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kingskwing · 3 years

Note

Hello!! M not too sure if ur busy with requests but I love your writing so I wanted to give this 'idea' that I've had for a bit now. If you don't mind, can I request a fic with Marius where he and reader broke up bcs he chose being the CEO of pax over the reader? It's really angsty ik but maybe with a happy ending? Thank you!!

ANON IM LIVING finally some good fuckin hurt/comfort || engineering major!reader inbound, it's also mentioned that the reader does commercial art, sorry 💔

Warnings: argument? They’re talking but it's a disagreement, breakup, SPOILERS for Marius’ story, kidnapping, Mild spoilers for Part 5, blood ment. and gunfire

》 M.list

crisis control

It started, as it ended, with an argument. Of course, the beginning was far less emotionally charged than the gentle, sinking wreck that came later, but isn't such the case with all things? When time and effort is put into something, a piece of yourself is put within. And, when it eventually shatters, the pieces are hard to pick up.

》》¤

Being a student at Stellis University, admission to the campus art gallery was free. Your evening was uncharacteristically empty, so you decided to stop by to see the things your peers submitted for public view. On your way in, you waved to Professor Richter, having taken his class the year prior.

You’d heard something about another Z piece being shown and kept an eye out for it, eventually spotting it and approaching. There was someone already there, so you stood next to them as you analyzed the piece.

“What do you think of the piece?”

The voice startled you and you faced the young man who’d been there before you. Taking another look at the piece, you spoke honestly.

“I don’t like it.”

“Oh? Why is that?” He seemed surprised.

“Now, I’m a mechanical engineering student, so take my opinion with a grain of salt, but the composition and colors are just barely… off. They’ve got this beautiful spiral leading the eye to the center point, but there aren’t enough rigid structures for contrast. That, and this green in the bottom left quarter of the painting,” you gestured to it vaguely, “is slightly too warm for the tone. Then again, I struggle when color-picking for pieces, so it may be either a shared difficulty or a misperception on my part. Also, this stroke here, it’s far more textured than the surrounding area, setting a really strange feel for that specific area. How do you feel about it? It appears you like the artist, so I’m curious to hear your thoughts.”

As you spoke, his eyes flitted across the painting, brow set in thought. “First of all, you said you were an engineering major?”

You nodded. “I do my own art on the side, much more commercial than this.”

“I see. You wanted my thoughts and I let myself get distracted,” he smiled. “I do see the extra texturing on that stroke, it does make the area discordant, but I disagree with the rest. I believe the color works well with the piece and that the spiral composition isn’t erratic enough to warrant the contrast you spoke of.”

“Tastes are always different... It's fun trying to see it from your perspective. Wait, I don’t think I told you my name,” you laughed. “I’m Y/N.”

He took the hand you extended and shook it firmly. “Y/N, huh? Good to meet you! I'm an art major at a school-hosted art gallery, so I expect to see you at the upcoming STEMfest next Saturday. What's your booth number?”

“You just assume- not important. 41B, why do you ask?”

“Great! See you then, I’ve got to go. And bring some of your art!” The man was walking away by now, leaving you confused in front of Z’s painting.

“What? Wait!” You ran around the corner, only to see him opening the gallery doors. “You never gave me your name!”

》》¤

It’d been a long day at STEMfest, entertaining kids and networking with professionals, but the art student from the week before was the most exhausting thing about your day. You recognized him as soon as he passed your stand. All seven times, in fact. He kept side eyeing you as he talked to every booth worker in the B section except you. He’d approach your booth, you’d reach for your portfolio, and he’d smile as he walked straight past you to talk to someone else.

Only when everyone began packing up did he finally approach you.

"Hey, artsy engineer," he smiled, lifting a box from your hands and following you to where it needed to go.

“Are you always this much of an ass?”

He was visibly surprised at your candid words and looked almost worried, but then he pouted when he saw the disbelieving grin on your face.

"You scared me, I thought you were really mad!" He nudged you with his elbow, a playful scold.

"Hmm, I should be, shouldn't I?"

His answering 'nooo' was too adorable to resist.

He was easy to spend time with, the sun setting quickly while you two discussed art, history, engineering, and the general ways of the world. You'd been caught up in a conversation about whether or not planets feel like they're dancing when you saw how orange the sky had turned.

"Marius, it's getting late. I hate to leave you, but I ought to get home."

“Allow me to escort you to your car, my liege.” His exaggerated accent made you laugh.

“Ah, I walked,” you grinned.

“My car it is then!”

"Say, Marius, didn't you mention an upcoming day off? I'd like to go to a cafe with you sometime.

His whole body seemed to lift up, eyes sparkling in the evening sun. "I'd love that, can I pick you up?"

"Of course, if you let me pay."

“Nope!”

“Hmm, you can’t stop me.”

“I’m sure I can.”

“Is that a threat, Marius?”

“I would never.” His grin was blinding, so much so that it almost distracted you from the gleaming sports car he led you to.

“What major are you in again?” you asked, breathless. His car was beautiful, cutting edge and intelligently designed.

“Art and Art History, why?”

“Ah, so it’s daddy’s money,” you muttered cheekily before entering the vehicle.

You laughed upon hearing him sputter, relishing in the wide, flustered smile he flashed when quickly opening his car door to face you.

“I bought this myself, I’ll have you know.”

“Just teasing, Marius,” you lightly hit his arm before he started driving. “Wait. I must have blacked out the last couple minutes, you’re a near stranger and I’m in your car. Oh my god, that’s so irresponsible. You’re not going to kill me, right?”

“Ahaha! That’s for the coffee date.”

You froze for a moment, caught between a smile and a worried frown. However, before you could decide, he winked at you, prompting you to hit his arm again, harder this time.

“Marius!”

“Hey, dear engineer, if you’re going to refuse to let me pay for coffee, I get to tease you as much as I like. It’s only fair.”

You directed him towards your dorm hall, joking and smiling the whole way. Of course, his position at Pax was revealed when you asked his last name to put his number in your phone, having recognized him from online headlines. However, that didn’t deter you from happily confirming the pickup time for your second date.

》》¤

He noticed everything, even if he didn’t realize it sometimes. Your heart swelled every time Marius complimented something new you’d bought, and despite his teasing about you adding his photo to your phone case, you know he was more flustered by it than you were. Every time you refreshed your phone wallpaper and lockscreen, every time you wore a new fragrance, every time you acted out of the ordinary, he noticed, be it passively or consciously.

Walking around Stellis was common for you two, stopping at every ice cream shop to try their novelty flavors. However, no matter how many bizarre ones there were, he got your favorite flavor for himself. He claimed it was because he liked it too, but you didn’t fail to notice that if you didn’t like the flavor you chose, he’d “share” his cup by giving you the entire thing. Surprisingly enough, seeing your face pucker at a flavor that was just too “out there” wasn’t his favorite part about ice cream joint hopping with you. No, his favorite part was messing with you. Early on in the relationship, Marius would often swipe his thumb across your lip to wipe away ice cream. You were too flustered to realize you weren’t enough of a messy eater to warrant such an action. Eventually, you caught on, checking in a mirror after eating and watching him pout when you didn’t let him.

“Marius, if you’re going to touch my lips, you may as well go all the way,” you shrugged, walking ahead of him.

He didn’t waste a second catching up to you and searching your eyes for sincerity before pulling you in for a light, teasing kiss.

》》¤

Even over a year into your relationship with the young CEO, his eyes still lit up whenever you agreed to go somewhere with him and his heart soared whenever you invited him places. Yes, he had a hard time balancing his busy schedule, but that just meant any time spent with you was made all the more precious.

When you moved in together, he was hard-pressed to keep his smile down when you played music while showering or working on projects. Some days, when you thought he was out, you blasted songs that made him tear up from trying to reign in his laughter.

He teased you for days each time.

》》¤

Moving in with him allowed you even more insight into his true self, the bashful, playful Marius who hides his artistic prowess behind a famed pseudonym: Z. He regularly showed you his pieces as he worked on them, leaving room for teasing when he kept works from you. Secrecy from Marius was relatively rare, so whenever it had to do with art, you poked and prodded him to show you what he had hidden underneath the veil over his easel.

“Goodness, Marius, is this how you see me? I’m flattered! It’s nice to know that under all that suave, you’re still a total simp.”

“No! Noo, don’t look at that, babe! It was supposed to be a surprise,” he whined, voice becoming clearer as he quickly approached the studio. His face reddened upon seeing how genuinely enamoured your eyes were as they scanned the piece. “Ah, well, you’ve already seen it. I suppose all that can be done…” He walked behind you and sat at the stool. “... is to work on it with you.” An arm wrapped around your middle and Marius swiftly pulled you into his lap. His chest rumbled with laughter against your back at the yelp you let out and he gripped you close as he could. In an instant, his breath was on your ear. “Isn’t this more comfortable than me hiding things from you?”

“Nope!” You shuddered at the odd feeling against your ear and worked to calm the heat in your cheeks.

“Aww, come on! I’m warm and loving, among other things-”

“Oh my god, one more word and I’m moving out,” you laughed.

“Babe, you’d never do that to me,” he pouted, turning you in his lap and resting both hands on your waist.

“No, I wouldn’t, Marius.”

“Good,” he chirped, eyes quickly shifting back to his regular dangerous humor before he lifted you briefly, rose up, placed you on his stool, and made for the door.

“Marius Von Hagen!”

His home was filled with all kinds of laughter that day, from huffs of humored disbelief to mirthful peals.

》》¤

Though your time together was easy and delightful, things fell through after a little more than two years of dating. Your heart hurt watching him burn himself out day after day, coming back after a long shift at Pax to spend time with you and to paint in his studio. Time after time, especially after the forgery mess and the encouraging words of Sven Phillips, you pushed him to follow what he wanted. He was performing as Pax’s CEO to prove something to his father and lost brother. While you wished his reasons for it were healthier, your issue did not lie specifically with Pax. No, your concern was his willingness to give up art in exchange for recognition of his ability to keep Pax running. Was his self-esteem truly so low that he’d drop everything important to him when he could easily get recognition for something he was passionate about?

Unfortunately, you got your answer.

》》¤

“Marius, you know what I’m going to say.” The moon was high in the sky; you’d woken when Marius turned on the light to get to his studio.

“Then don’t say it. I don’t have time to do this again, I’m exhausted and haven’t gotten a chance to work on my piece all week.”

“That’s exactly it, though. You’re always too tired to do anything you enjoy! I know you’re busy at Pax and with your secret engagement, but you need to take some downtime or drop something. Your art fulfills you too much to let it fall by the wayside. I’ve respected your secrecy regarding where you go between Pax, SU, and here, so I don’t have any info on how rigorous it is. So, as far as I know, the one thing taking the largest toll, both emotionally and physically, is Pax. Something needs to give."

"No, I'm handling everything just fine. Stop bringing it up."

"You take ten minute naps instead of resting well! Your art screams for some kind of break, you need to make a choice, Marius!"

He was quiet for a good minute.

“Then… I choose you,” he whispered.

Silence fell.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” You knew what he meant, but your heart had fallen to your feet and it needed time to catch up with your mind.

“I choose… to drop you.” He was crying now, but you were too shocked to shed a tear.

“...Are you sure?” you asked.

He was surprised at your composed tone and quickly wiped his eyes, visibly holding sobs in. “If I’m honest, the thought has crossed my mind. I’ve done well managing my time between you, Pax, my art, and my side gig this past year, but things are heating up and I can’t… I can’t give you what you need.”

“What I need?” Your voice broke. “Marius, it’s what you need. I would never say this to anyone else, but I know you better than you know yourself at this point, and I’ve seen, felt the way everything falls away when you’re in your studio. Z is a beautiful thing you’ve created for yourself and it’s lucrative enough to keep plenty of your lifestyle afloat. Every time you tell me about Pax, your eyes age decades. I love you, Marius, and you love your art, but this constant striving to prove yourself is killing you.”

“Proving myself? I don’t have anything to prove,” he said lowly, brows furrowing above his red-rimmed eyes.

The quiet was deafening.

“Marius, I… I respect your decision.”

He seemed to snap out of his mild anger and started tearing up again, but you missed his hand reaching for yours as your head was down and your gaze was on the floor.

“I’ll pack some things, feel free to send the rest over when you catch a minute,” you said, voice breaking again. Turning toward the bedroom to gather your essentials, you let a tear slip and he let his hand drop.

He was sitting quietly in his studio when he saw you putting your suitcase into your car. It was only when he saw your head rest on your steering wheel and your shoulders shake that he let his own cries loose, moonlight glinting off the tears that fell and his sobs rang into the empty hallway.

》》¤

Marius felt he could breathe easier without the need to keep up a relationship, but he didn’t feel good about it at all. He knew where you were coming from, and you were right. However, despite his self-awareness, he couldn’t let go of Pax. He was tired and sad almost constantly and any reminders of you hurt his heart.

Z's works were considerably more gloomy now.

Marius heaved a sigh upon exiting his car, entering the very cafe he’d taken you to two years prior. Ordering his drink went slower than usual since he was caught up in his own thoughts, eyeing your regular order listed on the menu with tears burning to escape. In the few months he’d been apart from you, he hadn’t made any effort to reach out, unsure how you’d respond to a continued friendship after he’d selfishly picked Pax over you. Hell, he’d considered dropping art altogether if it meant he could have you back in his life, but he knew it was too late and you’d never accept that course of action anyways.

He’d only just sat back in his car when he received a call from Vincent.

“Sir, someone’s hacked into Big Data. They’ve uploaded a video-”

A call from Luke interrupted Vincent, and the rest of the assistant’s words went unheard over the ringtone.

“Hold on Vincent, I’ve got to take this.”

The case the NXX was working on at the time was highly sensitive as they were trying to find alternate ways to indict Heirson until more information pertaining to Opaline village was found.

“Hey there Raven, what seems to be the proble-”

“Marius.” That was odd, Luke almost always referred to him as King when discussing NXX matters. Marius straightened in his seat. “Drop everything, you need to come to the NXX.”

“Has it got to do with the Big Data hack? Something about a video?”

“Yeah, but it’s far more serious-”

Marius sighed, not wanting to put up with another Big Data breach, not when he was thinking about you. “I’ll be right there,” he interrupted, hanging up without paying heed to Luke’s cries for him to wait and listen.

》》¤

Marius regretted not letting Luke finish. Maybe, if he had waited, he wouldn’t have been so stunned seeing you struggle against the bonds tying you to a chair in that godforsaken video. The other members were discussing who at Heirson could have captured you and who was confident enough to do such a thing, but Marius was glued to the screen. Every time he looped it, he noticed something else. The cut on your brow. The bruise on your lip. The blood staining the edges of the ropes keeping your wrists in place. The fear in your eyes. In all the time he’d spent with you, he’d never seen you afraid. But now? Seeing how terrified you were? He was scared.

Marius hit the play button to loop it again, causing Artem to close his eyes and grit his teeth. He couldn’t listen to the person onscreen struggle any longer while the voice behind the camera made their demands, despite not knowing the hostage. Rosa covered her ears, closed her eyes, and allowed Luke to pull her into his side, the detective's eyes set in anger at the captor and pity for Marius. To everyone’s surprise, it was Vyn that snapped.

“Marius Von Hagen! Do not play that video again.” Marius paused the video but did not turn around. “I am aware of your feelings towards them,” Vyn gestured to the screen, “but you fail to consider the others. Rosa is terrified, Libra and Raven are both upset, but none come close to how I am feeling. It was enough to watch my former student struggle in terror once, but to hear it over and over is a special kind of torture. Remember, Marius,” the young man flinched at another use of his name, but remained facing the screen. Vyn placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the only one who cares for Y/N.”

At last, Vyn pulled lightly on Marius’ shaking shoulder so the young man would face him. Hearing your name after so long, especially with the situation at hand, broke him. Marius let his tears flow freely, keeping his sobs to hiccups and whimpers in Vyn's ear as the psychologist pulled the younger man into his arms.

The others were surprised, having never seen Marius so vulnerable.

The young heir did not show up for work that day.

