spence.” You tell him as he stands up, hands resting in his jacket pockets as he sways back and forth on his heels.

“One hundred and eighty-two point five days, Y/n.” He reminds you, and you can’t help but laugh and Spencer joins in too for a moment and everything feels okay again, just for a second. “I’ll be holding you to it.” He smiles to you one last time as he sees the glint in your eyes falter. “Bye Y/n.”

“Bye Spencer.” You wave to him as you turn around, walking down separate paths once more, unsure when you’ll next reunite.

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fukurodaze · 3 years

Text

some days

pairing: post-timeskip! oikawa tooru x fem!reader genre: angst wc: 2.4k warnings: cursing, stress, anxiety, homesickness, insecurity requested by @dasighosamu <3: “oikawa video chatting regularly with his girlfriend that somehow convinced him they’re okay [...]”

a/n: i.. am.. so so so sorry this took so long... many of the negative feelings here are taken from my own personal experiences as well, so i’m very sorry if this seems a bit impersonal for some people, but i tried to make it feel as y/n-able as possible! enjoy!

special thanks to nat @natszoo for beta reading! love u :(

LISTEN TO: blue - taeyeon; through the night - iu

you feel it in your bones. you feel it rumble and twist and turn. some days you feel it more. some days you feel it less. you know what it is today.

it’s so empty, you think, movements like a crack of sound in silence. you had woken up in the afternoon today, the room still dark yet covers already warm. oh, you feel disgusting.

the least you do is open the curtains, hoping to squeeze in some sunlight for the day you had almost missed. you remember, though, to wake up for today, because it’s saturday. you look forward to saturdays, actually, because it has in store one constant that you hold onto - facetiming your boyfriend, oikawa tooru, at 7pm.

it used to be everyday that you facetimed him, until careers advanced and work took up more and more space in lives. still, you would always watch his matches when they were televised (it was a hassle sometimes, though, to get through to argentinian television channels, but it was worth it) and he would text you good morning and goodnight in your timezone most days (it slips his mind sometimes, but you could never blame him; you like the texts anyways). and it’s okay, really, it’s okay that you don’t get to see him that often. it’s just that work gets a bit harsh sometimes and you live alone and most of your friends live quite a bit far from you and you feel like you’ve cried to them about tooru way too many times and-

okay, you are not okay. but you hold on. you try to hold on.

you get yourself an instant meal in the fridge, feeling well into the shitty weekend when you see the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. you wash them anyways, thinking that it might be a way for you to feel a little bit better. you don’t want to be irritable when you’re with tooru, because then he’ll just worry. he already worries enough about himself - the least you could do is smile. right?

it’s what you tell yourself as you slap on some skincare, hoping that the various products containing tea tree essence and papaya are enough to mask the layer of sleepless nights and early mornings on your face. it’s not like you’re afraid of him seeing you in your dejected state; it’s more like you wouldn’t want the only time you spend with him this week be a negative memory.

now, you settle on the carpeted floor of the living room, laptop placed on the coffee table between the couch and the tv you never really use anymore. you remember when tooru had bought you this apartment right before an off-season with promises of him visiting in the summer. he even insisted on that nice tv screen for netflix nights.

but alone, you prefer a laptop; so you’re thinking of selling it, yet you don’t want to pass up on the chance that tooru might come back one summer.

eventually, the facetime on your laptop sounds its ringtone, and a smile grows on your face as quickly as you pick up the video call.

"wait- can- can you hear me well?”

you purse your lips, your tired eyes seemingly so much more eager to stay open. you say, “yeah, i can hear you well. can you?”

he hums, and there’s a loving silence that ensues. you don’t really know what to do with your insides feeling all warm again, so you fold your legs to your chest and let out a light laugh. it’s him.

“wow,” you mumble through chuckles, “hi, tooru.”

“i missed you, pretty girl,” he coos. you see how tooru has his back against his headboard, one arm folded behind his head and the other holding his phone up. it’s seven in the morning there, you reckon, and he looks like he’d just showered.

“i missed you too. just showered?”

your boyfriend nods, “woke up later than usual today, but it’s, like, hot outside even at six in the morning. or maybe i just sweat too much.”

you giggle, “here, it’s so cold already. i can’t even go anywhere without a sweater - i even sleep with socks these days.”

“are you sure your heater’s doing fine?”

“my heater’s almost on its highest setting. i’ve just been getting so cold lately? maybe i just hate winter...” you trail off as you hear your own stomach grumble. still hungry...? you mutter to yourself, standing up to get a little snack for yourself, “tooru, i’m getting a snack. just keep talking, though, i can hear you.”

tooru’s smile falters a bit when he hears of you getting cold. he knows you’ve never really minded winter, using the season as an opportunity to stack up on cozy clothing and coats. hell, he had heard you say once, during one autumn, that you were so excited for winter because “you could finally wear the hoodies and sweaters since you felt too warm for them even during autumn and spring.” back then, tooru had told you that you were just too warm of a person.

but maybe he’s just thinking too much into it. he hasn’t been to japan in a long time, anyways. maybe it really is that cold.

you come back with some toast and a glass of water. a crisp, warm bite into the food makes you feel relieved. you tuck your hair behind your ears, putting your focus back on tooru. “so, how’s everything?”

“everything... is... a lot.” tooru makes his way off of the bed, telling you, “seeing you eat just makes me hungry, too. lemme get some food.” he brings his phone with him to the kitchen, propping it against a vase on his dining table, giving you a perfect view of the kitchen.

“welcome to my cooking show!” he exclaims as he lets go of the phone. it falls immediately, of course, but he takes care in propping it against some more items. it works somehow.

“i just recently perfected my egg poaching technique,” tooru smirks as he takes two eggs from the fridge, “it’s kind of flawless, not gonna lie.”

“can i see?”

he sets the eggs down on the countertop, making his way to his phone before pausing, “erm, due to camera placement issues and a shortage of hands, i am unable to give you a full view of my absolute skill. is that okay, baby?”

you nod, your lip protruding slightly in a quiet pout. tooru’s pointed it out before, but it seems like every time he calls you baby your body automatically responds with a little pout. he looks at you with calm eyes, “cute.”

as he makes his eggs, you let him go on about the people around his neighbourhood, the results of the ca san juan tryouts from last week, his new team members, and one restaurant he’s found around town. he tells you, “their food is just so good. i’ll take you there someday.”

your cheeks raise slightly at his last statement, “really? tell me more about it.”

“well, it’s a bit expensive, but so worth it. they sell japanese stuff, actually, and i seriously kid you not, it tastes exactly like food from home.”

home, huh?

“maybe when i visit one day i can bring you some food from home, too.”

somehow, the mention of home stings a little bit tonight.

it’s an off-day, off-night, off-week, you’ve told yourself, and now that the week is ending with a call from your boyfriend, you were positive that it was going to end on a high. here, you stand corrected, with your throat getting all tied up threatening hot tears from the corners of your eyes. you’ve made it this far in the week, why must you cry in front of tooru, of all people?

you take a long gulp from your glass of water in an attempt to blink back your tears. you’re glad that tooru’s back is facing the camera as he takes out a plate to put his eggs on.

you quiet down intensely, afraid that any word out of your mouth will come out as a choked sob. of course, tooru notices, whipping his head around with a faltering smile.

“y/n, are you alright-”

“um, tooru, i think my laptop’s running out of battery, so i’ll reconnect the call from my phone instead, yeah?”

tooru nods, and you hastily stand up, clicking blindly at what you thought was the red hang-up button. your legs carry you to the kitchen, a place where tooru can still hear you even after the both of you thought you had hung up, to get another glass of water.

but your arms don’t go so far as to reach for the tap, and instead, they only hold onto the edge of the countertop, trembling lightly against the cold marble.

“shit,” you curse, head hanging as tears flow down your cheeks in warm waterfalls with your breath unsteady, your neck heating up. you see how some teardrops make little puddles on the shiny countertop, and some are swept away when your hand flies over to rid them, swiping in quick motions, angry that your body betrayed you by crying.

“stop crying, goddamnit.” you mutter, “it’s going to be so obvious, and tooru’s just going to worry, and he’ll just find it a hassle to stay with you, and-” you can’t even continue your spoken train of thought when you choke on your own words, your legs not even enough to support you up.

“what a shitty week...” you slide down to the floor, trying to steady your breath. you tell yourself to hurry up with this damned cry, as you told him you were going to call him again on your phone. maybe you could say it was the wifi.

you look up, wondering why, why do i feel like this?

is it because you just miss him? is work just getting hectic? should you be going out more? but it’s cold... nothing’s been working out lately. it’s just become doubts on top of doubts and you don’t know where to stop.

on the other hand, tooru’s freezing up. he can still hear your sniffles from afar, and as he stares at the warm plate of poached eggs on toast, he wonders if it would be okay to call out to you.

it’s not like this is the first time he’s ever seen you cry, because you two have seen each other in more ways than one. still, tooru feels his heart crumble at the fact that he had had absolutely no clue as to what you had been feeling all this time, whether it be just a week, a few days, or a few hours. he wants to call out to you, hug you tight, wipe your tears, do something to make you feel better.

but tooru doesn’t really know how to make his way through this, seeing as the distance is too far for any physical comfort. he’s learned he’s not as good with comforting words as he is with flirting, but now that he doesn’t flirt with anyone other than you, he doesn’t know if he even is good with words at all. he thinks, if you were to be okay with him reaching out to you, why were you choking back your tears? why were you so quick to hide what you felt? why do you not want him to worry about you the same way you worry about him?

tooru likes to think things through, especially when he’s never felt so unprepared with you before, as he’d been used to resorting to physical comfort in the past. but in this moment, through all the doubts and negative thoughts, his mouth moves faster than his brain.

“y/n, i’m still here.”

in this moment, your breath hitches and you make the dreaded way back to your laptop, your eyes swollen and cheeks glossy.

“y-you heard everything?”

your boyfriend nods, “do... do you want to talk about it?”

you shrug, swallowing slowly. “i don’t know how to talk about it, really,” a shallow laugh falls from your lips, “some days- this week- it’s just not... it’s been low, for me.”

tooru’s chin leans patiently against his forearms, eyes focused on you.

“oh god. i haven’t cried in months,” you exhale, “and it just happened to be in front of you. i probably look ugly, or something.”

your boyfriend shakes his head, “you and ugly are words that simply do not go together.”

“you can keep crying, if you want. i’ll be here for you.” he affirms, “we take care of each other at our lows, remember? no matter the distance.”

you sniffle a bit more, your sweater sleeve damp from your tears. his words are new, but it makes you feel much less alone.

the call fades into you attempting to steady your breathing once more, and tooru reassuring you left and right. maybe it does feel nice, you begin to think, to have someone there with you. to know that they’ll care for you as much as you’ll care for them.

in the midst of your thoughts, tooru calls out, “y/n?”

you hum in response, and he continues, “i wasn’t supposed to tell you this, since it’s not final, but there’s a possibility that i’ve been selected to play for the argentinian national team in the olympics next year. in tokyo.”

you do a double take at him. “wait, you... in japan...?”

he loves seeing you smile like that. “i was called in a meeting yesterday. they were pretty positive about me being a starting setter, but, again, it’s not final.”

your shoulders drop a bit, “but there’s always a chance, right?”

“well, ‘not final’ is just their way of saying ‘don’t tell anyone yet’. and how could i not tell you?”

you giggle a little, “maybe if you come over i might have some use for this big ass tv you bought for me.”

tooru laughs, “i’m coming home, y/n.”

here comes your second wave of tears.

486 notes · View notes

jamaiskookie · 3 years

Text

meet me in your memories (knj)

✂︎ pairing: memory traveller namjoon x gender neutral reader

✂︎ wc: 11.8k

✂︎ TW// car crash, mentions of death, crying, mental health, mental breakdowns, spoilers for frozen 1?? um, vomiting, mentions of PTSD, three seconds of family drama, memory loss

✂︎ notes: a little gift from me for being away so long <3 luv yall also ignore how short and shitty this is!!! ignore it!!!!!

✂︎ synopsis: namjoon is a memory traveller - he is thrusted back and forth into his world and the world of his memories, forced to re-enact his past experiences. but he doesn’t recognise you, who keeps showing up in his memories. why doesn’t he remember you? why can’t he recall any of these scenes if they’re supposed to be his memories? and why does it always feel like he’s forgetting something?

he comes to find out that he would choose you over and over again, in whatever lifetime or world he’s in. because he always returns to you.

✂︎ fic tunes: "eight"- iu (prod. & feat. suga) but you're at your favorite secret spot after a long day by neptjoon

masterlist asks

The road is slippery and Namjoon cranes his head out to look at the window. Rain splattering everywhere, he notes worriedly. He hopes that nobody crashes. The bus driver sitting about three meters in front of him is humming a melody to a song he doesn’t know nor recognise. While listening to the poor man hum the off beat tune, Namjoon sits in silence, wondering how sad it must be to drive a bus with no passengers but himself.

Suddenly, his stomach drops and his head spins, and this time Namjoon is certain it’s not from the rain or the driver’s subpar driving. He lurches forward, watching as the rain knocks against the window and falls in thick ribbons.

Click.

In an instant, Namjoon’s world collapses around him and he is thrown into his mind.

Seoul is sweltering hot - hot like he’s never felt before. Namjoon reaches up to clutch his head, which is still spinning, and finds himself standing in a pair of light washed baggy jeans and a sleeveless tee shirt, unlike the padding coat and thick boots he had on just a moment ago.

“Namjoon!” Someone squeals behind him and his heart jumps. He jumps around, facing you and the view of hot street food stalls and tall buildings behind you. Suddenly, his hand is reaching out to grab onto yours and you smile softly.

He hears his own voice ring out, clear as day: “Don’t run. I was looking for you.”

“Psh.” You wave off his concern, handing him a shiny golden hotteok. You hold an identical one in your fist, so he accepts it and murmurs his thanks, tearing apart the pancake and stuffing it into his mouth. Sweet, hot honey and small pieces of walnut flood into his mouth, and Namjoon is momentarily surprised. Science states that you cannot taste or physically feel anything in your dreams.

But Namjoon already proved that wrong long ago.

He takes you by hand and drags you over to a shelter, for some rest, apparently uninterested in your cries of wanting more tteokbokki or some Chinese food. He flings you over to his side and places his hand over your shoulder, while you both silently devour your hotteoks.

“This was a nice date.” You mumble tentatively, and oh. That’s what this is? A date? He wants to turn around and ask you for your name. Where are you from? Why am I here again? He wants to scream it out until his lungs hurt and he gets an answer that makes sense, but no matter how much he tries, his throat will not allow those words to tumble out of his lips.

Why don’t I remember you?

Instead, he replies: “Yeah, it was. This was fun.” He tilts his head down to smile at you and Namjoon finds himself nervous. Nervous enough that his hands are shaking against his will, but he tells himself that the sweat and the nervousness are all side effects of the swampy heat this summer.

You beam at him and Namjoon thinks you’re an angel. You lean up onto his chest to place a soft kiss onto his lips and Namjoon thinks about when he’s going to be thrown back out of his head.

“Wanna go home?” He asks, nudging at the sky, which is already filled up with first streaks of the sunset. Purple hues and pinks and blues that all blend together nicely. You watch the sky for a moment.

“Never.” You offer no explanation after that and Namjoon doesn’t pry. He feels like he understands you, which is scarier than any other encounter he’s faced, in real life and in here. You stare up at him more intensely, and a shudder of fear runs down Namjoon’s back. “I just want to stay here forever,” You enunciate, like you want him to remember this. “Just Y/N and Namjoon.”

Something tugs in his chest and Namjoon screams in his head, no. Longer. Not now. He slips away, gone, disappeared from the world before he can even tell you how pretty your name is. And he awakens back at the bus, where the driver is shaking him and yelling at him to get out.

Namjoon walks home in the rain, yelling out your name in happiness until his neighbours come over politely asking him to shut the fuck up.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… Y/N?” He keeps repeating the name over and over again, enough to make Seokjin annoyed, who has moved away from Namjoon’s desk to the sofa in his office just to escape the random spiel that Namjoon is hurriedly rushing through.

“I can’t find a single Y/N in here!” Namjoon cries frustratingly, and the corners of Seokjin’s eyes soften in something that is either pity or empathy. He discards his non-fiction novel about drag queens and wigs to come over and clap a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“My friend, my crazy, idiotic, slightly insane friend.” Seokjin bends down. “You’ve checked all your yearbooks, social media, archives, newspapers… Have you perhaps considered that this person wasn’t that important? Just a passing stranger?”

“No.” Namjoon shoots down stubbornly. “They appear far too often for them not to be important.” So Seokjin shrugs, leaving Namjoon to, once again, search through the Facebook friends of a friend of a friend of a friend.

But no Y/N’s pop up, and he’s wondering if Y/N was just a nickname. Was it even your real name? With a sigh and one single (rather impressive) agitated brow wave, he lets go and spills. He tells Seokjin about how he finally learned your name, about the places you’ve been together and how much you adore street food.

He appreciates Seokjin for being a good friend, for sitting there and not interrupting to call him a crazy person, even if he is most certainly thinking about it in his head. Because Seokjin, at least, knows about a miniscule part of Namjoon’s tragic life. He doesn’t understand, but he gets it, and that’s all Namjoon needs in a friend.

He doesn’t tell Seokjin about how soft and pillowy your lips feel against his, he doesn’t tell you how much he longs to do unspeakable things to you when you show up in those blue short shorts. He definitely doesn’t tell him how much he loves your name.

Seokjin suggests a number of things. That perhaps you are a character from long ago, or maybe a passing stranger Namjoon once had a summer fling with. You may be someone long forgotten like a mutual friend in high school or college. He also suggests a psychiatric hospital to screw his head back on (as a joke, Namjoon’s pretty sure.)

But none of those seem right. Namjoon does his best to explain, he really does. For an award winning journalist and aspiring writer, he does just about a terrible job of trying to string his words together. Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose and falls back onto the sofa, already spacing out. Namjoon weakly cries out that he knows you. He really does - he just doesn’t remember how, or why.

Like a puzzle with a few missing pieces.

He wonders when and if the missing pieces will ever make their way over to him.

Namjoon gives up and flops down onto the sofa next to Jin, who squeaks out various protests about how heavy he is and how stupidly huge his arms have gotten after he started working out, along the lines of comparing him to Jungkook and calling him a gym rat.

As usual, Namjoon doesn’t listen.

It’s difficult to explain the feeling of falling to someone who hasn’t experienced it. The cursed Click echoes out and suddenly, the world spins around, the axis breaks and he’s physically thrown into another time, another place… another memory that he can’t seem to recall. His stomach lurches, his head hurts and there’s a small breeze flowing in.

For a short moment, the loops of space and time are completely open to him. He can’t see it, but he can feel it. It flips his mind completely upside down and boom. He’s in a specific, random time and place. His body feels light, and every step he takes, he can physically feel it: He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t supposed to be here. Everything feels different. Even the air is more smoky, because something in this world is suddenly wrong, and it’s him.

The next time he meets you, he is in just about the worst place to fall. Sitting in a press conference, his stomach drops and he’s dreading the fall. Namjoon can already hear his boss screaming at him, and he desperately tries to root himself to his seat, typing whatever the assemblyman is yapping on and on about. About farming and agriculture and tax cuts…

Click.

He can distantly hear the assemblyman candidate talk about corrupt government workers as he’s thrusted out of his world and into another.

The memory he has the pleasure to be in this time is something not too unfamiliar. For a second, he thinks if this is just a normal day of him in his cramped, tiny city apartment. Until he turns around and realises you’re lying right next to him, sound asleep and nuzzling into the side of his neck.

The air is crisp. It’s spring, not winter anymore, and he can hear the flower petals outside his apartment complex falling lightly on the ground. This, Namjoon thinks, may just be the best memory he’s been in. The press conference and his life and his boss slips his mind and he cradles you in his chest, holding you closer and closing his eyes shut.

“Mm?” You mumble, half asleep. “You’re suffocating me.” You hoarsely call out, and Namjoon releases you with an insincere apology. He brushes the hair out of your hair and grins, framing you in his head. He reaches to his alarm clock, which is right next to his bed as it always is to check the time.

April 1st, 2017.

Oh god, Namjoon winces. This means he still has that god awful haircut right now. He reaches up to feel his head, and sure enough, the horrible slicked back bleached hair is still there, an unfortunate result of his friend Hoseok daring him to drunk dye his hair.

“You’re awake?” He asks you, and you nod slowly.

He wonders if this memory precedes or follows the one he had with you last time, and he desperately hopes things are going in chronological order. He wants to know you just as much as you know him. Namjoon naively prays to whatever deity that controls his dreamworld: Please follow things step by step, follow the clock.

You roll around, saying something he can’t really catch. He asks you what you said and for the first time today, you peel open your eyes directly facing him. Namjoon’s heart almost falls out of his ass, seeing your eyes bore into his own.

“Where’s my morning kiss?” You ask cutely, nudging his nose with your own button nose.

“Right here.” He finds himself saying, leaning in to close the inches in between your two faces. You taste like hotteok, even early in the morning. You taste like a spring day and a never ending forever. As your lips capture his and his everything is consumed by thoughts of you, Namjoon begs himself to kiss you harder.

His past self declines politely, and Namjoon thinks about whether this counts as himself being controlled if he himself is still controlling what he says and does.

In that moment, listening to your slow breathing and someone across the street playing simple, melodic piano chords, Namjoon tells himself: Do not ever forget April 1st, 2017. You rise from the bed and some form of protest bubbles up from Namjoon’s mouth, to which you just laugh and drag him out of bed with the excuse of wanting breakfast.

You push him into the bathroom, where he expects to meet his sad single grey towel and foggy mirror. You push him in front, and he cringes at the sight of his hair in the mirror. You sigh.

“Calm down. The blonde looks sexy. You can dye it back black later.” He laughs, because it’s clearly not very sexy. For once, his past self is doing exactly what the current Namjoon is pleading him to do. Does it count as reliving your memories if someone else was living through them originally? But, he reminds himself while you hand him a green toothbrush and squeeze a dollop of toothpaste on both your toothbrushes, this is him. He lived through this once and he is just taking a trip down memory lane.

The person who lived through this before was him.

He has to remind himself many more times before it sinks in.

You brush your teeth next to him, fluffing your hair and squinting in the mirror to wake yourself up. Without a second of hesitation, Namjoon brings the toothbrush up and starts to brush his teeth. Nothing has ever felt more domestic or right than this, despite the tentative steps and heavy lead feeling in his throat telling him he still isn’t supposed to be here.

You spit out toothpaste in the sink to gargle your mouth and Namjoon mimics you exactly. Somehow, you find yourselves in the kitchen, giggling while making some sort of french toast with an abundance of cinnamon floating through the air. Which makes Namjoon cough and makes you laugh even harder.

“This is a perfect morning.” You say, peering out the window to watch the city life slowly bustling to life. People scrambling out their doors, ushering their children or pets with them. People you don’t recognise going on walks or runs. Mailmen and delivery people dropping off packages and people yelling into their phones as they hurriedly walk along the sidewalk.

And you and Namjoon, calmly staying in your pajamas while frying toast on the pan.

“Is something burning?” You ask, sniffing the air, and Namjoon’s blood runs cold.

“Oh, shit!”

You smile and shake your head while Namjoon attempts to save the blackened piece of bread to no avail. He catches sight of the corners of your mouth lifting, even as you chastise him about watching the stove and ranting on about how you’re never going to trust him in the kitchen again. Namjoon watches your pink lips, stained with a brown mudge of cinnamon french toast mixture, which lifts up and your head falls back, hair flowing around your head like a halo.

Your laugh plays out in front of him in slow motion, and absentmindedly, he thanks that deity he prayed to for slowing this moment down. Because if there’s anything he yearns most to remember, it’s the way you laugh. A chuckle makes its way out of his own throat as well, and he’s not sure who’s in control at the moment.

Himself or himself in the past?

Either way, they both did the right thing. Namjoon forgets. He forgets the life he has back home, he forgets Seokjin’s warnings, he forgets that he has at least a hundred articles waiting for him at work to be written. He forgets that this world is nothing but a chance for him to follow the footsteps of what he once did, with no control to say or do anything he wishes to do himself.

But, oh, he really can’t bring himself to care.

Those piano chords from before blend together beautifully, and you scrape the black toast into the garbage can, still teasing him relentlessly, and oh. Oh, this is what it means to have a home. You made this junk of a house into a home, and he feels like he has to return here. This is where he’s meant to return to, everyday. Each time.

You turn around after discarding the toast and with a bright smile, you ask him to kiss you again. Namjoon thinks that he doesn’t ever have the capability to deny you when you smile like that, so he complies and crashes his lips onto yours.

The lead, heavy feeling in his throat is still weighing him down. Except Namjoon isn’t sure whether it’s weighing him down to this world or the real world.

The cursed deity pulls him back, pulling him through the time and space back to his own responsibilities and life. His heart is wrenched out and he reaches out, trying to grasp your hand for the last time. He falls back to his own world in a hospital bed and an IV attached to his arm with half a piece of french toast dangling in his mouth and another promise he makes with himself to meet you again with a smile on his face.

Memories… memories that he’s lived through but can’t remember. Memories he slips into to live momentarily through the actions and words of his old self.

Somewhere along the line of diving back and forth his own life and this past one, he has forgotten which is which.

“Most likely due to exhaustion. Lack of sleep, lack of rest. It’s quite common with working young adults, workaholics. I’m putting him on medical leave for the rest of the week. He needs a rest - He needed it yesterday. Don’t worry too much, Mrs. Kim. A long nap and a meal or two will fix him right back up.” Namjoon groggily registers the white walls and beeping noises, the chatter of doctors and nurses rushing around.

He’s in a hospital, and a rush of fear runs straight through his blood. He sits up to eye his mother, sitting next to him and holding his hand. She shushes him, laying him back down on the bed, but all he can do is panic.

“No, not here. Not here again.” He mumbles incoherently. His mother puts a hand over his eyes, shushing him again and telling him softly to go back to sleep. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, he wants to get out of here. But his eyelids are already feeling heavy and he weakly fights against his body, but before he can even process it, his eyes are shut and he is asleep.

Seeing her son close his eyes and drift off to sleep, Mrs. Kim turns back to the doctor.

“I’m not surprised,” She starts. “He’s always worked himself to the bone. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about his brain.” The doctor cocks his head and looks through the papers which are clipped to a clipboard in his arms.

“Ah, yes. I see he was in a car accident a few years ago.” Doctors are some of the most heartless people, and you can always tell how experienced a doctor is by how much sympathy they show. This doctor shows none at all, which must mean he’s been working for a long time.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Kim.” The doctor continues, peering over Namjoon’s sleeping body. “I see he suffered light effects after the accident. Selective amnesia, no external damages to the skull. He didn’t suffer as much. In fact, I believe the doctor in charge believed that the amnesia was mostly due to the shock of the event. But he’s received treatment for PTSD since then, right?”

Mrs. Kim nods.

“Good. Doctor Park also noted at the time that his amnesia actually didn’t affect much of his memory. He couldn’t remember distant relatives or kindergarten friends, but that seemed to be the extent of his amnesia. Oh,” The doctor slipped through the clipboard. “He also couldn’t remember certain knowledge about philosophers such as Freud, which he was, quote, ‘devastated over’ un-quote.”

Mrs. Kim stays silent.

“So, you don’t have to worry too much. Best thing your son could do for his well being is rest. And a therapist if he has a relapse or shows some symptoms such as sleep difficulties or nightmares, or physical signs like fatigue and nausea.”

Mrs. Kim nods. “Thank you, doctor.”

That’s it, and she turns back to her son, with her hand in his. She stays there, unmoving until he opens his eyes, mumbling incoherent questions and asking his mother why he is in the hospital again, demanding to be discharged immediately. Her heart breaks a little, small cracks form for her beloved son and she kisses him on the forehead, telling him he’d be out of here in no time.

“What did you see?” She asks quietly, and Namjoon is surprised. She never asks him about his memory walks. It’s taboo to mention it in his household. Not even his sister is comfortable talking about it. “Anything? At all? You passed out at a rather unfortunate time, I heard.” She continues.

“Nothing much.” Namjoon replies, lying through his teeth and trying to justify it with the sight of your laugh. He leans back and closes his eyes once more, bringing up his memories of you and your bedhead. He tries to fill the gap inside of him with thoughts of you, as if that can make up for the empty feeling that he’s forgetting something.

In the hospital, staring at a white ceiling and glaring lights, Namjoon is left to think about what’s happening to his head. During the end of his rather short stay, he comes up with a terrifying conclusion. One that scares him more than he could imagine, but it’s the only one that makes sense. He’s falling in love with you.

He voices out this concern to Seokjin when he visits after his mother leaves. Seokjin stays silent, mumbling out an apology that feels like the wrong thing to say. The elder boy can only look at his friend with sadness in his eyes, telling him that someone as great as Namjoon shouldn’t be suffering so much pain. Namjoon jokes that a witch must have cursed him when he was born.

None of the two friends laugh.

This routine continues on and on, without Namjoon dwelling too much on it. Which is so much unlike Namjoon, whose main personality trait is overthinking about the smallest things. He lets the flow of time and space take him wherever they wish to plop him down. He lets the evil deity toy with his heart and wrench him away whenever you smile the largest.

It hurts right after he is torn away from you, but he’s filled with so much joy in the moment that he can’t bring himself to do anything else about it. Even if he wanted to do something without it, he has no idea where on earth he might start.

Sometimes he questions the validity of his memories. What is real, what is fake? He still can’t answer, and this is what he spends most of his time wondering about. The memories he has with you don’t make sense. Those are large gaps in his life that he seems to have no recollection of.

He goes everywhere with you.

One day he showed up on November 5th, 2015.

The next day he jumped to August 23rd, 2017.

Another time, he was thrown into March 15th, 2016.