》》¤

The team toiled day and night for around a week trying to find you. Marius, being less capable with computers, felt useless. He resorted to pulling strings from above, reaching through connections to identify the captor, the location, anything. Finally, they narrowed down the possible locations to just two dock warehouses. Luke needed to be onsite to figure out which location you were at, so the team split in half. Marius didn't listen to the decisions on who would go where, he simply started preparing his gear.

"King? You don't even know where you're going," Rosa said, concerned.

"I'm going south. I don't care who comes with me, but I know they're at the southern dock."

"Intuition, huh?"

"Something like that," he smiled. Rosa noticed his eyes were afraid, but opted not to comment on it.

Vyn took Rosa up north, just in case, but Luke trusted Marius' gut and went with him to confirm. Artem, being the sharpshooter of the group, joined the party heading south to provide extra cover.

Artem entered the driver's seat of one of the NXX's unregistered vehicles (provided, of course, by Marius), not trusting Marius' judgement enough to let him drive. Streets passed quickly, the commercial buildings shifting to the lesser-known outer edge of the city.

The more Marius let his mind run free while he sat in the backseat, the more his grip tightened on the firearm in his lap.

》》¤

Upon arrival, Luke called Vyn to let him know your captor was indeed holed up at the southern location, in case he and Rosa could drive down and provide support. The detective put away his signal tracker and drew his gun, joining Artem and Marius in quietly traversing the yard. The tracker wasn't made for pinpointing an exact location, but it was precise enough for them to know you weren't being held in the warehouse, leaving the storage yard out back.

Artem and Luke were quietly conversing on comms, updating one another on any sectors cleared or noises heard. Marius was uncharacteristically quiet, only chiming in when he cleared his own sections.

The process was slow, but it picked up speed all at once. Gunshots went off in Luke's section, prompting Marius to rush over. Upon arrival, the young CEO hesitated. He looked between your captor and the open container behind the man. Seeing the man who captured you, injured you… Marius saw red. However, hearing a muffled noise from within the storage container caused him to stay back, momentarily caught in the middle.

Artem came up on him from behind and noticed his dilemma.

"King! Luke has him engaged, get inside and help the hostage." The senior attorney's voice was authoritative, accompanied with a shove to the shoulder to snap Marius out of his stupor before Artem left to support Luke against his surprisingly competent adversary.

Marius rushed into the container, heart breaking upon seeing you scared of the shadow that appeared before you. You'd assumed you were being rescued due to the commotion outside, but gunfire isn't exactly the most comforting sound. Marius' voice, on the other hand, was the peace you needed to think clearly.

"Y/N, Y/N, babe, I'm so sorry this happened, I never thought being involved with you would make you a target," he rambled until he couldn't breathe, apologizing for every circumstance that led up to this and for every slight wince you made as he undid your bonds.

You hadn't even had the chance to get a word in, much less move, before he scooped you into his arms and sank to his knees, holding you against him like a lifeline.

"Ah, Marius, not there-" his arm was pressing on what you assumed was a broken rib, but he quickly adjusted and silently brought your face into his shoulder with his other arm. His own head mirrored yours, his whole body almost curling around you protectively.

He'd been taking shaky breaths the entire time, but now he was full-on sobbing into your neck. His arms kept adjusting to cling to you ever tighter as his tears wet your skin.

Luke and Artem had taken the man into custody by now and rushed in to check on Marius.

For a moment, they thought you might have been dead, what with how Marius was crying, but a defensive look from you quickly fixed that. In turn, your expression softened, gathering that they must have come with him to rescue you.

Artem and Luke had taken to gathering the hostile's equipment as evidence while they waited for Marius to have his moment. Speaking of, Marius had calmed over time and loosened his grip, but his breaths still shuddered.

"Marius," you said at last.

His head snapped up to look at you, eyes misty from hearing you say his name again after so long.

"Hey engi-dear."

You laughed with him, heart equal parts light and heavy at the silly nickname he'd bestowed upon you.

"Thank you."

"What for? If I hadn't let myself get involved with you-"

You placed a finger over his lips. "I'd like to think the issue is that I wasn't with you, under your watchful gaze."

His watery smile lifted your spirits. Although you were still terrified from the experience, your love for the man before you was all you could think about.

"I missed you," he whispered. "And seeing you on that screen…"

"Hey, I know. I'm pretty shaken up myself," you laughed lightly. "But," you cupped his tear-stained cheeks, "you still came. And you did save me, I can't see a better outcome than that."

"I never thought I'd say this, but now is not the time for banter."

"Thought I'd give it a shot, didn't know a few months were enough time to make a responsible man out of you."

His chest rumbled against yours in laughter as he lifted you from the ground, one arm supporting your legs around his waist and the other across your back, hand splayed to hold you upright.

He carried you to the entrance of the storage lot where two cars idled. The walk was quiet, both people needing a mental reprieve, until Marius broke the silence.

"Hm, I know a wonderful psychologist to talk to about all this. Who knows, maybe he'll be able to cure your ill-timed humor."

"Mister Richter!" you exclaimed, seeing the professor himself over your shoulder.

His stern face lifted into one of relief, happy to see his former student alive and relatively well.

"Dearest Y/N, I'm so happy you're alright—" his gaze darkened as his eyes flicked over you, taking in your injuries. "It appears I spoke too soon. Let's get you a private physician, you don't need the hustle and bustle of a general care hospital after that."

Marius seemed to get impatient, hefting you up again with a little huff and pleading eyes.

Vyn smiled at the young man's irritation. "We'll discuss how regularly you'll meet with me to process the incident come next Wednesday," he smiled, walking off to his shared car where a young woman stood. She was unfamiliar to you, but waved with her own relieved smile nonetheless.

A young man with brown hair and a windbreaker entered the car with Vyn and the woman, presumably for a bit more privacy with Marius. Your boyfriend placed you into the backseat with the utmost care before rounding the vehicle and entering on the other side while Artem started the car and prepared to drive you to a trusted doctor, Apothecary, an NXX sideliner.

You were thankful Artem was driving, in part because you'd met him briefly before, but mostly because you were able to spend the drive close to Marius. The entire ride was quiet, save for the sound of gentle kisses being pressed to the top of your head every so often.

》》¤

Healing was far from enjoyable, what with the lack of activity and regular pain. However, Marius' regular visits made it all the more bearable. He came as often as he could, even though he was using silence to avoid the elephant in the room.

One day, well into his visit, you called his name. He turned to you, calling attention to his eyes. They'd been stormy since the rescue and you were confident you could guess why. Relationship stuff could wait, though.

“I assume this is your ‘secret engagement’?”

He winced a bit, looked to the floor, and lifted his hand to soothingly rub at his own neck. “Yeah, yeah it is. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but I didn’t want to stress you out. It’s not the safest hobby, is it?”

“Of course it isn’t! But I can tell what you’re thinking, and my answer is no. I’d never have asked you to let the NXX go, what you’re doing is too important. Not only that, but being at Pax is a huge help and I realize why you were so adamant on keeping your position as CEO. Marius,” you grabbed his hand that laid on your bed, causing his gaze to flick over every movement of your fingers on his hand.. “I never should have pushed so hard. Regardless of your motivation, as your peer, as your... lover, I never should have presumed to know better than you. NXX aside, your reasons for sticking with Pax are valid, I just don’t want to see the other side of you crumble beneath the weight of a demanding company.”

“...I agree that the push to rethink my position could have been gentler, but you were ultimately right. You weren’t presuming, you did know better. I’ve tried and failed to find a better balance since I realized that, but… something’s missing. You’re missing.” His eyes met yours once more, purple hues gentle amongst his resolute expression. “Y/N, you brought something to my life that no amount of inspiration or... validation could ever match.” His hand moved from beneath your fingers to hold your hand in his, grip firm, but still loose enough to allow you to escape. “If you’ll allow it, I’d like to have you back in my life, in whatever way you’re willing.” He squeezed your hand, his eyes pleading.

You withdrew your hand from his, not missing his face falling. Quickly, before he could make any more assumptions, you lifted his warm hand to your cheek, turning to press a kiss to the heel of his palm. His eyes misted as you spoke, tenderly thumbing your cheek.

“Marius Von Hagen,” you whispered, “I’d be honored to come back into your life and resume my place as your lover. If you’ll allow it, of course.”

He didn’t miss the teasing lilt behind your words. “Always making fun of me, eh, engineer?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond as the hand on your cheek pulled you in and Marius kissed you lightly. It was more breath than kiss, both parties feeling overwhelmed at the familiar feeling. However, that didn’t stop him from diving back in, pressing a flurry of kisses in varying lengths to your smiling lips. His lips slid over yours, pulling them in and releasing them seamlessly. His light, happy laughs echoed into the air between and around you both, mixing with the sounds of your own joy. He kissed you slowly, softly, deeply, absorbing all he’d been missing for the past months. Whatever Pax threw at him, whatever dangers arose, whatever stifled his creativity, he felt he could conquer it all with you by his side to pull him through.

Some time later, Marius was laying next to you, curled into your side. The quiet was comfortable, until you decided to break it.

"You really should have told me about the NXX."

His face fell again, but you were right. "I know, there wasn't any real reason for keeping it from you-"

"So irresponsible, keeping things from your partner. You ought to be a better boyfriend," you chided, barely holding back your smile.

"Y/N! You had me worried! Again with the ill- timed humor, it's too soon to tease me!" His adorable pout was the only thing on your mind as you kissed him for the umpteenth time that night, relishing in his presence.

Yes, he had a lot to figure out. But so did you, and it certainly felt better to work out the walks of life with someone you truly love by your side.

#tot marius x reader #tears of themis #tears of themis x reader #file retrieved!#marius von hagen x reader #wait thats it innit :/#marius angst #idk #ngl! i hate this #started well then the pacing was all wrong #hhhh

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dollslayer · 3 years

Text

Botanical Interest - In Bloom

Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers x florist!Reader

Summary: Steve comes home to you angry after a rough day at work. He made a promise to keep his work life separate but can he keep it?

W/C: 4,103

Warnings: Angst, mentions of past abuse, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

A/N: Hi there! A part three for our soft mob Steve and his lovely florist. Thank you so much to everyone that has shown interest in my work so far, if you like it please reblog and comment!! You can also check out my other stuff if you haven't yet. Cheers!

Botanical Interest Masterlist I Main Masterlist

_____________

When Steve Rogers had asked you to be his girlfriend you knew there was a weight attached to it. A long talk over a stack of waffles and a couple of beers left Steve with a ‘yes’ and some ground rules.

After the incident in the alleyway you both agreed that he left his work at the door whenever you spent time together. Steve’s profession has made you uneasy since you met him and you two couldn’t avoid it forever.

A month later and you’ve managed to avoid conflict for the most part. Nothing as bold as that day in the alley, just small moments where he’d have to take a phone call, once when he had to cancel your plans for a ‘work incident’. But still he really was trying to keep his work and personal life separate and you appreciated it.

It had bothered you that he had to do those things but it’s not as though your work hadn’t impacted your time together either. Being a florist meant a lot of late nights when you worked events. Wedding season in full swing, every weekend was a busy one for you.

That’s why Monday’s have become almost sacred to you, your one day off a week. You and Steve always spent time together, sometimes you’d go out or stay home and just relax.

This Monday Steve had promised to come over and make you dinner. He’d only ever tried to cook for you once and it had ended with a lasagna burnt so badly you had to open every window in the apartment just to get the charred smell out. You couldn’t wait for him to redeem himself and take him to bed after you both came out of your food comas.

You were cleaning the kitchen when you heard your phone buzz. You had asked Steve if he wanted you to pick up any groceries since you had the day off. Expecting a list you were met with mild disappointment.

Running a little late, doll. 6:30 and not a minute later, I promise. Don’t worry about groceries. I'll get it all taken care of, just enjoy your day off.

You were kinda miffed but at least he gave you a heads up and he was going to get the groceries. You picked your sponge back up and scrubbed away at the counter.

________

Expecting to be let down, you were pleasantly surprised when 6:30 rolled around and your doorbell sounded. You buzzed him up and waited patiently for him at your door.

Steve appeared as he rounded the corner and he looked exhausted, irritated maybe. He carried a lot of tension in his shoulders and his suit jacket was long gone. His tie was undone and his sleeves were rolled up to where you could see well toned forearms. You bit your lip thinking of those arms holding you in place in bed.

Maybe we should just ditch the dinner and skip straight to dessert.

He approached you and you leaned up to give him a kiss.

“Hi, honey. How are you?” You greeted him as you shut the door behind you.

He set the groceries down onto the counter with some force and you winced. Okay so he did have a rough day. Do I ask him about it? I don’t wanna talk about his work but I don’t want him to feel like he can’t talk to me about his day.

He sighed and turned to face you, took his tie off completely and ran a hand through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it” he responded as he took a beer out of your fridge.

You were off-put by the abruptness of his answer. Maybe he was just short with you because he didn’t want to talk about work.

You stepped closer and tried to approach him again.

“I-“

“I said don’t worry about it.” Steve snapped, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen, visibly annoyed. “I gotta take this”. He slammed the door to your bathroom shut behind him and left you stunned in the middle of your kitchen.

What just happened? You had never seen him so upset aside from when you caught him mid-punch a month ago with Mr. Andersen.

Realistically you knew it wasn’t you he was mad at but you’d never done well with people when they were mad at you. You were engaged years ago to a man that was abusive towards you. Things had started off well like they always do but he became manipulative and he was quick to anger. You were constantly questioned and criticized. He kept you from seeing your friends, even some of your family. It took your friends coming through for you to get you out of the situation safely. Through lots of therapy and flinging yourself headfirst into your business you’ve come a long way but sometimes you had difficult moments.

It couldn’t be helped as your heart began to quicken and you felt heat come to your face from the embarrassment of being snapped at. Unsure what to do you poured yourself a glass of wine and sat down at your small dining table facing away from the bathroom.

You were trying to get yourself to not shut down in response to his change in mood but it was hard. He’s upset and clearly irritated with me already, he probably just wants to go home. Maybe you should just reschedule. Don’t cry, if you cry you’re gonna make it a whole Thing. Don’t cry. He’s not mad at you specifically and it’s not your fault.

In the torrent of your thoughts you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Steve hadn’t spared you a glance or a word as he started unloading the groceries. Angrily placing a jar of pasta sauce onto your counter with a thud and muttering under his breath. You watched him timidly and took another sip of your wine.

He turned to you and took another swig of his beer.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? What did I do?” He challenged.

Not wanting him to be upset with you, you devolved into old ways of over-explaining so you could justify your actions. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the rational part was telling you it’s not your fault he’s angry and you don’t owe an explanation but you were too far gone.

“I, I just, you didn’t do anything you just, um, you just looked upset. I don’t want to make it worse, I’m sorry. I was just looking at you, I didn’t mean to-”

You were cut off in the midst of your nervous rambling by the shrill ring of Steve’s phone. A frustrated growl escaped his mouth.

“I have to take this,” he muttered as he strode back to the bathroom. “I told you not to call me until you had it fixed” you heard him before the closing of the door muffled his anger.

He left you there to stew in your nervousness and self loathing. Five minutes had gone by and the rational part of your brain was slowly taking over. The rational part of your brain was angry. It’s okay for him to have a bad day and not want to talk about it but the way he’s spoken to you and responded to you isn’t warranted. You needed to confront him calmly and if he was still angry you needed to ask him to leave. You can talk to him another time but not while he’s angry. It won’t do anyone any good. Just like you’ve talked about in therapy.

You rehearsed the lines in your head and finished your glass. You heard the door open again and almost threw everything you had been going over in your head out the window. Just breathe. It’s fine, he calmed down so quickly after that time in the alley, he’ll understand.

_____

Steve was angry. With Clint for getting the dates of Pierce’s arrival wrong, with Sam for failing to get the recon they needed to get the drop on him. Even angrier with Bucky for taking all of this out on him when it wasn’t even his fault. But most of all he was angry with himself for letting his work get in the way of your time together. He promised you undivided attention and you deserved it.

He knew how important your day off was to you and after the day he’d been having he couldn’t wait to just come back to you. He just wanted to make some decent spaghetti and melt the worries of his day off with your embrace. He craved the physical comfort he got from you after a long day. The feeling of endlessly sinking into your arms while you held him in bed allowed him to be the vulnerable one for once. He never felt comfortable enough with any of the other women he’d dated to even entertain the idea of being the little spoon.

He always suspected that who he was at work was almost the only reason any of the other women had even gone out with him. Who he was at work was almost a front for the art-loving, touch-starved, hopeless-romantic that he was when he let himself relax. They’d all just wanted this big burly man who was always in charge, a walking wall of muscle and testosterone that they had seen and heard of him to be when he was on the job. But when he was on his own time he just wanted to feel comfort more than anything.

He just wanted to melt into you.

That’s why he was eager to get to you today but the constant calls were cutting him to his last nerve. Bucky was out with Natasha and her parents so he specifically asked not to be called. Being the boss, Bucky was not to be bothered. Being second in command, Steve was.

When he hung up with Clint he exited the bathroom and walked straight past you without a word, knowing you didn’t want to hear about work and talking about it would just make him angrier. He started unloading the grocery bag with maybe a bit more vigor than was necessary.

Remembering he had opened a beer that was probably warm by now he turned to you and grabbed it off the table you were sat at. At this moment he looked up and you had this look on your face he couldn’t quite place. He wanted to know what was up so he asked but you just ended up stammering out a response that didn’t make much sense.

He was trying to listen to you, he really was but he just couldn’t work around this building anger, couldn’t let it go. So of course his phone rings again. And of course he takes it. Excusing himself and locking the bathroom door behind him again he was already forming how to lay into his men on the other line without raising his voice and alarming you too much.

“I told you not to call me unless you had it fixed” he seethed into the receiver. Steve pounded his fist against the porcelain of your sink in aggravation. “I’m not fucking coming down there tonight. I shouldn’t have to be taking fucking phone calls to solve this kinda shit when I’m with my girl. Lose their tail, re-track them, and we’ll deal with the rest in the morning. Don’t call me again unless someone fucking gets shot”, Steve hung up abruptly and took a deep breath.

He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say to you so he just waited a minute to collect himself. He took another deep breath and readied himself to go back to you.

_________

You were sitting quietly at the table, silently digging your nails into your palm as you tensed your fist. Steve had exited the bathroom and taken a seat across from you. You decided to see if he’d speak first and waited.

A beat of silence and you sighed deeply, readying yourself to talk to him like you’d planned.

“Steve, I understand you’re having a bad day and it’s probably work related. That being said, just because you’re mad at someone else doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me” You blew out a shaky breath, wanting to finish before you lost your nerve and before he interjected. You didn’t dare make eye contact. Only stared at his hands on the table in front of you.

“If- if you’re mad don’t take it out on me, and if you feel like you can’t control that anger I don’t want you around me while you feel that way. If you want to talk through it or just work past it then I’m here. But if you’re going to snap at me again and just be mad then you need to leave. It’s not fair to me.”

I’m pretty sure Dr. Danforth would be fucking proud of me right now. Straight to the point but respectful, just like we talked about. And even if Steve’s mad, you’re in control. You’re doing great.

You braved a peek at his face at this point and he looked stunned himself. He’s probably never been spoken to like that in his life, being the second in command and all. You watched his brows bunch together in what you hoped was thought and not frustration for you and waited for him to speak.

________

Oh. Steve was a little struck by what you’d said. Have I been that bad? She’s shaking like a leaf, of course I must have been that bad. He’d had no idea that he even snapped at you, that’s how wrapped up in his own business and his head he was. He never meant to take it out on you, didn’t even realize he had. Sometimes it was like he was so deep into his work life he couldn’t take himself out of it. But he wanted to try, for you.

He remained silent while he pulled the chair across from you out and took a seat. He looked up to meet your gaze only to find you staring at your hands. You were digging your nails into your palms so he brought one large warm hand to cover yours and brought the other up to your face gently to get you to look at him. You flinched away from him and he felt another strike of surprise, but also maybe a hint of shame. Is she afraid of me? Normally Steve likes when people are afraid of him, makes his job easier, but he’d never want that from you.

“Sweetheart”, Steve’s voice was just above a whisper when you finally looked up at him.

“I’m… sorry, that’s really it I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I didn’t even realize I did.” He apologized.

____________

You could feel your tears subsiding and finally brought yourself to look at him. He looked just as exhausted before, just a little bit more sad. You imagined it was probably easy for him to get swept up in who he was at work so it must be hard to separate himself from it since it requires so much from him. You don’t want him to feel bad for being upset, you just want him to be more aware of himself and to not take things out on you.

“Steve, I know we said you wouldn’t talk about work when we’re together but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me if you have a bad day. Maybe you can keep it vague but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t say anything or be yourself, unless of course you don’t want to, I don’t want to force you to talk about anything either. When you snapped at me I just sorta shut down” You explained.

Steve seemed to be processing your words and forming a response when he took your hand in his to stop your nails from ripping into your palms like they often do. He nodded and took a breath.

“You have no idea how much it means to hear that from you, thank you. Just for the record, I never feel like I can’t be myself with you, it’s opposite, really. When I’m with you I get to drop all that bullshit at the door. Girls in the past have just wanted me because I was scary but seeing the way you flinched just now, I don’t ever want you to feel scared of me.” Steve confessed.

Maybe it’s time to tell him about the engagement, let him know where you’re coming from. You blew out a shaky breath and looked away from him again.

“I, um, I’m not scared of you. Years ago I was engaged to a man and things were really bad, he was really bad. I’m not ready to talk about all of it but that’s why I shut down on you when you snapped. I’ve been through a lot of therapy and I’m still working on it, but I’m not afraid of you. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, it’s… kind of a sore subject” you admitted.

Steve’s nostrils flared and his grip on your hand tightened a little but you could tell he was trying everything he could to school his features and reply to you.

“I… didn’t know that I’m sorry.” he said as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. “If you ever wanna talk about it more, I’m here. And if you don’t, I understand.”

You stood from your chair and came around behind him to throw your arms around his neck. You kissed his cheek and rested your head against his.

“Thank you for listening and apologizing. I forgive you. And if you wanna talk about your day then I’m here.” You assured him.

Steve turned his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss which you reciprocated. Steve stood to his full height without breaking the kiss and brought his hands up to frame your face. The warmth was comforting again to you. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and he elicited the softest of sighs before returning your passion.

He broke the kiss while his hands explored your curves. “I want to make it up to you, will you let me do that, sweetheart?” he asked.

You could only look up at him with eyes blown wide with lust and affection. You nodded and he kissed you swiftly before leading you to your bedroom. You were holding his hand when he let go and softly urged you backwards onto the bed. You obliged and soon he was on top of you laying feather-light kisses to the column of your neck.

Your hands mussed his hair and smoothed out the tension in his shoulders as you held onto him. He kissed his way lower and lifted up the hem of our shirt and kissed his way back up to your breasts. You sat up slightly and took off your top and unhooked your bra, letting it fall before throwing it to the side. Steve took turns taking your nipples between his teeth and teasing them, licking and kissing them. He knew it always made you squirm and would build the anticipation before you could even touch him.

“Steve, please.” You whined.

Wordlessly he kissed and bit his way lower and undid your shorts. You arched your back to help him remove them along with your panties. Steve wasted no time and administered the smallest of licks to your clit. You gasped slightly at the feeling when you felt two fingers prodding your entrance before going in. Your body was getting accustomed to the initial wave of pleasure brought on by Steve’s movement and slowly you ground your hips against his hand and cried out softly.

Normally Steve would never let that fly, he was always so controlling and dominant in bed but tonight was different. Tonight was soft and he was making it up to you, showing his love in a physical way. So he let you push him deeper and raise your hips just so to reach the perfect angle. You felt yourself tighten around him and this is the point he usually slows down just to drag things out but your loud cries only fueled him as he doubled his efforts. With a final cry you came around his fingers, white heat blinding your vision momentarily.

You caught your breath and looked down at Steve. His beard was absolutely drenched and he sucked his fingers clean. You could almost cum again just from the sight of it. He wiped his mouth on a tissue before returning to you to give you a kiss. You tasted yourself on him but you didn’t care, you just wanted his mouth on yours. You felt his erection pressing against your thighs and it had you squirming all over again. You reached to undo his belt when he stopped you.

“This night is supposed to be about you, doll. I’ll be fine” He protested.

You shook your head at him. “I want you, all of you. Please, Steve”, you begged.

He nodded and undid his belt. You helped undress and when he was finally naked you felt the rush of heat to your core all over again, an itch you couldn’t scratch. You laid back further on the bed and soon he was above you, face inches from yours and one arm at the side of your head.

His cock nudged against your core and entered slowly to stretch you out. You moaned deeply and when he was all the way in he kissed you passionately and began moving. It didn’t take much for him to pick up the pace as he started to fuck you. He swore under his breath at the feeling of you.

“You’re so, so, good sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He praised.

His words made you keen as you let the feeling of him making love to you take you over completely. His lips grazed yours in between grunts and he moved one hand to your clit while the other cradled the back of your head. You held onto his shoulders tightly and sobbed out pleas for him to keep going. His thrusts picked up speed and so did his hand. You were so close to the edge and you could feel he was too.

“I love you” he panted out before his hips lunged forward into you one last time before he came inside of you.

The shock of his confession and his work on your clit triggered your second orgasm. It was powerful and had you clawing his back and gasping in pleasure. He’d never said that before. Did he mean it? You looked to him for the answer but his lips caught yours as he gave a few last lazy thrusts. He finally collapsed to your side and was heaving to catch his breath.

You both laid there basking in the afterglow of the makeup sex for a few minutes. You turned on your side to look at him. He was so perfect like this, so at ease.

“Did you.. Mean it? What you said?” You questioned nervously. You really wanted him to mean it.

He turned slowly to look at you and he was blushing. “Yeah, I did. I know it’s kind of soon and you don’t have to say it back, but I couldn’t help it. I love you” he confided.

“I love you too, I’m not just saying it cause I feel like I have to, I love you Steve Rogers. All of you.” you assured him.

The softest of kisses was laid on your lips. This moment with him was perfect.

“I can’t believe you love me. I’m so sorry about earlier. I feel so comforted when I’m with you, the last thing I want is to lose you. I promise I will do everything I can to never be like your ex. Ever. If I’m being a dick I want you to tell me,” He apologized again.

You were about to respond when his stomach let out the loudest groan. You both laughed as you sat up.

“I did promise you dinner. Unburned this time!” Steve pledged as he helped you gather up your clothes.

“That’s a promise I’m going to hold you to, Rogers.”

#steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers #mafia!steve rogers #Mob!Au #mafia!au #soft!Mob!Steve Rogers #marvel au #marvel fic #marvel x reader #botanical interest

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haveanotherfandomblog · 2 years

Text

Roses and Thorns

Chapter 2: House Rivalries

Pairing: George Weasley x Female!OC

Genre: Adventure, Angst, Comedy, Fluff

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Minor Descriptions of Violence

Masterlist || <<Previous | Next>>

Dear Reid Family and Extended Loved Ones,

Hi! This is a weird letter to write because I’m not using a regular pen and paper. They don’t use that “muggle” stuff here. Instead we get giant feathers called quills and long, fancy pieces of paper called parchment. Mom was right! We don’t have a mailman here. We really do use owls instead! There’s a whole tower where everyone’s owls rest. Isn’t that crazy?!

Anyway, I wanted to tell you about my first week at school. It’s been a long one, but it’s been so much fun! My classes require a lot of studying, especially since I’m new at this whole “being a witch” thing, but I like studying for these classes. They’re a lot more interesting than English and Science. (Sorry Daddy!)

My first class this week was probably my most boring class, “History of Magic”. Despite being the most boring class, it has the most interesting teacher. He’s a ghost! Mom, you didn’t mention that the school’s full of ghosts. And what’s even more interesting is that each of the Hogwarts’ Houses has a ghost.

There’s another ghost at the school, a bad one named Peeves. He does a lot of bad things like writing bad words, breaking things, and interrupting classes. He makes all the teachers go crazy!

My first class is with one of my friends I made on the train to school, Richard. He’s in Slytherin’s house. He doesn’t think History of Magic is very interesting either. We have another class together too, “Transfiguration. That teacher is a little scary. She always seems so serious, like Uncle Aaron.

Richard, much like he had been on the train, was quiet and thoughtful. He didn’t talk to Gwen much. In fact, during their first class, he didn’t talk at all. He sat as far away from everyone as possible, keeping his head down and focused on his books in front of him.

As his other housemates started coming into class, all of them avoided him like the plague. They whispered to each other and pointed at him as they sat down. Gwen sat with her fellow Hufflepuff, Tamsin, continuously glancing back at Richard. Everyone, from both houses, sneered and glared at him.

After two periods worth of them treating Richard like that, when they went to Transfiguration, the exact same thing happened. Richard sat in the back of the classroom, head bent down as his classmates looked at him in disgust.

She simply couldn’t understand her classmates’ behavior towards him, especially since Richard hadn’t done anything to warrant it. Having had enough of their rude behavior, Gwen took the seat next to him, ignoring his squinted gaze as she pulled out a roll of parchment and her quill. He continued to stare at her, his glasses sliding down his nose as he tilted his head.

“Good morning class.” Everyone turned their attention to the front of the classroom where the teacher from the first night stood. Professor McGonagall was just as imposing as she had been the first night Gwen saw her. Her eyes bore deep into each student as she swept her gaze over the class. She seemed to pause on Gwen before also pausing on Richard.

“Transfiguration,” she continued, “is one of the most complex and dangerous types of magic you will learn here at Hogwarts. Any foolishness of any sort, and you will be dismissed from this class and you will not step foot in it again.”

Professor McGonagall astounded and amazed Gwen. Never had a woman, besides her own mother, stood with such conviction that her posture alone was enough to demand the respect of anyone in her presence. Both women reminded Gwen of the ancient queens that held themselves with grace and dignity.

My next class is “Defense Against the Dark Arts”. Doesn’t that sound scary? Well don’t worry, it’s not really scary. At least not yet. I think the class is really cool, even if the teacher is a little jumpy.

I share that class with my other friend, Mark. He’s not in Hufflepuff either. He’s in Ravenclaw because he’s really smart, just like Daddy and Bobby! He doesn’t know much about being a wizard either, so we’re learning together!

Much like Richard, Mark wasn’t one for words. He was rather content with listening to Gwen rather than talking himself. When she had placed herself next to him in their first class together, he’d given her a weird look, but said nothing. Gwen in turn gave him a big smile.

The class hadn’t been as exciting as Gwen had hoped it would be. Like most of her classes, the teacher went over the rules and expectations and gave a brief summary of what they would be learning over the course of the year.

Mark barely glanced up from his book as he took surprisingly detailed notes on everything the teacher said. He really did remind Gwen of her older brother. Bobby’s notebooks were always filled to the brim with notes whenever she saw him at the kitchen counter.

We also have “Potions” together. Now that teacher is scary. He always frowns and wears nothing but black. I think if he smiled more and added a splash of color to his outfits he wouldn’t be so scary. The older kids call him some really mean names, and I don’t think that’s very nice of them.

Professor Snape was terrifying as a teacher. He had a permanent scowl on his face and always seemed to be in a foul mood. The other students from Gwen’s house, including Cedric, had warned her about the “dungeon bat” the school called their “Potions Master”.

On the first day of class, he marched into the room, his robes billowing behind him as he slammed the door shut. Gwen jumped slightly, peeking over to Mark who looked just as stunned as her.

Professor Snape turned his harsh glare onto the students, going over roll call to make sure everyone was there. He paused when he met Gwen’s eyes. He narrowed his gaze, almost like he was trying to remember Gwen from sometime before class, but others would confuse his stare for one of hatred.