None of it makes sense. Are they not memories? He thinks. There’s no possible way he’s spent this much of his life with you and can’t recall any of it. What is real - the world he spends with you, or the world where he always returns to by default?

And yet, nothing else can explain these short periods of blackouts. Ever since one day in some horrible hospital, he’s gone under and pulled and thrusted into some land where he has no control over his own hands. Everything else makes sense. This world, everything else is accurate from the settings to the props, with one anomaly in his memory.

A character who goes by the name of Y/N.

He could go the science-y logic route that he so often frequents, come up with theories that can somewhat explain these periods of time. Theories that include explanations such as hallucinations, or that Seokjin’s right and he’s finally gone crazy. You’re just a figment of his imagination, that this is all in his head and he’s out of his mind.

But he rejects all those theories when he’s clicked into another memory. Somehow, he just understands. These are memories. These are memories he’s had with you, whether that was in a past life or in some sort of messed up alternate timeline where he’s actually happy.

Is this a gift or another curse from this stupid deity?

He has too many questions.

He cannot explain these memories using science, logic, common sense, or even using his own words. But in the moment, while you’re in his arms, he can feel it. He can explain it by describing the way you smell, like pancakes and fresh mint. He can explain it by describing the way you feel, like a warm marshmallow filling up his insides and consuming him.

It’s cheesy, cringier than Seokjin’s dad jokes, but only he gets it.

Namjoon is in his living room, switching channels on the TV and thinking about this when his stomach sinks again. He braces himself, and disappears.

Click.

Seoul is freezing cold. The air is light and he is sitting on a bench on his college campus, rubbing his hands together and zipping up his huge jacket over his sweater. Namjoon shudders, his body not yet used to the bite of the cold compared to the warm breeze he was just enjoying.

He sniffles, nose slightly red like some knockoff Rudolph and wanders around. His body pulls him to go to the right, despite the warm coffee shop being on the left. He shudders again and tries to protest, but his body won’t listen, standing up and walking over to the right with no particular destination in mind. Students are rushing around, complaining about the cold and talking about their next party or study session.

Namjoon pulls himself forwards, and thank god this version of himself still has terrible tolerance for the cold, because he reaches up and pulls his beanie down over his ears, still wandering around aimlessly. Where are you going? Namjoon wants to scream out frustratingly.

His brain doesn’t reply and Namjoon sulks.

Eventually, he is pulled over to another bench, outside in the cold, and he sits down, deeply resenting himself and wondering why on earth he just stood up from one bench to walk to another one. If anything, it’s colder here. He watches the students that pass by for a minute or two, thinking that this is the most boring memory he’s ever been in.

There is no snow falling, but almost everything on campus is lined with a sheet of ice or cold steam. Namjoon nuzzles deeper into his own clothes, cursing himself for not being able to go buy another sweater or something to fight the extreme cold.

Suddenly, you appear in front of him and Namjoon perks up. There you are. He thinks. Finally. You come over and sit down, holding something in your hands. He smiles, waiting for you to speak up and greet him with a kiss that will surely warm him up, but you silently sit next to him, ignoring him. Namjoon urges himself to say something, but instead, he continues to watch the students bustling through campus grounds without looking at you.

Are we fighting? Is Y/N mad at me?

This is excruciatingly frustrating, Namjoon bites his tongue and thinks. Why can’t he just say something? Abruptly, something lands on his jacket with a splat and he straightens up, snapping his neck towards you, who is looking at the yogurt splat on his jacket with a look of terror.

“Oh my gosh!” You squeak out, quickly setting your yogurt aside and reaching for some tissues in your purse. “Oh, god, oh god, I’m so sorry. Please, let me-” Namjoon frowns, taking his hands out of his pockets to thumb at his jacket, debating whether he wants to take it off or not.

You lean over, pawing at his jacket and wiping the yogurt off of his jacket. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, don’t worry.” Namjoon says, chuckling. He reaches for another tissue, helping you get the yogurt off of him. “It’s no big deal.” The yogurt is mostly wiped off and you side eye him with the unmistakable look of guilt filling your eyes. Namjoon laughs again.

“It’s fine, really! No, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m literally so sorry. Do you want me to pay for dry cleaning? Laundry? I can, um, wash it for you! I’m not the best at laundry, but it’s the least I could do?”

Namjoon briefly wonders why you’re being so polite.

“No, it’s fine.” The words tumble out his mouth again before he can process it. “Really, this jacket is old, anyway.” Not really, Namjoon thinks. It feels really new. “But who the hell eats cold yogurt in this kind of weather?” He jokes. “You sure you’re not a demon?”

You freeze, terrified before realising he was cracking a joke. “Oh. Hah! Yeah, no, I guess I just really like yogurt.” You offer lamely, and you break out into a small giggle. “Yeah, I guess I kind of am a psycho for eating it right now. It’s freezing today.”

“God, tell me about it.” Namjoon says, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

“Thanks for not going bonkers on me. This jacket looks insanely expensive.”

“Not really.”

“I’m Y/N.” You greet, holding a hand out for him to shake. I know, Namjoon thinks with a secret smile, but everything makes sense now. You don’t know him yet. To you in this moment in time, he’s just a random stranger who didn’t blow up on you after spraying some yogurt onto you. To him, you’re… you’re…

“Oh, um, I’m Namjoon.” He says, hurriedly taking a hand out of his pocket to shake your outstretched hand. Your fingers meet and Namjoon swears a small zap just went through his hand.

“Namjoon. Nice to meet you, Namjoon.” You say with a small smile, yogurt already long forgotten on the bench beside you two.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” He says in return, even though he doesn’t mean it. He already knows you, he knows you better than everyone. He knows your favourite food is Korean street food, and you always wake him up with kisses and your favourite colour is periwinkle and you absolutely hate abalone with more passion than he’s ever seen in his entire life.

But this is your first time seeing him, ever, he reminds himself. This is your meet cute. This single moment set off the events in the next god knows how many years. This is the first time he ever had your name grace his tongue. This is the first time you’ve seen him.

Another moment to treasure. You let go of his hand, after realising you two have been shaking hands for much longer than the socially acceptable rate of hand shaking. Blushing, either from the cold or humiliation, you sit, turn back around, grabbing a hold of your yogurt once more.

Suddenly, Namjoon finds himself blurting out: “Hey, you wanna go get some coffee?” You look over curiously, pointing to yourself like you can’t believe he’s asking you out, because you don’t know that you’re all he ever thinks about at any given moment in any given day. “You’ll probably freeze your ass off if you keep eating that yogurt.” He jokes, pretending like this is all because he’s caring about how cold you are and not how cute or incredible or kind you are.

“Sure.” You say, nodding shyly. He stands up, leading you to walk over to the left where the campus coffee shop is. Along the way, you throw the yogurt cup in the trash.

“You can’t bring food brought from outside into a shop, right?” You ask.

Namjoon smiles. “Yeah.” He stays there until night takes over the sky and one single twinkling star in the sky is signalling that it’s time to go home. Possibly the longest time he’s ever spent in a memory. He keeps glancing at the clock, praying that he gets one more minute with you, one more second, one more moment.

At any time, he could be pulled out of this world, and he needs to make the most of it. You tell him about your childhood bedroom and your major. You tell him about the love you have for pancakes, and how much you want a puppy even though it’s prohibited in the on campus dorms. He nods, pretending like this is all new information even though it’s not, and he’s known all of this for the longest time. He knows you better than you know yourself, which he keeps to himself.

In return, he tells you about his own childhood bedroom, which was adorned with posters of western hip hop rappers. He tells you about his passions for writing and music, that if he didn’t major in journalism, he’d be studying music production in school. He tells you that he’s obsessed with philosophy, and in all honesty, is a bit of a nerd.

Instead of laughing or pulling a face, you nod and smile, saying that you think he should tell you more about philosophy on a second date.

You leave the coffee shop with a small goodbye, and even though he desperately wants to, Namjoon can’t kiss you.

He gets pulled back after you disappear pass the corner of the street, and the world morphes into a huge motion blur. When he gets pulled back into his living room, the TV is playing late night TV shows already. Namjoon checks the time. He was pulled in for five hours, the longest he’s ever been in that world.

After that, no matter how much more he prays and begs, he never stays any longer than that.

Three days later, Namjoon suddenly pops into Hong Kong, which is hotter than anything he’s ever felt. The streets are heavy with people, squabbling in cantonese while selling raw meats in a wet market. The sun is glaringly bright, and Namjoon starts to sweat almost instantaneously. Taxis and huge buses drive past, Namjoon jumps to a side only to find a vast ocean. He’s at the harbour front.

The smell of food, of egg tarts and pineapple buns and meat dumplings along with other Hong Kong delicacies waft through the air, combined with the salty air of the sea. It makes for a strange combination that confuses his senses but works nonetheless.

He thought he knew a city like Seoul, but this is a true city. This is busy and fast paced like he’s never even seen before. People shove each other aside to catch the bus, dogs are yapping everywhere and he soaks it all in before the thought enters his head.

What the hell is he doing in Hong Kong?

It’s like every time he wonders aloud, you pop up. “I’ve been looking for you.” You say, echoing the words he said to you that day in the streets of Seoul.

“I was exploring!“ He says defensively, and you roll your eyes.

“Come on.” You say, walking along the harbour front.

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Namjoon asks, the words spilling out and surprising himself. Are you mad at him? You’ve never been mad at him before, not in the memories he’s seen. He hasn’t ever seen you fight with him, and immediately, he wants to apologise, fix things before he’s pulled back out and he has to live with the guilt and overthinking of whether you’re still mad at him for the next week.

“Can’t believe you’re mad at me during our vacation.” Namjoon says, and that’s why he’s in Hong Kong, he realises. He’s on vacation. How strange. Namjoon thinks back to when the last time he took a break from work and the only thing he can think of is when that doctor put him on medical leave not too long ago. Oh no, you’re mad at him on holiday?

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You retort back, and Namjoon has never heard your voice this curt. “Just sit around pretending like everything's okay?”

“What do you want me to do?” Namjoon replies. “You act like this is my fault!”

“It is your fault!” You cry out indignantly, and Namjoon knows that, but why? What did he do? What did you do? “Is this even a vacation?”

“Yes!” Namjoon cries out again in response, and you shake your head.

“You promised, Namjoon.” You say like it’s a warning.

“Yes, I know,” Namjoon says, even though he doesn’t and really, what on earth did he do? “But this is out of my hands! I can’t just say no, you’re not looking at this from my point of view.”

“You’re not looking at this from my point of view!” You argue back, and Namjoon looks around, realising that this squabble is attracting a small crowd of chinese people, gathering around to watch the free entertainment along the sidewalk of Victoria harbour. He awkwardly laughs, raising his hand and bows, a universal sign of apology, grabbing your hand and walking to the other direction.

“Come on, I’d rather not have the whole city witness our fight.”

“Oh, so this is a fight now?”

“What? Yes!” Namjoon says exasperatedly. “How else would you classify this argument?”

Once he makes it to somewhere with at least a sliver of privacy, he turns around with his brows furrowed and a glare etched on his features. Why do you look so angry? Namjoon chastises himself. Just relax, relax, relax. As usual, his body doesn’t listen.

“Why are you so mad at this?” Namjoon asks, and feels a flow of relief go down his spine. Finally.

“It’s not just this instance, Joon. I know work is important, but sometimes it feels like you put literally anything else above me! Like last time? You bailed on our date, like, at least twice. You keep saying you can’t say no, but you can. You have that right, Namjoon.”

Namjoon’s heart softens a little bit. His workaholic tendencies ended up biting him in the ass after all. Sighing he rubs the back of his neck, eyes glued to the floor. “I’m not prioritising work over you, baby.” He tries to explain, and tries to ignore how his heart sinks when your eyes turn stony at the sound of the pet name he often uses to address you.

“It’s just important to me as well, okay? It’s not my fault my boss heard I was going to Hong Kong and insisted I come to interview some investors about Hong Kong’s economy.” He explains slowly. “It couldn’t take more than a single day to get everything organised and tidied up.”

“But-!” You huff angrily, spitting out your words. “You don’t understand! You keep doing this, Namjoon. You keep working, working, working. It’s been this way since college. It’s like you’ll die if you just take a break to come talk to me. I even went over to your office to have lunch with you last week and they told me you were in a meeting.”

“It was important!” Namjoon insists and he can feel things sinking and getting worse and worse with every word he says. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? You can’t expect me to put you in front of all of my responsibilities. I’m sure you have things you can’t give up for me too.”

Hearing that felt like a slap to the face to both you and Namjoon, and he’s screaming at himself internally, why would you say something so, so, stupid?

“Excuse me?” Your broken voice rings out and Namjoon’s accusatory finger falls.

“Wait.” He mumbles, fumbling with his hands. “Wait, I didn’t mean that. Wait, I-”

“Fine!” You yell angrily. “You think nothing’s more important than work? You think I haven’t given up anything for you, Kim Namjoon? Because I’d quit and give up anything for you, you asshole.” You bite out, tears desperately trying not to fall. “You fucking asshole.” You say, before turning back around to weave through the crowd.

“No, wait, baby!” He calls out, and even he knows that he’s messed up. Messed up big time. That was more hurtful than any cuss word or insult he could’ve ever said. “Kim fucking Namjoon, you idiot.” He mumbles to himself. Seeing you cry is more painful than anything else in the world, Namjoon thinks. He’s not ever going to see that sight again if he can help it.

He walks forward, trying to find you. Maybe you went back to the hotel, or went to look at the sea to clear your head. He thinks he sees the back of your head for a second, and he reaches forward, clutching at air. He’s about to cry, and Namjoon has never seen himself be more pathetic.

“Oh no, where are you?” He murmurs to himself like a crazed man. What if you were hurt somewhere? He needs to know you’re safe, he needs to know you’re okay, he needs to make everything better. With each step, the lead feeling in his throat grows heavier and heavier until he feels like it’s sunk to his chest. He wants to kneel down, he wants it to stop hurting, but he can’t.

He must aimlessly follow his shell to do whatever he is doing now.

The lead feeling continues to grow, and Namjoon feels like he’s suffocating. He’s not supposed to be here, he reminds himself. But he has to find you first, then he can leave. Then he can go, but where are you? He wants to cry, he wants to breathe.

Namjoon tells himself to gasp for air, but he cannot. He tells himself if this is the last time he ever sees you, he needs to see you smile. He needs to see you laugh.

Like the pattern in the rest of his meaningless life, an evil deity always pulls him away from the ones he loves when he needs them most. He feels the lead feeling being lifted and pure panic races to Namjoon’s head. He tries to croak out no. He tries to resist, he shoves people aside and calls out your name. But no one answers him, and the cruel deity laughs at his demise.

He is too weak, too weak to control himself.

Namjoon is plucked out of the world and transported back to his bedroom with the threads of time slowly ravelling and tangling themselves around his neck, all while he reaches forward, only to grasp at air and pretend in his head that everything’s alright.

When he reaches his bedroom and wakes up, he stumbles into the bathroom and vomits, all while longing for the warmth of your lips.

Walking around dazedly, Namjoon somehow manages to make his way to Seokjin and Jimin’s apartment, knocking and hoarsely asking them to open, open up please. Because he’s not sure he can hold on to another night alone. Jimin opens the door instantly and catches Namjoon in his arms, frantically calling for Seokjin to come fast.

They lay him on the couch, hearts slowly breaking and trying to convince themselves their friend will be fine as they watch Namjoon whimper in his sleep.

Namjoon wakes to the smell of breakfast, of bacon on the stove and Jimin chattering around while watering his plants. He gets up, headache pounding and throat sore. Seokjin wordlessly hands him a few pills and a glass of water, while Jimin plates up breakfast, placing the sausage, eggs and toast separately on the plate because Namjoon can’t stand it when food on his plate touches.

Silently, the three friends eat. Nobody speaks until Namjoon clears his throat and looks up.

“Thank you.“ He whispers.

“What are friends for?” Jimin says.

Namjoon wonders why he’s got such amazing friends. Jin replies that he was born perfect and God created him like this, so Namjoon shouldn’t dwell too much on it. Jimin and Namjoon both throw a spoon of scrambled eggs in his direction simultaneously, high fiving without missing a beat when Jin lets out a protest of unjust behaviour.

As the three friends sit quietly, Namjoon says: “I think I’m going mad.”

“I’m glad you’ve realised.” Seokjin replies offhandedly.

“I don’t think I can keep going between these worlds. I think it’s making me lose my mind.”

Jimin stills. Seokjin stops washing the dishes and turns off the faucet.

“Do… do you know how to stop it?” Jimin asks hesitantly. Namjoon shakes his head, and Seokjin sighs, in deep thought, which is a strange and rare sight to see itself.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to figure this out together.” Seokjin says casually. Jimin agrees and the faucet comes back on, Seokjin going straight back to washing the pan he used to fry up the scrambled eggs. Jimin unplugs the toaster and Namjoon sits, smiling at his beloved friends.

“You can borrow some of my shirts.” Jimin calls from the bathroom. “You know, if you want to stay over a couple more nights. Feel free.”

“Make yourself at home and shit.” Seokjin mutters, waving his hand around sarcastically. Namjoon almost bursts out into tears of happiness, but he decides to hold it in until Seokjin doesn’t have access to his phone and won’t put Namjoon’s breakdown on instagram live.

The next day, the entire gang comes over, all with varying degrees of understanding what the hell is going on with Namjoon. For example, Yoongi pretty much knows as much as Seokjin does, who still doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Taehyung was just told Namjoon’s been feeling down because God knows that boy has a big mouth and definitely can’t keep a secret to save his life.

Seokjin supplies homemade snacks and burgers fresh off the grill, Yoongi brings over his unlimited Netflix and HBO account passwords he probably stole off of some innocent family member to watch Disney movies, Taehyung comes over with Yeontan clutched to his side because that’s the group's emotional support dog. Jungkook and Hoseok offer up their extensive alcohol collection and bring over some quality wines. Jimin, after a long three hours of consideration, gives up his lucky plushies and fluffy blankets to build a fort.

For one night, the seven boys crowds around the television, watching everything from The Lorax to Tangled to Frozen and bawling their eyes out when Anna turned to ice (spoiler alert!!!) For one night, the fully grown men all turn back into their 8 year old selves, playing video games and staying up as late as they wanted even though they all had responsibilities to tend to the next day.

When they all awake from their mega-sleepover the next morning, the remaining six friends all insist they just felt like watching Disney movies and drinking wine suddenly. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Namjoon’s been feeling a little off in the past few days.

Absolutely not.

Namjoon’s eyes brim with tears and he tackles all the boys to the ground in one incredibly coordinated group hug, ignoring Yoongi’s complaints of being anti-social and that his love language is not physical touch.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook mutters. “Now could you please get the fuck off?”

“Never.” Namjoon says, muffled because he says it while his head is buried in Hoseok’s chest.

“Love you.”

“... Love you too.”

The next time he falls, Namjoon thinks he’s prepared. Ready, not to get attached, ready to make clear of what belongs in his world and what doesn’t, after lots of pep talks and therapy sessions with Seokjin and Jimin and Yoongi, who is surprisingly helpful with shooting down ideals of toxic masculinity and talking about mental health.

He’s wrong- he’s not ready, but he doesn’t know that yet.

Click.

He’s come to resent that stupid sound. In an instant, he’s dropped into a car, which is strangely familiar. You are next to him, driving, and thank goodness, because everyone knows Namjoon cannot drive. If he were dropped in the driver’s seat, things may have taken a turn for the worse.

“You want to play some music?” You ask, and Namjoon nods.

“Yeah sure, turn up the radio.” You reach over to flip a switch and a pretty tune fills the car, echoing and bouncing off the walls of the small vessel. You bring your hand down and interlace it with Namjoon’s, who is suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings.

“You’re driving, baby.” He says, and a great sense of relief floods back into his system when he sees you smile at the pet name. He hopes this moment is after the Hong Kong trip. He hopes he did the right thing and made up with you afterwards.

“We always do this. When there’s not many cars around, anyway.” You hum along with the music. “Nobody’s on the road tonight.” Sure enough, there are no cars in sight and Namjoon sighs, curling his hand tight against yours. He looks out the window.

“No stars tonight, either.”

You snort. “There are never any stars around the city, babe.”

“Ahh.” He huffs playfully. “Fuck global warming.”

“Fuck capatalism.” You add on, and he nods, wholeheartedly agreeing.

“I love you.” He murmurs.

“I love you too.” You reply with a sweet smile and Namjoon just realises that no, he’s not ready to let go of you, because his heart still flips like crazy when he hears you say that. He’s so unbearably, horribly, absolutely in love with you. Not in a creepy or obsessive way like he was probably in love with you a few months ago, but so in love with you.

He wonders why on earth he’s so drawn to you, but as usual, there’s no definite answers to his questions. Namjoon thinks about how he likes the way you cook pancakes, and how he likes the way you always reach down to pet a puppy no matter where you are or where you need to be. He loves the way you’d give up anything to defend the people you love. He admires your bravery and your courage. He admires the way you present yourself to the world.

He loves you simply because you are who you are, unapologetically and unashamed, which is something he never had the guts to do. But he gets pretty damn near to being fully and truly himself when he’s around you, so maybe that’s why he’s so in love with you.

Namjoon feels bad for a moment because he realises his love isn’t selfless or humble like the ones he sees on dramas and TV. His love for you is shamefully selfish, because he needs you more than anything else. He voices this out to you in a long speech while you keep your eyes on the road.

“I need you more than you think I do, Joon.” You say, while laughing, and Namjoon doesn’t know whether to feel offended or relieved.

“You think your love for me can trump my love for you?” He asks with his eyebrows raised.

“One hundred percent.” You drawl out, and this time, Namjoon’s offended.

“Excuse me? Who the fuck?” He asks, sitting up. You laugh bashfully, enamoured but mostly just entertained by your needy boyfriend who is very willing to prove how much more he loves you right now. “I love you way more than you love me!”

You laugh, your eyes still fixed on the road. “Oh no, please, we’re not arguing about this.”

“Yes we are!” Namjoon demands with a huge smile on his face. “How could you possibly think you love me more than I love you?” Your laugh only grows louder.

“I don’t even know if you’re being serious or just joking around anymore.” You say through bit back laughter.

“I’m being dead serious.” Namjoon softens for a bit, laying a hand on your thigh. “You’re my everything. You’re my future, you’re my present, you’re my past.” A part of you wants to tell him he’s being cheesy again, but the romantic in you who doesn’t want to hurt your boyfriend immediately shuts the realist in you up.

“That was sweet.”

“I try my best.”

You turn your head back to the road and he keeps his eyes on you. On the hoodie you’re wearing, which definitely doesn’t belong to you and he now has a certain inkling of where his missing hoodie went. He likes how it swallows you up. He likes that you have something of his on you.

Not as a weird mark of possession, but he likes that you’re comfortable with wearing something that essentially brands you as his. But you are his as much as he is yours and wow, Namjoon thinks in his head, is this the real Namjoon or the past Namjoon speaking? And his brain replies that it’s both.

“I love you.” He repeats, because as much as he seems to say it, he can’t seem to express how much he loves you (hint: it’s a large amount).

“I love you too.” You say right back.

He wants to say it more. He wants to say it better. He wants to repeat it until you get annoyed and tell him to shut up, he wants to let you know how much he loves you. But his lips are sealed, and he can’t say another word. Instead of what he wants to say, the words that come out his mouth are, admittedly, just as true.

“You’re pretty.”

You giggle. “Did you just realise?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “You’ve always been pretty. You were pretty on the day we met. You were pretty the day we fought in Hong Kong. You were pretty the first time you stayed over. You’re pretty when you cry, you’re pretty when you… I wanted to think of something that rhymes with cry, but it slipped my mind and now everything’s ruined.”

You laugh, a real, huge one this time. He can always tell when your laugh is real or not.

“Thank you.” You say. “For the record, you’ve always been pretty too.”

Namjoon leans back into his seat. “Damn straight.”

“When d’you think you first fell in love with me?” You ask, genuinely curious, and Namjoon thinks for a moment. He thinks about what the Namjoon in this moment would say, and he thinks about what the present Namjoon would say.

If he had verbal control, what would he say? That he fell in love with you during the very first memory he was thrusted in? But that wouldn’t be true, and that wouldn’t be honest. He fell in love with you during the memory of when you met? But that wouldn’t be true either. He fell in love with you in between memories, when all he could think about was the next time you could be in his arms, or how much he longed for your touch.

He tries to say that, he really does.

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is:

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s a specific moment. Maybe it was that time we went to the movies and watched Coco while crying over popcorn, or maybe it was that time we went to Disneyland.” Namjoon’s heart slouches, because he doesn’t know any of those moments. He hasn’t been in any of those memories.

“But I don’t think falling in love is a one moment, time stops kinda thing. I was always falling in love with you. From the time you spilled yogurt on my jacket to right now, where you’re asking me when I fell in love with you. I’m going to be falling in love with you tomorrow and the day after that, until the day where we shrivel up and die from old age.”

Oh, good answer, Namjoon thinks.

“Good answer.” You say. “I think I’d say the same thing.”

“Great minds think alike.” Namjoon sighs out.

Something strikes Namjoon’s heart. It’s not the lead feeling or the heavy weight he’s grown used to. It’s strange, like a wave of deja vu. And suddenly, Namjoon stops thinking. He glances over to the control board to look at the time, which proudly reads: December 3rd, 2018.

So that’s why he’s always had the feeling that these were memories. Why he was so adamant to believe these things really had happened to him. Even more strangely, what feelings strike him then is not panic, nor fear. It’s a strange flow of calmness that rushes through his veins. He looks over at you again, driving now with both hands on the steering wheel.

He wonders why the deity would make him witness something as cruel and horrible as this, and he gets the weird feeling that this will be one of his last memories to enter. Namjoon looks at the dark blanket covering the sky and sadly thinks that the deity could have at least placed a few stars in the sky on this night. As consolation, or perhaps an apology.

Something is ticking in the background, and Namjoon has no idea if it’s coming from the car or if he’s imagining it. Flashing memories go through his mind, so fast he can barely register them as images or moving pictures before they are gone again. Your smile, your laugh, your first date, your second date. The day he asked you to move in, the day you told him ‘I love you’ for the first time and he literally fainted.

The day he came to pick you up from work for the first time, the night where he first laid his hands on you and kissed all your worries away.

It comes fast and hurtles towards the two of you, but Namjoon doesn’t even see it coming because all he is looking at is you. Your face, your lips, your eyes, trying to engrave it all in his memory. You yelp out something to him, which he doesn’t hear. Floating images spin around both your heads and a high pitched screech rings out, a spark of orange lighting up like a stack of fireworks. The dark van shoots forward and collides into the driver’s seat.

The world collapses. It goes sideways, rotates then flips completely upside down, and the dark fog starts to eat up Namjoon’s eyesight. Oddly, nothing hurts. Perhaps because of the shock, or panic, but nothing on Namjoon’s body is in pain. Everything crashes, Namjoon’s head hits the window with force. Something breaks, glass cracks, people scream and he cannot tell which is which. Red and white flashes are all he can see before everything fades to grey and he can only reach around in the darkness, to find your hand.

He clutches onto your unmoving, still hand desperately, trying to calm his jumping heartbeat. Are those sirens in the background he hears or is that his imagination? Is that your voice he hears or is that a hallucination?

In the end, his final thought before leaving the world once again is a wish. A wish that he prays the deity will grant him. He hopes that in your final moments, you were not scared.

He falls.

When Namjoon arrives home, his entire body is numb. He doesn’t know where he is, nor what he was doing before he was clicked in. He opens his mouth and screams for a full minute without stopping.

It feels good in a fucked up way.

Namjoon has never been one for confrontation. Just ask his middle school bullies, who tormented him all they wanted because he wouldn’t do anything but put up with it. Just ask Mingyu from work, who keeps piling his unwanted projects and articles onto Namjoon because he never protests or complains to the higher-ups.

But while walking towards his childhood home with the birds chirping and his hands placed casually in his pockets, confrontation is all he can think about. He lets himself in the door; his mother never locks it and walks in calmly.

His mother is sitting on the couch, stitching up a sock which has a hole in it.

“Mom. I’m home.” He says softly, and his mother greets him normally. Namjoon leans on the wall and his mother stares at him strangely, calling him over to sit and have some fruit. He declines, telling her he won’t be staying very long. “That car crash that happened two years ago.”

The needle in his mother’s hand stills.

“They said I had selective amnesia, right?”

The needle picks up speed, stitching faster and faster, his mother’s hand moving faster than light.

“What did I forget again?”

“What did you remember?” His mother asks, never one to beat around the bush.

“Mom.” He says, firmly this time. “What did you do to me.”

The sock is torn apart in his mother’s hands. “Namjoon,” She starts and Namjoon already has a growing urge to shake the truth out of her. “When you got into that crash two years ago, you came out of it with very little injuries. We were all so relieved. When you woke up, you didn’t remember Y/N.” All that fills the air for another moment or two is the spongy sound of silence.

The gap in this family became clearer than ever to Namjoon. He thinks about how everyone must have been in on the secret, even his sister. And he was left to suffer, wondering why his life seemed so empty after forgetting something he couldn’t clutch onto.

“And what?” He demands, screaming and throwing his hands out of his pockets. “Do you think you can just keep something like that from me? The love of my life, and you just decide to erase them from my memory?” His mother stills and looks up at her son.

“You didn’t remember Y/N. You lost contact with all your college friends, and then when I asked the doctor how selective amnesia worked,” His mother cleared her throat. “Sufferers often forget some parts of their memory. Relationships, talents, skills, certain areas or certain people.” His mother looks up directly in his eyes. “Sometimes, especially after going through a traumatic event, people forget certain parts of their memory as a coping mechanism. To erase bits of pain and regret.”

“I thought,” Her voice breaks and her face twists in regret and bad memories. “I thought maybe by forgetting her, I’d be saving you from more pain and hurt. I just wanted you to stop hurting”

Namjoon held eye contact with his mother for three full seconds before collapsing and gasping for air, lying with his head on her lap. All words of scolding, anger. All the confrontational tactics and all the accusations he’d thought of shooting towards her had gone.