“There will be no foolish wand waving in this classroom. I do not expect you to appreciate the delicate art that is potion making. Here I can teach you a great many things, if you aren’t all a bunch of useless dunderheads.” No one said anything as he continued to lecture the class before having them dive into their first potion.

My last class of the day is Herbology. My teacher for that class is also my “Head of House”. That means she acts like a nanny for everyone in Hufflepuff. She’s a really nice lady. She reminds me of Aunt Penny!

Professor Sprout was a gentle, older lady with a rounder figure. Unlike the other teachers, she seemed to take an interest in what the students thought and was more than eager to teach them everything she could. Gwen was happy that Professor Sprout was her Head of House. She couldn’t imagine having Professor Snape as a caretaker.

I have that class with my other other friend, Ava. She’s also not in my house. She’s in Gryffindor. She’s also in my Charms class. That’s where we learn most of our spells. Ava’s really good in that class. I guess since she’s from an all-wizard family, she’s had some practice.

Ava was the most welcoming of Gwen’s three friends. She gave Gwen a smile when she sat next to her during class. Ava seemed much more extroverted now that she seemed comfortable around Gwen. And while they weren’t the best of friends, Gwen felt they could be.

Ava truly did have a knack for charms. She knew how to hold her wand and how to properly enunciate most of the spells they learned. Gwen being both American and unfamiliar with the wizarding world, had a bit more trouble. Ava was kind enough to help Gwen.

I share one class with all three of them and that’s astronomy. I see why you liked that class so much Mom, and why you like the stars so much now. The sky is so pretty, especially from all the way up at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

My other class, which I don’t have with any of them, is flying. I think this might be my favorite class! They’re teaching us to fly so we can play a game called “Quidditch”. It’s like basketball and baseball mixed together, while on brooms! It seems like a really fun game!

Gwen had that class with the other Hogwarts students she didn’t see regularly. She stood with her classmates as an older woman with golden eyes like hers stepped into the field. She told them about the exciting game of Quidditch, which sounded like a funny word to Gwen.

Gwen made friends with the other students in her house as well, one in particular being Tamsin Applebee, who shared an interest in Quidditch. The two of them spent quite a few nights discussing it.

Anyway, that’s all I have to say. I love you all and can’t wait to see you guys for Christmas!

Love,

Gwen

Gwen folded the long piece of parchment before placing it inside the envelope. Cedric sat next to her, working on homework from Professor McGonagall. She peered over at his paper and found him writing about beetle buttons.

She shook her head and reached to grab the spoon holding hot wax and poured it over the back of the envelope before grabbing the stick with the Hufflepuff sigil on it and pressing down firmly. She waited until the wax cooled to pull the stamp off.

“You heading down to the owlery?” Cedric asked, peering up from his homework. Gwen nodded, carefully writing the address her mother had given her. “Then I’m coming with. This homework’s killing my brain.” Gwen giggled, tucking the envelope into her robes that now held the Hufflepuff colors and sigil.

“We’ve only been in school a week,” she pointed out. He shrugged, staring at her as if that had anything to do with his statement. “Alright. Let’s go before you lose your mind. Can’t imagine what you’ll be like during finals.” He let out a groan, twisting his face into a scowl and tossing his papers to the side.

It was a lovely Saturday afternoon with warm, sunny weather, so most of the students were outside enjoying the last reminscits of summer before the cool winds of autumn took over. Cedric and Gwen were able to skip through the empty halls, laughing about anything and everything. Gwen wished she could join the other students outside, but she had promised Ava and Mark that they could all head to the library to work on homework.

The ghosts of Hogwarts floated by, ignoring Gwen and Cedric and letting out forlorn moans. Of course, Gwen found that not every ghost wished to be a sad, lost soul. Sir Nicholas of Gryffindor and the Fat Friar of Hufflepuff always seemed up for a light-hearted conversation.

Once they arrived, Gwen set to work on finding the small, red owl her mother had told her about. “Carnelian?” she called timidly. There was a soft hoot before a beautiful red owl landed on the railing next to Cedric. He held his hand out and the tiny owl bumped its beak against his hand.

“It’s cute.” Gwen nodded in agreement. She called for it again, and it turned its big brown eyes towards her. She gave the bird a few gentle strokes, resulting in several happy hoots. She reached into her robes and produced the envelope. She held it out for Carnelian to take into her beak.

“That’s for Mom. Where she used to have you go.” The owl blinked, tilting its head before she turned herself around and stretched her wings. She stood there for a few seconds before she jumped and flew into the sun.

Gwen rested her arms on the railing where Carnelian had been, watching her fly off. A small twinge of sadness plucked at her heart. Cedric took notice of Gwen's dampening mood and came to rest beside her.

“Everything alright?” he asked. Gwen shrugged, looking down to run her finger along the rail absentmindedly. Cedric nudged her slightly, staring off at the owl. “It’s okay to miss your family. I missed my parents when I first came here, but I found that having friends really helped, and in a way, they became like a second family.”

“I don’t see you with a letter home,” Gwen pointed out. He shrugged, turning so his back was leaning against the railing. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking over to Gwen.

“I write home about once a month. It’s less stressful that way. You’ll find the more homework you have, the less you write home.”

Gwen didn’t believe that for one second. It might have been true for Cedric, but he grew up in this world. He knew about magic before he could crawl and continued to grow up around it. It wasn’t until a few months ago that Gwen had learned that magic was real, let alone that she and her mother possessed it.

Except for those she knew now who had grown up around magic, and her teachers, her mother was the most knowledgeable about the wizarding world. Gwen was relying on her mother’s vast knowledge to help her through Hogwarts.

***

Ava and Mark were already waiting for Gwen at one of the tables in the library. They were tucked away in a quiet corner, books and scrolls of paper and ink spread out on every inch of the table. Mark was already through an entire roll of parchment while Ava was barely three pages into one of her books. Gwen was ready to join them when a certain someone caught her eye.

Off in another corner, tucked away from the rest of the school, was Richard. He sat with his books neatly around him, a roll of parchment in front of him, and a jar of ink just above it. His quill rested in his hand as he alternated between reading and writing.

Gwen glanced back over to Mark and Ava before she straightened her spine and made a beeline towards Richard. She stopped right beside him, staring down. He paused his writing, glancing up from his paper to stare at her. She gave him a big smile, tilting her head back towards Ava and Mark.

“We’re all studying together. You should join us,” she said. Richard shook his head and went back to reading. Gwen simply continued to stay where she was, rocking back and forth on her heels. Richard let out a sigh, closing his book.

“You don’t take no for an answer, do you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Not usually, no,” Gwen replied with a toothy grin. He shook his head before he carefully gathered his stuff and followed her to where Mark and Ava were sitting. “Look who I found!” Both of them looked up, giving Richard an awkward wave before he and Gwen sat down to join them.

It was some time later when all four of them decided they had had enough of looking at notes and books. Dinner was to be served shortly in the Great Hall, and all four of them were starving.

The hallways were once again crowded as everybody made their way to the Great Hall, laughing and talking loudly. Some of the students were in regular clothes from playing outside while others had the same exhausted expressions as Gwen and her friends.

Rounding the corner, the group came upon the twin boys Gwen recognized from the Sorting Ceremony. They were running around the hallway, laughing and pointing at different students. Gwen scrunched her nose slightly as Mark continued to talk about the homework, much to Ava’s annoyance. The boys continued laughing as the group walked past them.

“Oi! Watch out! ‘Ere comes the evilest snake yet!” shouted one of the boys. Gwen stopped in her tracks, whirling around to face the two boys. They were looking directly at Richard, toothy grins on their freckled faces. Gwen frowned, crossing her arms.

“That’s not a nice thing to say,” she told them. They turned to each other before looking over to Gwen. They hunched over laughing and began pointing at Gwen.

“Looky ‘ere George, the snake’s got ‘imself a little puff guardian!”

“Think she needs better friends, Fred,” the other said. “Wouldn’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort now.” Gwen scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“I think I know more about making friends than you do, Geniuses. Now both of you need to apologize. Right now,” she said. A rather large crowd had formed around them, all pointing and whispering to each other. The boys, Fred and George, laughed again. “You’re both being bullies and that’s not okay.”

“Oi! It’s just a bit of fun,” one said.

“Besides, everyone knows Slytherin in the most evil house,” the other said. Gwen narrowed her eyes, her cheeks heating up.

“Gwen, let’s go,” Ava said, tugging at her sleeve while everyone stared. Gwen shrugged her off, tilting her head up.

“From where I’m standing, the only evil ones are you two. Now please, apologize.” One of the boys stepped up to her, looking down his nose at her. He was a good head taller than her, but his height didn’t intimidate her.

“And what’s a firstie like you going to do if we don’t?” he challenged. The entire hallway was silent as they waited with bated breath for what Gwen would do. Gwen’s fists were clenched as she stared at him.

Richard came up to Gwen’s other side, tugging her sleeve and shaking his head. His eyes pleaded with her to drop it.

“It’s not worth it,” he whispered. Gwen relaxed slightly, letting Richard and Ava pull her away from the Gryffindor twins. There was an audible groan of disappointment from the surrounding students.

“Hm, that’s what I thought. Run away like a scared little girl.” Gwen stopped in her tracks, jolting Ava and Richard backwards. She turned around to see the boys bending over and laughing.

Her blood began to boil as her whole face felt as if it would catch fire. She clenched her jaw and rolled up her sleeves. She marched right back to those boys, ignoring her friends’ protests.

The one that had mocked her turned around as she threw a right hook. There was an audible crack as he twirled from the impact and fell to the ground with a resounding thud. The nearby students all let out gasps.

“Guinevere!” her friends shouted. Gwen turned around slowly, her face relaxing from anger to one of pain. She looked down at the boy who was clutching a very bloody nose and crying then to her throbbing hand that was a loud shade of red. She shook her hand, wincing slightly.

“Mr. Weasley! Ms. Reid!” Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, was running down the hallway with Professors McGonagall and Sprout hot on her heels. “What on Earth happened?”

“She’s mental!” the boy cried. “She broke my nose!” The teachers turned to Gwen in shock.

“Is this true, Ms. Reid?” Professor Sprout asked. A wave of guilt washed over Gwen as she bent her head.

“Yes Professor. I punched him,” she admitted. The teachers sputtered out random noises, turning to each other in utter disbelief.

“That is completely unacceptable Ms. Reid,” Professor McGonagall said. “I expect better from you. Twenty points from Hufflepuff.” There was a loud groan from the nearby Hufflepuff students.

“That’s fair,” Gwen said, nodding her head solemnly. “As long as Gryffindor loses points as well.” She nodded her head towards Fred and George.

“Whatever on earth for?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“Because they were bullying Richard just because he’s in Slytherin.” Ava and Mark timidly went up to stand by Gwen, nodding along with her words. The teachers turned to Richard, raising their brows.

“Mr. Avery, is that true?” Professor Sprout inquired. He looked at Gwen who gave him a reassuring smile before nodding. The teachers looked at each other before ushering the other students to the Great Hall.

Gwen and the boy she punched were escorted to the hospital wing. She had, in fact, broken his nose. It was swollen and would have a gnarly bruise, but it was nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn’t fix. Gwen’s hand was also swollen and bruised, but she would be fine.

Madame Pomfrey gave her some ice for the swelling, and she was promptly sent to Professor Dumbledore’s office. She was brought to a giant statue where Professor Sprout was waiting for her. She guided Gwen to stand by the statue and followed her.

“Lemon drop.” The statue moved to the side and the wall behind opened to reveal a spiral set of stairs ascending like an escalator. Professor Sprout guided Gwen onto the stairs and followed closely behind her. The wall closed with a solid thud and they continued upwards.

It stopped in front of a large ornate oak door with a griffin for the knocker. Stepping inside, Professor Dumbledore sat behind a large desk with paintings all around him. The paintings moved from frame to frame, whispering and talking to one another.

Along with Professor Dumbledore was Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. Professor Sprout joined Professor McGonagall, turning to face Gwen. Professor Dumbledore gestured to the nearby seats. Gwen sat down, scratching the back of her neck.

“How are you, Ms. Reid?” Professor Dumbledore asked softly. His voice was gentle and soft, almost raspy as he punched a bowl of treats towards Gwen. “I hear you’ve had quite a day.”

“Yes Professor,” Gwen said, happily taking a treat. “I’m sorry to say I was really bad today.” Professor Dumbledore nodded, peering over the rim of his lasses. “I know I shouldn’t have punched him, but he was being really mean. Both of them were. Just because Richard was put into Slytherin doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.”

“While your reasons were noble, Ms. Reid, violence cannot and will not be tolerated,” Professor McGonagall stated. Gwen nodded her head. “I have sent a letter to your parents explaining your—transgression. I expect we’ll both be hearing from them shortly.”

“Ms. Reid, I don’t want you to fear, you won’t be expelled from Hogwarts. We all lose control sometimes, but I do want you to understand the gravity of your situation. I’m afraid I won’t be as lenient as I am now if this should happen again,” Professor Dumbledore said.

“I understand and I’m sorry that I caused such a big problem.”

“On that note dear, I’ve assigned you a week’s worth of detention that Professor Snape will see to.” Professor Snape turned his head at the mention of his name. His face had its usual snarl on it. “Your detention starts on Monday and will end on Friday,” Professor Sprout finished.

“I understand.” Professor Dumbledore nodded his head, gesturing towards Professor Sprout.

“Professor Sprout will escort you back to your common room.” He nodded and Professor Sprout stepped forward. Gwen was almost to the door when he called out to her again. “It would be wise, Ms. Reid, for you to be careful about who you are friends with here at Hogwarts. Not everyone has innocent intentions.”

Gwen tilted her head slightly, giving him an almost pitiful smile. “Of course not Professor, but colors don’t define people.” Gwen said nothing more as Professor Sprout led her back down to the Hufflepuff common room.

Cedric and Tamsin were both seated on the couch. They jumped when Gwen walked through the threshold. They bombarded her with questions and statements about the gossip around the school. Gwen waved them off, falling onto the couch.

“I’m fine, I just got detention, but I know my mom’s going to be so mad. Especially if they don’t go into detail and just say I punched someone. Let’s just say, my parents aren’t too keen when it comes to violence.”

Woof!

Midnight, Gwen’s adopted cat, jumped onto the nearby table, its bright blue eyes focused on Gwen. She reached over, giving him a nice scratch behind the ear, making him pant softly. He jumped down and rubbed his body against the couch before he circled around Cedric and Tamsin. He settled on Gwen’s lap, flicking his tail and back and forth.

Gwen’s stomach growled loudly, startling Midnight off her lap. It also reminded that she hadn’t had a chance to eat almost all day. She let out a sigh, scooping up Midnight and snuggling her face against his soft fur.

“Hey, let’s get something to eat,” Cedric suggested. Gwen and Tamsin looked at him confused.

“You have Doordash here?” Tamsin turned to look at Gwen with even more confusion. “Never mind.”

“I’m not sure what that is, but we can head down to the kitchens. Come on!” Cedric led the girls out of the common room and further down into the basement. There was a hallway lined with different portraits, all filled with different types of food. The further they went, the more their stomachs grumbled.

Finally Cedric stopped at a portrait of a bowl of fruit. Tamsin and Gwen looked at each other before back at Cedric. He reached for the painting and began tickling the pear. Gwen scrunched her nose, looking around the hallway.

The pear began giggling and turned into a green doorknob. Gwen’s mouth fell open as Cedric twisted the knob and pushed the portrait forward.

Inside was a giant kitchen, bigger than any Gwen had ever seen. It was modeled much like the Great Hall was. It had five tables set up the same way. Weird creatures with long elf ears bustled around, cleaning and humming to themselves. Some were preparing what looked like tomorrow’s breakfast.

“Cedric, what are they?” Gwen asked.

“They’re house elves,” Cedric said. “They work for the school. They make the food.”

One of the house elves set a plate of food down for Gwen, bowing its head. Gwen sat down, thanking the creature before diving in. After one bite, she practically inhaled her food. Tamsin occasionally swiped food off her plate, laughing at Gwen’s unhappy grunts.

Once Gwen had had her fill, Tamsin led her back to their dorm. The other girls were already asleep, soft snores filling the room. Midnight was hot on their heels, jumping onto Gwen’s bed and making himself comfortable. Gwen slid into bed, not looking forward to Monday.

***

If detention Monday night wasn’t enough, the letter from Gwen’s mother first thing Sunday morning was enough to ruin the whole week.

Dearest Guinevere,

I have not only received your letter, but a letter from professor McGonagall as well. Your father and I are very disappointed in the actions you have taken thus far. We did not raise you to use violence. You have been taught to talk through your problems and to get an adult before problems escalate.

With that being said, I have taken the liberty to owl the boy’s parents to let them know we are taking this very seriously, and I assured them you will apologize. I will also be having a strongly worded conversation with your Uncle Luke.

On a more positive note, your father and I are thrilled that you seem to be adjusting well outside of this incident. Professor McGonagall made more than one comment on how your outburst was out of character. I assured her you are not like that and that this would be an isolated incident. I expect you to issue a full apology to the boy, and Professor McGonagall shall see that you do.

Your brothers and sister miss you terribly, as do your father and I. We want you to continue to excel with your school work and to make friends. We cannot wait to see you during the Christmas holidays.

With Love,

Mother

Gwen let out a loud groan, resting her forehead on the table. Her appetite had completely left her, and she still had a full day of classes. Tamsin gave her back a reassuring pat.

“It could be worse,” Cedric said, stuffing his face with French toast. Gwen turned her head to face him.

“I have to apologize to the boy I punched.” Cedric drew his mouth into a thin line, looking down at his breakfast. Gwen let out another groan. “I shouldn’t have to apologize to him. He deserved it.” Tamsin shrugged.

“What can you do?”

Unfortunately for Gwen, there was absolutely nothing she could do. Her mother and Professor McGonagall had been very clear on their feelings about Gwen’s actions. She spent all Sunday afternoon practicing her apology to the Weasley twins. It was like she was having to apologize for her sibling’s problems.

Ava and Mark thought Gwen having to apologize was unfair, especially considering those boys had started it. Plus with all the horror stories they’d heard about detention with Professor Snape, those boys should have been apologizing to her. Richard said nothing about his opinions on the topic. Instead, he focused on helping Gwen’s apology sound authentic.

Monday morning classes were torture for poor Gwen. She found herself having a hard time concentrating, She spent her first two periods practicing her apology while Professor Binns went on about whatever event they were covering in class. She’d get the notes from Mark later.

Before she went to lunch, she met with Professor McGonagall to go and apologize to the Weasley boy. She led Gwen to her office where Fred and George Weasley sat in front of her desk. They both turned to watch Gwen as she entered.

Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk and motioned for Gwen to take a seat. Gwen sat, folding her hands in her lap. Professor McGonagall tilted her head down, peering over her glasses to stare at Gwen. It was the same stare technique her mother used when she thought her kids weren’t being truthful, and it always succeeded in divulging the truth.

“When you’re ready, Ms. Reid,” Professor McGonagall said. Gwen turned in her seat to face the Weasley boys. The one closer to her, Fred, had a bit of a smug look on his face that made Gwen’s blood boil. The other twin, George, was tucked behind his brother, a little less smug than his twin. Gwen took a deep breath, straightening her back and looking Fred in the eyes.

“Fred Weasley, I am sorry that I used violence during our—dispute. It was wrong and immature. I should have used my words, and for that, I’m truly sorry.” There was a brief moment of silence before Fred stood and extended his hand. Gwen followed suit and clasped his hand.

“It’s alright, Gwenny ol’ girl. Water under the bridge,” he said, the same smirk from the hallway on his face now. Gwen bit her tongue, glancing over to his brother. She knew right then and there, this would not be the last time the three of them collided heads.

22 notes · View notes

ktheist · 4 years

Text

heartbreaker of mine

muses. jungkook x reader

synopsis. ah, here we are again. the overtold, cliche as hell story about two best friends who might or might not be in love with each other. except you can’t - wouldn’t dare to dream about being with jungkook.

alternatively, wherein you fell for the one who could break your heart.

words. 7.5k

universe. university / slice of life

warnings. mentions of physical insecurities; appearance, commitment issues

you should have known that in the absence of two of your best friends, nothing ever goes right when you decide to hang out. it isn’t the fact that you’ve known each other since diapers and basically know anything and everything about the other, that at some point you feel like your friendship is stale and need new additions - that’s where park jimin and kim taehyung comes in; a year older but several younger at heart, you couldn’t have imagined going through uni life with someone but them - but it’s the fact that realization hits you at the end of your final year that makes you drift apart.

the fact of the matter is, you prefer the solitude of your room, the library of that one spot in the cafe that you’ve claimed as yours. and jeon jungkook prefers the blare of music, strobe lights and bodies grinding against him.

by your final year, as you receive a job offer at the company you interned in on your second year, taehyung is already working part time at the company he interned in, jimin thinking about that modeling offer he just got scouted for and jeon jungkook is getting daddies of the girls he’s having a thing with to get him to work at their office just so their daughter can see their favorite boy more - yours and jungkook’s friendship has dwindled down to mere silences as you wait for the other two to knock on the door and fill the place up with their endless bickering about whether dumplings are better than mochi.

“shouldn’t you like, give me advice?” are the words jungkook said to you while you type away on your laptop, trying to do some light reading for tomorrow’s class before your mac gets confiscated for ‘pooping the party’ as taehyung likes to call it.

and you know what he’s talking about without even having preambles of the topic make its way into the conversation.

yet you still take off your glasses and set it down in your lap and ask, “what could jeon jungkook possibly have not known and needed advice on?”

he scrunches his nose, not appreciating your sarcasm but humors it anyway, “you know,” he shrugs, as though shrunk into the sofa from either shyness or embarrassment - you don’t know, “on like, how to start being serious about life - and settling down.”

the silence that stretches is a stale one, filled with your blank stare and jungkook’s peering eyes - even at the age of 22, the stars still glimmer like they’ve been freshly plucked from the skies.

“you want me to help pick, out of the many job offers you got from your girlfriends’ rich parents, for you to do?” is your conclusion - though if you were 2 years younger and had a little bit more faith for the boy you basically called your twin, it would have been a good natured jest. but you’re older and jungkook isn’t exactly portraying characteristics of an upstanding citizen either.

“no,” his hair brushes against his brows as he shakes his head almost too eagerly - as though he saw that coming but still got upset and wanted to prove you wrong, “like how to start taking things seriously like settling down with someone and no, not with out of my many girlfriends - can we not call them that? it makes me sound like an ass.”

it takes you less than five seconds to digest his words, eyes drifting to the white screen of your mac for the sole reason you can’t bear to hold his intense gaze while you conjure up a response, “well for one, you are but there’s honestly nothing i can tell you that you don’t know already and there’s nothing i can possibly say to make you want to change - it has to come from you. or like, a professional that could help and if you think you need one, i’ll be with you all step-“

the brief scoff is what puts a rest to your racing thoughts while the smile on his lips put your heart at ease, “i’m not addicted to sex.”

“oh, okay.” is all you say, not seeing where the conversation is going as you watch the boy scratch the back of his ear, lips pulled into a pout - one way you know he’s trying to strum words into existence. and when he does, confused is an understatement to describe what your face is portraying.

“okay, i’m saying if and if you’re looking for a husband, no, scratch that, would you even introduce someone like me to your parents?” but that’s the thing, you’re not confused because you don’t know where this is going but you’re confused because you don’t pretend to be oblivious.

but you’re also not a master at the art of heart-to-hearts and the gargantuan elephant that it brings. so you settle with a, “uh, i don’t know, you already know my parents, don’t know how i can reverse that and reintroduce you-“

“that’s not the point,” he blinks, the sight almost endearing as he freezes in his spot for a split second in contemplation of how to approach the matter and explain it to you who seem like you’re way off, “the point is-“

“i get it.” you nod, arms crossing over your chest as jungkook’s wide eyes peers into you like a mixture of relief anticipation.

“you do?”

“you’re worried if your future partner will be insecure about the bodies you’ve seen before them,” there’s a knock on the door just as you’ve finished speaking.

as you get up to get up to answer it, knowing already who’s there from the obnoxious chatters - more like argument - you’re not sure if your brain is playing tricks on you or if jungkook’s shoulder line really falls as well as his face.

but the, “uh, yeah, i guess,” is what makes you push the image of dimmed stars and downturned pink lips to the back of your mind as you unlock the door, welcoming the two halfway-into-a-deep-quarreling men and their two bags of take-away roasted chicken, chips, mashed potatoes and whatever else they thought necessary to fill the game night with.

“thanks, shortcake,” taehyung smiles at you after you take a plastic bags off his and jimin’s hands and proceed to place it on the coffee table.

“tae, you’re literally taller than everyone,” throwing him a side glance, you shrug as you begin taking out the packed chicken wings and placing it in front of jungkook while taehyung helps with unpacking the add-ons from another bag, “calling me short isn’t exactly an insult.”

“i’m just saying we should demolish mint chocolate chips all at once,” jimin plops down on the couch adjacent to jungkook, “and no, we can’t let these savages go eating them - we need to educate-“

somewhere in the middle of jimin’s colonial-esque speech, you turn to the boy who’s never said a word since the two came in. not that those too needed an additional converse partner with how taehyung is advocating for leaving mint chocolate chip eaters alone and jimin staying with his stance that these people haven’t had a taste of all flavors in the world yet.

the way he seems to look at something past your shoulders tells you enough - he’s still deep in his thoughts about settling down, or changing or whatever. you don’t know why exactly he wants to change his heartbreaker ways but- “there’s nothing wrong with two adults having a - or multiple - consensual sexual relationship prior to finding their significant other. and if they have a problem with that then that’s something they need to work on, not you so no, i don’t think you should change anything unless you want to.”

it’s some days later that taehyung brings up the remnant of the conversation he overheard before the four of you began arguing about what movie to watch and ended up putting the fate of humanity in rock paper scissors. and so you tell him, without ever thinking of the one thing that spurred his ridiculous thought and the hesitance of pouring it onto you.

“don’t look at me, i’m not snitching.” jimin’s round, disbelieved eyes stares back at taehyung as though surprised the latter would ever think he’d do such a thing.

“okay but someone’s gotta tell her.” taehyung lowly mumbles, upper body turned to jimin, gracing you with his beautiful side profile - whoever gets to date him will forever be the lucky one.

“guys, i’m literally right here.” the sound of your voice warrants a turn of heads and a wide-eyed stare as though they’re seeing your ghost rather than your physical form that entered and picked a spot together with them.

it takes a moment for the elephant to settle somewhere in the corner and crush you with its invisible weight before taehyung turns to you, hand behind his mouth as he fake coughs into it. then, another moment for you to register taehyung’s words as you watch his mouth move and his gaze trained on you like a father teaching his daughter a life-lesson before he lets her out into the world. once his mouth stops moving and a second passes for you to take in the information, only two words leave your lips.

“you trippin’,” with a half-manic smile and brows knitted together, you look almost like you’re made for the asylum- but understandably, your admittance is overdue.

as your heart palpitate inside the confines of your rib cages and the scene from that night replays at the back of your eyes like a broken record - jungkook’s hesitant glance, the windows to his soul shutting tight with hesitance and the teeth that traps his lower lips as though his body is forbidding him to say whatever his heart and mind wanted - as much as it pains you to admit it, the signs were all there.

you just didn’t want to admit it.

that’s what pining over a best friend you’ve known for over a decade does.

the denial that comes after realizing you don’t want anyone else to touch jungkook when im nayoung stood on her tippy toes and pecked jungkook’s lips before running off with a flustered expression - you were both in elementary and jungkook was more into sleepovers with the abundance of plushies you had than hanging with ‘other kids’.

then comes the ugly head of self-loathing and guilt as you fixed park jihyo a smile as jungkook introduced you two. one, as his girlfriend and the other, his best friend.

both, in love with him.

it’s ugly and disgusting, jealousy that is. but you’re uglier for smiling and laughing with jihyo over the things you would with a best friend who’s a girl - there were things you couldn’t share with jungkook as a girl. but you’d let your eyes linger a second too on them as they shared a peck when he’d meet you too in front of the school gate after his extra class was over - you lost count of the times you wished you were her.

you carried the pathetic little mask of a smile to uni. by then, jungkook had broken up with jihyo. there was a lot of tears and consoling and empty words of assurance.

“hey, if you guys are meant to be, you’ll meet again someway somehow.” you’d fixed her an encouraging smile as your heart bloomed with hope for when you’ll get jungkook’s attention all to yourself once you start uni.

getting into the same one had been pure luck.

it didn’t bring you far though. jungkook started gaining attention for his friendly nature and bunny smile that attracted both males and females. it wasn’t long until he’s bringing you to parties where he’d keep you by his side because he knew you didn’t know most of these people. tried to get you involved in the conversation but there was nothing interesting about the dude who drank himself silly and woke up in front of an old lady’s door butt naked or about that girl who woke up a five minutes before class in a city an hour away from where her dorm is.

well, at least, none of them seemed like jungkook’s type. he never had a girlfriend throughout his years in uni though he had plenty of other experiences that makes you wonder what in the world he hasn’t tried yet.

being in a relationship, is probably the only thing he hasn’t done.

jungkook liked kind people. ones that didn’t point at a random person and say an offhanded comment and collectively laugh about it. someone that laughs and smiles a lot because and didn’t have a single bad bone in their body.

liked.

because you don’t know what kind of person jungkook likes now. but you never thought him asking a hypothetical question from what seems like another person's perspective about his lifestyle would be, as taehyung calls it-

“i’m telling you,” he slams a hand on the table, a loud pap! resonating in the air but he doesn’t seem bothered by the pain - if there is any - as his eyes bore into you, “that was jungkook shooting his shot!”

“i don’t know,” you take a sip from the metal straw of your matte black tumbler for the sake of doing something, “it doesn’t feel real but i can kind of see it?”

“take it for what it is, love,” the pull of his eyebrows together couldn’t have been more frustrating, “jungkook has every reason to have the fattest crush on you - i mean look at you, you’re funny, adorable and nicer than all his friends combined.”

jungkook has multiple friend groups he hangs out with. funny how you started out as duos and merged into a quadruplet and ended up being that friend group that jeon jungkook doesn’t really look like he fits in but he’s probably hanging out with you guys from time to time because you’d known each other the longest. or so word has it.

“that’s basically everyone who’s not his friends.” with an eye roll, you wrap your mouth around the straw. this time, for the sake of hiding the smile that threatens to bloom on your face as it is in your heart.

and that’s how you find yourself in more than one ‘don’t you dare’ moments. jimin has begun randomly pointing out something about your hair accessory to your clothes to your fucking strawberry printed socks.

to prove a point, he said.

“hey beautiful,” oh, and he’s resorted to calling you all the adjectives in the world - but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work in making jungkook’s face scrunch in displeasure for the briefest moment as he glances at jimin as though he’s an adjective away from beating the man into a bloody pulp, “nice shirt.”

despite knowing the comment is every bit staged - and probably doesn’t mean that your minnie and mickey mouse shirt is anywhere compliment-worthy, you still look down at the two mice, one kissing the other on the cheek.

the “uh, thanks,” couldn’t have been more dubious and skeptic.

and so begins jimin’s not-so-secret mission to bring jungkook’s attention to you.

“isn’t the stickers on ___’s mac cute, jungkook?”

jungkook skims at the grizzly, panda and ice bears scattered across your mac before breaking into a smug smirk, “of course they are, i bought them for ___.”

you can almost hear jimin and taehyung high-fiving on the row behind you just as the professor walks in.

while jungkook seems to oblivious to it all, eyes trained to the display on the on the front, you allow yourself to indulge in the heat that seeps through your pores and warms your heart.

it’s not like jungkook stopped going to parties.

but finals season is almost upon you and he’s been hanging out with you more. sitting next to you in class while jimin and taehyung dozes off at the back.