“Hurts.” He let out through large gasps of breaths. “Hurts, mom.” He lied there, with tears threatening to spill out his eyes for the rest of the night, with his mother caressing his hair and apologising to him with tears in her eyes.

“Miss Y/N. I miss Y/N.” He hiccups out, and his mother wipes away his tears, but it feels different from when you used to do it.

“I know, I know.” The woman looking down at her son wonders why she put him in so much pain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” The night carries on like that, with the lights eventually dimming and the night covers up the light in the sky. The mother son pair repeat their grievances and apologies to each other until the sun comes back up, peeking through the curtains and extending out their warm embrace as if it wants to comfort the hurting humans.

It doesn’t take long for Seokjin and co to come knocking on his door, sent by his mother who must have filled him in on everything, judging from the looks on their faces. It only takes one single glance at his friends, tilting their heads and all asking to come in for him to burst into tears. Ugly crying, with snot coming out of his nose and eyes bloodshot red from the nightmares.

Jimin is the first to reach forwards and bring Namjoon into a hug. Soon after that, the six friends surrounded Namjoon, comforting him with the warmth of their arms and soft spoken words of encouragement.

“You did well.” Someone mumbles into his hair.

“We’re all proud of you.” Someone else says.

Namjoon’s sweater sleeves are sopping wet with tears when he asks the boys to help him get into therapy.

Things went on like that for another while.

Therapy isn’t as bad as Namjoon had thought it might’ve been. He wasn’t forced to be vulnerable or open up or confront his worst fears. He certainly didn’t want to tell the truth about the world he’s thrusted in, for fear of getting thrown out of the building and into a mental institution.

Even his mother didn’t believe him the first time he told her about it. She urged him to visit a doctor. How could a therapist who doesn’t even know him believe the nonsense he spouts? Even he himself wouldn’t believe himself if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. Slowly, but surely, he began to open up, and to his surprise, there was no calling of hospitals or kicking him out. His therapist sat there and listened like everything he was saying was valid.

He started eating again, mostly because of Seokjin, stuffing his creations down everyone’s throats every two seconds, claiming he needs opinions on his new recipes even though Namjoon’s fairly certain that the past three dishes of spaghetti were the exact same recipe.

Namjoon started to workout again with Jungkook, much to the younger boy’s surprise and happiness. They talked about their own struggles while panting on the treadmill and spinner. Jungkook eventually tells him that he also has a secret he keeps from the rest of the guys, which is his high school sweetheart who broke his heart so horribly that he still feels hurt from it.

Jungkook told him to cheer up though, because most of the pain fades away with time. It’s still there, ever as present, but other things will become more important to you and cover up a scar or a wound with blooming flowers.

“Like us,” He said cheekily. “Your friends.”

He talked to Yoongi most days of the week about nothing in particular. He enjoys the time with Yoongi because he’s the only one who never walks on eggshells around him. He still pelts him with pillows and roasts the outfits on Rupaul’s Drag Race with him. Taehyung and Jimin even helped him adopt a dog, an furry white Eskimo named Rap Mon which is literally now Namjoon’s entire life.

Would likely kill all of his friends if one of them hurt his precious baby.

Life is good, Namjoon learns. He gets better at his job. He never forgets you, but things seem to hurt less. But he gets relapses sometimes. Some days he wakes up screaming about the stupid lead filling up his throat. Sometimes he gets nightmares so intense he has to take medicine.

Therapy isn’t as bad as he painted it out to be, but recovery is ten times harder than he thought it would be. Some days all he can do is lie in bed or do nothing, thinking of you.

His therapist tells him that his life is more than his past memories. Both Yoongi and Hoseok agree, when he pulled up a random conversation about it late at night. Hoseok says that there’s never going to be a time where he won’t think of you, or still love you. Perhaps not as much as he once did, but he’ll never forget about you. Yoongi tells him he’s healing, and that they’re all proud of him.

Namjoon meets his friends, for the first time in the two years he’s known them. Taehyung has an extraordinary and (slightly strange) obsession over art museums. He’s been to almost every single one in Korea, and he dragged Namjoon over to one an hour away in Gangnam in the summer. Jimin is an amazing dancer, which Namjoon never knew.

Until Jimin brought it up casually, looking through old footage of his dance competitions. “Nothing big,” He said. “I used to dabble.” Namjoon’s eyes bulged out of his head and he told Jimin if that was ‘dabbling’, then he was wasting away his talent. He asked Jimin why he never made a career out of dance, and Jimin replied casually:

“I feel like if I start to make money off of it, and I’ll lose my love for it. Now that I haven’t really has time for it... I dunno. I feel like I’ve lost the talent a little bit.“

Namjoon told his friend that talent is nothing but a bunch of practice and time dedicated to a certain skill. Nobody loses talent, people just get a little unfamiliar with it. Jimin turned around in deep thought and told him he may just have a point.

Still, some days, he can do nothing but sulk around, feeling like a waste of space. Take today for an example. He walks down the street and out of the corner of his eye, he thinks, and he might be wrong, he thinks he sees you. The back of your head, anyways, but you’re wearing a red sweater with headphones over your ears and you turn around the corner.

Namjoon panics. He drops his coffee, which splashes all over his leather shoes and runs. He runs past the corner and he doesn’t know what on earth he’s doing but all he can do is run, and the wind dries his tears faster and faster, and he forgets all over again, that you aren’t here, that there’s no way he can go back and see you unless it’s in his memories, which he doesn’t even know how to control.

Somewhere deep in the depths of his mind, he knows something about this doesn’t seem right. That it couldn’t possibly be you, because he watched you go right in front of his eyes. He knows that in order to heal, he can’t chase after you or center his world around you. He knows all of that. But in that moment, he forgets that he still doesn’t remember everything about you.

He forgets that you’re dead.

And one day he’ll be free from this constant spinning. One day he won’t ever have to think twice when he cooks pancakes but that day and all that work he’s put in is the last thing on Namjoon’s mind and all he can think about is if that’s really you.

He sprints faster and reaches out, misses your wrist by an inch and ends up clutching at nothing but air. He heaves a huge breath, about to clap his hand over your shoulder-

Click.

tags; @jksbbyfacebunny @extremeobsessions101 @dwcljh @bishuthot @s0seo @stonyiscanon @cecedrake2217

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javistg · 3 years

Text

A Second Chance CH 3.

It’s been almost two years since I posted Chapter 2 but Chapter 3 is finally ready!

I want to dedicate this chapter to @mega-aulover, @567inpanem, @katnissdoesnotfollowback, @hutchhitched, @justajjfan, @thegirlfromoverthepond, @booksrockmyface, @albinokittens300, @animekpopxx, @alliswell21, @alwayseverlark, @nightlock-1989, @katnissmeowverdeen, @mandelion82, @norbertsmom, @rosegardeninwinter, @everybirdfellsilent, @thelettersfromnoone, @mrspeetamellark, @taylerwrites, @ameliaodair, @everlark-always, @emilia206 and everyone else who joined this year’s @everlarkficexchange.

Thank you all for bringing inspiration back into my inbox, for reminding me of how fun it is to create something and to share it with this wonderful fandom.

Also, @theeverlarkingmoose this chapter is for you. Your words of encouragement made me want to go back and re-read what I had written. Everything started falling in place after that ❤️

Based on prompt 110: A time travel AU: Katniss from Mockingjay, (any part of the book, it's up to you), winds up back the day before her sister's first reaping. What does she do now that she knows what's coming? Now that she knows how Peeta feels about her, and she knows how desperately she needs him, and what they could share? What on earth could she, or should she, even do/change? And what is she should lose it all again? [submitted by @wingletblackbird For EFE 2019]

To read from the beginning, you can go to AO3 or FF.net

CHAPTER 3.

The tribute train speeds along, silently hovering over the tracks on its way to the Capitol.

Alone in her compartment, Katniss cries. The hope and joy from the previous day are gone. Sorrow and defeat fill her heart as she sits on the bed.

Clutching a bag full of frosted cookies against her chest, she tries to come to terms with the fact that the unthinkable has happened again.

Covering her eyes from the glaring summer sun, an effervescent Effie Trinket walked onto the stage and pulled Prim's name out of a giant glass bowl.

For the second time in her life, Katniss stepped forward and volunteered to take her sister's place.

The crowd parted to let her through. Prim cried. Gale carried her away.

A silent District 12 saluted their tribute. Haymitch interrupted the proceedings with his drunken antics, and a rattled Effie called out Peeta's name.

After finishing the Treaty of Treason, the mayor prompted the tributes to shake hands.

Sorrow, pain, and an unexpected dash of hope danced in Peeta's eyes as he looked straight at her and gently squeezed her hand. Comforted by the gesture she no longer confused with a nervous spasm, Katniss squeezed back.

The goodbyes at the Justice Building were just as bad as she remembered them.

Katniss had thought it would be easier. She had imagined that knowing she had a real shot at coming back would help her be more convincing, more generous.

She wanted to be kinder to her mother --who had already proven she was strong enough to keep on going while Katniss was away-- and to leave her sister with a sense of certainty, with a bit of hope to cling to.

But, as soon as Prim started crying, Katniss's fears took over, and her resolutions melted as quickly as a blanket of snow.

In the end, history repeated itself, and Katniss used up most of her time going over all the practical stuff Prim and her mother needed to know. Right before the Peacekeepers barged in, the three Everdeen women hugged and promised, once again, that they would try their best.

Once her family left, Mr. Mellark delivered his cookies. The baker was just as quiet this time around, but Katniss didn't mind. Instead of fretting over his intentions, she was grateful for his generosity and kindness.

The door opened again, and Madge came in like a whirlwind, holding out the mockingjay pin and talking about district tokens.

"I'll bring it back," Katniss promised as her friend leaned in to fix the bird to her dress.

Madge kissed her friend's cheek. "I'm counting on that."

Madge had barely left the room when Gale walked in.

His eyes were dark and stormy, but when he opened his arms, she walked straight into them.

Their breakfast that morning hadn't been as pleasant as the one she remembered. Instead of joking around and talking about escaping into the woods, Gale had been surly and quiet.

To Katniss's relief, he hadn't mentioned Peeta or her stroll around the Meadow the previous afternoon. It didn't matter. His contribution to the meal, a day-old tesserae grain roll that could have only come from the Hob, spoke louder than any words ever could.

Gale Hawthorne hadn't been in the mood to stop by the bakery that morning.

"Listen," he said, stepping away from their embrace to look at her face. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance."

Katniss smiled. There he was, her friend, her partner, the man who was willing to put his own feelings aside, like he'd done in Thirteen, to help and support her.

No matter what, Gale had her back. Even if he wasn't thrilled with her right now, he would keep her family safe.

"You know how to kill," Gale insisted as they discussed strategies.

"Not people," she muttered.

"How different can it be, really?" A grim remark uttered in a moment of despair. She had never liked it but, after surviving two arenas, it made her furious.

"It's incredibly different!" Katniss yelled. Anger and dread danced in her veins as she remembered where she was headed to. "I'd be killing a person, Gale! A person! I'd be erasing their thoughts, their dreams, their—,"

"Listen," Gale grabbed her by the shoulders, "Catnip, you can't think that way. Not in the arena. You need to remember, only one comes out, right?"

Only one. The words were oddly familiar. Numb, Katniss nodded.

"Say it,” he pressed.

"They have to have a victor," Katniss whispered. Looking up into Gale's silver eyes, she repeated, "Only one comes out."

"That's it, and you can be the one. You can be the one who comes home, back to Prim, back to your mother. Because that's all that matters, right? They are all that matters."

"Right."

Pulling her back into his arms, Gale lowered his head to her ear and whispered, "You can do this, Katniss. Just… promise me, you won't let anyone distract you."

Anyone. He meant Peeta, of course. But Peeta wasn’t a distraction, he was her mission.

Clinging to his embrace to soak up his warmth, she promised, “I won’t.”

A Peacekeeper walked in.

Always the nonconformist, Gale asked for more time. He was granted none.

"Don't let them starve!" Katniss cried out, panicked, as her friend was escorted out of the room.

"I won't!" Gale vowed. "You know I won't!"

XXXXX

By the time Effie comes to collect her for supper, Katniss's tears have dried up.

Resigned to her fate, Katniss follows her escort through the narrow, rocking corridor into the dining room where Peeta sits, waiting for them.

At the sight of him, Katniss's breath hitches. This is the Peeta she knows best. Capitol clothes, winning smile, and a touch of… heartbreak in his eyes.

That wasn't there earlier, Katniss thinks. What happened? As Peeta's eyes flit away, she suddenly remembers. His mother.

Yes, Mrs. Mellark just told her youngest son that he's not good enough to come back from the arena.

She wants to run to his side, to wrap her arms around him, press a kiss on his forehead, and soothe his pain away.

She wishes with all her heart that she could tell him that the Witch and her bitterness don't matter, but she can't. Instead, she bites her lip, takes the empty chair by his side, and waits for Effie to start giving instructions.

The supper comes in courses. The starter, a thick carrot soup, is followed by a green salad.

Katniss is reaching for the platter with the lamb chops and mashed potatoes when Peeta leans into her side and casually says, "So… when you said you'd be at the back…"

Surprised, Katniss glances back at him. The teasing glint in his eyes brings a smile to her lips. "I guess I meant the front," she says, stabbing a lamb chop with her fork and dropping it on her plate. With a coy shrug, she adds, "I confuse them sometimes."

Peeta's retort is interrupted by Effie's shrill voice. "Oh! Are you two friends?"

Katniss freezes, but Peeta quickly comes to her rescue. "Not really," he says, ladling a dollop of mashed potatoes on his plate, "we go to school together, that's all."

Effie takes this news with a polite nod. Just as they're about to finish the main course, she speaks again. "At least, you two have decent manners," she says. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

Katniss narrows her eyes. Over the last couple of years, she's come to appreciate Effie, but her comment still disgusts her. So, once again, she makes a point of eating the rest of her meal with her fingers and wiping her hands on the tablecloth when she's done.

Bewildered, Effie straightens up in her chair, pursing her pink lips in shocked disapproval.

Good, Katniss thinks with a satisfied smirk. Things are just as they should be.

XXXXX

Katniss's first day in the Capitol is almost an exact replica of her previous one.

Her prep team scrubs and strips every inch of her body, removing all her hair and leaving her like a plucked bird, ready for roasting.

Later, when Cinna walks into the room, Katniss rolls her hands into tight fists and, somehow, manages to stop herself from lunging into his arms.

XXXXX

The carriage ride around the City Circle is a huge success.

While Portia is busy extinguishing the last of the artificial flames, Katniss reluctantly lets go of Peeta's hand.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me," says Peeta massaging his hand, "I was getting a little shaky there."

"It didn't show," Katniss tells him. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," he replies, looking boldly into her eyes, "You should wear flames more often. They suit you."

Then, he does it again. He flashes her that smile, the one she knows he saves just for her, genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness.

Warmth rushes through her, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely. She used to feel so vulnerable whenever this happened --like Peeta was in control, and she couldn't trust herself around him-- but she knows better now. Peeta's not trying to manipulate her, he's just paying her a compliment, and he's damned good at it!

No warning bells go off. No thoughts of hidden agendas, or strategies, or games cross Katniss's mind. Only joy and affection propel her as she stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek, right on his bruise.

XXXXX

When Katniss notices the red-headed Avox at the dinner table later that night, she doesn't even flinch.

With watchful eyes, she follows the girl's movements and tries not to think about Darius —or the way he looked at her the last time they saw each other in that same room.

Taking a bite of her cake, Katniss glances back at Peeta and wonders —just for an instant— if he ever saw what Effie called the "matching set" while Snow kept him captive.

The thought is too painful to even consider, so she stops poking at it and goes back to the conversation around the table.

Later, as she lies in bed looking at images of a slow trickling stream projected on her wall, she silently berates herself for her silence. Her original reaction hadn't really hurt anyone, but it had led to Peeta covering for her and showing her the rooftop garden.

She longs to go there now. It's the only place where she can breathe, and she's sure Peeta's there already, looking down unto the Capitol skyline. But how can she join him when no one in this timeline has shown her the way?

The answer is so simple it makes her laugh. The terrace isn't exactly hidden, and Peeta knows she's an illegal hunter who sneaks under an electrified fence every day. He won't question her if she says she just stumbled upon it while exploring the apartment.

Katniss steps into the cool, windy evening air. Twelve floors down, the Capitol twinkles like a vast field of fireflies. It's a familiar sight by now, but it still fills her with wonder.

Peeta's already there, standing by the railing at the edge of the roof. His eyes widen when he sees her approach.

"How did you find this place?" Katniss asks, trying her best to sound surprised.

"Cinna showed me," Peeta says. "You?"

"I did some exploring."

Katniss reaches his side, and they both turn to look out onto the skyline.

"You can practically see the whole city," Peeta says.

They stand there for a few minutes, enjoying the show of flickering lights, listening to the wind chimes behind them and the noises from the city below.

They're standing so close together that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him. A little closer and I would smell his scent, she thinks, hoping she could wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his shirt.

"A penny for your thoughts," Peeta asks.

Startled out of her reverie, Katniss laughs, "A penny? Is that the going rate in town?"

Peeta shrugs. "I guess. It's just something my grandmother used to say."

She's heard this before, back on their victory tour, but she still asks, "Which grandmother?"

"Grandma Mellark. She had tons of sayings, one for every occasion. She died when I was ten, but I still remember some of them." After a short pause, he asks, "How about you? Do you remember your grandparents?"

"No. I never met them."

Peeta turns towards her. The earnest curiosity dancing in his eyes tugs at her heart. "Never?"

Katniss shakes her head. "I know my mother's parents ran the apothecary up until a few years ago, but we never went there. I might have seen them on the street, but…"

"And on your father's side?"

"They both died before I was born. I don't know much about them, just that they knew a lot about plants and that my grandmother loved music. My dad used to say that she could remember any song after only hearing it once and that she had a beautiful voice."

Peeta's hushed words are almost lost in the din of the wind chimes, but they reach her all the same. "Just like yours."

She's about to contradict him but, when she looks up, her mind goes blank. Peeta's looking back at her with a tenderness and warmth that still haunts her dreams.

“I don’t sing,” she hears herself say.

"But you used to,” Peeta says, “back when we were little.”

It's almost like being back in the cave. Her skin tingles, her heart soars.

Flustered, Katniss asks, "You remember that?"

Peeta looks away. His cheeks turn beet red as he softly admits, "I do."

Her heart's hammering madly against her rib cage now.

For an instant, she thinks he's going to tell her the story again, the one about their first day of school and the teacher asking her to sing; but he does no such thing.

Keeping his eyes on the horizon, Peeta straightens up and pushes himself away from her and the railing.

Disappointed, Katniss turns away.

Deep down, she's also relieved. As much as she wants to regain the closeness she once shared with Peeta, she knows they're not ready yet.

Unlike her, Peeta doesn't know what their future holds. He likes her well enough, but they're training for the Games. He still needs to keep his distance from his district partner.

Satisfied that she's done plenty for one night, Katniss stretches her arms over her head and fakes a yawn. "We should get some rest," she says.

"Yeah. Tomorrow's going to be a big, big, big day!"

Katniss laughs. Peeta's impersonation of their escort has always been pitch-perfect.

They climb the stairs together. When they reach the corridor that leads up to their rooms, Peeta whispers, "Good night, Katniss."

The words wrap around her heart, soothing her like no morphling ever did. She's still savoring them when she whispers back, "Good night, Peeta."

XXXXX

It's a little before ten when Katniss and Peeta step out of the elevator and into the Training Center. The other tributes are already there gathered in a circle around Atala, the head trainer.

As soon as the tall woman starts to talk, Katniss tunes her out. She's heard the little speech twice already. She doesn't need to listen to it again.

Beside her, Peeta lets out a small sigh.

He's frustrated, Katniss thinks. She considers reaching out to squeeze his hand but stops herself, knowing that Peeta probably won’t welcome the gesture right now.

She can’t blame him, not after the morning they've had.

The discussion over their individual skills at breakfast had been slightly less contentious this time around, but not by much.

After mentioning Katniss’s abilities, Peeta had still brought up his mother's hurtful parting words.

Katniss had been less cagey. She had managed to keep the bread incident out of the conversation, but Peeta's comment about the effect she had on people had —once again— raised her hackles. Not because she had felt insulted, lile the first time, but because she’d been reminded of everything she’d lost.

As she saw the old Peeta willing to give his life for her, she couldn’t help but think of the other version of him; the version she had left behind in District 13. That Peeta hated her. He had gone through hell and back to be with her and now he wanted her dead.

Who knows? She bitterly told herself after Haymitch dismissed them. Maybe this magical effect of mine doesn't last very long. Maybe, one day, the whole country will wake up and hate me too.

XXXXX

While Atala reads down the list of the skill stations, Katniss can't keep her eyes from flitting around the room.

Marvel. Clove. Cato. Fox-face. Thresh. Rue.

Her chest tightens. These are the faces that haunt her dreams. The voices that echo in her nightmares.

Katniss bites her lip to keep from screaming. Her palms are clammy, her heart is racing, but she doesn't move an inch.

This is the hardest thing she's had to do so far, and she needs to get it right. She can't let the others see her distress.

Slowly averting her eyes, she reminds herself, My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me, but I came back.

Katniss breathes. In. Out. In. Out.

Her heart rate is almost back to normal when she finishes. I came back to make Snow pay.

She's still lost in her thoughts when Peeta nudges her arm and makes her jump.

His expression is sober. "Where would you like to start?"

Katniss looks around at the Career Tributes who are already showing off, clearly trying to intimidate the field. Then at the others, the underfed, the incompetent, shakily having their first lessons with a knife or an ax.

"Suppose we tie some knots," she says.

"Right you are," says Peeta.

XXXXX

They spend their morning trying out different skills.

Now that she knows what type of arena awaits her, Katniss realizes that the stations are full of clues. The kinds of ropes they use at the knot-tying class. The mud, clay, and berry juices available in the camouflage section. They all seem so obvious now that she knows they'll be going to a forest.

When they reach the medicinal plants' section, Katniss stops short. The last time she was here, she practically skipped it, but she's on a different mission now, so she walks in and makes sure Peeta follows.

A big screen shows pictures of plants with a brief description underneath.

Katniss flips through the crisp images until she finds what she's looking for: the leaves Rue used to treat her.

"These are great!" she enthusiastically tells Peeta. "They fight off infection, bring down swelling, and numb the pain. They're handy when you've been stung by insects or bees. You have to chew them up into a pulp and spit them on top of your wound."

Peeta wrinkles his nose. "Spit them?"

"Yeah," Katniss confirms, "Otherwise, you won't release their properties. My mother would use other methods, but…" Lowering her voice, she adds, "Sometimes you don't have a lot of options when you're out in the woods."

Apparently satisfied with her answer, Peeta nods. After glancing around to make sure no one is listening, he whispers, "Have you been stung many times?"

"Only twice," Katniss admits, "I immediately pulled the stingers out and put the leaves on top. It wasn't so bad."

Peeta's eyes are locked on the screen as he says, "Maybe I should stuff my pockets with these if I ever find any in the arena. You know? Just in case."

"It won't hurt," Katniss agrees, holding on to the hope that he will do just that.

XXXXX

On the second night of her training, Katniss decides to go back to the rooftop.

Peeta is already there. He's sitting on a bench by the flower beds with a sketchpad propped up against his bent knee. The little bundle of pencils she gave him back in District Twelve rests by his side.

She can tell he's distracted, so she clears her throat to make her presence known.

"Hey!" Peeta calls out. He looks tired, but his smile is sweet and welcoming.

"Mind if I join you?" she asks.

Peeta pats the empty seat next to him, and Katniss walks over.

A small sigh escapes her as she sits down. Her daytime routine hasn't been as tiring this time around, but she's still beat.

"Nice pad," she says.

"It's Portia's," Peeta runs his fingers along the edge of the paper in a reverent caress. "She said I could borrow it."

Anticipating her next question, Peeta tilts the pad in her direction.

Katniss gasps. The angle of the image is one she cannot place, but there's no doubt in her mind, Peeta has painted her woods.

Reaching for the corner of the pad so as not to smudge his drawing, she asks, "Where is this?"

"It's the view from my house."

Katniss narrows her eyes, the bakery is in the center of town, but Peeta hasn't included any buildings in his picture. "Your house?"

"There's an attic that we use for storage. I like to go up there sometimes. It's higher than most buildings in the district, so you get to see all the way out into the woods."

Katniss stares at the drawing and tells herself not to cry, but it's not easy. Not when Prim and District Twelve are so far away, not when Peeta is opening up to her in ways he never did before.

"Do you like it?" Peeta asks.

The nervous tremor in his voice tugs at her heart; she reaches for his arm and gives him a reassuring squeeze. "Of course I do! Peeta, it's extraordinary! Prim's right. You're very talented."

Peeta shakes his head and accepts the compliment with a quiet, "Thank you."

Letting go of him, Katniss settles in her seat, resting her back against the wall and stretching her legs. Nodding to his pad, she says, "Go on. Don't let me interrupt."

Peeta starts drawing again.

Katniss watches, mesmerized, as his hand dances over the paper, making the blank page bloom with delicate strokes of color.

They stay like that for a while, side by side on the bench, wrapped in peaceful silence, enjoying each other's presence and silently wishing for more time.

XXXXX

As soon as the anthem is over, Katniss makes a beeline out of the Training Center lobby and onto the elevator bank. Moving swiftly, she veers into a car that does not contain Peeta.

The crowd slows the entourages of stylists and mentors and chaperones. Soon, Katniss finds herself alone with only other tributes for company. No one speaks.

The elevator stops to deposit four tributes before she's alone. One quick breath is all she has time for before the doors open on the twelfth floor.

Peeta has only just stepped from his car when she slams her palms into his chest and pushes him towards the wall.

Peeta loses his balance, but the wall breaks his fall. A few inches away from him, an ugly urn filled with fake flowers stands on its pedestal, untouched.

With Peeta safely out of harm's way, Katniss grabs the urn and smashes it on the floor, shattering it into hundreds of tiny pieces.

Good, she thinks as she takes a step back, I've always hated the damned thing.

"What was that for?" Peeta says, aghast.

"You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" Katniss yells at him.

Before Peeta can say anything, the elevators open, and the whole crew is there, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia.

"What's going on?" says Effie, a note of hysteria in her voice as she notices the broken urn and Peeta slumped form against the wall. "Did you trip?”

"No," says Peeta pushing himself off the wall to straighten up, "Katniss broke it after she shoved me."

Haymitch turns on Katniss. "Shoved him?"

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Katniss answers, "Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?"

"It was my idea," Peeta cuts in. "Haymitch just helped me with it."

The hurt in his eyes guts her, but she can't back down now. This is how she reacted the first time around, and as hard as it is, she knows she has to stick with it.

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she yells.

"You are a fool," Haymitch says in disgust. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own."

"He made me look weak!" Katniss says.

"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" says Haymitch.

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" she says.

Haymitch grabs her shoulders and pins her against the wall. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived…"

As Haymitch prattles on about sponsors, Katniss tunes out. She doesn't need to be convinced of anything. She already knows their strategy is the right one.

As soon as Cinna steps into the conversation, Katniss softens. "I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid," she grumbles.

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," says Peeta gruffly, eyes locked on the shattered urn.

Katniss fixes him with a deadly glare. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Whatever," says Peeta. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides, you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?"

As the words sink in, an old familiar darkness envelops her. This, right here, is what has caused so much pain between them.

Even after all this time and everything they've been through, she has never been able to tell Peeta how she feels about him. Just as she's never told Gale that he's nothing more than a dear friend.

This silence, this reticence, has hurt Peeta over and over again. It's the reason why he pushed her away after their first Game and why President Snow was able to twist his mind and convince him that she was a mutt programmed to kill him.

I need to do better, she thinks. This time around, I need to do more.

Feeling all eyes on her, Katniss turns to Cinna and asks, "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?"

"I did," says Portia. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush."

The others chime in, agreeing.

"You're golden, sweetheart," Haymitch adds. "You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block."

Worried that she's going to burst out in tears, she forces herself to acknowledge Peeta. "I'm sorry I shoved you."

"Doesn't matter," he shrugs. "The urn got it worse."

Portia and Cinna's goodnatured laughter diffuses the remaining tension.

"Come on, let's eat," says Haymitch directing everyone towards the delicious smells wafting in from the dining room.

XXXXX

The roof is not lit at night, but as soon as her bare feet reach its tiled surface, she sees his silhouette, black against the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol.

There's quite a commotion going on down in the streets, music and singing and car horns. Katniss knows she could slip away now without Peeta noticing her; he wouldn't hear her over the din, but that's not what she wants.

Her feet move soundlessly across the tiles. She's only a yard behind him when she says, "You should be getting some sleep."

Peeta starts but doesn't turn, just gives his head a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."

She comes up beside him and leans over the edge of the rail. The wide streets are full of dancing people. Squinting to get a better look at them, she asks, "Are they in costumes?"

"Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here." Turning to her, he asks, "Couldn't sleep, either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says.

"Thinking about your family?"

"Not exactly," she admits a bit guiltily. After going through two arenas, she's not as worried about Prim and her mother as she once was. She knows they can cope without her. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course."

Facing him, she says, "I really am sorry about before."

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," Peeta says.

"I was just upset that you would share something private like that…"

Peeta nods. "I know."

"And, also… I just don't get it. I mean, why would you give me an advantage like that? You're going to need sponsors too, you know?"

Peeta shakes his head. "It won't make a difference. I've never been a contender in these Games. Not really."

Katniss reaches for his hand. "Peeta, that's no way to be thinking."

"Why not? It's true." With the gentlest of touches, Peeta runs his fingers over the back of Katniss's hand. "My best hope is to not disgrace myself and . . ." he hesitates.

With a small squeeze, she silently encourages him to continue.

"I don't know how to say it exactly," Peeta finally says. "Only . . . I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?"

Katniss swallows thickly.

Once upon a time, she stood there and told him that she didn't understand and —most importantly— that she didn't care. But she's a different person now. She knows exactly what he means and why it matters.

Although she knows what he's getting at, she still needs him to complete his thought. Shyly, she asks, "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?"

"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games," says Peeta.

Her chest tightens at his words. Being back in that moment with him reminds her of everything that’s gone wrong in her life.

Before her mind can wander back into the dark recesses of her pain, she says, "The thing is, Peeta, you're not. None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"OK, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," he insists. "Don't you see?"

Katniss nods. She sees, she knows, she understands. What's more, she still can't believe she was ever so blind.

She inches closer to him so he can hear her over the ruckus of the city and the wind chimes.

In her mind, she repeats the little speech she's prepared for this moment. Every year they throw us in an arena and tell us to kill each other, and we do it. But there's a part, deep inside of us, that they don't own, a part that refuses to be pushed around and that will stand up and say, "enough, this is a line I won't cross."

But, once she opens her mouth, the words that slip from her lips are quite different, "I don't have a boyfriend."

Peeta blinks. Once. Twice. "What?"

Katniss bursts out laughing. "I'm sorry, I just…" Bewildered, she covers her face to hide her embarrassment and silently reprimand herself for losing her focus.

With a shake of her head, she straightens up. Her earnest eyes meet Peeta's. "I get what you're saying. They are forcing us to fight for our lives, but they don't get to decide how we go about it, right? We do. At the end of the day, it's up to us. We choose who to attack and who to help, when to face danger and when to hide. "

Peeta nods. "Right." Looking out into the sprawling city, he adds, "I just hope I can make the right choices, you know?"

Katniss sighs. “Yeah, me too.”

Leaning against the railing, Peeta tilts his head to look at her. The playful glint in his eyes is something she hasn't seen in a very long time. "So, you don't have a boyfriend."

Katniss shakes her head, chuckling at the absurdity of the topic.

"What about the guy who took your sister away at the reaping?"

"That's Gale."

"Uh-huh," Peeta's head bobs up and down as he nods. "And Gale is…"

Katniss looks up at him. He's so open, so pure, right now that all her thoughts about plans and strategies melt away. "He's just a friend," she says.

Peeta's smile forms slowly, warm and genuine, a little flirty even. It makes her whole body tingle. "Just a friend, huh? Does he know that?"

Katniss's jaw goes slack. Back in the day, she would have answered with a resounding "yes, of course, he does" but, that answer doesn't really fit the situation. She knows that now. So, instead of throwing her righteous indignation at him, she asks, "What do you mean?"

Peeta shrugs. "I don't know. It's just… I thought you had something with him."

Genuinely intrigued, she asks, "Why?"

"Um," Peeta fills his lungs with crisp Capitol air. As he pushes it out, he says, "You seem to spend a lot of time together. Whenever I see you around town, you're either with him or with Prim. I used to think he was your cousin or something. You favor each other. But then... there was the look."

Katniss frowns. "The look?"

"Yeah." Peeta's shy smile makes another appearance. "He kept glaring at me the other day when we met up by the Meadow." The shocked expression on her face makes him chuckle. "I'm surprised you didn't notice."

"Well," Katniss reaches for the end of her messy braid and begins twisting it around her finger. "I wasn't focusing on him."

Peeta's lips part, but no words come out.

Blushing, Katniss turns to face the city again. "Gale and I hunt together. Our families are close. That's it."

Peeta's gentle touch on her elbow gets her attention. Kind, soft eyes gaze straight into hers when he says, "You know, Katniss, what I said earlier—,"

Impulsively, she leans forward and kisses him, stopping his words.

It takes Peeta half a second to react. In one fluid move, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him.

His lips meld with hers in a slow, sweet dance.

After months of pain and sorrow, Katniss finally feels joy. Closing her eyes, she forgets the world and kisses him with abandon.

Peeta's free hand makes its way to the back of her head, where he buries his fingers in her hair to keep her there, rooted in his arms, anchored to him.

Elated, Katniss hums her approval.

This kiss is like the cave and the beach all rolled into one. It's like every happy moment they've ever shared together, every smile, every touch. It's like coming home after a long day, like finding her soul.

That familiar stirring inside her chest, warm and curious, comes back to life. It fills her entire being with want and need, pushing her to explore more. Blindly, she follows.

Holding on to his broad shoulders, Katniss pulls him even closer, pressing herself against his chest until she can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, beating against her own.

Smiling, Peeta begins raining kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.

Her skin tingles. Her pulse races. Her heart soars.

I'll keep you safe, she promises, holding on to him like she did back at the beach, back when they were surrounded by mutts and enemies and lies.

With one long sigh, Peeta finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to hers while they both catch their breaths.

In that brief moment of glorious harmony only one thought goes through her mind. Peeta. Every heartbeat is like a reminder. He's back, he's here, he's mine.

Glancing up, she finds his eyes, dark and dazed, and she knows. Whatever this is, Peeta feels it too. He always has.

"Katniss—,"

"No," she interrupts again, placing her fingers on his lips to quiet him. She hates what she's about to do, but she doesn't have a choice.

She takes a step away from him and immediately feels lost. "You have a plan for tomorrow, right?"

Peeta's face falls at the sudden reminder of why they're there. He nods.

Reaching forward, Katniss brushes the hair back from his forehead in one last tender caress. "That's what you need to focus on, OK? Just think about—,"

"Staying alive?" Peeta finishes, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Katniss cups his cheek. "Exactly." Her heart skips a beat when he leans into her touch, but she still insists, "This doesn't change anything that happens tomorrow, Peeta. It can't."

"I know," he says, covering her hand with his and pressing a kiss to her palm. "It just changes everything that's happened until today."

Katniss bites her lip and nods. Peeta's right. Even for her, things are dramatically different now. There's so much more at stake. She knows where they stand, and she's no longer running away from him and the things he makes her feel.

Rising to the tips of her toes, she kisses him one last time. "See you tomorrow," she says.

Then, she walks away.

#things i write #A second Chance #Everlark fan fiction #time travel AU

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oopskashish · 4 years

Text

The Cursed Boy

A/N: this is probably my favourite fic so far. I absolutely adored writing this and it was a brilliant idea, my love. Thank you for requesting it, I hope you enjoy.

Also this was requested by @findzelda who is so sweet and lovely. Thank you for putting up with me. I love you💖

Pairing: Sirius Black x fem! Ravenclaw! Reader

Summary: Sirius is cursed that anyone who would love him will get hurt or die. Would he able to break it or would he have to live with it forever?

Warnings: angsty, fluffy (very much so), bad parents, hopeless and sad Sirius.

“YOU INSOLENT FILTHY BRAT! BEING AROUND MUGGLES AND MUGGLEBORNS WILL DO YOU NO GOOD! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO YELL AT YOU TO TELL YOU TO STAY PURE! THIS IS THE MOST ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK FAMILY AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS DISGUSTING BEHAVIOUR OF YOURS!” Walburga screamed at her eldest son who was glaring back at her.

“YOU KEEP ON BESMIRCHING OUR NAME AND WITH THIS BEHAVIOUR OF YOURS YOU WILL END UP IN STREETS!”

“That’s a better place to be there than here!” Sirius yelled back at her.

Walburga took in a deep breath in and simply flicked her wand at him, casting a non-verbal hex on him.

“Anyone who will now love you in any manner will die or get hurt. This will show you your place.” Walburga turned around and left.

Sirius was left flabbergasted as he stared at the staircase in horror. It was no bluff, he knew it better than anyone. His mother was cruel as the grass was green during the spring.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair and sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom. He packed his bags, ignoring his quaking hands. He wiped his teary eyes and packed everything he needed.

He dragged the suitcase down the stairs, not caring about the noise it made. He was suprised that neither of his parents came out, but at least that was good.

Sirius entered the hall, where his brother was there.

Regulus looked up from his book and his eyes widened when he saw Sirius opening the drawer and searching for floo powder. His suitcase was all packed up, and he was carrying another bag which was filled to brim on his shoulder.

“You’re leaving?” Regulus’ voice trembled.

“There is nothing left for me here. Be intelligent and run away while you can.” Sirius grumbled, and he finally found the powder. He took a handful and took all of his luggage to the fireplace. He stepped in there and yelled.

“POTTER HOUSEHOLD, GODRIC’S HOLLOW!”

He closed his eyes when he felt the familiar feeling of being twisted into the flames, opening them only when he heard the tape Mrs. Potter loved to play.

No one was there in the hall.

He was already crying when he got his stuff out of the fireplace. He heard Mrs. Potter come in. She wordlessly embraced him and let him cry on her shoulder.

Sirius sobbed till his throat felt raw and his eyes were stinging with pain. He had held Mrs. Potter tightly, as if she would vanish into the thin air. She consoled the cursed boy gently.

When Sirius parted away, he saw James standing beside his mother. The two brothers embraced each other.

“What’s wrong, padfoot?” James whispered.

“I am never going back again. Never.” Sirius says, parting away and he rubbed his eyes harshly.

“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish, Sirius. It’s always a pleasure to have you.” Euphemia says kindly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

Euphemia led the two boys into the kitchen and made Sirius some tea. James said nothing to his friend but kept a watchful eye on him, knowing his friend isn’t ready to speak right now.

Sirius thanked her when she served him tea. He sipped it and felt the soothing warmth spread in his body.

Sirius kept the cup in the saucer and took a deep breath in.

“My mother cursed me.” Sirius whispered.

James eyes widened just like that of his mother. “What was the incantation, child?”

Sirius shook his head at her. “I dunno, it was non-verbal. But she said that anyone who will love me will die or get hurt.”

Euphemia muttered some profanities under her breath that could have made even pirates blush, let alone two 16 year boys.

“We will find a cure, don’t worry.” Euphemia tells him, giving him a gentle smile.

-/-

Sirius sat on the couch, stunned. He was aware of the watchful eyes of the Potters and the curse breaker who were staring at him speechlessly.

He let out a shaky breath as looked down at his lap.

“Excuse me.” He muttered and got up. Just as he was out of the room, he sprinted upstairs to the bedroom James’ parents had given them.

It was a nice room, a stark contrast to what he had in his parents’ house. The walls were coated in the cream colour and minimal neutral decorations were there in the room. The room felt so home like just like the rest of the house, unlike the house he grew up in.

James entered the room to find Sirius sitting on the ground, crying silently. James knelt down and hugged him fiercely.

Sirius held onto James tightly as if he was the last string of sanity he was so desperately clinging onto., He laboured to breath let alone get a sentence out. He couldn’t believe it.

James held his friend’s shaking body, consoling the best he can. His heart broke to see his brother, his best friend, like this. In all the years they had been friends, Sirius hardly ever cried.

The last time James had actually seen Sirius cry before the summer holidays was when a cat got hurt.

“We will figure something out, don’t worry.” James whispered.

Sirius parted away, wiping his tears. “How?” He whispered. “We have gone through so many books, contacted so many people and it’s all hopeless. I can’t see you with a new injury every single week! Your mum burnt her hand and your dad got hurt by a potion that exploded.”

James sighed. “We don’t care, we will do something and we reverse this curse. Believe me.” James pulled Sirius into another hug, knowing his friend desperately needed it.

-/-

Sirius entered the Great Hall along side with his friends, staying aloof from the group. He looked around and found a certain ravenclaw had her hand bleeding.

A few teachers were around and she was being escorted to the hospital by Professor McGonagall herself.

Sirius sighed when he watched Y/N’s tears before she got out of the hall.

Y/N Y/L/N was a Ravenclaw who could be easily mistaken for a Hufflepuff. She was nice to everyone in the year, even people like Evan Rosier or Lucius Malfoy couldn’t bring themselves to hate her.

Kindness was oozing out of her, and she was the crush of Sirius. It was not hard to fall in love with a person who was as lovely as her.

Born and raised into a wealthy family, she was down to earth and never spurlged her money on unnecessary things like Sirius’ cousins. Instead she would buy books, so many that all the marauders had to help her once to carry them.

“It was just so tempting to buy them!” She would justify. James would laugh at her as Sirius found it adorable. She had even given Remus the liberty to borrow any of her books anytime he wanted, which was rather rare.

He remembered how his friends had told him that she was in love with him. At first it was hard to believe that.

Why would an angel like her would fall for me? Sirius would wonder.

And if this was due to the curse, Sirius was going to kill himself if that’s what it takes to end it. He just can’t watch people he love get hurt.

Remus’ full moon have been going so much worse and Peter once got hurt by Moony on the full moon night. James had already fallen off his broomstick and had fainted.

It was cruel to watch people he love suffer.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to Remus.

“We will make it through this.”

Sirius nodded, pretending to be hopeful.

-/-

Y/N entered the classroom and looked around, searching for an empty seat. Her eyes lit up when she found the seat beside Sirius empty. She quickly walked in that direction.

“Hi Sirius.” She chirps.

Sirius looked up, suprised but then he concealed his expression with annoyance. “What?”

Her smile slips away as she blinked at him in utter flabbergast. Never have Sirius been rude to her even when he is angry. She looks down, not being able to look in his cold grey eyes anymore.

“I was just wondering if I can sit beside you, but obviously you don’t want me here. I’ll just go. Have a good day.” She walks away.

Her heart breaks when she didn’t hear him call out to her as she expected.

-/-

“Maybe he was just in a bad mood? Maybe he had a fight with James, he is always seeming to be avoiding him too.” Ellie, her best friend, comforts her.

“Probably.” She mutters. She looked up at the Black Lake, the rare sunshine was making the waters glimmer like diamonds. The spot where she sat with her friends was also very isolated from others, making the tranquility in the air hug her.

“There is Sirius.” Ellie whispers. Y/N follows her gaze and found Sirius just a little away from them, looking at the lake alone.

“I am going to talk to him.” She says, getting up.

“Best of luck.” Ellie smiles at her.

Y/N walks to him, making sure her footsteps are as quiet as they can be against the grass. She bit her lip anxiously, finding the right words before standing beside him.

“Sirius.” She whispers.

He snaps his gaze at her.

“I have noticed you have been rather alone. I thought you might want some company.” She says, smiling up at him hopefully.

Sirius scowled at her and turns away abruptly and struts away.

She watched him walk away to the castle, her heart slowly breaking into a thousand pieces just like his.

-/-

“James!” Y/N yelled in the corridors, running upto him.

James turned to her, smiling at her. “Hello, y/n, how are you?”

“I have been good, thank you for asking. How is your head? That fall from the broomstick seemed painful.” She says, eyeing the bandage on his head.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He shrugs. “Come along, I am going to have a walk by the Quidditch Pitch.”

Y/N nods and follows him, hugging her novel to her chest as they got out of the castle. They walk in silence till they reach a secluded area.

“So how do I have the pleasure to be blessed by your presence?” James asked in his usual dramatic tone.

Y/N chuckled a bit in amusement. “Well, I wanted to ask you something. It might invade your privacy a bit though, so I apologise in advance.”

James nodded, letting her continue.

She looked at the grass as she talked. “I have noticed that Sirius is being pretty aloof and, um, mean. Has something happened? I am very concerned about him.”

James sighs, coming to a stop and facing her.

“You deserve an explanation, you really do, but this isn’t my secret, love.” James says, running a hand through his ever messy hair.

She looked up at him, tilting her head a bit. “I am just very concerned, but okay, I understand.”

James sighs heavily again. “I will tell you but you can’t tell a single soul, please.”

“I promise I won’t.” She says earnestly.

“So you see,” James began, “Sirius was, um, cursed by someone that anyone who loves him will get hurt.”

She gasps.

“Or die.” He added.

“That’s so cruel.” She whispers, not even being able to fathom how lonely and terrible he must be feeling.

She was pulled into a hug by James, and she didn’t even notice the tears that were running down her cheeks.

“He has been staying away from everyone. And it’s pretty obvious that you’re in love with him.” James finishes, rubbing her back gently.

Y/N squeezed her eyes close as she hugged him back, tears still pouring out of her eyes.

How could someone dare to do this to Sirius? she thought.

She suddenly parted away, wiping away the tears by her hands. “I can help!” She says.

James looks at her sadly. “We have tried a lot, and we are not getting anywhere.”

“No James, you don’t understand. My godfather is the head of Department of Cursebreaking. If I call him here on the Hogsmeade weekend, he can come and help us out.” She says, her voice full of hope.

James lips parted in suprise. “Are you sure it won’t be any trouble?”

“Of course not! He has a liking for me and he always tells me to write to him if I am in any trouble. He can handle this all, I am sure of that.” She beams at him.

James grins back and hugs her again. “You are wonderful.”

“Let’s go to the owlery and send a letter already!” She says parting away, and dragging him to the tower.

James’ grin couldn’t leave his face. Finally his friend would be alright.

-/-

“Do you see him?” Remus asks y/n as they, along with other Marauders minus Sirius, were looking for her godfather.

“He should be near Three Broomsticks.” She says, biting her lip as she looked around.

She smiled when she saw a man with jet black hair and bronze skin leaning against the wall, his hands buried in the expensive coat he was wearing. He also had a brown bag along with him.

“He is there!” She exclaims, rushing to him.

Her godfather smiled when he saw her and pushed himself off the brick wall and embraced her, kissing her hair.

“Hello uncle.” She smiles.

“Hi Y/N/N, how are you?”

“Just fine. How are you?”

“Brilliant.” Christian glanced at the boys. “You all must be Y/N’s friends.”

“Yes, sir. I am James, he is Remus, and that is Peter.” James says earnestly.

“Nice to meet you all,” Christian nods. “Also, please call me Christian. Let’s get inside the shop, it’s freezing outside.”

They all rushed into the shop and sat at a table, ordering four butterbeer and a firewhiskey.

“Oh, by the way, Y/N,” Christian says, handing her the bag, “for you.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, opening peaking into the bag and she gasps. “All the works of Shakespeare! Uncle, you didn’t have to-”

“None of that, I know you love muggle literature and he is like the Merlin there or something,” He shrugs.

The boys exchanged a look at that.

Shakespeare wasn’t a Merlin of muggles, but they didn’t care to correct him.

The drinks were served and the talk began.

“So, Y/N, why did you call me here?” Christian asks, sipping his whiskey.

“Uncle, one of my friends has got cursed. Could you please help him out?” She asks him.

“Of course I will. What curse was it?”

“Christian,” James began. “He was cursed by someone that anyone who will love him will get hurt or die.”

Christian’s eyes widened at that.

“And who used that curse?” His voice was now grave.

“We are in no position to tell you that, sir. I mean no disrespect but we can’t disclose that without our friend’s consent.” Remus says.

Christian nods.

“Understandable. The use of that curse can results into one way trip to Azkaban without trial. It is hard to break, not impossible but hard.” He nods.

“Oh.” Y/N mumbles.

“Can I meet this friend of yours?” He asks James.

“Of course, he is in the forest right now. I can call him here.” James offered.

“No, that would waste a lot of time. If we two go there, it’ll be faster.”

“I am coming too!” Y/N exclaims.

“And me.” Remus adds.

“Me too.” Peter says.

“Very well, then.” Christian sighs, knowing that ressurecting the dead is easier than convincing anything to teenagers.

The five of them then made their way to the forest, while Christian asked the boys generic questions.

What do you wanna do later in your life? Ah, auror? Excellent. What about you, Remus? A professor, lovely. Mind it that students only get worse with time when it comes to mischief.

Y/N paid half a mind to the chatter and was more focused on finding Sirius. She caught a glimpse of the raven haired boy who was dressed in an expensive coat, no shocker there, kicking a few pebbles around.

“There he is!” Y/N exclaims, and rushed to Sirius without waiting for the rest of the group.

“Sirius!” She calls out for him.

The said boy turned around, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he sees his friends and a strange man.

“What?” He asks, in a gentler tone than the one from their previous encounters.

“So, mate,” James began sheepishly, “I, um, told Y/N about the situation-”

“YOU WHAT?”

“She deserved an explanation, you know it bloody well. And she found a way to help you out.” James says, a bit scared due to the outburst of his friend.

“We have already talked to some curse breakers and they said it’s impossible.” Sirius snaps.

“Who said that?” Christian raises an eyebrow.

“Mr. Henry Jones, sir.” Sirius answered.

“Jones isn’t that advanced curse breaker. He is good for the common curses, but the one that you’re suffering with, he wouldn’t be efficient in dealing with that. However, I can help you break this curse.” Christian answers.

“You can?” Sirius blinked in astonishment.

“Of course, I can. I am the head of the Cursebreaking department. However, we would have to do it tomorrow. I would need another wand to help me with it.”

“I can help!” Y/N exclaims, blushing when everyone turned to her in surprise.

“I won’t doubt your skills, love, but I need someone professional with me.” Christian smiles kindly at her.

“Oh, okay.” She murmurs.

“Sirius, can I please have a word with you in private?” Christian asks.

“Of course, sir.”

The two walked away from the group, Christian keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings. They reached to a secluded area.

Christian takes his wand out and flicks it while Sirius looked at him curiously.

“I don’t want anyone eavesdropping.” Christian answers the unasked question.

“I want to know who did this to you.” Christian says, sitting beside him on the rock.

“I can’t tell you that.” Sirius says, looking at the ground.

“Sirius, this curse is against the law and is a part of the dark magic. I can’t let go of this problem without arresting the one who caused it. You will be safe, I will assure you that. I can provide you security too, if you want.” Christian offers.

“I am sorry, sir, I just can’t.” Sirius shakes his head.

Christian sighs. “Was it a member of your family?”

Sirius nods solemnly.

“I can already make guesses, child, since I know a few people of your family well enough. But I respect your silence. If you change your mind, don’t forget to contact me.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sirius says sincerely.

“Of course, Sirius. I just want to tell you one more thing.” Sirius nods. “All of us need love to exist, and you’re no exception to it. You deserve love just as much as anyone else on this planet. Don’t forget that.” Christian got up and offered Sirius a kind smile.

“I won’t forget it, sir, thank you.”

Christian didn’t miss the tear that slipped away from his eyes but decided to say nothing.

-/-

“Moony, take everyone else away.” Sirius whispered in his friend’s ear as they all walked in the hallways of Hogwarts after their trip.

“Best of luck.” Remus gave him a smile before dragging away James and Peter to Gryffindor common room.

Sirius offered a hand to Y/N who happily accepted it and was led away by the gryffindor boy to a secluded hallway.

“Y/N.” Sirius whispers, not being able to look in her eyes. “I am so terribly sorry for being so mean to you these past weeks. I just wanted you to fall out of love with me. I couldn’t bear to watch you get hurt. I am so sorry.”

Y/N cupped his face and made him look at her. “You don’t have to apologise for anything, Sirius. I understand and I would have done the same if I was in your position.”

Sirius looked at her as a storm of whirling emotions was taking over his body. He was grateful, upset, happy, excited, aching, and feeling a thousand emotions all at once, and it was suffocating almost.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you did.” He whispers, stepping closer to her.

She smiled at him. “You don’t have to thank me either, I couldn’t bare the sight of you in grief.”

“I am convinced, my love,” he looks into those tantalizing eyes that he dream of most of his nights, “that you’re an angel.”

Bashful peonies bloomed in her cheeks as heat was taking over her body. She couldn’t help but hug him tightly, her hands around his neck as his went around her waist.

“You deserve love, Sirius.” She whispers in his ear. “I want you to know that you deserve so much love that you’re exploding with it, so much that you’re drowning in it willingly. You deserve the love that makes universes collide with one another. You deserve that is powerful enough to ignite the sun. You deserve it all, Sirius. All of it.”

Sirius couldn’t comprehend how could someone have so much love, and that too for him. He wanted to take those words away from her and morph them into a jewel and make it a locket that he would wear even after death, which would rest near his heart to remind him of this moment until the time ends.

Sirius blinked his tears away, as he pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes. “I have no idea what I deserve in this world, but I do know that if I want love, I want it from you and no one else.” He whispers, cupping her face as if she was the most magnificent creation of the gods, which to she indeed was.

According to him, gods must have spared several infinities to ponder and create her. Each part of her was weaved in the threads of gold and unparalleled jewels that Sirius could not name. He was certain that Aphrodite herself must have blessed her to be the most enchanting human being.

“May I kiss you?” He whispers, looking at her lips which he so desperately wanted to kiss.

“Yes, please.” She whispered back.

The two of them lean in and their lips brush against one another, and they felt the real magic that no wand can produce. Only together could it be produced.

They could barely think of anything but the divine feeling that was filling their lungs instead of oxygen. The sweetness of it invaded their veins and it danced along with their blood.

It was that moment they found it, they can’t find this kind of love anywhere but in each other. It was the kind of love that created life. It didn’t need words to describe itself, for the words could barely capture a sliver of what it is.

Y/N parted away, heaving as she leaned against his shoulder, her eyes shutting close to feel the love he had for echo in her soul. Sirius’ lips however trailed their way to her neck and started softly kissing her there.

“Will you be mine, love?” He asks her in a whisper.

She gave him a smile that made him question the definition of ethereal he was told by his elders.

“I have always been yours, darling.”

-/-

Y/N was waiting anxiously along with the three Marauders. Sirius was with Christian and another curse breaker named Matthew. All of it had been discussed with Dumbledore by Christian and they were granted permission to take Sirius to the ministry where the things would be executed more efficiently.

“He will be alright.”

“James whom are you convincing, yourself or us?” Remus snorts but James pay no mind to him.

Y/N was pacing in their dormitory, James was tugging at his hair, Remus was relatively calmer than others but he was still fidgeting, and Peter was stress eating a batch of cookies his grandmother sent him.

Y/N stopped when she saw the door in front of her open up and a beaming Sirius came in. She immediately rushed to him and flung herself at him.

Sirius caught his girl and hugged her tightly, kissing her hair. “It worked.” He whispers just loud enough for everyone to hear.

“HELL YEAH!” James whooped.

Y/N pulled Sirius into a kiss, ignoring everyone else. It was a slow kiss that slowed down the time along with it. They were both blissfully wrapped up in feeling stars explode in their bodies to look at others.

Sirius soon pulled away and kissed her forehead before going and hugging his friends. James had tackled him on the floor due to sheer happiness that was practically lighting up the room.

His brother was alright and that’s what mattered to him right now, and nothing else did.

After Sirius was done hugging everyone, he fell on the bed.

“I am bloody exhausted and I am going to sleep.” He announces before looking at Y/N. “Please cuddle me.”

“Whipped.” Peter mumbles as Y/N laid on bed beside Sirius who pulled her to himself and was clinging to her like a Niffler clings to his gold.

“We are leaving, too much PDA for my liking.” James announces and takes his two friends with him to the common room.

Sirius didn’t respond to them and only nuzzled his head in her neck, kissing the skin there before sighing.

“Thank you, my love.” He whispers.

She shuddered seraphically at the feeling of his lips against her neck. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do, you bloody well know I do.” He whispered, holding her closer as his eyes were beginning to shut. “But we will talk about it later. All I want is to sleep in the arms of the most ethereal girl in the world.”

Y/N kissed his hair and smiled. “I love you, Sirius.”

He smiles. “I never get tired of hearing those words or my name from your mouth.”

“I adore you, Sirius and I will say it till my last breath.”

He hums and pulls away a little, kissing her nose.

“Will you sing me a song?” He asks.

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t sing.”

Sirius pouted and tilted his head a little. “You won’t sing for me?”

She hums, pretending to think.

“On one condition.” She plays his curls which made him grin.

“Anything.” He replies eagerly.

“You have to kiss me.”

“My pleasure.” And he leaned into another breathtakingly enchanting kiss, confessing their eternal love by the movements of their lips.

-/-/-/-

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imnotusedtobeingloved · 3 years

Text

EQUALLY LUCKY

(PLEASE DON’T REBLOG!)

Warnings: Internal conflict / Mental struggles.

Pairing: Azula x f!Reader

Characters: Azula, Zuko, Izumi.

Requested: Yes!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor the gif. Credit to the owners.

Summary: You get a glimpse into Azula’s life years after Sozin’s Comet, with you by her side.

A/N: This was my first time making an x reader with Azula, so i’m very nervous to post this lol. It got way more angsty than i intended it to be, but i also wanted to try and stay true to Zula’s character to some extent. And i very much hope i did. Thank you for the great request @the-desert-shewolf i hope this is what you were looking for.

“Zuzu, you don’t look so good!”

The last Agni Kai. It was a day that was forever branded into your mind. You could still remember the heat of her flames. How her patient, strategic mind slipped into a rash and impulsive demeanor. She’d fataly wounded her own brother. Ready to do the same to Katara, if she hadn’t stopped her. And that was when you’d found her. Chained to a grid on the floor like an animal, crying in despair and spitting fire like a dragon. Nobody dared to go near her for hours. Nobody but you. “You need to stop, Azula,” You’d cried tears of your own as you forcefully hugged her, body winding against yours. Still trying to free herself. Still trying to fight. Still trying to win. “Please... I’m begging you...” Her whimper broke your heart. You were all that she had left.

There were times when not even a heartfelt “I love you,” could save her. Instead it was interpreted as a further manipulation through her mother. The so called ‘Puppetmaster’. She felt so far out of reach.

But not all days were bad. Sometimes Azula remembered. In the bright hours she recalled your supportive actions and words. You always hoped they would give her some kind of strength. And it wasn’t any easier to face those hardships yourself. To love someone who was hurt so very deeply.

“Being damaged doesn’t give you the right to abuse others,”

A lot of people called her crazy. Called you crazy for feeling affection towards the princess. But what were you supposed to do? You couldn’t just ignore them. Or turn them off. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t what you wanted. All you were trying to do was to care for a person you’d known since you were a kid. A childhood friend, teenage crush and an adult lover. Where Zuko had been saved by Iroh, Azula had been saved by you. But it wasn’t quite the same. You'd just been a little kid yourself at the time.