“they sleep in class just to spend hours on end studying at the library,” jungkook huffs, eyebrows knitting together adorably as he stresses over your two friends’ stamina for sitting in one place for six hours straight and only needing a bottle of water at their disposal, “i mean, why can’t they just focus in class so they don’t have to study a whole semester’s worth of syllabus in the last minute and drag us into it?”

the six hour mark ended and they’re out getting some snacks for you to secretly munch on until the library closes.

“i mean,” you begin, eyebrows jolting upwards at the more-than-obvious fact he’s supposed to already know, “you technically came here with your own free will, you’re free to leave whenever you want.”

another sigh hits the air as the boy slams his onto the book he has open in front of him, “yeah, but i need to study to pass and i needed you guys to push me,” he laments.

ever since then, there’d been far too many moments of where you’re stuck with jungkook to wait for the two non-time-abiding asses. at first, excuses like ‘sorry we’re late, we were getting mcdonald’s’ or some other poor fast food restaurants’ name that became the patsy, but they started dwindling to ‘oh hey, sorry, we didn’t notice the time’ and eventually a ‘hey, jimin’s got a meeting with a professor and he’s my ride so you guys go first’.

and before you know it, finals pass and you’re visiting your hometown while jungkook stuck around for a part-time job with taehyung whilst jimin drops off the face of the earth after having mentioned that he’s going on a family vacation at some private island with apparently the worst wifi connection ‘like ever.’

the two now-co-workers keep spamming the group chat with pictures of them in their uniforms, holding different drinks which they personally every time. when you’re staying over with your grandmother, it’s your turn to spam pictures of her great black cat who seem to only like sitting in her lap and glaring at you in every picture you take of the two watching tv together. almost as if he had a sixth sense when it comes to cameras.

“when are you coming back?” jungkook grumbles from the other end of line.

you’ve just got a shower and he’s just got home from a night shift. he’s probably haven’t even taken off his jacket yet when he proposed calling you like the sporadic times you both did throughout the break.

“i don’t know. i don’t feel like going back maybe even until the ceremony,” you confess, half-meaning it. the gardening, and saying hello’s to everyone you see while buying groceries because everyone knows everyone here, and the best-tasting cookies your grandma make, and waking up to her cat suffocating you in your sleep, isn’t so bad.

“i’m dying here,” he sighs, sounding more relaxed and probably lying on his bed now, “if i have to insist that i can’t ‘reheat’ coffee and can only make a new one and end up having to hide in the kitchen for five seconds to pretend like there’s a secret microwave only for coffees,” he says all in one breath before letting a suspenseful silence hang in the air and then finally revealing the next big thing he’ll do, “i’m seriously going to spit in their coffee while in the kitchen pretending to reheat it with an invisible microwave.”

the laughter that tumbles out of your mouth is probably ugly and you probably snorted a couple times but jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. or care as he keeps insisting ‘i’m really gonna do it’ whilst you end up laughing until your stomach hurts and tears begin to prick your eyes.

“is this the same regular that like, wants their coffee like super hot?” you finally manage to ask, traces of laughter still threatening to spill from your lips.

“yeah,” his sounds impressed, “how’d you know?”

“tae told me,” you make an incredulous face and shrug even though he can’t see, “you do realize you work at the same place, right?”

“yeah but i never see him talk about it in the group but i probably missed it-”

“oh no,” your hand goes up in a dismissive wave, “we talk on the phone and he told me about it.”

“you guys talk on the phone too?” there’s a strain in his voice, possibly out of surprise.

“yeah, like every day.” you say, tongue subconsciously lapping over your bottom lip.

“oh,” is all he says for the longest moment before chirping out the billion dollar question, “why aren’t we talking every day?”

“i don’t know,” your shoulder line rises, almost swallowing your neck as a war breaks out within yourself, “we did try at the beginning of break but you always had a party to go to so...”

“oh,” this ‘oh’ is a little bit dejected and perhaps hits a little different before he continues, “i don’t go to those anymore.”

this time, it’s your jaw that falls. your voice is small, almost as though cautiously teetering on tightrope as you ask, “...why not?”

“i just didn’t see the point of going anymore you know? once we graduate, i won’t even talk to these people anymore - but i wanna continue being friends with you guys.”

the ‘you guys’ meaning you, taehyung and jimin. the bros. the homies. it’s no secret that he probably sees you all as the same gender, not a guy nor a girl but just friends.

well. it’s not the first time jungkook’s friendzoned you.

“that’s great,” you can’t help but nod even though you know he can’t see you, “i wanna keep being friends with you too, jungkook.”

ever since then, you talk almost everyday. sometimes in three’s and when taehyung had a shift and jungkook got off his, it’d just be the two of you. and for the first time, in ages, it feels as though the ‘best’ in your friendship has somewhat reintroduced itself once more. jimin somewhat manages to get a connection somewhere along the way and the first thing he did was complain about the three digit number in a red bubble in the corner of the message app and then managing to get one picture of him in flowery trunks, and a baby monkey eating a banana perched on his shoulder with the beach in the background before disappearing for the rest of the month until two weeks before the graduation ceremony.

“so like, do you have anyone to pick you up?” jungkook asks from he other end of the line. he sounds more free since it’s the last day of his job.

“yeah,” you announce, attentiveness laced in your tone for your next words might be indicative enough, “my sister.”

“what.” he drags out the word in a disbelieving tone and it’s no secret why he’s doing that- “i haven’t seen you in ages! and you’re going to your sister’s? wait - this isn’t like a permanent thing right? we’ll get to hang out before the ceremony, right?”

it takes you a moment to register the series of questions he bombarded you with and before you know it, the silence has already turned your voice into a small and guilt-ridden, “um, yes and no?”

a groan.

“i haven’t seen seulgi in forever too and she kept nagging me to visit her during break but i never did so now she has like a whole week’s worth of itinerary planned out for us to do before the ceremony,” the excuse trickles out of your mouth hurriedly, “jungkook, i have to do this, or the next time we’ll meet it’s at my funeral and you’ll be talking to my dead carcass before they bury me.”

it takes a moment of anticipating silence before he grumbles out a “fine. but after that, you’re staying over at my place.”

“okay but i mean if we’re having stay over’s wouldn’t tae’s place be better since he has a whole ass apartment for himself?” you’re at that point where you’re discussing stay over arrangements before actually consulting the owner of the place.

“i guess,” his voice is a little lower and smaller but it revives at the mention of the new pizza place that just opened before you decided to invite the other two in the call to make plans to visit there.

when the day finally comes for you to don the royal blue robe and cap, you do so with barely enough grace and composure for someone who’s about to receive her blood sweat and tears on a stage all because you and your sister are - this must be karma for shading taehyung and jimin for being - a bunch of non-time-abiding asses.

the double doors are almost closed as you struggle with not tripping on your high heels whilst trying to keep your hair out of your face.

“where have you been?” you almost didn’t recognize the golden man who tapped you on your shoulder from behind.

“jimin! you made it!” is the first thing you say.

“rich coming from someone who barely got to her seat in time,” he gives you a once over and you’re not quite sure what he sees because your back which he’ll be looking most at is clad is oversized blue robe. but despite that, you reach out to give his hand a squeeze and he takes it with just as a tight, ‘we made it’ kind of squeeze before you turn to the chancellor that’s beginning his speech.

you’re not sure which row jungkook is at or if he even sees you and you read taehyung’s ‘i feel like a proud momma’ text because his major adds another year to his studies than you, jimin and jungkook.

the ceremony goes on without a hitch and you’d like to believe your picture is as perfect as your make up which your sister claims to be ‘out of this world!’ - only because it’s her that did it.

“so you guys talk everyday?” jimin pulls you into him, a smile gracing his beautifully tanned skin as he steals a glance at something behind your shoulders - possibly jungkook whom you saw was being swarmed by his friends to take pictures with.

“yeah, i guess,” you casually say with a shrug.

“it’s true, i was there,” taehyung comes up next to you, replacing jimin’s arms with his in a side hug.

“man, i really wish i witness it all,” jimin grumbles, “but the connection on that island was shitty.”

“i’m sure you connected in different ways,” the taller man adds, a strain in his voice which the shorter doesn’t seem to notice as he try to wave off the belatedly relayed fact that his family is a different kind of family.

like the kind that invites sex workers and other business colleagues alike to enjoy themselves for as long as they wanted, as long as the park family was there.

“okay but how long is he going to take?” jimin quizzes, eyebrows soaring whilst you and taehyung follow his gaze to the growing size of people a few feet away who clearly look like they’re here for a photoshoot than a simple graduation ceremony, “my parents kinda skipped work to see me go on stage and get a piece of paper they paid a lot for so i kinda want to get the family pic done before i go to my second family...”

time doesn’t seem to stop like they do in the movies. it happens all too fast, in fact - jimin’s voice fading into the background, the countdown of the person taking the picture of the group of graduates jungkook’s in starting from three, two, one! and a girl with the prettiest curls that seem to bounce as she turns around and stick her tongue into jungkook’s mouth.

it must have been your uncanny silence that draws the attention of the two boys and a ‘oh shit...’ from one of them - you’re not sure who even though taehyung and jimin has two distinctly sounding voice.

all you’re sure of is the involuntary movements of your feet as they carry you away from the scene. your eyes are dry but that’s probably only because your brain hasn’t registered what exactly happened though deep down, you’re perfectly aware of the fact that those daily calls, the spams of good mornings and randomly sending each other selfies were nothing more than exchanges between two people who were onlu ever connected through a childhood bond that got translated into best friendship just because there was no other name for knowing someone for so long even though you probably stopped being friends first year of college.

“___! wait!” someone calls for you and you wish it so badly to be jungkook but you know better than to expect for the impossible. a modern day fairy tale.

“hey, don’t cry. jungkook’s a fucking dick,” the tall stature that finally caught up to you and trapped you in his arms, whispers. gentle, understanding and pitiful.

it’s not just the comforting warmth, it’s also the hand that’s rubbing your back that you know is probably jimin’s that makes you break out into your first sob. whilst the day isn’t exactly free of tears, those who did shed them did it out of gratitude and a sort of ‘i did it’ kind of relief but not you.

today, your cheeks are marred by the excruciating pain of a heartbreak. you might as well tear your chest open, take out the beating organ and hand it over to jungkook so he could crush them with his own two hands.

maybe it’d hurt less.

somewhere amidst your fit, you choke on your laughter as you catch the two bickering.

“that’s not how you comfort a crying lady, taehyung, what the fuck?” jimin doesn’t hold back with his colorful words.

“what? what did i do?” the taller man sounds all the more confused but still pass you on to the shorter one like a gift basket when a hand pulls you into another pair of arms.

a hand patting your head as jimin murmurs, “there, there, you’re going to be okay, sweetie,” he hugs you just a tad bit tighter as though to say i promise, “you’re young, you’re beautiful and you just graduated with honors. in five years you won’t even remember your little crush for jungcockhead.”

you would have laughed if not for the shadow in your periphery stopping dead in its trek just a few feet away from you and close enough to hear every word jimin uttered in his attempt to placate your rising desire to flee the scene.

“what?” even a simple syllable is enough to tell you who the voice belongs to. perhaps it’s because you’ve heard it in real life and on the phone countless times and countless more during the span where he worked sporadic shifts and you were gardening and getting scratched by your grandmother’s cat that you tried relentlessly to befriend.

“nothing, jungkook.” you wish it was you who said it but it’s jimin who’s hugging you tighter like a mother comforting their heartbroken child, “why don’t you go back to your girlfriend and stick your face where it’s actually wanted?”

almost as though physically slapped in the face.

with a brick.

jungkook’s shoulder line jolts as he flinches, brows knitting together as you can almost see the rewind of the moment your heart gets split in two. she has the prettiest, softest tanned complexion, luscious curls and body that fits the definition of a glowed-up.

he takes one step forward but stops when you shrink into jimin’s arms, almost as though seeking protection. but it takes everything in you not to run to him and make up an excuse about feeling hot and stuffy and that being the reason you left, when the crestfallen expression mars his otherwise ever-smiling features.

“that wasn’t what you thought it was-” you could almost swear he chokes at the end of his words but the pause is too short to tell, “i left her as soon as i saw you running off.”

“oh my god, cut the bullshit! this isn’t the first time and this won’t be the last. don’t talk to ___, don’t even look at her, douchebag,” the rumble of jimin’s voice vibrates against you as he pokes taehyung in the rib, making the boy cry out in pain.

the assaulted man has half a mind to ask for further instructions when he turns to you and jimin but decides against it, squaring up his shoulders and placing a warning hand, “just leave, man. ___ clearly doesn’t wanna talk to you right now.”

“ever.” jimin half-shouts.

those deep brown eyes search for yours as though holding on the last strand of what you call best friendship - hoping, wishing that it isn’t true. but as soon as they find your puffy eyes, you throw your gaze to the ground, finding the crack in the asphalt in a better state than your heart.

you can only imagine jungkook’s face falling at your refusal to affirm the strength of years’ worth of friendship. because the fact of the matter is, you’re not so sure if you want to keep pretending to be oblivious as he wraps his arms around another person and kiss them like he means it.

“___,” the bed dips as you feel the weight of the blanket get yanked off you. seulgi’s sweet peaches perfume filling your senses, “get up, it’s been days since you had an actual meal.”

“i’m not hungry,” you grumble against the pillow just as your stomach starts making the most monstrous sound ever existed in history of mankind.

“yeah right,” she scoffs but her hand on your arm is warm and soothing, “come on, please eat something - i’m saying ‘please’ here and you know i never say ‘please’. people say ‘please’ to me.”

you can’t help but laugh at that. seulgi’s never truly begged anyone for anything in her entire life. she would have asked once and left you be until you were done moping around over jungkook getting with jihyo. it was after you did get over your first heartbreak, did she get you ice cream and you’d spent the night in her room with fairy lights and forts, watching the notebook.

“don’t let a boy hurt you like that again, ___, promise me.” she held up a pinky, and yours felt like a ton of weight just dropped over you.

in the end, you hooked your pink with hers and made a promise of sisterhood.

but she hadn’t been there when you needed your off days in college when rumors started spreading about jungkook and a different girl every week.

the wounds to your ever bleeding heart don’t heal. but you got used to picking yourself up and you got better at that with that one class you failed, that one presentation you blew, the humiliating mistake you made in front of your supervisor and every time after that. seulgi had her own ways to deal with problems and you had yours - or maybe patching yourself up after a fuck up was more of your forte.

who knows?

“what’s for dinner?”

“really?” at your inquiry, the face you thought would light up like a christmas tree - doesn’t. if anything, she bites her bottom lip just like you just caught her red-handed for doing something you probably won’t like.

“what?” you ask plainly, at this point, you won’t even be surprised if she said the sky is falling.

it’s not.

but her next words are far more foreboding than the end of the world, “look, jungkook came over like he always did everyday since that day and today i wanted him to stop coming for good so i told him if you at least have the energy to get some food, i’d let him see you,” her eyes glimmer with a sort of remorse that you can’t even hold her against.

“then can’t you tell him i still don’t wanna eat?” is what you say, completely unperturbed or rather not registering the fact that your best friend whom you’ve been in love with for as long as you can remember is in your sister’s living room because he probably heard about your hunger strike.

but the only problem is, he’s not in the living room-

“he’s right outside the room. i told him he can stand there and see for himself how bad he fucked you over so he’ll feel bad enough to leave you alone.” she says in a hurried whisper, eyes glancing to the half-agape door every second.

a spark lights up inside you, like smolders blown by wind and flares into flames, “seriously? you couldn’t talk to me first about it?”

her eyebrows furrow as her mouth opens and closes for a moment before she confesses, “...i didn’t think you’d say yes to lunch.”

“whatever just-” you tear your gaze away from your sister’s involuntary puppy eyes just so you wouldn’t end up clawing them out yourself, “...just go, seulgi.”

for the longest yet briefest moment, the only thing you can hear in the room is your steady breathing. the flame still burns but it doesn’t flare into a raging fireball. and you know full well it probably isn’t easy for jungkook to pass to through the door after having heard how you reacted when you found out he’s just outside.

when he does, he doesn’t even hide the way his doe eyes shine with something you can’t pinpoint as he takes you in. all of you. with your mused, oily hair and three day’s worth of hoodie and puffed eyes.