“Are you going to see Azula?” You nodded, smiling at Zuko over your shoulder. The robes of the Fire Lord really suited him. “I am. I want to surprise her with a picnic,” He raised a brow, curiously leaning over the little basket on the table before you. You’d spent hours picking out different kinds of tarts and snacks, trying not to get in the way of the cooks.

It was a perfect summer day. The climate was warm and mild. Your timing couldn’t have been better.

Years had passed since Sozin’s Comet occured. Years full of anxiety and anger. But finally you’d arrived in a part of your life, where things were looking up again. The time spend supporting Zuko as the Fire Lord hadn’t been wasted. Both of you worked together on a daily basis. Especially when it came to his sister. Despite everything she had done, he couldn’t deny that he held a soft spot for her. So it was no wonder that she resided in one of the finest suites of the palace. After being monitored and treated for ages, her mental heatlh finally regained stability.

“She’s lucky to have you, (Y/N),” He said, attempting to steal one of the tarts only to earn a slap on the hand. Grumbling he retreated, watching as you checked the contents again, before closing the lid. “Maybe,” You turned around to face your friend. “But i’d like to think we’re equally lucky,”

Your picnic was set up in the gardens, by the fountain, under the old apple tree.

Her whole life Azula only gained approval from two people. Her father and you. The few moments of empathy she experienced were supported by you. If she had a nightmare late at night, you’d crawl into bed with her. When you reduced the choice between you two to physical affection, Ozai couldn’t keep up with you. The mixed messages her parents gave her as a child were what lead her into misery. But her best friend, someone of the same age, stuck by her.

Eventually you’d won her over. Relationships were rekindled. Needs were met.

And right this moment, you were beyond glad that you had. “There you are, sugarplum,” An involuntary grin spread on your face. You’d been so busy with displaying everything perfectly that you hadn’t heard her come up behind you. “I see you haven’t grown tired of the petnames,” That nickname would truly stick with you for life. She’d once used it mockingly, back when you visited Ember Island. And she did ever since. It was always used with an edge of sarcasm, but never empty of love.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, would you (Y/N)?” You turned around to her, reaching for one of her hands. Her fingers intwined themselves with yours. “Of course not, Azula,” Pulling her towards your little arrangement, you sat down on the blanket, leaning against the strong stem of the tree and patting the spot beside you.

Since her recovery she’d formed a habit of over-sharing her feelings and often apologizing more than nessecary. Those were new sides that you had to grow accustomed to, but that weren’t unwelcome. Nevertheless you were relieved that she also kept some of her wit. She knew she could be free with you. Didn’t need to fear any jugdement. Some days were harder than others. On those Azula would cry a lot. And so would you. You couldn’t stand seeing her so broken.

“Keep it together, (Y/N),” She would say at first, making you laugh through your tears. “It’s okay,” You’d reassure her time and time again. “Healing takes time,”

It was hard to face all those bottled up emotions after such an amout of time. It wasn’t her favorite way to deal with things at first, but she quickly found it helped. And it didn’t take long for her to tell you.

“Sharing your tears doesn’t make you weak,” She’d repeat your words in her darkest times. It brought her comfort. Kept her from going back to her old ways.

The princess moved to sit in the spot next to you, but she never made it that far. Small feet rushed through the grass, running straight into her legs. A tiny, little person curled around them, hugging her as far as she could reach. “Zula!” They squeaked.

The so-called ‘Zula’ raised a brow and crossed her arms, looking down at the little troublemaker. “What do you think you’re doing here?” The girl only lifted her hands in response. You stiffled a smile as Azula picked her up. “Where is your father? Didn’t he want to spend time with you?” Yes he did. And he arrived right on time. “Izumi?” Zuko looked around, searching for her, until he spotted you. The princess was snuggling into her aunt’s chest, a place that always felt warm. You knew it best. “There you are!” His sister raised a brow, tapping her foot on the ground, when he walked up to the three of you. When they stood next to each other, the family-resemblance was undeniable. They shared the same shade of amber eyes, the soft umber strands, and the fair, spotless skin.

It was another person that had helped Azula on her journey. Izumi.

The girl got to experience the childhood the siblings never had. She was proof that princesses didn’t have to be perfect all the time. Nobody did. And she loved her aunt without any doubt or fear.

“You really need to keep better watch on her, Zuzu. This is already the fifth time this has happened,” The Fire Lord nodded, holding his hands out. “Of course. It won’t happen again, i promise,” Azula tried handing her niece over, who whined, clinging to her neck. “But i mean, now that we’re already here, we could also just join you on your picnic,” He argued, pointing to his daughter who held onto Azula’s clothes with all her might. “Izumi seems to like the idea,” You squinted your eyes at him. This was definetely not a coincedence. Accidents don’t repeat themselves that often. “Admit it, Zuko. You’ve purposefully told Izumi that her aunt is here, only so you could get your clutches on our food again!” You’d connected the dots and read the situation. He’d taken a glimpse into your basket every time before you went out the past times. Particular interest always occured when it contained those delicous fruit tarts. With rose pedals on top. He gasped. “No, i didn’t!”

“He’s lying,” Azula said, rolling her eyes. Izumi proceeded to tell her father that “Lying is bad!” which earned her a gentle pat on the head from her aunt.

Nevertheless they swayed you to share some of the ‘goodies’ as Izumi liked to call them. Finally you had Azula were she belonged. Next to you. Her niece sat in her lap, munching happily as your lover ran her hand through her hair. It had taken some time until she’d been allowed to see Izumi at first. Zuko and her mother hadn’t let them meet each other until his sister was completely stabile. Additionally he didn’t want to put Azula through something she couldn’t handle at the time. Their first meeting had been nervewracking for everyone who watched, but an eye-opening event for the two princesses. They seemed comfortable. Content with each other. Sometimes Azula would act as if Izumi bothered her. But she couldn’t deny that she was fond of the girl.

It was also no secret that Azula was clearly the ‘coolest aunt’. At least from Izumi’s perspective. She looked up to her as the strongest female firebender, to be known. Of course she was still too young to fight. But that didn’t stop her from constantly begging the siblings for stories. “Can you tell me a story?” She’d ask, making a pout. “I’ve told you stories countless times,” Her aunt replied, booping her upturned nose. “Another one, pleeease?” Azula sighed. Zuko chimed in, coming to her aid. He started telling the tale of the ‘Dance of Dragons’ in great detail, paying no mind to his sisters sarcastic comments interrupting the tale. Izumi was exstatic about both of them engaging in the narrative. When the story was completed, he beamed at Azula. “Remember when mother used to take us to watch the Ember Island Players perform this play? Afterwards you and i would reenact every scene. I don’t get why i always had to be the dark water spirit, tough,” His sister scoffed, not hiding her gleefull smirk. “Clearly, i made a better dragon emperor,” Her niece laughed at their antics, clapping her little hands. You could comprehend her joy. It was hilarious to have them both participate.

Unfortunatly, Izumi couldn’t escape her duties forever. “Bye, auntie Zula! Bye auntie (Y/N)!” She waved when Zuko carried her back inside. Upon her loopsided smile, Azula couldn’t help but grin, waving back. It wasn’t a sneer or a grimace. It was a genuine expression of so much beauty, that it took your breath away. When she turned back to face you, she furrowed her brows. “Why are you looking at me like that?” There were a ton of reasons. You didn’t even know were to start. So your delight had to be expressed differently. Her lips weren’t far from yours. It took a mere second to connect them. They were soft, as always. She tasted sweet, like the pastries she’d eaten before. “You’re my everything,” you mumbled, her lips still brushing yours. You see her eyes watering as she struggled to speak her next words. They reminded her of all that she’d endured. And yet you’re important enough for her to pull through. “I love you, (Y/N),”

A moment later the tears were replaced by a smile. Her hands came to rest on your cheeks, one of her thumbs running over your bottom lip, removing the lipstick hers had left. You yelped as she abruptly grabbed your shoulders, pulling you to rest your head in her lap.

She worked to untangle your locks, massaging your scalp in the process. Her nails lightly scraped your skin every so often. It felt relaxing. Heavenly. The smell of smoke and leather teased your senses. Something so familiar that it was like home. You allowed yourself to close your eyes for a moment, being at peace with just... feeling her. Being in her presence.

“Agni, you look just as self satisfied as my niece,” She playfully remarked.

The slight breeze made the leaves rustle softly. “Why wouldn’t i?” You chuckled, slowly opening your eyes to look up at her. Her slim fingers hadn’t stopped spoiling you. She looked stunning in the midday sun. Her eyes glowed like molten gold, framed by long, dark lashes, casting shadows on her cheeks. “I’m being pampered by the princess herself. I consider myself to be very lucky,” Her lips pulled into a smile as she caught your gaze.

“You’re right, (Y/N). We are lucky,”

Because everything you did for her, she would return tenfold.

Despite all the hardships, neglect and abuse she’d suffered, Azula had managed to get out on the other side.

Stronger, and better than ever.

Reconnected to the world around her, she remained one of the most powerful fire benders. Her blue flames offering protection wherever you’d go.

When she’d first felt affection towards you, she thought you were her weakness.

Now she knew you were her strength.

#azula x reader #azula redemption #azula avatar #azula x you

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beauvibaby · 3 years

Text

this is what it takes - m.barzal

requested [x] yes [] no

request - I remember seeing you post about shawn's doc and it got me thinking like the song if this is what it takes.. maybe something inspired by it with barzy or something 🤷🏽‍♀️

warnings: depression, insecurities

When you met Mat, six months ago, you were in a bad place, really, and he understood that, he has been nothing but patient and caring with you. Although, personally, he couldn’t relate to how your mind would work, he did everything he could to learn the ins and outs of it, anything he could do to help. And it worked—for a while, then, then he told you he loved you, after three months, and you panicked, of course you loved him too. You loved him long before he said the words, but hearing him vocalize it, sent you into a spiral of insecurity.

Being in love, that was something new to you, true love at least, there have been guys in the past that you thought you loved, but Mat was different. He didn’t care that you had a hard time being super outgoing, he knew it was difficult for you, and he wouldn’t push you to do anything that made your mind race. But, you also knew that your relationship would become public information eventually, it was hard to keep something like that under wraps, especially with the season about to start again. You loved to watch him play, you didn’t care if it meant you had to be sandwiched into the overfilled arena, it was like you were in your own bubble watching him, he loved having you in the crowd, not only did it make him even more motivated to play his best, but he enjoyed being able to look out into your seat and check on you.

Now, you were asleep on his chest, when he had came home from practice, you didn’t have to speak for him to see that you had quite the morning. He stayed silent when he took in your wide bloodshot eyes, the way they were brimmed in red, a clear tell that you’d been crying. Mat took the few short steps over to you, maneuvering around you on the couch, laying flat on his back, pulling you into him. Your legs tangling with his, your hair falling over his chest. “Wanna talk about what’s going on in that pretty little head?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, knowing that you always got headaches there when you cried. You stayed silent, your nerves getting to the best of you, he nodded against you. “I love you.” He added, lacing your with his, to keep you from picking at your nails any longer. “I love you.” You whispered, voice rough, his heart clenched, even if he didn’t know what was running in your mind, he felt the ache in his chest just from the way you were so clearly struggling.

He knew it wasn’t always like this, you’d been good for so long, so he wasn’t surprised that this was such a hard downward spiral you were dealing with.

His mind wandered as he looked down at your peaceful figure, your breathing deep and slow as you drifted into a sleep that he could tell you needed. He played with your hair, grounding himself, keeping his mind from getting out of hand. You smiled softly in your sleep, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was him you were thinking of… he really hoped it was.

***

The cat was out of the bag, clear as day, Tito had been hanging out with the two of you, and posted something on his Instagram story, you and Mat curled up together in the background. Instantly, both yours and Mat’s phone were going off, friends questioning your reveal. Of course, that’s not what either of you had planned. The next morning while he was getting ready for the game later that day, he asked if he could post a picture of the two of you, wanting the information to be from him, and not the way people were speculating. You hesitated, but agreed, under the agreement that you got to pick the photo, he nodded, grateful that you agreed. He wanted to keep you from as much negativity as possible, at least until the two of you were completely solid, not that you weren’t already, but he knew you were still catching up with him, mentally.

He posted the photo you picked, one from over the summer, when he flew you to his hometown to spend a week with him, you met his family, and that’s when you knew he was the only one you ever wanted to be with.

“Love of my life”

The caption was simple, and he didn’t tag you, not wanting people to have direct access to your profile, despite it being private, he knew you’d be spammed with requests. You smiled at his post, going over to him and pulling him down by his chain for a kiss. “I love you, thank you, for everything.” You whispered, you learned quickly to not feel shameful with him, about how you struggled, which that in itself made you feel a hundred times better, you were completely and totally yourself with Mat. “I love you, baby.” He sighed, kissing you once more before having to continue getting his things together.

***

You sat at the game, glass side ticket, of course, Mat had insisted, with it being the first game of his season. “Is that her?” You heard behind you, and you knew, this was going to be the longest game of your life. You adjusted the Barzal jersey on your frame, crossing your jean covered legs, resisting the urge to bounce your knee. “Could be.” The two voices continued bickering, your eyes widened as they spoke of things that they shouldn’t even know.

“I heard they already live together, gold digger anyone?” The nasally voice giggled and you felt bold, taking a glance back at them. They looked like they were living off of their parents, young and caked in makeup, it made your stomach turn. They caught your gaze and their faces went blank, you turned back towards the ice, watching the guys skate out. Your mind began to race, first with how they even knew about your living situation, secondly with how you suddenly felt out of place to be living with him so soon. It just worked out that way, it wasn’t weird to the two of you, you had been together for nearly five months when your lease was up, and he knew you hated your apartment, it was far from your job, far from him, and just utterly worn down. He offered, even telling you he’d sleep in the spare room if it was to soon for you, not that you hadn’t spent the night with him before, but he didn’t want to make you feel pressured to do anything. You’d laughed at him, pulling him in for a kiss, “I’m not going to move in with my boyfriend and make him sleep in the spare room.” He released the tension from his shoulders, kissing you back, happy that you agreed.

The figure in front of the glass caught your attention, Mat smiling brightly at you, you mirror his look, he was breaking down your walls, slowly, and it felt good. You had to admit, you hadn’t felt so confident in yourself in a long time, you were confident in your relationship with him, with your job, with the life the two of you were quickly building together.

You gave him a lot of credit for how much better you had started becoming, you didn’t have those bad days as often, he was bearing the pain with you.

Your mother had chastised you when you moved in, saying you were co dependent, but you explained to her—it wasn’t like that, he supported you and you supported him, that made the both of you better. Even if somewhere down the line, things no longer worked between the two of you, you knew he would have always changed your life for the better.

As they began to prepare for puck drop, you pulled your phone out, going to your own Instagram, changing your profile to public, you wanted to brag about him, selfishly, you wanted to be able to post him and have the world see how happy you two are. You pulled up a recent picture, from the two of you going to the Statue of Liberty, you were on the ferry ride over to it when you pulled out your phone, turning to take a photo with it in the background when Mat stuck his head in the frame, grinning widely, you laughed as you took the picture. A genuine moment between the two of you.

“A whirlwind of six months with him, but I wouldn’t change a thing with my love”

You posted the picture, tagging him in it before locking your phone and putting all your focus into the game, cheering louder than usual every time they scored. It felt good to release the worries.

***

Mat stared at his phone, shock evident on his features as he looked at your post, he liked it and left a comment of a kissy face, chuckling at the gesture. He rushed out of the locker room, pre game suit back on, he spotted you leaning against the wall, a smile covering your face when you saw him.

“I’m so proud of you.” He spoke the second he reached you, arms engulfing you, “proud?” You giggled wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. “Yes, you’ve come so far. I-I just love you so much.” He stuttered out, cheeks burning bright red, your heart skipped a beat. “I love you so much.” You told him, smiling cheekily, he laughed under his breath. He was happy that you hit this turning point, he was even more happy to be here to watch you blossom into your full potential.

taglist: @starkeysdunn @wtfkie @kempe @vincecdunn @literarycharleton @jackiesquinn

#imagine #imagines #requested #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal imagines #Mathew barzal #Mathew barzal imagine

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juhakn · 3 years

Text

Spring Had Just Ended

Words count: 7.5k

Theme: Slowburn, angst, fluff, established friendship

Pairing: Ten Lee and reader

summary: this summer is not what you expected when your childhood friend is back in town for a month break from college. the same person, the same feelings

You lost your cat.

Well, rather, she was the one who got lost but for some invalid reasons, your family blames you for the incident. May I remind you, an incident you clearly do not have anything to do with.

So here you are, with your friend Ten; whom you consider is very useless in your journey of finding the cat. I am a cat person, he states. You cock my eyebrow at him, completely disagreeing with his statement. He hops on the rocks, the wet rock that lives in the shallow river. It used to be your hiding spot-your cat, Thian loved to follow you here.

But college got you two caved in.

The both of you forgot to keep each other updated as he studies in Thailand, his home city while you're stuck here, in a town you're getting tired with. He would always nag every chance he gets about how you're wasting my intelligence over a small town that doesn't offer great majors.

"It holds a special place in my heart," is what you'd say.

Right now, you feel like dropping.

Holding your phone, you continue to follow wherever he goes-except Thailand. Maybe you shouldn't have brought him with you, maybe both of you shouldn't have decided to come back here in summer. He stops, "hey remember this?" he grins, his hand grasping a rock, carved with his initial and yours. Your lips couldn't help but lift themselves into a gentle smile, "yes I do, idiot."

"I remember you telling me a cat person should be able to attract cats within 50 miles away- which is complete bullshit by the way-and I somehow wore a fucking cat ears just to prove you I am one, in Halloween." He looks at you with an idiotic smile on his face. The same old smile that always makes your heart do laps.

"for the record, we were 13 and yes, a cat person should be able to attract cats within 50 miles away. You were just in denial like you are right now," you scoff.

You're the one who's in denial.

[23:17]

The quest in searching for your family (and yours) beloved Thian was a fail.

But somehow, Ten did end up in your house, eating dinner with your mother who keeps complaining about how he doesn't remember her anymore (because it's his first time visiting her in three years). You're fiddling with the spaghetti you're trying to find interesting.

Ten was a friend you met during high school, he moved from Thailand to your small town- something you're intrigued by. Why would someone ever fly all the way from a beautiful country that has little bits to everything to a small, secluded, town that absolutely doesn't have everything?

My parents wanted somewhere closed off, he would say, with a shrug followed by.

He wasn't your neighbour, or at least in your point of view (you think neighbours are the ones who lives beside, not in front of two houses by) he was a classmate.

You couldn't speak Thai, but Ten still would talk in his native language with you. Slowly, you would pick up some words but that was after he rushed to college. You never had a chance to show off your skill. Not that he's here...you feel off.

Ten was just like anyone else, he showed no interest in learning but is forced to. He once confessed about dropping school so he could become a performer.

In which he left you, for a dance major.

For his dream.

You once watched him dance. It was the month before he left for Thailand, chasing his dream. He let his warm hand slid into yours, gently grasping your fingers and stroking your hand with his thumb.

"I wanna show you something." And he did, he tugged you to your secret little space by the stream.

You watched him take off his shoes, switching them with his ballet ones. He had a big grin plastered on his face, "okay, I'm not that good so...please tell me how I did." As his toes pointed to the ground, he took a deep breath and twirl with passion.

He was a ballerino and you were falling.

[10:44]

"Do you think she'll come back?"

It was a question you loved to ask yourself. It was winter and you were lost. You still are, but you think you're getting back on track now that he's here.

Both of you decided to catch up with life, drove to the city and hang out in a newly opened cafe. There's no talking, but it's not awkward. Rather, it's comforting. You stop picking with your vanilla cake.

You look at your friend's eyes, oh-you could stare into those beautiful brown eyes of his for god who knows-you sigh, "I don't know Ten, I don't know." And it isn't a question, it's a dilemma.

Should you tell him how you feel or should you not?

You clench your teeth, the bitter taste on your tongue stayed. You just want to dance with him, you want to tell him, take your hand and wish he'd take it like his life depends on it. But that's okay, you think. But that's fine, you think. But that's nice, you think

But that hurts, you smile.

"Does Mrs Millers still sell her cherry ade? Man, I miss those days when we got them for free. I never understood why she didn't want to market it. She could be a millionaire for all we know." Ten huffs, his palm resting on his chin. He had always had pretty features, a button nose, big doe eyes, beautiful tanned skin and long eyelashes.

You couldn't bring yourself to think about his lips, you're scared you might jump onto his pink ones.

He looks at you and you reply with a shriek, "she doesn't sell them but she does still give us them," you pause, "free of charge."

Ten hums, eyes darting away from yours.

He looks at the pedestrians crossing the street, the woman walking her raging chihuahua and a man beside her with his golden retriever. The old grumpy man wearing a checkered patterned flat cap, thrusting his hands into his old, thorned brown leather jacket. Those girls chatting while eating ice cream in the hot summer wearing a matching strawberry dress.

You chuckle softly, the old man must love his grandchildren to death. You wonder if he even does have one.

In your small town, they don't have a cute modern cafe but an old vintage one. It's a cute, small building that has gone old, probably more than two decades. Its owner is an old lady named Michelle Suh whose husband is far below 6 feet in the ground. She's a sweet lady who'd give the two of you free sandwiches after school ended.

She has gotten old, the cafe would probably be closed by a few months.

Ten's eyes wander off to the old couple swinging their hands sweetly as they cross the street, adoring each other lovely.

"I wish that could be us..."

The cream tastes awful.

[11:15]

"Have you two lads date already?" Is the first greeting Mrs Millers asked. She doesn't hesitate to express her feelings (which you do admire), it just slips off her lips.

You choke on the carbonated cherry flavoured drink, your cheeks heating up with the same colour as the deep red cherries. Ten laughs freely, brushing off the old woman with his hands jokingly, stating, "I don't think we don't suit each other."

You look down at your shoes, they're sandals with a huge sunflower on each to add more aesthetical pleasing. Or maybe you're looking at the shattered pieces of your heart.

The old woman with a cherry apron sighs, "I was wishing you two could get married after my son." She smiles bitterly, disappointed that her favourite ship is sinking.

"Oh? Jungwoo's getting married?" Her son perks your interest, you haven't seen him for years after he went to boarding school. He's a couple of years younger but he's handsome.

You noticed how Ten's face dropped after you changed the subject to Kim Jungwoo; the high school student you had a crush on. It was a phase, you say. Mrs Millers is Jungwoo's foster mom, after his parents couldn't afford to raise him so Mrs Millers took him into her family's warm embrace.

Kim Jungwoo still keeps in contact with his biological parents. You knew because he accidentally overshares about his family issues when you found him crying by the river after school. You knew because the two of you would hang out by the river before Ten came. You knew because Jungwoo was your friend.

"Jungwoo's engagement was off last minute. He's here but he's a guy with a broken heart. The love of his life left him and he's a human." You pity both Mrs Millers who's forcing her lips to smile and Jungwoo...who's overwhelmed with sadness.

"Can I talk to him, Mrs Millers?" You raise your hand, asking for her consent. She nods weakly, "you can, but I'm not sure if he'd answer." And you understand, because he hates it when someone sees him at his weakest.

Once again, you knew because he told you when he cried on your shoulder when his dog died. Tuu, a white Samoyed, was his emotional support (besides you).

You sigh, thinking of all possibilities Jungwoo might make them happen. "It's okay if he doesn't, I just miss him...I want him to know that I'm here, always."

Ten flinches, but no one noticed.

Mrs Millers walk to her fridge and take the cold ham sandwich before giving it to you. She softly whispers, "can you please bring this to him, (Y/n)? He rarely goes out these days."

You nod.

You left Ten and Mrs Millers talking to each other, completely in their world. You take a deep breath, "I hope he's okay..." And walk upstairs, carefully, without making too many noises.

You knock on Jungwoo's door, softly asking his permission for you to enter. There's no response. Twice, nothing. Thrice, still quiet. You knock aga-

Jungwoo opens his door. He has eyebags under his red, dull eyes. His skin looks lifeless, he looks lifeless. Like a zombie who has nothing to do with life. No passion, no motivation...no Kim Jungwoo.

His lips quiver seeing you and you mind yourself to not squish the cold sandwich when hugging him as you slowly take him into your arms. He sobs into your chest and you coo, "there, there, my pretty boy...I'm here, jungwoo. I'm home." You pat his back with a steady rhythm.

You gentle sway your bodies into his room and closes the door by kicking it with your toe. You caress his soft brown locks, still cooing his sweet words.

For a solid 10 minutes, his sobs have stopped. You look down at him, your thumb lifts his chin for him to connect your eyes. He looks miserable, heartbroken.

You stroke his cheek gently with your thumb, "whoever did this to you, they don't know you deserve more. You deserve better, my love." You give him a sweet longing kiss on his forehead. One that screams "I miss you!".

"Now don't cry anymore, you look like a lost sad puppy." You playfully squish his cheeks with your hands, drawing circles on his soft cheeks. His lips inch for a smile as he looks at you.

Plopping down onto his bed, he follows by resting his head on your lap as you brush his hair. It used to be a hobby of yours when you two were still in high school. You think the habit might come back.

"They said they love me," Jungwoo starts. "And I believed them..." His voice shakes, his heart couldn't bear the past. "They left me, saying we were just never meant to be...it hurts knowing that I still love them. For 4 fucking years, (Y/n)," he halts.

"For 4 fucking years, we were in love and they ended it. I left after that. I left Paris and got lost. But I'm here." He cries.

His sobs get louder when hides himself in his palms. You sigh deeply, your shaking hands' pats his head. "I know that feeling," you whisper.

You do? Jungwoo asks. For 6 years of friendship, you never talk about your love life to him. He thought you were just aroromantic, so he never really cares.

"Yeah, I do." You answered his question.

"That feeling when you're just not meant to be and now you're regretting taking their hands into yours, regretting being there for them when they're sad, regretting loving them because-"

"-they left." Jungwoo continues bitterly. You nod out a yeah, you don't mind if he interrupts, it's Jungwoo and you're willing to drop the whole world for him. You stop playing with his hair and take a moment before continuing, "or maybe you don't regret loving them. You think they're the right person, but as soon as you do...they just left."

"You wanna think it's a mistake, a mistake that they leave. But it's just regret." You playfully Boop his cute nose and he scrunch it. It's cute, you think.

"I guess we're the mistresses who fell in love with married guys." Jungwoo pouts, and you nearly squish him to death. He's adorable and you're this close to snuggle him to death.

"Except that they're not." You emphasis. "And I was going to." He says as he rolls his eyes.

You interlock your hands with him, rubbing them against your cheek. "We make mistakes but I don't know if it was ever a mistake," Jungwoo confesses rather timidly. And you know he's lost, just like you.

Two friends lost in love.

Jungwoo laughs with a thin line of sadness lined in between his sweet voice. "I think they were the ones who made a mistake for leaving us, don't you think so?" He looks up at you, eyes wide open as he asks curiously.

You hum, "in your case, yes. How could a little pretty boy who deserves the whole world got left?" You say as you bring your hands to cradle his cheeks and squish them together. You earn a lively laugh from him and honestly, that's all you ever wanted. For a moment, the two of you stare at the sunset. Into different worlds, the two of you are still able to communicate with each other. He's on his own and vice versa. It's a quiet time where you both enjoy the silence in each other's warmth. The cold sandwich has already gotten into Jungwoo's stomach and he quote, "cold ham sandwiches are superior."

Jungwoo realises about what you said so he asked, "how about yours?"

"It was my choice."

[14:54]

Ten is intimidated by Jungwoo's height but he could never bring that up or you'll tease him till death. By the time you wave at the mother and her precious son, he drags you to his bike. Ten never liked cars, he fancies bikes more than them, you recall.

"What did you guys talk about?" He asks carefully with a straight face while helping you with the helmet. You shrug, "We just talk and cuddle. That's it."

Ten halts, but quickly hops onto his bike. You watch him throwing a small tantrum-by pressing the bike's gear, creating a very loud noise. As he drives you to your house, he whines quietly.

"Cuddles? Seriously? What is he? A toddler who needs cuddles to cheer up?"

As he drops you off, he runs off-without saying goodbyes. You throw your head back, stressed over your bottled up feelings for your hot friend. Ten is hot, you admit.

For anything, he's so hot you remember thinking about him in a suit during prom in the exam that you forgot to answer the exam paper. It was embarrassing and nice. He's unbearably hot that your coffee was overflowing all because you're too busy staring at his new haircut. He's too hot that you nearly missed a traffic light while driving because you were thinking about how good he could be with you.

And Ten still doesn't know about your feelings.

And you're getting pretty tired with all those butterflies that appear every time he texts you good mornings and goodnights. You're tired of those flips your stomach does whenever he smiles at you. You're tired of your heart running miles every damn time he laughs at your corny jokes.

You throw yourself onto your soft bed, head in the pillow, socks still on your feet, your sling bag somewhere on the carpeted floor and your necklace are still on.

Tomorrow's Monday.

And you have applied to work at the small cat book cafe with Sicheng. Sicheng is a friend of Jungwoo's you met during the middle school reunion. Sicheng never liked reading but he said that's the only job the town ever has. And you agree with the Chinese man.

Ten haven't met Sicheng yet, you think.

Why does every time you try to think about anything that doesn't remind you of his gorgeous self, you always find a way back to thinking about him? It feels like he connects your universe (which he does), and you will never get lost.

But you feel as if you're disappearing in the forest of love. It's hazy, you feel dizzy. The fuzziness inside you never left and biology can't even explain the feeling scientifically. You're mad, mad in love with Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul.

You shout into the poor pillow, letting your feelings go around messing your room instead of your brain. You are tired and you have work tomorrow.

So you sleep.

Wearing earphones, sad playlist shuffles to help you lull to a deep peaceful slumber without Ten.

[19:13]

"(Y/n), (Y/n)!"

Sicheng snaps you from your daydream. You blink, twice. You still can't get him out of your head. He's just there, running through your mind, living rent-free. He should at least pay one dollar for every time he crossed your mind and you'd still get only one dollar because he never leaves.

Sicheng doesn't know who Ten is, at least visually/physically, but he knows you like the man. Sicheng could tell from the way your eyes are reflecting love or whatever that shit is. He thinks love isn't real and you do agree...halfway.

"I'm sorry-what were you saying, Sicheng?" You ask with a sheepish smile, your hand awkward scratches the nape of your neck. Sicheng pinches in between his eyebrow, forehead creasing. "I'm suggesting, (Y/n). Stop thinking about Ten!" He glares, and you absentmindedly take note of Sicheng's cuteness when angry.

"I wasn't thinking about him!" Your voice is an octave high, so it's a lie. You can't lie anyways, Sicheng's sun in the Scorpio allows him to read your mind. You don't believe in astrology-it's all just a big coincidence. Sicheng however does study astrology along with astronomy. He hates physics for that, but he believes in magical stuff and rituals.

Sicheng is a spiritual man.

He rolls his eyes, "whatever. I'm saying if we can put up posters about your missing cat around the town." You bit your lips. Ten had already done that the second he found out Thian went missing. "Ten already spread the news around. If anything happens, they'd call him before me." You sigh, Ten is a smart guy.

"He's a nice guy."

That's the problem. He's a nice guy and you're pushing him away. You're the stupid one for not getting him, not confessing to him. He could be the one, he also could be a passerby.

You want him to be in your life, not just a passerby who watches your life from afar. Not just the star who appears only when you need him. You want him to be your love, always there even if you don't need him.

Maybe just maybe, he can be your Juliet-without the tragic death event(s).

Sicheng goes back to pet the fat orange cat on the counter whilst looking out for customers. He tends to keep away from rumours about him slacking off. He leans in against the marble counter, smirking, "you know, if you keep thinking about him, I'm afraid he might show up." Sicheng snarky comment make you feel less nervous.

"You attract what you fear," you warm him. You walk back to cleaning the windows, way too occupied with talking to your handsome co-worker. Sometimes you wonder what could you have done to be blessed with attractive people in your life. You're lucky to live in the same realm, era, area, with them. And the fact that you know them...personally, is, really wholesome.

"No wonder he's here." Sicheng comments and you nearly slip. A what feels like an electric shock makes your body slightly imbalanced from the slippery tiled floor.

"Oh, shit-" you brush off the stain on your shirt. You look around, there's no Ten.

Sicheng laughs as you feel your cheeks warming up. You grasp the dirty towel and throw it onto Sicheng. You don't aim for his face because he's so pretty it hurts...yet it ended up flying directly to his forehead.

You burst out bubbly laughs, holding your stomach while Sicheng picks up the dirty towel with disgust. Sicheng looks at you and looks back at the towel. "Now, would it harm someone if I throw this to someone?" His lips curl up into a vicious smile.

You notice and quickly run between the books. You know Sicheng wouldn't dare to throw it- he might ruin the vintage. And he loves them. Summer is when we read books with cats, he states.

As the two of you continue playing around and bickers about the towel, the bell door rings. A customer has entered. Your eyes dart to the door and your knees wobble. A very, attractive young man whom you assumed is probably a graduate is greeting a calico cat named Hana. "God...why do such men always surround themselves in our lives?" Sicheng bites his lips.

"I don't know, but he is damn hot." You whisper, eyes still glancing at the stranger. "Hey, you have Ten! Enough collecting!" Sicheng flicks your forehead and you swear you heard a loud smack. You heard a soft chuckle behind you. "You know Ten?"

You turn around, dizzy. The man has a sharp nose, a defined jaw and big eyes. His cheekbones are visible and that makes him more...hot. however, hot is not the right word to describe his attractiveness. Perhaps, gorgeous does. You stutter over your words, "Yes- yes I do know Ten!" You cringed at yourself.

The man's eyes gleam under the light of the cafe upon hearing your answer. "Do you want coffee?" Sicheng interrupts, finding excuses to get away from the eye-gouging scene. It's exaggerated, he knows. The mystery man simply nods and asks for a cup of iced Americano. Sicheng's breath hitch, "basic bitch."

He doesn't mean it in a bad way.

Sicheng sets his foot to the coffee maker. The mystery man looks back at you, his charming smile never fades. He slowly leans in and whispers, "please do something about Ten. We're getting a bit annoyed by his rants." Your eyes widen, taken aback by his sudden action. The man simply takes a step back and winks, "the name's Hendery. We'll have lots of meetings from now on."

"I'm...glad?"

"Here's your coffee!" Sicheng suddenly appears and Hendery pays for it. He points his index finger to your lips and puts it on his own before mumbling about what you think is, "secret."

Hendery walks out after he pets all the cats in the cafe (which takes him around 10 minutes because they're 10 cats). Sicheng nudges your elbow, "what was that all about?" You shake your head, "I don't know but I do know he's handsome."

Although, handsome is an understatement. Hendery is...heavenly charming. Yeah, you think he suits heavenly more. However, Ten is still on top of the list. Because ten is hot as hell.

[07:27]

Spending time with cats is never on the summer bucket list but you think it completed the summer itself. You can die happily now. Not to mention now that Ten is here, summer is a bit warm for you now. Warm because you're currently holding his hand tightly-as if you'd let him go any second, on your way to watch a play.

Few hours earlier, he had invited you to watch his friend's play, Hendery, together. At first, you didn't think plays are for you. Heck, that thought never once appear in your mind. But seeing Ten was so desperate for you to be there with him, you thought, why not? It could never harm anyone.

Your heart feels giddy and fuzzy. As soon as he shows the tickets to the security, he pulls your hand excitedly. Perhaps he's just giving his friend his support.

Joy overtook you as he continues holding your hand even during the play which makes your focus on him, not the play. Though the only thing you remember is the title of the play; "Charming Lady." It is not a traditional play, Ten whispers.

It's my original idea, he grins. You scrunch your nose in confusion, plays requires money, you remember. So how in the world-oh...

It's my original idea, he grins. You scrunch your nose in confusion, plays requires money, you remember. So how in the world—oh. Ten's a famous chef's son and yet, he still doesn't know how to cook rice...for some reason (he has his mother why would he cook?). He's rich as hell, for crying out loud. Everyone would sacrifice themselves just to be served by his family. Their speciality in cooking raised everyone's standard on one's tasting buds whether by the texture, presentation or the taste itself. You once tried their signature, pineapple crab curry, cried and you swore to never discriminate food ever again.

"This...is voluntary. You could say I just want to share my world of arts with people for free. The tickets are exclusively given for people with love for art. I did some research of them...and it's intriguing." Ten lay back on his seat, careful not to spill his coffee onto the floor.

Coffee and plays, a combination you never know you need. It goes well together. The bittersweet longing taste of espresso laces within the dramatic plots of acted out scenes. Truly, a masterpiece.

[00:58]

Charming lady is a rather cliche story, you must say.

Charming lady is based off a woman's dream of becoming a wife to a rich man and travelling the world. And sadly, the man she loves moves away without her as he finds more opportunities in other countries. She would cry herself to sleep every night, wishing-maybe God would help.

Poor soul, you think.

Just like you.

Hopelessly in love with a man you know you would never have chance with. And to every each day you wish for him to look at you, may if it's just seconds, may if it's just a short while. You hope those twinkling eyes of his would shine seeing you, but you could only hope.

You hate fate.

As the story progresses, hendery is the protagonist, the villian or whatever Ten said. Now, Hendery's role is the most crucial affect to the whole plot. He thicken the play by simply pursuing the woman-a whole cliche, likewise.

But you know how it feels.

To see someone who's in love, but not you. You're desperate, you're selfish for wanting him. But how could the little heart of yours endure such a burden in the name of love? Whether it'd be yours or his. As you grew up, you understood the villain more this developing a hatred passion towards the selfish hero(es).

You couldn't shed a tear but something break your heart there.

You know Ten will be leaving again.

His love for dancing wouldn't get him anywhere if he stays here.

After the two of you watched the theatre, Ten suggested a cafe that sells good sweets. The evening is quiet beautiful today with the clouds blushing on the horizon, the sun spreading its last shiny crown for today. You look at the menu, chose one portion of banana milk smooth and a red bean flavoured bun while Ten orders Chai Tea for himself.

"Hey! I've been calling your name for 3 minutes now!!" Ten's voice sorts your thoughts back to reality. You whisk your head to look at him and apologize. "I was way in my mind." You rub your arms softly, the cold night of summer is a hassle. You may never feel his warmth again after this.

He makes an annoyed expression, "here's your smoothie. Banana. And that's probably the only thing I hate bout you, hoe." You snicker, "it's just a smoothie, Ten! You're just getting on your own nerves!" You let out a big laugh, one that make your stomach flips.

"Ew, we're definitely not soulmates." Ten says with a disgust, his tongue poking out and his eyebrows furrowed. He takes your hand in his, grasping it lightly as if you're as fragile as a glass. Your lips reach for the cold blended beverage and slowly sips. Ten watches is disbelief, his eyes narrowed-he's not a fond of fruit, his mother said 6 years ago.

"You know, that play was a first. I really appreciate it when you said you could come. I know it's not that great to you...because you've always hated love and stuff...but seeing my best friend showing up to give support is nice." His ears are red as a cherry, you noticed. Your breath got heavier as your chest thumps vigorously against your ribcage, begging to burst out.

Honestly, you don't really mind if he views you as just a friend. You are far more happy to be on his 'my loved ones' list. If you're able to make him happy, that's all that matters.

You sigh deeply, "what can I say to my parasite? I have to give everything of mine or you'd die." You ruffle his hair, smiling from ear to ear. Ten grins, like a cat, and your heart did a back flip.

"Let's go home."

Ten shakes his head upon hearing your suggestion. "Come on, (Y/n). It's been two weeks and we ever did was going to a cafe, work and sleep. Aren't you getting bored?" The man wiggle his eyebrows playfully and you know where is this going. You laugh, "Ten, I have work tomorrow and I can't afford to sleep late today."

Tomorrow's Tuesday and by now, you've just realised how time flew so fast. It feels like it was just yesterday Ten moved to your neighbourhood. It feels like it was just yesterday the first time the two of you met. It wasn't even special or dramatic like anyone's first loves, but...it is special at least to you.

Little things pasts like the waves. So you want to cherish everything before the end of the world. You are afraid of not completing the role of yours before you die but your mother always warn; "never rush into life or death will move forward." You look up, the soft night breeze softly gust onto your cheeks. A little goodnight by them. The stars are laid across the black canvas of the so called night sky.

Ten looks up too, "who said that?" He closes his eyes for a second, enjoying his youth while he still can before adulthood reaches his time. He continues, "anyways, I was going to tell you to let's go rob your cafe."

This caught your attention—he always does nonetheless. Your eyes widen as saucers, breath hitched, cheeks flushed from the cold,"are you crazy?" You stressed. Ten shrugs his shoulders and meet you in the eye. "For the cats, (Y/n). Think of the cats!" He exclaims dramatically—and you like that about him. He always care for little things, he's attentive of others. Ten may deny all of your sweet statements of his but you know better.

"You're still not over by that?" You roll your eyes and if not, you want to show him your eyeballs fall out of the sockets then put it back in. Just to show him how "annoyed" you are.

On his fourth day of vacation—1 summer free of notifications of "new assignment posted"—you had told him about how Mrs. Suh loves the cats but not enough to let them into her house. She said it reminds her of her late husband. "No, how could they let the cats caged overnight? That's like...a devil's son."

You turn to Ten, "Oh Ten, they're fed. They also will go to walk every morning. It's not like they're dying!" Your feet starts walking to its own pace on the concrete path. The city is quiet, peace and calm. Ten follows. Just like he always does and now, to you, it's time you go on your own paths for the sake of yourselves.

"Fine, fine. I admit I'm exaggerating." He thrusts his cold hands into the pocket of his denim jacket. Ten has things for fashion. Occasionally, he designs for small companies for savings or charity. You flash a grin,"do you still want to do it?" And Ten nod enthusiastically, excited.

You think for a minute and, "race you to the cafe!" You grasp onto your banana smoothie cup firmly, it's only half full. He seems to be taken aback, nonetheless, he starts chasing, shouting, "hey, that's like 20 miles on foot!"

Breathless, still on the run, you turn,"then you better get your foot on the damn pedal!"

Does Nakata ever cares about others? The outcome is a big fat no in red. But even for cats, there are some exceptions and Ten is the exception. The Siamese cat doesn't like anyone unless it's Ten Lee. But fuck the world for having only one Lee Yongqin.

[00:13]

Ten decide to only let Nakata out to avoid getting you fired.

He gently stroke the purring cat.

Oh, to be a cat is a blessing. To be pat by a man named Ten Lee is a blessing. You look in awe, "See, Nakata? I told you you're a 'tsundere'."

The cat glares, then proceeds back to enjoy his little massage therapy. He's too tired to argue you (or he just simply loves ignoring people). You chuckle, turning to Ten. "Do you want some coffee?"

Ten shakes his head briefly. "I don't want an adrenaline rush." You shrug your shoulders, his lost. "Oh please, as if college students aren't caffeine addicts. I'm dialling the pizza." You say, phone on your hand, dialling the local pizza. When you were a kid (actually still till this day), you develop a fear of ordering. And you absolutely hate it when your mom left you alone at the cashier because apparently she forgot to grab the sugar.

You had no money and you were nervous seeing the line had shorten up.

You ring up, and order one box of pepperoni. Classic choice. Nothing goes wrong with classics. Ten sighs, sinking into the torn couch. "Seriously, I live off pizza and coffee. Kun probably hates me for that." He smirks, remembering a friend from college. "There are so many reasons to hate you, darling. Hey, isn't Kun a music major?" You smirk.

Ten once told you about Kun, his roommate. Ten is the epitome of party of life and he could never turn down alcohol for God's sake. Because God forbid him being sober. And one time, he knocked out himself and Kun had to dragged his ass back home. Kun was mostly mad that he had to be responsible for Ten (because the lecturer would ask him about Ten's whereabouts). The whole campus knows they're roommates.

Ten's famous, it's expected.

And you somehow still remember it because 1)if you were to be in love, you will make sure to remember everything. 2)he complains about how kun sounds like his mom a lot—and you could never be anymore happy knowing there is someone taking care of him. 3)kun told you too. He also figured out on how much you're in love with Ten and quoted, "it's as if he's your world—no, your entire universe." And you couldn't agree more. You and kun are secretly friends behind Ten's back.

Preferably because you two gossips about him in the chat...a lot. He said they're for blackmailing if Ten ever threatens him. But you just answer, drop a basket of fruits on the welcoming mat, monotonously.

"Yeah, he always nag how we don't take care of health. Calories and whatever. Sometimes I wonder why he just don't take nutritions."

""Yeah, he always nag how we don't take care of health. Calories and whatever." Ten huffs, watching the cat jumps off his lap and dissapear somewhere between the wooden shelves. "He sounds like Winwin. That guy always nag about people's taste in coffee. He hates it when they order iced Americano because apparently, that's basic." You say with despite, because he did judge you for just ordering iced Americano. It isn't your fault for getting overwhelmed by the sudden tick of anxiety.

That was a year ago, the night you met Sicheng. It was Christmas and he was desperate to close the cafe and barely even got the cats into the cage.

Ten rolls his eyes, "tell me about it." But in the end, he knows you have a soft spot for Sicheng (though he never really know who is this man). That man is cute and has a thing for astrology? Sign (Y/n) the fuck up. Ten is still busy catching up with other people and it's selfish of you to think he'd give up his time just for you. You wish you're his only friend but Ten's an extrovert. He greets everyone and anyone.

You decide to take a bold step forward, "how's dancing?" The topic still hurts you a bit but maybe it's time to move on. What happened already happened. He looks at you dead in the eye. "You know, why can't I just dance and drop the history in dancing? Why do we have to use our brains too? It's exhausting!" He throws his arms into the air, letting out a wail. His focus now on you, he asks, "how about you?"

The question is blurry. The answer is ambiguous. Is he asking about how are you doing? Should you answer with, "oh I'm in love with you and it hurts when you weren't here," or "oh, everything's okay, even if my heart aches like shit and I nearly died from the butterflies you gave me," and you choose neither.

Instead, you reply with, "journalism is still shitty. But Miss Dahlia is shittier. She thinks the whole world revolves around her." You say with despite lacing between your teeth. You hate her with a passion for asking you to write an essay about inspiration. To be decent, you entered journalism to write articles about true crime stories.

"Elaborate."

"Please allow me to jump out of the window and bury myself into the ground."

"Straight to hell." He offers his first bump. And gladly greet him back.

"From, hell."

The doorbell rings. The pizza has arrived. You walk towards the door and grab Ten's wallet from his coat that's hanging at the door. He scowls, loud enough for you to know. You brush it off. Ten has been loving off you so it's time he returns the favour. He signed up the friendship contract, nonverbal, and it clearly states, "always feed your best friend." You smile to the delivery man and wave goodbye.

You take steps to the carpet and put the box of pizza on the coffee table. You pull your knees near your chest, taking a warm slice of pizza to relieve your hunger. "How are things for you?" You start.

"Well, my life is cool." He replies, toneless. Your question make him pursue his lips, recalling everything he has done in life. The question is subjective yet he feels as if you're slipping through the cracks of his fingers—and he is beyond fucking scared to lose you. But he knows that's selfish of him.

"No potential lovers?" You yawn, sleepiness has been taunting you for the night. You can't afford to sleep here or you're getting fired. And Sicheng will kill you for leaving him alone dealing with impatient customers who doesn't know how to appreciate baristas that works hard to serve the best beverage. Being a barista is hard but falling in love with Ten is harder.

Ten stretch his arm, "not really, college is hectic for love. Too hectic." You could see his bruises on the legs as his jeans rolled up a bit. Dancers has them and he always said that it's fine and normal. Since dancers uses their bodies a lot, it's almost a routine for bruises to come along on the way.

"Have you ever been in love, Ten?" That caught him off guard. Not once you have asked him about love. It comes naturally to him. To him, love is something he wants to feel and share. That's the reason he chose dancing. To share people about his love for art performance by simply moving his body with the music. It's like fluid. You go wherever music takes you.

You take a deep breath. Love to you is completely selfish. You have no idea how to pursue love in any ways.

"My friends there...they're in love. They found someone to cherish romantically. They found someone to love and sometimes...I feel left out. They hang out with their partners on holidays and I can't really expect them to be free always." So you let it out. Those hidden feelings everytime you felt around your friends. You don't want to say you're desperate to be loved, rather you want someone to love.

After all, love is the reason of existence. To be a human is to feel emotions, to be hurt and to hurt, to make mistakes and be one sometimes.

Ten is silent. And you don't really mind, at all. So you continue, spilling your emotions and left no crumbs."My family keeps pestering me to find someone. You know how I am. I don't believe in love at first sight. I want a love that starts from a relationship. Trust is earned." He agrees by nodding silently. He doesn't need to say anything unless need to be.

"I wish I could live in a cottage with cats." You let out a breathless laugh, tears threatening to spill like pearl beads falling. He joins in,"oh, to live in a cottage core aesthetic," draping his arm over his forehead and clutch his chest.

"Sometimes, I wish I have someone too." You confess, looking away from him. Gazing at the stars, your cheeks flushed. You have no intention of hinting on him but hey, we live once. So fuck it.

Ten murmurs under his breath, "what if they're close?" He decides for himself. He's a grown man and Sicheng thinks—for some reason—fate holds everything and Ten thinks otherwise. As if the stars had written for him to be in love with you, then so be it. If he loves, he loves hard.

"Wha—" you don't have enough time. Ten says that a lot because he thinks you're going to drift away once again so he crashes his lips onto yours.

The kiss isn't the one you'd call a great one. However, it's the kind of kiss that would still leave butterflies in your stomach. The two of you are still new about this, he doesn't ask you to define and neither do you. The kiss sent sparks all over your body, he doesn't really know how to lead. But it's okay, kisses can wait to be perfected —with practice.

Everything is hazy and love is still unfair. Love is still a question no one could ever answer, playing with every human beings feelings. But that's okay because you can take slow steps with Ten, to define the journey. But you know he's going to be with you till the end of the world. Because he passed his awkward angsty teenage hears with you, he was there when you pulled your wisdom teeth out, he was there when you lost Thian and helped you to move on from it (hopefully the cat is fine wherever he is).

The spring ended and it's time for a new summer full of hope and sparks of potential love.

#nct angst #nct imagines #nct 127 #nct u #nct #nct fluff #nct ten #nct winwin #nct ten imagines #nct jungwoo

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angelictaehyun · 4 years

Text

PAIRING: guardian angel!taehyun x fem!reader

GENRE: guardian angel au, soulmate au, fluff, angst

WC. 3,000+

WARNINGS: minor alcohol usage, mild language, feeling of loneliness

SYNOPSIS: Kang Taehyun, a sassy, young guardian angel, didn’t think anyone could be more of an absolute mess… boy, was he mistaken.

PART ONE || PART TWO || INTERLUDE || PART THREE

As you sobbed into your pillow while simultaneously inhaling ice cream, Taehyun was a world away, absentmindedly picking a piece of lint from his left wing. Not long after, he was standing in front of Soobin, an elder, receiving yet another assignment to none other than you, Little Miss Crying Mess, who’d already gone through an entire box of Kleenex in an hour.

His job was easy (and he’d be lying if he didn’t think himself a pro): silently look after you, keep you from harm, and do his absolute best to make you happy. But you would make that extremely difficult for him. When he glanced through your extensive profile, he didn’t think anyone could be more of an… in nicer terms...

Absolute fucking mess.

Like good God, yes, your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend, now) cheated on you, but that was a month and a half ago, and you weren’t even with him that long. So why could you not shut up and stop crying?

Taehyun wasn’t supposed to think this, guardian angel and all, but what was he supposed to do? You had raccoon eyes from your dried mascara and a pending noise complaint from your neighbor across the hall.

Funnily, the first time he ever saw you, he felt his jaw drop. Although you were possibly the ugliest crier he’d ever seen (and he’d been alive for a millennium and a half), he saw past that. He awed over your piercing eyes which held so much life in them; your adorably round face that was puffy from all your crying; your silky hair which he wanted to run a hand through.

He felt his heart yearn for you, like you were a magnet pulling him in.

In his first week on the job, he felt nothing but pity and sadness for you. The way you seemed so lifeless and drained had him motivated to mend your aching heart. Of course, you didn’t see or feel his presence; he worked tirelessly and quietly, doing small stuff to make you smile. For example, he’d slip a $20 in your pocket every once in a while for you to find when doing laundry (you never found them, and he was out $80 by the end of the week). He also gradually refilled your bare fridge with your favorite food, hoping you’d eat them and feel a semblance of joy, but you never touched it. Instead, each meal was a piece of toast (and occasionally a handful of Goldfish) and an entire bottle of wine.

He prayed for your liver.

His second week, he felt even more determined to see your beautiful smile. However, without his help, you had finally decided to take a shower and mosey your way back into society, a decision he was grateful for since you were beginning to resemble a dying gerbil. He accompanied you to your local coffee shop, following closely behind as you weaved between people on the sidewalk, oblivious to you, of course. The day was going well for you; the barista accidentally sized up your order, the jazz band in the park played your favorite song, and you felt the warm sun on your face for the first time in a long while. That is, until you ran into an old friend and found out she recently became engaged.

He practically saw your flip switch as you plastered on a fake smile and acted as if you were fine. When you finally left, you couldn’t even make it halfway to your apartment before you were breaking down once more.

His third week was when he decided to take on a more drastic measure. When he re-read your profile to find a list of your core memories, he realized you had a lot of love for snow and snowfall. So he made it snow.

In the middle of June.

Nonetheless, he completely ignored the fact that it was a logistical nightmare, thinking it was a perfect idea, sure to bring a smile to your gorgeous face. When you woke up the next morning, feeling extra chilly, Taehyun felt giddy, especially as you moped over to your window and watched the crystalline snow fall from Heaven. He felt proud, especially when he noticed a single tear cascade down your cheek; he believed he overwhelmed you with such happiness, you cried. But when he heard you mumble something like a ‘Yeonjun loved snow,’ and crawl back into bed, he widened his eyes, plopped himself on your desk, and gave up. Not only did he have to deal with a crying you (again), he also had the entire city population wondering why the hell it was snowing in the middle of summer.

Most of his fourth week was spent on your floor, playing with your dog, devising a new plan to cheer you up, and waiting for you to wake, as you spent most of your day sleeping… though he preferred you asleep since it meant you weren’t crying. Rather than feeling that pity and empathy from his first day on the job, each time you shed a tear, he found himself growing more and more irritated, so when you cried again for the eighth time that week, he had enough. He undid his glamour which kept him hidden and made himself visible to you. He fixed himself a sandwich, sat on your desk, and waited patiently for you to notice his presence.

Much like any sane person, when you saw a random, unknown boy aggressively eating a sandwich and watching you from less than six feet away, you screamed bloody murder (which was the reason behind the second noise complaint from your neighbor). You scrambled to the opposite side of your bed and balled your hand into a fist while the other reached for a firm, weighty object, as if that was going to protect you from what you believed was about to be certain death.

“STAY BACK!”

“Y/N, Y/N, it’s okay, it’s okay. Let me explain myself,” he tried reasoning as he slowly approached you as one would approach a flighty deer. You reached for every pillow you could and hurled them his way. As he busied himself dodging them, you sprinted from your bedroom to the front door, but just as you reached for the doorknob, he appeared from literal thin air in front of you, making you scream even louder.

He grabbed your shoulder in an attempt to calm you but that just heightened your fear. You thrashed around in an attempt to escape, ignoring how his grip on you was outrageously strong.

Almost inhuman.

When you finally took in his massive, iridescent wings, a small part of your brain put it all together. The other part of your brain, however, was on fire and assumed he was a nutjob hellbent on killing you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, letting go of your shoulder.

You made another failed attempt at reaching for your doorknob. This time, he grabbed your hand.

“I’m not here to kill you.”

Your eyes narrowed and your body relaxed (barely).

“My name is Taehyun and I’m an angel. Your angel, actually.” He spun around, showcasing his golden wings.

You let out an inappropriate snort, which was quickly replaced by a choke as he began moving closer toward you. Your body stilled and you screwed your eyes shut.

You felt nothing but the cool tip of his wing brush against your arm as he moved by you. After a long minute of silence, you took a deep breath to calm yourself and hesitantly opened one eye, just to be met with the sight of him comfortably spread across your couch. He mindlessly picked at the fabric of your favorite throw pillow and threw a leg across your coffee table. He seemed all too familiar with your apartment, which was a frightening realization. You watched him with bated breath as he merely glanced over your trembling figure, tilting an eyebrow. He seemed disinterested… almost bored.

You shuffled behind your kitchen counter, making sure to put plenty of distance between you both, and once you were sure there was enough space, you took him in. He was breathtaking, to say the least. His perfectly pink lips, razor-sharp jaw, defined nose, bright eyes, and high cheekbones, it was like he was sculpted by God himself. You must’ve stared too long because you saw his lips lift into a smirk. You shifted your eyes away and folded your arms across your chest defensively, “Fine, I’ll play along. Why should I believe you’re an angel?”

He tipped his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, “Are you blind? I literally have wings.”

“Which could be fake for all I know.”

He scoffed in disbelief, “I’ll have you know, these are most certainly real. Excuse me.”

You silently leaned back against the counter with a look of disinterest and pursed lips. He sighed before turning around, allowing you to see his wings begin to glow and suddenly disappear in a flash of bright light. You were left gaping as your mind ran wild, though only a single thought consumed you, “Why do I need a guardian angel? What could I possibly need one for?”

“Well, your life… um, it’s kind of ass,” he replied as if it were obvious.

Now it was your turn to be offended, “Excuse me? Who the hell are you to tell me that?”

“Your guardian angel?! A-are you deaf? Why else would I be here? You think I’ve enjoyed watching you mope around your apartment for the past month? You shower, like, once a week, and honestly, you look like a soggy rat. All you do is cry and never shut up, I can’t believe you’re even still capable of forming a tear! Actually, aside from when you’re asleep, this is the longest I’ve seen you go without breaking down sobbing!” he scolded as you stood in your kitchen, insulted by his harsh rant.

“They why stay? Go find someone else to bother, it’s not like I want you here anyway!”

You picked at a hangnail and anxiously nibbled on your bottom lip. You didn’t even know why you were so offended; he was a complete stranger. As if he knew, he shuffled over to you, close enough to reach for your hand, and surprising you both, you didn’t pull away.

“Look, I’m sorry, but like I said, your life has been hard. When your mother passed away, you had to live on your own as soon as you graduated high school, and now you can barely afford college because all of your money goes to rent. Then your boyfriend does what he did? Not to bring up old scars, but you need all the support you can get. That’s what I’m here for.”

You yanked your hand away and scoffed. ‘Not to bring up old scars,’ he says, bringing up every single scar.

“I’ve been doing perfectly fine on my own. I don’t need your help and I especially don’t need you lurking around. Please leave.” You pointed at your door before sulking back into your room.

“You’re getting my help whether you like it or not!”

That was the last thing you heard before you slammed your door.

· ──────────────────── ·

The following week was unpleasant, to say the least. Each and every morning, you woke to his annoyingly handsome yet smug face as he sat with his feet kicked up on your desk… and this morning was no different.

“Good morning, Sunshine! You know, you’re quite the deep sleeper, your heinously loud snoring couldn’t even wake you… but it definitely woke the dead,” he cheerfully remarked, plastering on a self-satisfied smirk. You ignored him and pushed your way by his tall frame on your way to your bathroom sink. Much like the week before, he appeared from thin air and perched himself on your counter. Despite your lack of response, he continued, “We should do something fun today, maybe go get some sun? You’re looking a little… lifeless.”

He examined your body from head to toe. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he seemed concerned, but he masked it well with his smugness.