“hey,” he murmurs ever so softly, the bed dipping where seulgi sat.

you echo the same greeting back but with a hoarser voice compared to his velvet one.

“so, what do you want for dinner?” he begins, cautious eyes finding yours.

“i don’t want it anymore,” is all you say as you shrug casually.

“oh.” he sounds fragile. nothing at all like the self-assured jeon jungkook you’ve come to know.

silence fills the room like a big, blue elephant. seconds stretch on into minutes and you find yourself leaning against the headboard, drawing invisible patterns over the sheets while jungkook-

you don’t know what he’s doing. he could be fiddling with his fingers like how 10-year-old him would whenever you met at your favorite spot after a fight. but you’re both no where near 10 and if there’s any traces of the boy you once called your best friend, it’s probably only his appearance that’s never really changed.

either way, you don’t dare to even steal a glance his way.

“i like you too.”

the words hit the air like a drop of water that vaporized faster than what science dictates it too. you almost thought you were hearing things if not for the way he looks at you. as though waiting for something. anything.

“i...” you trail off before shaking your head, almost as though coming to your senses, “i can’t do this.”

jungkook laughs awkwardly, hand scratching the back of his head, “yeah, i understand - i’m sorry i- i just wanted to make sure you’re fine and then i got carried away- i should leave.”

but before he takes a step towards the door, you call for him, “jungkook, wait.”

“i’m leaving for japan in two days,” you finally let the cat out of the bag.

“what?” comes out a second later - you don’t dare to look up from your hands to see what kind of emotion he’s making.

but he at least deserves an explanation, “for the longest time, i feel fucked up because i get so jealous of the girls that dated you...” taking a deep breath, you continue, “but i know it’s because i think i’m not enough-”

“you are - you’re more than enough,” the interjection is what makes you look up involuntarily, if not to confirm it yourself - the knitted eyebrows and heartbroken gaze proves it and then the sinking realization settles in, “but you don’t believe me.”

you shake your head, a bitter smile on your lips, “i’m not enough for me and that’s something i have to work with.”

“by running away?” his voice rises to the ceiling, confusion and frustration pooling in his eyes.

“by finding myself,” you correct, “you know like how people go to a different country and come back a different person except i’m hoping to find that person.”

“in japan,” he sounds like he’s a word away from hooking you up with a specialist - not that you haven’t thought of one but-

you laugh and he looks at you like he’s stuck in the middle of a never ending maze, “my mom’s planning to visit my aunt in japan and since i’m officially unemployed i guess, i’m tagging along.”

“oh,” his shoulder line sags as he sighs in relief, “so like a vacation.”

it tenses back up when you say, “i might look for a job there.”

“you’re permanently moving to japan?” jungkook’s body seems to be here but his conscience seems to have flown out - probably to japan.

you want to laugh but it doesn’t seem like a proper setting for it. especially when you’re confessing to your crush that you like him but also subtly admitting that he’s partly the reason you’re leaving the life you know for a new one. and you might not even do it willingly.

“i might find a job with a branch company in korea - work there for a year and then transfer here,” you shrug, “i don’t know.”

“i-is this because-” he starts but you shake your head.

“yes and no?” you say, “none of this is your fault but i’m projecting my frustrations onto you and this isn’t healthy... i need- i need to go away for awhile and figure myself out.”

and that’s how jeon jungkook finally comes to the realization that nothing’s been the same. you haven’t been the best friend you prided yourself to be for a long time and that best friend completely disappeared in second year of college after he started spending nights at parties and only lunches with you. until eventually, you’re stuck in a habit - a cycle that you can’t break from until something dramatic or life changing happens.

and so it goes, he sees you off at the airport with taehyung and jimin. unsure of whether they were still friends after they’d deliberately stopped him from running after you on your graduation day, they were the first to approach him. they understood that it’d only be worse if he chased after you but they didn’t hate him - dislike him at times when - as they called it - he was so damn clueless, yes but they didn’t hate him. and that was a relief.

nothing major changed. he moved in with taehyung and jimin and even got a job at the same company as jimin. you went off radar but still kept in contact every once in awhile - it was like that time jimin went to that private island except you had all the reception you needed, just not the time to text as much as you used to.

job hunting was tough and he understood the competition. when you got a job, you were plagued with a newbie’s role, having to do overtimes to finish up work that was piling before they gave you that position.

then one year turned to two and two years turned to three. jungkook became a manager while jimin took up the position as a secretary in their rival company - it’s funny because everyone at the office would shit-talk him and they would make fun of those people as they drink into the night.

jungkook lost contact with most of his party friends - they were great with hooking him up with a potential client but besides that, he was basically living the workaholic life with his two apartment mates as his only source of social interaction outside of work.

from meetings to gatherings to meetings and then private dinners with clients. the cycle goes on until that one evening where arrives at an invites-only event.

“jungkook, come here,” the director gestures him over and because there’s a server blocking his view, he only notices the girl standing in front of his superior, when he’s finally by his side.

“...a hardworker - every project he’s ever handled hits the internet like a boom!” the director was saying.

“ah jungkook,” the man taps him on his shoulder but he can barely feel it when his eyes are trained on you, stunning in that deep toned dress and new hairstyle, “meet ___, you guys will be working on the twin tower project together.”

“so you’re back for good?” he asks when you’re finally alone, lingering at the balcony and away from your superior’s eyes.

“not quite - i still have to fly to japan every week,” you shrug casually.

“oh,” he nods.

“you look great by the way,” he adds a moment later, scuffing his foot against the floor.

you can’t help but giggle at how boyish he is, even at the age of 25, he still acts like a child, “thanks - you don’t look half bad yourself.”

he echoes a “thanks” as well before throwing his gaze over the magnificient view of the cityscape. artificial lights from the buildings appear like stagnant fireflies. it’s sad that they’re the reason you can’t see stars anymore.

but fate is too cruel.

because hoseok, your partner is calling you over - a couple of middle aged people standing next to him, smiling that mechanical smile that isn’t any different from your business smile.

“i gotta go,” you sigh but shoot him one last melancholy smile, “i’ll see you this monday?”

“yeah, see you this monday.” jungkook smiles a smile that says he’s not so sure where you stand. colleagues. ex-best friends. acquaintances?

with a wave goodbye, he watches as you strut to the couple, transforming into a woman so sure of every gesture, even a smile and a throw of your head back as you laugh. everything you do, every movement you make is mesmerizing.

and he knows he’s not the only one who thinks so as he watches your partner gaze at you with eyes that doesn’t seem to see anyone else but you. laughs at something you say as if he’s completely enchanted.

jungkook turns around, hand propped on the railing as he takes a sip of the wine he’s been holding. without realizing it, a smile slips onto his face, he makes a mental note to check your company’s dating policy.

most forbid office romances anyway.

note. i’ve had this in the draft for forever! and thought i was never gonna finish this but i somehow got a burst of inspiration yesterday and here we are! hope yall enjoyed!

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts au #jungkook au #bts fluff #excerpt from a fic i'll never write

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sneezefiction · 4 years

Text

found

Oikawa x Reader - Scenario

desc: Oikawa found a steadiness in the stars... and then in you too. alternatively, you’re Oikawa’s apartment neighbor & you two have gotten pretty close.

a/n: i’ve been thinking about stargazing and Oikawa lately. i’ve honestly always wondered how he adjusted to life in Argentina and if he ever got very close to anyone in his time there. here’s something fluffy along those lines <33

warnings: none

wc: 2.4k

---

The night sky has always had a gravitational effect on Oikawa.

Leaning up against the cold metal railing, head tilted back with tired eyes, he feels free to drop his composure and look up into the vast expanse of space.

Long days under bright arena lights are a constant in his life. He’s used to it by now and remains grateful to the fluorescents that have followed him throughout his blossoming career, but at 24 years old Oikawa has found himself drawing closer and closer to the bright specks in the sky.

The novelty of success had Oikawa on cloud nine. His hard work had paid off and his name was spreading like a wildfire, not to mention, he was finally making some good money…

But he was drifting.

That cloud had him riding a high... but it was also starting to sweep him off of his feet. And he desperately needed to remain planted, feet firmly pressed against the ground. He didn’t have Iwaizumi to knock him in the head anymore, so he knew he had to find something else steady.

That’s when Oikawa realized that those stars were the most grounding thing in his life.

And there wasn’t a better place to view them than from the unlit rooftop of his brick, Argentinian apartment building. It was an escape of sorts. One where he could easily slip on his coat, trek up the concrete staircase, and breathe deeply without any unnecessary attention. There was nothing more pacifying than taking in the skyline view and watching cars the size of ants pass below him.

To some, a starry sky is just a nice picture. A moment only briefly studied and then tucked away in ones memory. But to Oikawa? Stars are stablization.

A taste of humility.

The open-ended, unravelable abyss reminds him that he is just one man. A single person resting under the glow of a trillion stars. Oikawa feels small and, according to the galaxies above, that’s exactly how he should feel in comparison.

But lately he’s found himself up on the rooftop for another reason.

Which brings him back to you.

The tap of your shoes and the blowing of the wind are the only noises to break the silence of the chilly autumn night.

Oikawa perks up as he picks up on your footsteps behind him, but acts like he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t want you to think he’s been checking over his shoulder for you for the past 10 minutes, impatiently waiting to see your face.

Only once your feet meet the edge of the railing does he shoot you a glance.

Oikawa has to keep himself from leaning into you right then and there. He has to fight the urge to try and charm you like he does with his fan-girls and the pointed cameras.

So he keeps his arms crossed atop the iron rail, his chin resting on top of them snugly. One leg is placed further back than the other to keep himself balanced, while still propped up against the metal comfortably. There was a serenity to his pose. He was always standing up so tall. Always so poised.

Yet here he was... Leaning sloppily, eyelids heavy and dark circles on show, letting his guard down in front of you. Again.

“Took you long enough.” Oikawa pouts into his jacket.

His voice is whiny, but there’s an affection to it.

You rub your hands along your upper arms in an attempt to create some friction. You could really use some warmth right now.

“Yeah, sorry, I couldn’t find my jacket.” You mumble back, inhaling deeply and blowing it out to watch the cold air turn your breath into a little, misty cloud.

He turns his head toward you, but doesn’t lift his chin off of his arms, blinking and quirking an eyebrow in confusion.

“You could’ve just sent me a text. I’ve got tons of sweatshirts at my apartment.”

Oikawa has perfected the art of mock-petulance, his voice is breathy and feigning hurt.

But without hesitation, he stands upright and shrugs off his dark-blue coat, swooping it over your shoulders like a blanket. It retained his heat well and transferred the warmth from his body to your own in only a few short seconds.

“I knocked on your door, but you were already up here!” You sigh, tugging the jacket a little closer to your face.

You shuffle your feet, inching your body closer to his as you overlapped your forearms on the frigid rail.

Oikawa takes note of your cozy form. You’re unbearably endearing with your head tilted and your body wrapped up in his coat like that. Your nose is tucked within the coat’s collar; it acts as a warm shield, guarding your face from the biting breeze. If it weren’t so dark out, he might’ve tried to snap a picture of you, but the mental image would just have to do.

Oikawa goes back to his original position on the rail, noticeably closer to you.

“You don’t always have to be so quick to get up here, y’know?” You remind him, your elbow and side pressing up against his own, attempting to catch some more of his body heat.

He smiles, mouth closed.

You’re always so thoughtful. Always steady.

“Yeah, I know… but I wanted to see you.” He admits, breaking eye-contact to watch the cars below instead.

Oikawa’s words come out low and slow, but they’re coated in honesty, like thick, sweet honey. Something he hasn’t gifted anyone else with since he’d moved to Argentina.

“...I wanted to see you too.”

And with that response, you lean your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes.

It’s an awkward angle, but you couldn’t care less. You’d fallen into a habit of ‘shoulder leaning’ over the past few weeks and neither of you are complaining about it. Oikawa sneaks an arm around your back, tugging you into him.

The wisps of his hair tickle your forehead and tease at your ears, while the wind tangles your senses in his soft scent.

His cologne quickly reminds you of when you’d first met him. To be completely honest, you’ve felt drawn to him since the day he moved in to the apartment complex.

Those pretty, brown waves, his cheeky smirk, and the fragility that lingered just beneath his surface had you genuinely curious about it… you wanted to know him better. Most of your initial meetings were accidental run-ins and hallway chats - you just couldn’t seem to catch him at a regular time.

So you built up the courage to speak with him directly.

It started with a simple knock. A life-altering knock on a door across the hallway and two apartments to the left. And before you could even introduce yourself, you were met with Oikawa’s tired but warm voice explaining that he was heading up to the rooftop and that he could use some company.

The rooftop where it all started.

It’s been well over a year since you’d become friends and only a month since the dating phase had begun, however, Oikawa knows that he’s finally found someone that he can hold onto.

Someone who needs him just as much as he needs them. Someone who knows who he is deep down and still wants to stick around.

He’s found a bright light that contrasts beautifully against the dark sky.

And this time it isn’t a star or a flashing camera.

Oikawa breathes out a sigh of peace, pressing his cheek up against the top of your head.

“Whatcha thinking about.” You whisper, throwing him off his train of thought.

He hums into your hair.

“You.” Oikawa drawls sweetly, not missing a beat.

You should’ve known he would say that. He’s a witty one. The way you feel him smirk against your head makes it clear that he was prepared for that question.

But it’s true.

He’s really is thinking back to the day he first met you. He’s thinking about how nice it is to have your cold hand wrapped within his own right now. How badly he wants to make you smile and laugh. How much he wishes to touch your skin while pressing his lips against yours.

And that last option seems quite doable right about now.

Oikawa shifts, standing up slowly.

It prompts you to lift your head up off of his shoulder, your hand still intertwined with his own.

He stares at you with such adoration. There’s a subtle shimmer to his brown eyes, a spark that’s barely visible under the shading of the dark sky... but you know it’s there. It’s a look reserved for you and you only.

You can’t help but feel flush under his gaze.

There’s this forbidden, beautiful message within those umber-brown eyes. One that sets off a flame inside of you, burning and crackling deep within. Those brown pools catch you off-guard and vulnerable, trapping you in the gentlest of ways with a look that almost dares to say, “I think I love you.”

You turn your head, flustered, and look out across the city instead.

And it’s beautiful and vibrant.

The bright hues of streetlights and restaurants color the sidewalks in vivid shades of reds, violets, and blues. A neon glow casts a lively image across the entire cityscape... and yet, it pales in comparison to the male in front of you.

But you hold your head in place, still bashfully averting your eyes.

“S-stop looking at me like that, Tooru.” You stammer through a soft smile, your sweet expression denying the substance of your plea.

Oikawa doesn’t look away, and instead brings his hand to your cheek, caressing it. You almost flinch as his chilled fingers touch your skin, but you quickly tilt your head into his palm. It’s hopeless. Avoiding his eyes clearly wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“I can’t help it.” He replies smoothly, running a thumb across your jaw.

His cheeks are pink.

You can’t tell if it’s because of your close proximity or if it’s from the frigid air surrounding you two, but you like to think you’ve incited a little nervousness within him. After all, this relationship is still somewhat new to the both of you.

But his prior relationship experience allows him to feel a warranted confidence around you. Oikawa takes the lead, stepping forth and slowly leaning toward your face. He scans your eyes, concern and eagerness apparent.

He’s silently asking if this is okay.

And after giving him a small nod, Tooru closes in on you, eyes softening.

You meet him the rest of the way, taking his lips into a shiver-inducing kiss. Chills run up your arms, but are quickly followed by a wave of heat that fills up your chest and coats your entire body.

You don’t really need that jacket anymore.

Oikawa’s lips are cold, but soft and pleasant. They meld with your own in several gentle motions, getting a feel for you once more. You think he must have been taking notes from your last make out session, because he knows exactly how to move his head to accommodate for your comfort and how to make you jittery at the touch of his calloused fingers as they roam your neck, arms, and sides.