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” you mumbled hoarsely.

“Then don’t go with me! Call a friend or go out by yourself, I really don’t care. Just please get out,” he whiny begged. He hated seeing you cooped up in your small, dinky apartment. He wished for you to experience life again, and he especially wished to see the light return to your eyes and the bright smile he knew you kept hidden.

“No.”

Once you finished brushing your teeth, you climbed back into your warm bed and scrolled on your old phone. He clenched his jaw at your stubbornness, trying his best to stay calm. It was only 9:32 AM and you had already managed to piss him off. He knew you were headstrong, he didn’t need to read a profile on you to know that; just one day around you and he already picked up on your obstinance. He jumped off the countertop and climbed onto your bed to hover over your body. His breath fanned your nose as he trapped your body between him, wings draping over you both like a blanket. You were shocked and once again, left breathless just by being in his proximity, and you could feel your pulse rapidly increasing as he glanced down to your lips.

He leaned closer and closer, and you nearly closed your eyes, until he snatched your phone from your hand.

“You’re not getting this back until you go outside and do something. Anything. For the love of God,” he pleaded, pulling back quickly. The sudden lack of warmth snapped you out of your haze.

“Oh my God! Gimme!” you helplessly whined.

“Are you five? You know what you have to do to get your phone back.” He slapped your hand away as you tried to steal it back.

You refrained from punching him, instead narrowing your eyes as he did the same. You both had an unspoken contest until you broke first. His harsh gaze pierced you; he was too intimidating.

“Fine,” you snapped, making your way from bed to get ready for the day.

· ──────────────────── ·

There was a small, quiet beach near your childhood home you loved visiting every once in a while. The tranquility of the ocean lapping at the shore always provided you with a feeling of peace.

Until now.

You had chosen to go out by yourself, much like Taehyun had suggested, but your plan quickly faltered when he reminded you that he would be with you regardless, either glamoured or visible. Seeing as you didn’t necessarily like the idea of him invisibly lurking around, you opted to have him visibly by your side. You’d rather see his judgment rather than feel it from afar.

So there you were, watching him smother an obnoxious amount of your expensive sunscreen onto his face as if he were a human and not a supernatural being that’s completely unaffected by UV. It’d been a week since he came into your life, or at least made his presence known, and he was already a pain in your ass.

“I have to maintain my cover somehow.”

“What?” You didn’t know what cover he was trying to maintain, his pesky wings were hidden, and overlooking his outright godly features, he looked perfectly human.

He did a poor job of rubbing the sunscreen into his skin and for the first time since meeting him, you felt a smile creep on your face. He looked like an idiot. You almost let him be since you were so amused, but you helped him out anyway. Standing on the balls of your feet and cupping his face, you began smoothing the sunscreen on. He held your waist, holding you steady, and you felt nervous from the proximity but you did your best to conceal it. He silently studied you, thinking you looked incredibly adorable as you focused on your small task, your eyes narrowing in concentration and your teeth biting into your soft lips.

He couldn’t help the way his mouth tugged into a small smile.

“All done! Now you don’t look like a ghost,” you mused.

“Thank you,” he snorted, releasing his firm grip. Instinctually, he kept himself hovered around you, though, never really creating a noticeable distance.

You were thankful he pushed you to leave your apartment, but you knew you could never tell him that. You just knew he was the type to constantly bombard you with ‘I told you so’, and you’d never hear the end of it.

The rest of the day, he watched as you laid on your blanket and basked in the sunlight, eventually getting up to walk the shoreline. You kept yourself occupied as you searched the sand for pretty shells and dainty rocks, and Taehyun forced himself to keep his distance, not wanting to disturb your peace. This was the calmest he had seen you since he was first assigned and he felt so grateful; he didn’t show it but he couldn’t bear seeing you in pain. Yes, your crying was growing extremely irritating, and yes, the pile of used Kleenex beside your bed was beginning to disgust him, nonetheless, he wanted to see you happy.

When you stopped to blankly stare at the vast ocean, he could’ve sworn he could feel your pain, the way your heart ached, the way your mind was heavy with despair. The pain he felt wasn’t one of heartbreak though, rather… loneliness.

In fact, all of your pain stemmed from feeling completely alone.

He quickly made his way over to your side and grabbed your much smaller hand in his—he wanted you to know you weren’t alone anymore. You didn’t turn to him, rather you kept your eyes trained on the sun beginning to set on the horizon. You leaned your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes, relishing in his warmth and the crisp tide washing over your feet.

For reasons he still had yet to decipher, he yearned to always be by you, protecting you, making no harm ever came your way again. He tried shaking off the feeling as doing his job properly, but something in the back of his mind told him this was different.

Something about you was different.

And he could quite literally feel it in his heart.

Chapter Two >>

#taehyun x reader #taehyun imagines #txt writing #txt imagines #txt x reader #choi soobin #choi yeonjun #choi beomgyu #kang taehyun #huening kai #hueningkai #txt #tomorrow x together #txt fluff #kpop imagines #my angel

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strayfreckles · 4 years

Text

all on you.

☕︎︎ hwang hyunjin x reader (ft. ryujin, felix, & yeji); highschool au, friends-to-lovers au, barista au, bulletpoint fic.

maybe you would’ve gotten out of highschool with your emotions (and pride) unscathed if it weren’t for hwang hyunjin and his so-called romantic, obnoxious—and, in your case, unfortunately effective—antics.

includes: fluff, angst (especially in the middle), mutual pining, somewhat slow burn (?), gn!reader, barista!reader, a hefty amount of swearing, the only consistent thing you’ll see here is how utterly terrible this is, fluctuating humor

notes: this was requested by a wonderful anon! before you dive in, i’d like to inform you that this is my first fic of any kind, so please tread gently 😔✋ though constructive criticism is appreciated !! hope you enjoy (and hopefully not cringe too much sdkdnkdks) <33

wordcount: 2.8k

let me be the first to say that you absolutely abhor romance films with every existing fiber and cell in your body.

like, you cannot physically withstand the atrocity that is occurring right before your very eyes and you have to tear your gaze away before you bash your head to the nearest table.

and though you do admit that you’re overreacting sometimes

you also admit that you’re a massive dumbass for falling prey to one of the most common—and one of the most infuriating tropes—that is falling for your best friend.

yeah, hwang hyunjin? that boy holds your heart between his palms and with every smile you fall deeper and deeper

you’ve known that kid since you started eating crayons in elementary, and since then you’d been attached at the hip, clung to each other through all the clownery of middle school

finding each other in places is like a sixth sense; it only takes you both less than a minute to find the other before startling them with a quiet “hey, you”

but time is impatient, and that timid, starry-eyed boy you knew became the dimpled heartthrob come highschool—geared with the smarts and the talents and love-laced words that sent boys and girls running after him

but to you he was always just that kid who nearly consumed clay cakes because “it looked so real!”

until he wasn’t

it just came to you like a blow to the face, in the middle of sophomore year, sitting on hyunjin’s bedroom floor on a weekend trying to cram revise for your upcoming exams

you decided to take a quick break, and made the mistake of looking at hyunjin

and my oh my was he stunning

every laugh that tumbled from his lips sounded like a fucking symphony

and the bastard was just playing with kkami !!

he looked so damn soft as he planted kisses on his coat

every single constellation you knew was embedded in his irises

haha heartbeat go brrrrrrr

and maybe all you wanted was for him to never stop smiling, because he looked the most beautiful when he did, and maybe you wanted to brush his hair away from his face because you couldn’t see his eyes all that well and what the fuck—

you just malfunctioned

because that was your best friend

he noticed you staring, of course, and had the audacity to smirk, and in a second you wanted to set yourself on fire

“y/n, i know i look good, but at least try to be subtle.”

“you look like a low-budget minion, hyunjin.”

“i’d rather be a minion than a shabbier version of gru, thank you.”

(many fists were thrown that day, and hyunjin learned not to pick fun at your clothing lest that he face humiliation)

for the first few months you were in constant denial, even going so far as to blame hyunjin himself for forcing you to watch countless romcoms on your weekly sleepovers

but once you catch hyunjin staring at you with that fond look in his eyes, one he’s carried since childhood, your heart finally has the courage to murmur into the concaves of your chest, i am in love

it gets worse around senior year

the summer after junior year you land yourself a job at miroh café, a coffee shop at the heart of the town bc you’re broke as fuck and you need the cash

and, as expected, hyunjin becomes a frequent patron

he’s armed with a pickup line every single time he orders

and every single time you have to tell your heart to calm the fuck down he’s always been like this c’mon gimme a break

it’s even gone to the point where the regulars mistake him as your boyfriend

and as if your conscience nagging you 24/7 wasn’t enough mental baggage, your coworkers and fellow seniors, felix and ryujin, decided to weigh in

“if that isn’t the look of someone who’s simping over you then i don’t know what is,” ryujin nudges you, and from the repetitive force you’ve sustained from the past week you’re surprised your ribs aren’t bruised yet.

“you act like you’re not in the same dance crew,” you scoff, “ryujin, he flirts with everyone—he even had the balls to hit on chan!”

“let me remind you that denial is always the first stage of falling in love,” felix chirps, cheerful as he replenishes the pain au chocolat in the display.

“and let me remind you that i’m holding a very hot cup of coffee straight out of the machine; ‘accidents’ can happen, felix.”

of course, you weren’t in denial—you’d been past that stage long ago

it’s just that you didn’t wanna give yourself false hope

you didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing with him that’s lasted for nearly a decade because of your stupid emotions

so you’ve trained yourself to remain indifferent to the many compliments and lines he sent your way, hoping that if you could fool the others into thinking he didn’t affect you, maybe you could fool yourself, too

but oh ho ho, do i have some news for you (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

you don’t know how hyunjin’s pulse speeds up whenever he sees a handwritten note on his coffee wishing him good luck

you don’t know how often he forces himself to stop staring at you whenever you’re not looking

you don’t know how stupidly happy it makes him when he sees you smile

especially when he’s the reason why.

maybe everything about you makes hwang hyunjin happy

and maybe if you weren’t so kind and gentle and considerate during the times he lost a competition then maybe he wouldn’t have fallen this hard

but you were (and still are)

during the times you cried from laughter at all his antics

or cracked a smile at one of his pickup lines

he’d think that maybe—just maybe—he could stand a chance

but every time he did, he’d spiral into self-doubt

because there’s no way you would ever fall for him

you’re the kindest, most talented person hyunjin has ever known who deserves the universe

and he’s just… him

even if he did plan to confess, he’d be putting everything at stake; you’re too important to him, losing you would be a loss too heavy for him to bear

so he’s content with playing this role

even if the idea of you being with someone else hurts him so much

he’s content with reminding you everyday—even if it isn’t direct—that your mind is like no other, and that anybody would be blessed to have you

you both think it's always going to be like this

with you struggling to keep your feelings from showing

and hyunjin battling his inner demons

and those left to perceive the “discreet” ogling across the room and the hidden yearning in your voices are none other than (you guessed it!) felix and ryujin 🤩

it was funny the first few months

but now it’s just plain frustrating and they want nothing more than to bash your two oblivious heads together because y’all !! are !! idiots !!

no matter how much they persist, they’re always met with either a sad, gentle smile with a shake of the head or a monotonous “ha. you’re really funny.”

both have considered dropping your asses but they can’t because they love y’all too much

so all they can do is hope for a change

and change does indeed arrive when september rolls around

dance practice has just ended and hyunjin feels hyped because it’s movie night and he can’t wait to cry to kimi no na wa again

and lowkey stare at you for the entirety of the film

he exits his dance crew’s studio and is about to go straight to 7/11 for snacks when he spots the team’s newest recruit by the road, waiting for a ride home

hwang yeji’s only moved here two months ago and in a short span of time she’s already become one of the well-liked kids at school

but she’s a kind & humble sweetheart who deserves all the love & attention !!

so being the good sport he is, hyunjin approaches yeji with the brightest grin, having only talked to her a few times prior

“hey, there! yeji!” when the girl turns to him, her smile looks and feels like liquid sunshine. “waiting for your date?”

yeji turns rosy when he asks, like she does when everyone teases her about her special someone, who she’s been crushing on for weeks and who she finally had the courage to ask out. “c’mon, stop that. i don’t even know if they like me like that—they probably think it’s just another friendly date.”

“they’re a fool if they don’t end up liking you after, then,” hyunjin quips, hoping the bitterness doesn’t seep into his tone and wishing he has half the luck and strength yeji has, and she laughs.

“you know them, actually.”

“oh?”

“yeah! y/n l/n?”

oh.

o h

hyunjin can only blink at her dumbly, feeling like a thousand arrows are digging into his skin

you… with hwang yeji?

is that why you asked about her the other day? because you like her back? and that her feelings are far from being one-sided?

watching a dark cloud loom over his features, yeji thinks about asking if he’s okay when he blurts out an inaudible excuse as he walks away, zooming past the convenience store when he does

when he heads off he doesn’t even look at where he’s going, relying solely on muscle memory

he feels like he wants to grow smaller, biting his lower lip and clenching his hands into fists

he doesn’t even know why he’s upset

you were never his to lose

why would he regret what couldn’t be in the first place?

when his feet instinctively halt in front of miroh café, all he can do is stare blankly at the glass doors, at your figure behind the counter

but he wills himself to move away again, and when he does he clashes with another body

“hey, watch where you’re... hyunjin?”

ryujin stares at him with her mouth half agape, and she flinches when she sees his eyes glistening, his face flushed with the shade of pure heartbreak

“did you know about them?” he’s afraid to raise his voice, because doing so would mean there’s no stopping his emotions, “about… y/n and yeji?”

the lack of response provides the answer, and hyunjin walks away from the block

that afternoon, a cup of coffee with his name scrawled on the front went forgotten on the countertop

that evening, hyunjin doesn’t show for your monthly tradition for the first time in five years

you spend the rest of your evening obsessively checking your phone for text from him, wracking your brain for reasons he couldn’t come

of course, there are multiple reasons: like schoolwork (you are seniors, after all) and the upcoming dance competition

but you know he would text you over the slightest inconvenience, so why isn’t he saying a thing?

you rack your brain for anything you might’ve done, and your chest tightens when you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s finally caught on to you

you try to distract yourself with other thoughts as you lie wide awake in your bed: like your midterm exams, the nearing debate tournament… your date with yeji

bright, splendid hwang yeji who shares the wittiest jokes in biology and has the most colorful personality around

the first time you spent time with her she made you smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt

her laugh is the loveliest one you’ve ever heard; like dewy lavender fields beneath the spring sunshine

but every time you hear it you’re reminded that it isn’t hyunjin’s laugh, that you aren’t with him and every time you realize it you wanna cry

bc yeji’s been nothing but sweet and considerate this whole time and you’re more than guilty at the fact that all her attentions will be wasted because of you and your stupidity

you barely escape the wrath of crying yourself to sleep when you finally doze off when the clock hit two am

the next day at school, you both barely even make eye-contact

even the underclassmen who’ve heard the frequent calls of your names feel uneasy when they don’t hear hyunjin’s high-pitched voice or your shrill tones

felix especially, who’s experienced the trauma of sitting in between you two at history and feeling the tension that nearly chokes him

you’re more than terrified to look at him at him in the eye, terrified that once you do you’ll realize he doesn’t gaze at you the same way anymore

something inside hyunjin aches every time he spares you a glance, because every time he does it’s painfully obvious that he’s always been hopeless

in all honesty, hyunjin wouldn’t have shown his face at all if it weren’t for the tiny thread of patience inside ryujin snapping

so here he is, inside miroh a quarter before closing time

felix’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees him, so he sends a pointed look to his coworker,

“what did you do?” he murmurs. ryujin’s eyes are sharp when she looks at him, and he feels his blood run cold.

“what i needed to.”

no, she didn’t threaten to kill his entire family, if that’s what you’re wondering

she merely gave him… a warning

so one can imagine the surprise you feel when you emerge from the staff room, and felix drags ryujin outside to give you privacy

you both remain silent once they’re gone, neither one of you moving in place

until quiet words escape your mouth, and the familiar greeting makes hyunjin’s heart clench:

“hey, you.”

he doesn’t make a sound, so you continue, the tension heavy

“you owe me three dollars, by the way. i just wasted a perfectly good iced latte with the other day when you didn’t…”

when you trail off, hyunjin opens his mouth to let out an apology, and he realizes with a start that the words tumbling out are completely different:

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“what?”

“why didn’t you tell me about yeji?” hyunjin’s eyes begin to quiver when they meet yours, “we’re best friends, aren’t we?”

your jaw tightens, i told you. best friends. nothing more. “because you worry too much about everything; if i’d told you about us then you’d—”

“y/n, we’ve been together for a decade!” hyunjin intervenes, “we’re always going to worry about each other, whether you like it or not. and this— this is… i…”

every coherent thought vanishes as hyunjin grapples for more things to say. he knows he’s being selfish, undoubtedly so, but he wants you. he wants you so, so bad. the fight in him leaves until, eventually, all that’s left to say is the truth: “please, don’t go. don’t go… with her.”

your heart is close to breaking your ribcage when you stare at his face, you wait for him to say anything, to justify why he’s said it, but when the quiet settles, all you can see is red

“this is why i don’t tell you about these things,” you grit, trembling violently. “when i do, you say— say stuff that make me believe that you feel the same way i do when you actually don’t.

“and i hate you so much but in the end it’s all my fault because i’m the idiot who caught feelings for their best friend and—”

hyunjin doesn’t let you add anything else, because his lips are on yours and you’re overwhelmed with the feeling of him, him, him

the kiss doesn’t leave any room for doubt; he’s shaking, and his legs might give out, but he wants you to know that everything he feels is real

you’re both gasping for air when you pull away, but his hands still linger on your face and he traces the edge of your mouth, and you can do nothing but pull him closer by the waist

“still hate me now?” he asks, and you chuckle breathlessly, putting your forehead on his.

“yes, very much so,” you look at him tenderly, and he yelps when you pinch him gently, “this is all on you, y’know. if it weren’t for your godforsaken romcoms, we wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

“but if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have ended up with a boyfriend, amirite? ow, shit— i’m kidding!”

bonus!

“oh, thank fuck,” felix exhales, looking through the windows one more time before ambling beside ryujin, who looks pleased with herself as she places her apron on the crook of her elbow. “so, spill: what did you tell hyunjin?”

she smiles, “i told him not to give up before he’s even tried anything; sometimes, there are people who are worth taking that risk for.”

just as felix is about to commend her for sounding the most wholesome he’s heard her, she adds: “and i threatened to revoke my tutelage—his ass is failing calculus so hard.”

#inkidz #skz #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids au #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #hwang hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin scenarios #stray kids oneshot #just when i thought i couldn’t get more inadequate i hit y’all with a bulletpoint fic 🤩#but pls let me know what you think of this! i’d be happy to read your thoughts !!

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show-choir-gal · 3 years

Text

"Smart Talk" Zach Dempsey Imagine

Requested by anon on Tumblr: "Hellooo c: could you write a fic on zach dempsey from 13 reasons why? Specifically the reader being a biology nerd and has aspirations of becoming a doctor some day, and zach being interested in her because he wants to be a marine biologist? Thanks! Love your blog btw ^^"

A/N: Heyo! I just wanted to pop in and see how y'all were doing and to say that I kind of switched it up and made the reader want to be a biochemist when she graduated so I hope you don't mind that little change! I cried writing this, so I’m sorry if you cry too

Warnings: mentions of death due to disease, absolutely sad backstory about a father with ALS

Word Count: 6,624

Guide: Y/N - Your Name Y/L/N - Your Last Name

Masterlist of Mastelists

-------------

The first day of school was always filled with nerves and excitement. But I am new, and a sophomore and that didn't make this transfer any easier. I had moved away from Ohio with my mum at the beginning of the summer, my father passed away after a long and tough battle with ALS. I'm 16 now, he was diagnosed when I just about turned 10. He always wanted to live in California, it was his dream to have a beach house with just the three of us. I was always his little girl. Even when his ALS progressed, he was always working so hard to stay as long as he could. He was such a fighter. Mum and him worked hard on finding a house in California before he would pass, get to live out his dream. We had found a house, the house mum and I now live in, a year ago but had to finalise the selling of our other house before we could move. But that hope soon cam tumbling down due to my father quickly getting worse. We were so close to moving, but it got put on hold. He was deteriorating faster than ever before and it was hard to watch the fighter I once knew look so defeated. Before he lost the ability to speak he told us, "Well if Stephen Hawking can do it, so can I." He was always so strong in front of me and mum, but we knew better. Every day after school I went to my dads hospital room and told him about my day and school and do my homework with him. I came in one day, a big smile on my face as I looked him in the eye and said, "I know what I want to be when I grow up dad. I want to be a Biochemist. I want to make medicine that will help you and the others that come after you. I want to do this for you dad." He smiled as best as he could and got out a shaky, "I love you so much", and then he couldn't speak after that. As days turned to weeks, he just got worse and worse. We had the hope that he could wait until after Christmas, but there were no Christmas miracles this time. He passed away the day before Christmas eve, and I was heartbroken. My dad, my biggest supporter was now gone. Gone but never forgotten. I held his cold hand before the coroner and doctors shuffled him away from us and said through broken sobs and tear stained cheeks, "I'm going to make a medicine that cures ALS. I'm going to make it for you, daddy. I love you so much." I finished the rest of the year and we finalised the selling of our, now old, house and we made the flight to California. A few weeks in and we were finally settling and making this house our new home. I sat out on our enclosed balcony with a cup of tea and cozied up in my hammock chair. I listened to the birds chirping as I took a sip of my tea. My mum came out a few moments later with her own cup of tea and we both stared upon the city for what seemed like an eternity until I decided to break the silence, "Dad would've loved it here." "Yes he would've sweetheart. Yes he would."

Mum drove me in for the first day, mainly because she wanted to pick me up especially if I had a rough first day. We had our usual conversations and I went over my schedule out loud with her. "Honours Chemistry AND Honours Biology huh? Why didn't you get put in the AP sections of those?" Mum asked, noticeably a little insulted that I wasn't placed in the AP classes. "Relax mum, they don't allow sophomores taking AP classes, and this was the best I was getting with them. I could've gotten regular Bio and Chem." I reassured her. She reluctantly calmed down as she pulled up to a parking spot in front of the school. Mum kissed me on the cheek and said our 'I love you's' as I got out of the car and headed up to the front of the building. I tried to blend in and just seem normal. My first class was English so I immediately made my way to the classroom located in the second floor. I sat in the front row like I always had in my previous schools. The teacher went through attendance and stopped on me, "Y/N Y/L/N? Are you the new student?" The teacher asked. "Yes I am ma'am" I replied, all eyes on me. "I was wondering if you would be here today! Please come up in front of the class and introduce yourself! Say your name, where you moved from, and your favourite book." I made quickly got up and walked the short distance to be next to the teacher. "Well, I'm Y/N. I moved here from a small town in Ohio at the beginning of the summer, and my favourite book is The Theory of Everything by Famous theoretical physicist, cosmologist Stephen Hawking." I said to the class with a smile. "That's interesting Miss Y/L/N! And why is that your favourite book?" "I look up to Mr.Hawkings work and I want to be a Biochemist." "That's quite interesting. You may sit down now dear." She said with a smile as she started to clap, the rest of the class followed suit. I sat down and the girl next to me tapped my shoulder, "Nice to meet you. I'm Jessica. I think we could be great friends!" She said with a smile on her face. We talked after class and she said she would meet me after my Bio class to have lunch with me. I'm so relieved to have a friend, or someone I can consider a friend at least. It's still early to tell. Next up I had maths, and pretty much the same thing happened with going in front of the class and explaining who I was. I was pretty much creating and reading a script for the beginning of every class. After maths I had my Honours Biology class. I sat at the work bench like I normally did, as I watched all the students pour in they all looked so much older than I did. The class began at the ring of the bell and the same thing happened like all the other classes before me. I made my way up to the front of the classroom and smiled as I introduced myself, "I'm Y/N, I moved here from a small town in Ohio at the beginning of the summer and I'm a sophomore. An-" "A sophomore? I don't normally have sophomores in my class." The teacher interrupted me, and I just gave an "are you serious?" look and some of the class laughed. "Yes, the school wouldn't let me take AP Biology and AP Chemistry so I had to even fight to get honours." I replied. "AP Bio and AP Chem? What would you want with those courses? They're pretty difficult on their own, let alone together." I cleared my throat, "I want to be a Biochemist." "And where would your concentration lie?" "Degenerative diseases." "Wow that's incredible Miss Y/L/N! I look forward to seeing your work. You may sit down." I took my seat and a few of the "nerdy" kids started to chat me up and we all had a great conversation about what we wanted to do in the future. The bell rang and almost immediately Jessica was outside my classroom waiting for me. "Honours Biology? Girl, you've got to give me your study tips!" We walked to the lunchroom as she talked my ear off about the school and everything I would need to know. We sat down at a table and a boy joined us, him and Jess kissed and then a bunch of other guys started to swarm the table we were at. "Y/N this is Justin, my boyfriend! Justin this is-" "You're Y/N! We have maths together." Justin said as he stuck his hand out. Justin started to introduce me to all the boys at the table, all his teammates on the basketball team. "Y/N why did you move here all the way from uhm..." Jess started to ask. "Ohio." I replied with a chuckle. "Right! Why did you move here from Ohio?" All eyes were on me now and I smiled just thinking of the memory of my dad, "I moved here because my dads dream was to move out to California with my mum and I." "Oh that's so sweet! Why did he want to move out here?" She asked. The smile fell from my face and just the thought started to burn my eyes, "That's a bit of a touchy subject. Can we not talk about that?" "Oh my God of course! I'm sorry, I didn't know girly." She said as she shot me a reassuring smile and rubbed my knee. Eventually I went to the rest of my classes and met some really great people. I knew I had nothing to worry about, it seems like I'll fit in perfectly. The dismissal bell rang and I made my way to my locker. I got all my stuff I needed and closed my locker, Jess was standing right next to my locker with Justin. "Did you have a good first day?" She asked. "It was great, especially because of you. Thank you for like, accepting me and being nice. And thank you as well Justin." I said with a smile. "That's great! We definitely need to keep in touch, hand me your phone and I'll give you my number so we can hang out soon!" She said enthusiastically as she took my phone from me and punched her number in. Her and Justin walked off and waved and said their goodbyes and we parted ways. I made my way to mums car. I placed my backpack in the backseat and hopped into the front and we drove off. "So..?" Mum started. "It was great! I already made a bunch of friends and they're all so nice there!" "That's awesome honey! Celebratory dinner tonight? And you can tell me absolutely everything, you can even spill all the deets!" "Ew mum, don't ever say that again!" I said as I joking slapped at her arm. "What?! I have to stay hip somehow!" We both erupted into a fit of laughter. "Oh by the way, the piano got to the house and is all tuned." Mum said, almost full of sorrow. That night we went out to a fancy restaurant a few towns over and I told her everything about my day and how excited I was for school and making new friends.

A month has passed and I've settled in quite nicely in Crestmont. It was a Friday and Jess is sleeping over for the first time. We quickly became really close friends, I even would say she is my best friend. My mum picked us up from school and I showed her around my house. "This house is so beautiful Mrs.Y/L/N!" Jess said in awe. "I'm glad you like it, you're always welcome here sweetheart!" My mum replied with a smile. Jess picked up a picture of my mum, my dad, and I when I was about 11. She examined it. "Awe Y/N you look so adorable! Is this your dad?" She asked, pointing to the man in the photograph. "Yeah, but that's an older photo of him." "Do you have any more recent photos of him?" "Of course!" I said as I lead her to the living room where a lot of the newer photos of him were. She examined them quite closely, noticing his state of being deteriorating, she was confused. I brought her out on the balcony and she sat in the hammock chair right next to mine. "Where is your dad?" She asked and then looked like she wanted to take it back. I grabbed her hand and smiled, "No no, don't worry about it. It's okay to ask!" I replied with a warm smile, "He passed away right before last Christmas. He had ALS." "Y/N I'm so sorry for your loss." "Jess it's okay. He was a great guy and a great dad." "Is this why you didn't want to talk about it on the first day?" "Yeah, it's just a touchy subject especially since we planned to move out here with him." I told her the whole story, everything. I was comfortable enough around her to tell her. And she listened and took it all in. I reassured her I was as okay as I could be even though some days were better than others and she understood. We headed up the stairs toward my room when she spotted the baby grand piano at the top of our stairs. "Wow this is beautiful! Do you play?" She asked, awestruck by the beautiful Yamaha piano in front of her. "I guess. My dad was the one who played and he gave me lessons and so now when I want to feel closer to him I just play and play until I feel okay." "You're one tough cookie, could you play something for me?" I smiled and pulled out the bench and immediately started to play Op. 28: III. Vivace G Major by Chopin as it was a relatively fast lively piece. I lifted my hands from the piano and her jaw was on the ground. "Girly I didn't know this! You NEED to play in the orchestra! They would love you!" She exclaimed as she brought me in for a hug. The night was great and I finally felt normal again, I felt like a normal high schooler with a normal life. And man did it feel good to feel normal again.

Monday rolled around and Jess dragged me down to the music hall to talk with the orchestra teacher. I played the same piece I did for Jess and the teacher looked beyond impressed with my playing. "Some of the best piano playing I've seen from a student in years! I would love to have you in the orchestra Miss Y/L/N!" Jess and I walked out of the music hall and screamed and jumped and hugged. "I'm so excited for you! I'll go to all the practices and concerts I can!" Jess promised as she stuck her pinky out "And I will go to as many cheer practices and games as I can!" I replied and interlocked our pinkies as we made a pinky promise. And both of us kept our promises. As long as I didn't have to tutor someone or practice, I was in the stands supporting my best friend, even doing her hair for her. As long as she didn't have practice or homework, she was at orchestra rehearsal.

Mid-November rolled around and so did basketball and other winter sports, but that also meant mid terms were fast approaching. In biology, we were doing a partner project and our teacher chose our partner. The rest of the class groaned, but I had gotten 100's all year so I didn't see an issue with it. He read off the names in alphabetical order by last name. "Zach Dempsey and Y/N Y/L/N" My head turned to look at Zachs face to judge how he felt, and he had a smile so wide it stretched from ear to ear, which made me smile as well as blush. After partners were announced we all moved to sit next to our partners, I got up and sat next to him. "Well look who we have here, the smartest girl in this school paired up with me." He said with a slight chuckle. "I wouldn't say I'm that smart. More like, I'm just determined to do really well...all the time." I said with a chuckle. We started to plan our project and then suddenly the bell rang. I was about to get up when Zach gently grabbed my arm, "Can I have your number? So we can plan our project?" "Oh, of course. Why didn't I think of that?" I wrote my number down on the top of his project syllabus and waved goodbye as I headed to my locker. I had one more class before I met up with Jess to do her hair before her short practice so they can get ready for the game. I had a free period next so I headed down to the music hall so I could practice. I walked by the teachers office and he ushered me in to talk to me. "Y/N, how would you feel about doing 4 solos for the concert?" He asked, not looking up from the program he was trying to make. "I would love to!" "Great! I'll have you start off the very beginning of the concert with a short but fast piece, we'll have a few group pieces and other solos and then you end the first half with another short but fast piece. Does that sound good?" He asked, I nodded. "Then you can start the second half with a long and slow piece, sprinkle in a few group pieces and a few other solos, then you'll have you last piece which is pretty slow and long as well, and then finish off with our group closing piece? Sound good?" "That sounds great sir! Can I ask one thing though?" "Of course, what's on your mind?" "Could I dedicate the last piece I play to my dad and have a picture of him with me at the concert? It's okay if not, I just figured I should ask." "Of course you can. Don't be silly to ask for something like that. The counselor told me about what happened. I'm so sorry for your loss and I would be honoured to have you dedicate your last solo to your father." He reassured with a smile. I started to leave the room, "Thank you Mr.Blanc! I'll be in the auditorium in you need me." "Y/N, just make sure to get me your sheet music with the order you're performing them in as soon as possible." "You got it!" I nearly shouted as I opened the side door to the auditorium to turn on all the stage lights. I practically came down here every free period I had unless I was working on Zach and I's project. It was always so calm and quiet and made me feel like my dad was still there with me. I made my way over to stage left and pulled the piano out into the centre of the stage. I sat down and just started to play piano covers of popular songs before I started to try figure out what I was actually playing for the concert. I just wanted to calm down from my exams I had today. I decided to just wait and ask Jess which songs I should pick before the first game of the basketball season occurred tonight. I went from Fantasie Impromptu by Chopin to Flight of the Bumblebee before I noticed anyone else was in the auditorium with me. I heard a throat clear which made me jump, I looked up from the piano and it was Jess and Justin. "I didn't mean to scare ya." Jess said with a chuckle, "Justin and I were making out in the back and you couldn't see us but Justin really wanted to watch you play especially after that really fast one." Justin nodded his head in agreement. "Aww, I'm flattered!" I said with a smile. I went down my arsenal of some of the toughest songs to play on piano, Moonlight Sonata, Little Red Riding Hood, Etude Op. 10 No. 4, La Campanella, and ending with Hungarian Rhapsody. I looked at the two who tried to keep up with my hands, Jess had a smirk on her face when she saw Justin's jaw on the floor. "I told you she was good." Jess said, almost cockily. Her and I laughed and before Justin could even say a word, the dismissal bell rang. "I'll meet you in the locker room Jess, I have to put a few things away in my locker." I waved to Justin sense I wasn't going to see him until later in the afternoon. I put my stuff in the locker and shut the door and headed downstairs, I headed toward the locker rooms where Zach caught up to me. "Good luck at the game tonight!" I said with a wide smile. "Thank you! Are you going to be there?" He asked. "Of course! I promised Jess and Justin that I would always be at the games." His face lit up like a Christmas tree, "Awesome! I'll see you later then." He said as he rubbed my arm. I thought his action was strange but just chalked it up to him being friendly. California is different from Ohio after all. I entered the locker room and greeted all the other girls when I took my place next to Jess. We told each other about our days while she changed into her practice gear. I told her how I was given 4 solos for the concert and she was so excited, maybe more excited than I was. "Oh my God that's amazing! I'll invite everyone so that can see how amazing you are!" She jumped up and down as she hugged me. We chatted our way into the gym and I took my usual spot on the bleachers and watched the practice go on like usual. I finished up my homework for the night just as they had finished practicing for the game tonight. I headed out and stood by the lockers and waited for Jess. As soon as she came out she grabbed my arm and practically skipped the entire way to the auditorium. I took my seat on the piano and told her my ideas and played them in the order I would play them at the concert. She wasn't too keen on a few of my pieces so I switched them with similar pieces and those seemed to fit like a glove. "Those! All of them! They're perfect!" She said with a huge smile on her face. We headed to the library and I photocopied my pieces and labelled them and dropped them off at Mr.Blanc's office. We had some free time before she had to get ready for the game so we just walked around and chatted. "How's your bio project going?" Jess asked as we walked around the football field. "Great! Zach and I are pretty close to being done." I replied as we passed the bleachers. "Basketball Zach? Like, Zach Dempsey?" "Yeah...why?" "Oh, nothing. I just didn't expect you to pick him as a partner." "Mr. LaPierre paired us, but he looked fine with it so I didn't mind." Jess was silent for what felt like a few minutes. "Jess, is everything alright?" "Yeah, I was just thinking about the other day when Zach was talking to Justin about a girl in his biology class he was crushing on." "Awe that's cute! She's lucky, he's a smart kid." "She's probably jealous of you Y/N. I just don't want you to get hurt. Because if she hurts you, many people will hurt her." Jess winked as she nudged me. "I have a perfect grade in the class, it seemed like everyone wanted to be my partner." I winked back. "Okay smarty pants, let's get back so I can get ready and you can help me with my hair." We both giggled and walked back into the school. I grabbed a seat on the bleachers right behind where Jess normally sits. The cheerleaders started to file in along with the basketball players. I was too busy looking for her hair ties and brush in my bag to notice her and a few of the basketball players walk in. I found her brush just as she sat down in front of me. I brushed through her silky hair and parted it down the middle.I looked up to a pair of soft brown eyes staring at me, they belonged to Zach. I shot him a smile and a wave before I returned to Jess' hair. I braided her hair into two tight Dutch braids. I secured the last one and put her brush back in my bag. The bleachers were filling up pretty fast when I was done. The players were back in the locker room so they could make their entrance in front of the whole student body. The cheerleaders were just about to head onto the court when Jess turned to me and waved to my mum who appeared suddenly next to me. "Hi Mrs.Y/L/N! Glad you could come!" Jess said as she hugged my mum. "Of course sweetie! I couldn't miss out on cheering on Y/N's best friend!" My mum replied with a smile. "Knock 'em dead Tiger!" I said as I hugged her before she made her way onto the court to welcome our team onto the court. Each player erupted one by one, and suddenly Zach emerged and he searched the stands and then his eyes landed on me and he waved and smiled in my direction. I smiled and blushed back. My mum tapped my leg and I moved my ear closer to her where she whispered, "Is that him? The boy in your biology class?" I nodded to her question and blushed deeper. The game started and Zach and I would steal glances at each other every now and again, nothing to major...or so I thought.

It was now the week before the Winter Concert, but Zach and I needed to finish up the prep for our project. We were in the library alone after school working on the final prep we needed before we could call the project 'finished'. A few hours had passed and we finished up the last component, but we finished earlier than expected so we started to finalise the project. We were finally done, and we were early. That's not a bad thing though, nothing wrong with finishing early. I was putting my stuff away when Zach cleared his throat, I zipped my bag and looked at him. "What do you want to be when you graduate?" He asked. I smiled, "I want to be a biochemist." "Why?" "Do you want the real answer or the short one I use to not have serious questions?" "The real one." I took a deep breath and then exhaled, "Because of my dad." "Why don't you talk about him? You avoided it when we first met." "It's just a touchy subject, that's all." "Can we talk about it? I want to get to know you more." I was shocked at his response, but it's fair since we've worked a lot together this year. "He passed away almost a year ago. Right before Christmas, to be exact." "I-I'm so sorry Y/N." I took his hand in mine, "It's okay, we expected it. He had ALS. He was diagnosed when I just turned 10 and he's the reason I'm here. He wanted to move to California before he passed." "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I would understand." He said as he gently swiped his thumb back and forth against the back of my hand. "Honestly, it's okay. I'm not ashamed, he was and still is my hero. He was deteriorating slowly so we thought we had time. We bought the house and just had to wait on our other house to sell so we could move. But about Septemberish of last year he went downhill quite fast. So, plans got pushed back as he got treatment. He was always so strong, as supported me even when he didn't want to admit that he couldn't really support himself. Some of the last words he said were "If Stephen Hawking can do it, so can I." which is also why I lookup to Dr.Hawking so much. I want to be a biochemist because of him, for him. I want to find the cure to ALS." Zach was staring in awe. I stood up and he stood up and pulled me into a bear hug. A hug of solidarity, a hug of understanding. We both pulled away and looked into each others eyes and smiled. He looked away and grabbed his things. "I'll drive you home." He said as he motioned for me to follow him. "Oh, you don't have to." "I know, but I want to." We made it to his car and he pulled out of the parking lot and opened up to me. "I want to be a marine biologist." He said. We talked about his aspirations and life on the way to my house. He parked outside and I hugged him. "Thank you. It's great seeing others be themselves too." I said as I pulled away. His arm moved behind me and rubbed my back and he started to lean in and so I leaned in as well but we were interrupted by my mum yelling my name. We both laughed and I got out of the car and waved goodbye and headed into my house. I watched as he drove away.

The day of the concert arrived, and the whole school day was just a blur. The dismissal bell and I headed to my locker where I was greeted by Jess. "What's the plan for today?" She asked with a huge smile. "Well, the group pieces are going to get a run through, then the solos, and then we get to get ready." I replied grabbing my music bag out of my locker and we headed to the auditorium which was pretty much already set up for the concert tonight. Jess sat front row. The group numbers were rehearsed, then solos, and then I had to get ready. Jess and I headed to the locker room. I changed into a long sleeved black maxi dress with my mums pearl necklace. I put my hair half-up half-down and Jess straightened my hair and chatted me up. "There's going to be a big surprise for you at the concert. All because of moi" She said as she smiled. "Should I thank you now or later?" I asked. "Def later." She said as she scrunched her nose and raspberried me. We laughed and chatted until she finished my hair and I finished my light makeup. I put my stuff away in my bag and we both walked over to the auditorium. People we already shuffling into the auditorium. I took out the framed picture of my dad before I let Jess go off and I get ready backstage. "He would be so proud of you." "You think so?" "I KNOW so. Break a leg out there." Jess said as she hugged me and we went out separate ways.

*THIRD PERSON* Jess waited until she saw Mrs. Y/L/N. She rushed over and hugged her. "I have a plan." Jess began to tell Mrs. Y/L/N her whole plan. Jess bought a bunch of flowers so everyone could give her something in support. She explained how she got all of the cheerleaders and basketball to come and support her. Mrs. Y/L/N was almost brought to tears, not truly grasping how quickly and wholeheartedly her daughter was loved at this school. Jess and Y/N's mother sat in the front row by the piano on stage left. Jess looked back every now and again to check to see if her plan would be followed through. And just like that, the cheerleaders and basketball players shuffled in and sat in the first three rows by the piano. Zach sat next to Jess. "Mrs. Y/L/N, this is Zach." Y/N's mum reached out her hand, "Are you her biology partner? She always talks about you. She really likes you, ya know?" Jess chuckled and placed the palm of her hand over her mouth while Zach blushed, the whole team started to be all "Bro we told you she liked you back. You have nothing to worry about." In between laughs Jess responded, "I don't think she wanted you to tell him that Mrs. Y/L/N." "Oop, you're probably right sweetie. I'm sorry to embarrass you Zach. I got really excited when she told me she likes you." "No no, it's okay Mrs. Y/L/N. I'm flattered because I really like here too." A few more minutes passed and it was time for the concert to start. *END THIRD PERSON*

The concert was about to start and I just held the picture of my dad closer. My teacher and conductor was doing his introductory statement before we all came out of the wing of stage right and into our places. I walked across the stage and spotted...all of them. Mum, Jess, Zach, everyone I grew closer with this past semester. A smile drew across my face as I saw my mum first, almost in tears already, and then to Jess, and then to Zach who shot me a wink and my heart could've fluttered out of my chest. I placed the photo of my dad on the piano at an angle so both me and the audience could see it. I heard my mum gasp and then cry a little at the picture, which made me tear up a little. We did the classic orchestral warm up before I spoke into the microphone right in front of the piano. "My first solo piece is Op. 28: XII. Presto in G Sharp Major composed by Frederic Chopin." I took my place at the piano and played the one minute long piece. I took my hands off the piano and bowed in my seat. We had a few classical group pieces followed by a few solos and then a few pop songs arranged for the orchestra like Without You and Fight Song/Amazing Grace and Tour De France. I was the last solo for the first part of the concert, I once again stepped in front of the microphone to announce my solo, "My second solo piece is Op. 28: XVI. Presto con fuoco in B flat minor also composed by Frederic Chopin." I took my place at the piano for a second time and played the other one minute long piece. I took my hands off the piano and we all stood up and bowed and walked off as it was announced that there was a 15 minute break. I took the opportunity to use the bathroom and relax a little. My fellow peers were complimenting me left and right and I did the same back. The 15 minutes were almost up and we took our seats once again. Once I got my cue, I went up to the microphone and announced my third piece, "My third solo piece is Op. 28: IV. Largo in E minor also composed by Frederic Chopin." I once again took my place at the piano and played the two minute long sorrowful piece. I played with much more emotion than I did in the first half of the concert. I took my hands off the piano and bowed in my seat. More group pieces and solos and finally it was my last solo and my longest. I walked up and grabbed the picture of my dad, "Before I announce my final solo piece, I want to take the time and dedicate this to my dad. I lost my dad almost a year ago to ALS or Lou Gherig's as most of you may know it as. He was a wonderful pianist and he's the one who taught me how to play. Not a day goes without me thinking about him or playing a song to remember him. I came rushing into his hospital room one day just ecstatic and I told him, "I want to be a biochemist when I grow up. I want to help people like you." And the day he passed away, I held his hand and promised I would be the one to discover the cure for ALS. And I intend on keeping that promise. My final solo piece was his favourite to play for my mum and I, Op. 28: XV. Sostenuto in D flat major." I placed his picture back on the piano, but fully facing me this time. I wiped the few tears I had running down my cheeks already from before as I looked over and saw her sobbing into Jess who also tearing up along with Zach and everyone else. I looked up at my teacher and peers who were all wiping tears away. He motioned for them to stand and the audience soon followed. I played with more emotion and drive than I knew I even had. I played the piece with passion. I made it about 2 minutes in before the tears started to roll down my face as I played with pure love and passion. I hit the last chord lighter than I thought was even possible. I sat for a few seconds to just absorb the moment. I stood up to bow and noticed I had a standing ovation. I shed a few tears before we all sat down and played our final piece. The concert was over and we all bowed and hugged each other. I grabbed my dads picture and whispered, "I did it daddy, for you." before I went to get my bags and head to my mum, I left the music hall and found Jess who ran to me with flowers. "I knew you were going to be amazing!" She lead me to the people I have grown close to and they all had flowers for me. "Here's your surprise! I told you they all had to hear how amazing you are!" They all were giving me a flower or two and telling me how amazing I was, but then there was my mum who still had tears streaming down her face. We hugged in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Jess took my bags off me and grabbed the flowers so I could hug my mum even closer. We let go and all that was left was Zach who held a huge bouquet in his arms. He gave them to me and I thanked him. He was in awe. I let out a giggle as I gave Jess the bouquet and wrapped my arms around his neck and his hands went around my waist. "Wow, that was just- wow." He barely even got that out of his mouth, he started to lean down but I told him to hold on. I looked over at my mum, "Mum are you going to interrupt this kiss?" "No, not this time sweetheart." I looked toward Zach who had a huge smile on his face, I returned the smile, "Alright, it's go big or go home." Zach, almost like he had rehearsed this very moment, held me tighter and dipped me and kissed me. Our lips crashed and the world felt still, it was just us in that moment. Just us, in love.

#zach dempsey #zach dempsey imagine #imagine #13 reasons why #13rw #13 reasons why imagine #13rw imagine #show-choir-gal

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tinalbion · 4 years

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Can you do the secret pregnancy thing but with Brahms, Buckman and Jason instead? 👀

Ooh yes, honey! I enjoyed making the first part of this, so I’m excited!!! Let’s get this angst fest started, shall we? Maybe it’s finished with the fluffiest sweetness you ever did feel~

Brahms

Brahms liked his privacy since he was so used to remaining hidden most of his life, so if he needed some space or just some quiet time to himself, he would weave about the hidden maze in the mansion. These past few months, you were grateful he was dedicated to you yet thought that privacy was also a necessity.

You found out a week ago and had no idea how to even begin thinking of ways to tell Brahms. You were pregnant with his child, this was a huge deal for you and definitely for him. But you were scared as hell to how he would react. Them man was just learning how to live a somewhat normal life and getting used to his days out of hiding, he did not need this huge bombshell dropping down just yet.

The man took notice in your absence lately, your poorly strung together excuses to leave the room or to head out into town. He wasn’t too happy with the way you had been acting and he had every chance to tell you, but one day you just didn’t come back right away after your errands. It was already nightfall when you tried your best to sneak in and grab your clothing, trying your best to be as quick and quiet as possible, but Brahms had remained awake and waited for you to return.

Leaving him hurt you more than you could have ever imagined, it was even worse for him to see you packing your bag and refusing to look at him. He would go through every emotion as he tried to get you to at least look at him, but you did your best to hide the growing bump. He wouldn’t let you leave, his voice was now loud and firm, demanding you that you could not leave. The thing is you had no real option of leaving, so with a defeated sigh, you placed the bag over your shoulder and looked at him.

“I’m not actually leaving, I’m going to stay in the guest house for a bit. I’ll come here and check on you, but I need to be alone for a bit.” With that, you were off and left him alone while he called out your name, the facade of the scared child disappearing and out came the terrified man, who fell to his knees and slumped forward. You weren’t leaving the grounds but you left his home, your home.

It wasn’t until a week had passed that he heard the door open, which he bolted toward the sound and slid through the walkways within the walls, but he was hesitant to step out and greet you, so he remained hidden and watched you as you just stood in the front hall. You looked as if you hadn’t slept that entire week you were gone, but something was different about you; you looked radiant despite the obvious lack of sleep and wild hair.

You were crying. You had felt awful leaving Brahms there alone as you dreamt of running away from the situation, but that’s not what either of you needed right now. He deserved to know and you had the responsibility to tell him. “Brahms, when you’re ready to come out, I need to talk to you.” Your voice carried such sadness, but the truth was you were excited about such a huge step, you just weren’t entirely sure how he would react. Your hand was placed over your stomach as Brahms stepped out from the walls, his mask gone so he could look you in the face and demand to know why you left. He couldn’t bear to yell once he saw your face, and just like that, he dropped his anger and ran to you, engulfing you in his embrace.

You tried to even out your breathing as you clung to him, your face buried within the folds of his cardigan as you hid your eyes from his. “Brahms, I wish I had told you -I couldn’t, I was so scared.” You blubbered for so long as you tried to gain control, but once you pulled away from him, you shyly looked up and glanced into those eyes you came to love. “I’m pregnant… I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I was so scared, and I thought you’d hate me for it-”

You didn’t have time to recognize the look of astonishment that appeared on his face, and then he had dropped to his knees before you, his hands around your stomach as he looked at it in awe. “I’m-” he stuttered, but he couldn’t finish. His head leaned against your tummy gently as his hand cupped it as if it were the most precious thing in the room -besides you, of course. “Y/N, I’m not mad.” He glanced up at your face, his eyes now swelling with tears.

You couldn’t help but release the breath you’d been holding, relief flooding your body as you smiled down at him, your hand was placed over his and you gave him a reassuring squeeze. “We’re gonna be okay, I think,” you mused with a crooked grin. He nodded and stood tall before you, his arms pulling you into one of the most wonderful hugs you ever experienced. Your smile only widened as you hugged him tighter, never wanting to let go.

Buckman

It was already scandalous enough that you had somehow won the mayor’s affection what with him being dead and you being, well, not so dead. But the fact that the town had warmed up so quickly to you, even Granny, was a miracle in itself. You had a long talk with the woman and she understood the look of love you felt for Buckman, and she had no way to separate you both without heading to the extreme. She just wanted Buckman to be happy, even if it meant breaking her own heart. You still saw her as a woman to look up to and grew quite close to her, but nothing prepared either of you for the events that would take place just several months down the line.

Things had been somewhat peaceful until the summer rolled around, and around the same time as a jubilee were to take place was around the time you started feeling out of sorts. You just told yourself it was the heat, you weren’t so used to the humidity, that was all. Later in the month, you began to panic. Your period was late, which it never was before, but there was NO way. He was dead, how the hell would you be able to get pregnant? You HAD to be sure, so you told them you had to run into town for some ‘personal supplies’, which was a normal trip for you to take.

While you were out, you stopped by a diner just miles up the road after your pitstop at the gas station, where you picked up some things as you said you would, along with a pregnancy test. Once you found out in the diner bathroom that it turned out to be positive, you panicked. How in the hell did it end up being positive? Could ghosts do that?! You were terrified considering this was something that was way out of your field of knowledge. What if you just… never went back? Maybe it was some weird part of being on the lands for so long, you were cursed. But if you never went back, you’d never see him again. You had to go back, but you lingered on the edge of Pleasant Valley, where you had hoped to talk to Granny alone. She had somehow known you’d wanted to see her, keeping your meeting hushed from Buckman. When you told her about it, she looked at you in shock; this subject was obviously above her knowledge as well. When the town was cursed by Crowe, his children were already born and grown, but this was a whole other situation.

“Honey, I don’t know what to tell ya, just… be honest with him? Tell him. Or leave and never come back, but will you stay gone? You both...love each other. I’m sorry, best I can do.” Granny shrugged and smoothed out her skirt, feeling just a little awkward about the whole thing, but she loved you deep down. She wanted you to be happy and do what was best for you.

You swallowed your fear and lingered behind the newly arrived batch of idiot kids who hung around their car, ogling the scantily clad townswomen eagerly while their female counterparts pouted. Buckman was having a ball talkin’ and showing ‘em around, being the showman that he was as he secured their stay for the jubilee. Once he had let the group get to their rooms, he saw you and threw his arms up with a grin. “Hey, there darlin’! You just missed our honored guests come in,” he greeted and pecked your cheek. You couldn’t even look up at him and he noticed it straight away. “What is it?”

You couldn’t tell him, your head swarmed with stupid lies and excuses, so you said the first thing that came to your mouth. “My mom died, I have to go back home.” You felt sick to your stomach that you just lied to him, your gut aching with guilt and fear. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I gotta go.” You barely gave him the chance to respond when you pulled away and ran to your car. He stood in the center of town confused, and Granny had watched his whole thing play out, her head shaking with sadness.

He watched as your car drove off, his pleas and cries for you to wait and stay, to rethink it and talk to him, they were drowned out by the acceleration of the car, and the last thing he saw was you driving away from him. That was the last time he saw you in several months. He gave up on hearing from you, seeing you. He was broken as he had no way to contact you. He remained away in his grave in peace. Granny did her best to be there for him, but this hurt as much as it had when his daughter was taken from him.

You came back, your belly large beneath the sundress you wore especially for Buckman, and you prayed that he would come back to you as you drove through the wooded area into the Valley. The grounds changed back to the old town, and you cried as you thanked them for allowing it to appear for you once again. Once you stepped out from the car and took a deep breath, that’s when you felt it was like the town knew it had been you, so you waited on the hood for him.

“Bucky, please, I’m sorry I left,” you called out to the air, “I have a confession to make.” Your hands were placed on your swollen belly as you waited, but you felt eyes on you and you knew someone was there, and you prayed it was him. When you saw him step out from the trees with a look of disbelief, you sobbed harder. Your emotions had been so out of whack, but seeing him made your love for him ache within you, “Bucky…”

He looked at you and then his eyes fell to your stomach and the thought of you being with someone else only made him withdraw, but before he could step away from you any further, you reached out and grabbed his hand, placing it on your stomach with a smile. “Baby, she’s yours… Ask Granny, I swear to it, she’s yours. I was so scared and I ran, like a coward. I don’t know how it happened or why, but-”

After hearing that it was his, something told him you were telling the truth, so he placed his hands on either side of your face and kissed you as passionately as he could muster at the moment. When he pulled away, he chuckled nervously. “You look as beautiful as the day I laid eyes on you, darlin’, I missed you so damn much. Damn, why didn’t you tell me, you fool,” he teared up as he kissed you all over your face, his joy obviously showing. That’s when he looked down and held your stomach with a knowing smile. “She’s gonna be just like her momma; a firecracker.” He laughed and kissed your stomach sweetly.

Jason

It was a wonder that you had managed to make the camp your own, it was a miracle it didn’t cost more than what you paid to redo every last bit of it, but it was a place you could now call home. Your cabin home was a few hundred yards from ‘Camp Blood’ so you didn’t interfere with Jason and his work. During the nights, you had opened the door to be greeted with the large masked man, a smile always plastered on your face as you pulled him in and lived your ‘domestic life’ with him, even if it was just pretending. Jason seemed to enjoy the bit of normalcy you gave him.

As the winter neared its end, you had been feeling rather under the weather and had been too out of it to do much of anything. Jason took notice and would nudge you if you began to fall asleep while standing at the counter, sometimes he would have to rub your stomach if it was feeling upset. You just wrote it off as eating something bad r undercooked, it happens.

What you didn’t expect to happen was the feeling to continue and even intensify throughout the month. Maybe your period was just messing with you, so you awaited the usual week it took place and then nothing. Maybe it was running late, it happened. The more time had passed, the more excuses you made for how you felt. It was fine, everything was okay.

Out of curiosity, you had browsed the shop and last minute you grabbed a pregnancy test then slipped it in with your other goods. Jason was out and about as he normally was around this time, keeping watch over the grounds and visiting his mother for a bit, so you took the opportunity to take the test and laugh about it once it came out negative. When you didn’t expect was it to come out positive. You sat on the toilet for what felt like hours, your legs numb as you continued to think. There was no way it could have happened since Jason was, well, kind of undead? You shook your head and claimed to yourself that maybe you were dreaming, but deep within your gut, you knew it to be a reality.

Jason couldn’t find out, you had to keep this from him, you couldn’t ruin his life like that. He was living a simple life and killing those who trespassed on his grounds, the last thing you wanted to do was complicate that and take it away from him. You could maybe live with your friend a few states over, raise the baby on your own, possibly with your parents’ help. Play it off like the dad died or something, anything, so long as the masked slasher didn’t know. Regretfully, you left a half-assed note and took some of your things while he was away, and you left. He didn’t find out until hours later when you didn’t open up your door, so he walked in to see the brief letter. He was devastated at your sudden absence, unsure of what caused you to run away from him without even doing it face to face.

Jason acted out after this, punching trees and swinging his machete at anything that moved, not even caring who or what he hit. You left and you left him there, alone. The thought that you could bring a bit of happiness to his life, how ridiculous did that sound now? You left and he figured you had wanted to all along. He was better off not growing close to anyone, he only needed himself and his mother, the one woman who cared enough to stay, even in death.

The seasons changed from spring to summer, Jason had been relentless during camping season, that extra edge pushing him to be even more ruthless with his swings. It pained him to see anyone with your hair color or similar facial features, he just hacked them down where they stood and pushed you in the back of his mind. But what he didn’t know was that you had returned to your cabin with a suitcase full of things, returning permanently to your old stomping grounds in hopes of repairing what broken relationship you had with Jason, if he would take you back.

What you didn’t expect was a group of kids to invade your space in the middle of the fall season at the camp and decide to hang out for a week, or so they thought was gonna happen. Jason made sure to get started right away, picking them off one by one as he watched them scurry and try to fight him off. You remained far from the violence as possible in your state as you instinctively held your large belly and tried to go into the small area where Jason normally was. You heard the sound of crunching leaves behind you and you barely had time to dodge the swing, you fell to the ground and screamed out his name with your hand raised high in surrender. “Jason, it’s me!”

He stopped, the machete poised in the air to strike, but as soon as he saw your face, he lowered the weapon and tilted his head in confusion. Was he the one dreaming? You stood up slowly and held your hand out to him, hoping he wouldn’t be too pissed off. “Please honey, I’m so sorry I left, but let me explain before you kill me…” He wouldn’t dream of killing you, you sounded crazy, but he placed the weapon down beside him as he lowered himself to the ground, reaching your eye level. He hadn’t changed in the months you were gone, but it took him a moment to notice just how much you changed.

You grabbed his hand and kissed each finger, smiling through the tears as you held onto him. “Jason, I couldn’t tell you because...well, I didn’t want to ruin your life. I’m pregnant, he’s yours. He’s a healthy baby boy,” you chuckled. His hand retracted from yours and he placed it ever so carefully onto your stomach, his eyes focusing on the hidden life that grew within you. He knew nothing about being a parent or being near kids all that much, to begin with, but the thought of you having his child was something that just felt right to him. The approving voice of his mother echoed within his head and he nodded. He stood and quickly whisked you away to your cabin in hopes of keeping you from the violence that was still taking place. He would be back later to celebrate.

#tinalbion writings #slasher requests #slashers x reader #slashers imagine #slashers headcanons #brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms heelshire headcanons #mayor buckman #mayor buckman x reader #mayor buckman imagine #mayor buckman headcanons #2001 maniacs #Friday the 13th #the boy 2016 #anon ask

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