While Oikawa is busy reading you like an open book, you’re on your tiptoes in anticipation, wondering what his next move will be.

One moment he has your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging and inciting soft whines from you, the next he’s gingerly cupping your cheeks as if you were the only thing that’s ever mattered to him. A concoction of deep pleasure and unguarded intimacy - as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. And these aforementioned butterfly moments inevitably bubble their way out in nervous excitement and shaky, skin-seeking hands.

His tongue surprises you as it licks your bottom lip for permission. The warmth is inviting, so you gladly comply and let him explore your mouth gently and curiously. He’s patient. More than generous with his time, making sure to appreciate and savor every last second of you. You taste like nothing he’s ever had. It’s addictive. Like maple-syrup or freshly cut strawberries, your sugary lips had him sipping on you for another kiss. And another. And another

As you run your fingers up his neck with a fluttering touch, he lets his hands wander down to your hips in the process. You breath hitches and you feel him smile against your lips as he tips you back slightly. As your legs become shakier, knees threatening to give out as the kiss intensifies, Oikawa only pulls you closer.

Because you had a way of bringing him back to reality with the brush of your lips and the breath of your words. Those kisses are a gentle reminder that he doesn’t need to be on a court or draped in medals to be worthy. His career, his passions are important... but so is this.

And so those strong arms hold you up, their touch tender and protective. Like he’s guarding you. Cherishing you. Begging you not to pull away yet.

But all kisses must fade at some point.

Only when his thumb is brushing against your jaw do you part. In an instant, you miss his warmth and the sweet minty taste on his lips. You both find yourself panting from the long-winded session, seeking oxygen and energy... though you wish it were possible to breathe him in instead.

And while you’re feeling cloudy and dazed, you note that there’s a clarity to his gaze. It’s a clearness you can’t quite discern, but you know it’s coming from a good place, because he’s already pulling you into a hug, tucking you into his chest, and peppering your face with little kisses.

It’s a love letter in the form of a kiss… or 20 if you count all the pecks being pressed against your forehead and cheeks. Without words, he’s thanking you. Praising you. Asking you to stick around for as long as you can bear.

And, in a sense, you’ve discovered the real Oikawa Tooru.

The Oikawa who doesn’t have to hide behind his fame or his successes or his pretty face to receive your recognition. Because you see past all of that. You see him for who he is right now.

An achiever who needs to be reminded of his humanity. A man who craves touch and care just like any other. A lost soul searching for a space in the world and in your open arms.

You’ve helped him to find himself underneath all of the pressure and all of the lights.

You’ve shown him that there’s worth in just being himself. That you can keep each other grounded and stable, saving each other from themselves in more ways than one.

You’ve found him for who he is… and neither of you are planning on letting the other go.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @vintgicals, @moonlightaangel, @kit-tea, theworldupthere, @sugasugawarau, @randomesk-yuku, @ideshine, @macaronnv, @anseoo, @aprettyfruit, @bbakougo, bloom-uwu, @spikertrash, @iguessimastannow

(comment, dm, or send an ask to be added to my general tag list - blogs in bold could not be tagged)

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #reposted this from wednesday bc the tags werent working :/#thank u all for being patient w/ me!#i still dont know exactly how i feel about this fic #but i think i like it?#sneezefiction

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grian-stole-my-rights · 3 years

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OK! This is ridiculous at this point but DSMPblr, LEARN HOW TO TAG POSTS!!

Y’all are pretty good about putting ship warnings and putting “/rp” when it’s needed but that isn’t always enough! You need to learn how to tag? Fine, I’ll teach you!

Here’s how I typically tag my posts. (It’s a pretty standard tagging system. Nothing special.)

General tagging!

Put the fandom, in this case “mcyt” (optional) and “dream smp” (mandatory on related posts) or sometimes you might need to put a “tales from the smp” tag in. Abbreviated titles are also acceptable.

Is this crossover content? If so put on a crossover tag. For example “hc x dsmp” or “dsmp x mcd”. (Typically I like to put the SMPs the post is about in chronological order of when they started airing, but you could alphabetize it or just not have an official order to it.)

Is it an au? If so, put the fandom + au. In this case “dream smp au”. Does the au have its own tag? Then use it!

(This one is definitely optional but) Does your posts heavily feature a certain duo, trio, or other YouTube group? Great! Tag them! Ex “dream team”, “clingy duo”, “sleepy bois inc.”

Next up you put the character tags! Ex “Karl Jacobs”, “Quackity HQ” or you might need their TFTSMP character as well. Please if it’s a TFTSMP character, put an abbreviated episode title or TFTSMP in front, especially if they have a common name like “Isaac”. If the character is only meantioned in once in that post they probably don’t need to be tagged. (I tend to alphabetize my character tags, but that’s just personal preference and is optional)

Is it shipping related? Put the ship name! Ex: Karlnapity. Is it a platonic ship? Be sure to state that. (Y’all are pretty good about that one)

Warnings! (I typically put these last because they’re for people who have the tags blocked but you can put these first if you want)

Does this post contain spoilers? If so, use the “dsmp spoilers”, or “dream smp spoilers” tags. If it’s tales from the smp, add a spoiler warning for that as well. If it’s live blogging be sure it to tag it as such (about half of you are tagging live blogging and to those half thank you).

Now here’s a big one, trigger warnings. Use them. If you have a gory art post, tag “gore tw”. If your fic involves a character’s death, tag it appropriately, with “death tw”, “character death tw”, or “minor character death tw”. This goes for pretty much any warnings a post may warrant. Even if it’s just a meantion of something. Some people have triggers and although you can’t always tag everything, y’all could at least try to tag common ones. Please, even if it’s just a meantion, or if it’s only implied, tag it.

Notes:

Feel free to change the order in which you tag things. This is more of a guide than a concrete tagging system, but some things do need to be tagged, no matter what. (Trigger warnings, spoiler warnings, and ship tags)

/rp. It’s not necessarily required but it can be very helpful and I’m sure those who need it appreciate it. (Y’all are pretty good with slash indicators. Thank you for being mature about those and not making fun of it. Some people genuinely can’t tell & slash indicators help with that)

Hybrid SMP is a big one. There’s already a roleplay group, that’s been around for a while, called Origins so um- maybe don’t tag your posts as that. The DSMP fan base is already so big that it kinda wipes out a lot of other fanbases. (Even the hermit!tommy AU was enough to warrant the need for making crossover tags mainstream due to y’all flooding the Hermitcraft tag)

I am going to reiterate this because it’s important: Certain characters have really common names or names that coincide with pre-existing tags, so to prevent cross-tagging either put what they’re from before the name or you can list out their full gamer tag, for example using “dreamwastaken” instead of just “Dream” or “TFTSMP Jack” instead of just “jack” (especially that last one. Some people may get Ponk’s character confused with Jack Manifold)

You can add in tags for the kind of content as well but, its preferable to have “DSMP” in front (a lot looser on this one because if you were to search up “incorrect quotes” you’ll see some stuff from the SuperWhoLock days of tumblr mixed in with Harry Potter and Sanders Sides, so that one doesn’t matter that much). Ex “DSMP Fanart”, “DSMP memes”

Definitely optional, but if a post is aimed at the community itself I highly recommend using the tags “MCYTblr” or “DSMPblr” (if it’s just aimed at the Dream smp fandom, it’s preferred to just tag as “DSMPblr” and not “MCYTblr”)

If you ever forget to tag something or need to remove a tag, the great thing about tumblr is, you can come back and edit posts at any time. I retag old posts all the time.

I cannot stress this enough, if something is just barely mentioned it doesn’t need to be tagged, unless the thing in question can be extremely triggering, in which case, trigger warn it. It’s basic human decency. Tags aren’t just to get as many people as possible to view something, they’re also there for if someone doesn’t want to see something.

#can you tell I was angrier when I started this then when I finished?#the first half comes off really passive aggressive #but that’s because I was really fucking annoyed #and I started writing this at 6 am #I’ve calmed down now #but still #tag your posts #especially trigger warnings #riven rants #dsmpblr #long post #gore meantion tw #death mention tw

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dweetwise · 3 years

Text

a silly thing i wrote about felix and ace reacting to cheryl and feng dating <3 once again inspired by @skllyr‘s lovely art, along with my need to write a grumpy, overprotective felix.

ship(s): cheryl x feng, felix x ace warnings: none word count: 3020

Felix’s adventures in questionable parenting

“I'm… dating Min.”

From everything Felix expected to hear Cheryl say when she pulled him aside after a trial, this has to be the very last thing on his list.

It takes him a few seconds to even properly process the confession, and when he does, he's only more confused.

“Min? Feng Min?” Felix asks, baffled.

“Yeah…” Cheryl says, shuffling her feet self-consciously.

And Felix just stares, not having any idea how he's supposed to react to this information.

His not-quite-daughter but the closest thing he has to one in this world, dating one of the worst troublemakers Felix has ever met? The girl who has left him to die countless times and then made fun of him for getting killed afterwards? The one who bullies killer and survivor alike, having made even Leatherface cry mid-trial?

That Feng Min?

“I'll… give you some time to think about it?” Cheryl suggests when Felix is frozen in place for a whole minute.

He doesn't protest when she walks away, only gaping in confusion while trying to wrap his head around how on Earth the brilliant girl would ever fall for such a self-centered and obnoxious person.

Still, he decides he should get a second opinion.

So he seeks out Ace, partly because his boyfriend loves gossip, partly because he wants someone to tell him he’s not being ridiculous for disapproving of Cheryl’s terrible new girlfriend.

“Hey, handsome,” Ace greets him with a grin and a wink, but Felix doesn’t have time for flirting.

“Cheryl just told me she's dating!” Felix exclaims, fully expecting Ace to be just as shocked as him.

“Huh,” Ace says instead, not looking the least bit surprised. “Good on her for finally telling you.”

“Wait—you knew?” Felix asks.

“Honey, half of the fricking camp knew,” Ace snorts. “I've seen them holding hands and making o—”

Upon Felix's scandalized expression, Ace interrupts himself.

“—ooaan effort to get to know each other?” the man finishes instead, complete with a sheepish grin.

“And you're okay with this!?” Felix demands, astonished that his boyfriend not only knew, but didn’t think it was big enough of a deal to tell Felix about. He knows Ace isn't as close to Cheryl as him, but the gambler has also taken the girl under his wing following Felix's lead, always calling her "kiddo" and going out of his way to protect her in trials.

“If she's happy, who cares?” Ace merely shrugs, infuriatingly carefree as always.

“I care!” Felix protests. “Feng is a mean person and not suited to be in a relationship before she fixes her attitude! She's going to be terrible for Cheryl—you know how sensitive she can be!”

“Opposites attract, babe,” Ace smirks, placing a hand on Felix's knee.

The gesture manages to calm Felix after his little outburst, and he pauses to consider that maybe Cheryl and Feng aren't that different from him and Ace. He knows Cheryl is almost just as reserved as him, slow to make friends and needing time to come out of her shell. If she has taken to Feng just as Felix did to Ace, against everyone's expectations, he should respect her decision. A small smile spreads over his face as he places his hand on Ace's, realizing that maybe they're not as different as he thought—

Well. There's the notable exception that Ace isn't a complete bitch to everyone around him.

“But nobody even likes Feng!” Felix continues his rant, making Ace snort and shake his head in amusement.

“I like her,” Ace points out.

“You like everyone,” Felix huffs, rolling his eyes, annoyed at how difficult Ace is making it for him to be a judgmental bastard.

“Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine today,” Ace grins, pinching his cheek. “I know you’re not Feng’s biggest fan, but you should give her a chance. For Cheryl.”

“I know,” Felix sighs in defeat. “God, I hate it when you're right.”

The following day, Felix approaches Cheryl when the camp is mostly empty, fully intending to at least appear supportive despite his justified concerns. But as he tries to tell Cheryl he’s happy for her and thinks they’re a good couple, the girl isn’t having any of it.

“For someone who lied his entire life, you sure are shit at it,” Cheryl huffs, the unexpected honesty catching Felix off guard. “Now tell me what you really think.”

He always forgets that she’s much more perceptive than her years would suggest, able to read Felix better than people twice her age.

“I… don't think she's good for you,” Felix confesses hesitantly.

“Why?” Cheryl prods, her determined gaze practically boring into his soul and making Felix feel incredibly small. When he’s quiet, not able to decide how much he should say, she continues impatiently. “Come on—you can't just say that and not give any reasons!”

“I don't want to be mean,” Felix says, pretending like he hasn’t been secretly shit-talking the gamer for the last twenty-four hours.

“I told you, be honest,” Cheryl pushes.

“Alright,” Felix sighs, before taking a deep breath. “I think she's a horrible teammate, and not a good person. She's unpredictable and a bad influence, and I don't know what you see in her.”

Instead of being upset, Cheryl huffs and cocks her hips, raising an eyebrow.

“Really?” the girl asks.

“Um… yes?” Felix hesitates under her strangely calm demeanor.

“And that isn't a bad influence?” Cheryl asks, nodding somewhere behind Felix, who turns and sees—

Ace, who looks to be eating the contents of a toolbox.

“Ace!” Felix hisses. “Excuse me,” he says to Cheryl, who merely snorts in amusement, Felix hurrying over to his boyfriend making an idiot out of himself in front of some of the others.

“Uh-oh, mom's here,” Nea snarks when he approaches the scene, Meg giggling next to her at the joke.

Ace offers Felix a wave and something that might be considered a smile, if his mouth wasn't stuffed to the brim with mechanical equipment. And to add insult to injury, he adds another grimy gear into the mix from the toolbox.

“What the hell are you doing?” Felix demands.

Ace holds up a finger, wordlessly telling him to wait while inserting yet another brand new part, grimacing as he tries to fit it into his mouth.

“We have a bet, shoo,” Meg explains, shoving at Felix who is blocking her view of the occurring trainwreck.

“What could you possibly have bet that warrants this kind of idiotic—” Felix starts, annoyed.

“We bet five keys he couldn’t fit ten brand new parts in his mouth,” Nea explains.

“And he took it?” Felix exclaims, glancing at his boyfriend who, somehow, seems way too pleased with himself considering the situation. “Of course he did,” Felix sighs in fond annoyance, wondering why he’s even surprised at this point.

Suddenly, he remembers Cheryl, turning around to address her only to find her gone.

There’s a high-pitched laugh from the other side of camp, Felix recognizing the grating sound even before he sees its culprit, eventually spotting Feng Min and Cheryl standing next to each other with Feng… laughing at Cheryl and hitting her arm?

“Find me when your mouth isn’t occupied,” Felix sneers in Ace’s direction, annoyed at how the entire thing turned out, Cheryl not heeding his warnings and immediately going back to Feng—

And then Meg bursts into another fit of giggles and even Ace barks out something that might be a laugh.

“Woah dude, TMI!” Nea jokes, putting her hands over her ears with a shit-eating grin.

And Felix finally realizes the joke.

“Not like that!” he insists, feeling heat creep up his neck from embarrassment. “To talk! Nothing else!”

“Oh, like all the times you’ve disappeared to ‘talk’ even in the middle of a trial—” Meg starts.

“I’m leaving!” Felix announces, ducking his head to feebly try to hide his blush while stomping away from the group and their filthy minds.

He ends up at his and Ace’s shared space away from the campsite, sitting next to the overflowing trunk of items while absently picking at some prayer beads attached to a broken key.

“I’m here!” Ace’s voice eventually announces. “What were your other two wishes?”

Felix snorts and doesn’t even look up, continuing to fiddle with the item in his hands.

“Did you win?” Felix asks, spinning one of the beads around its axis.

“Ta-dah!” Ace declares, squatting down in front of him to show him a handful of skeleton and dull keys. Felix hums in acknowledgement, still lost in thought, and Ace carelessly dumps the items into the trunk before sitting down next to him.

“So, how'd it go with Cheryl?” Ace asks, wiping some residual oil from the corner of his mouth following his bet.

“Well… I may have told her I don't like Feng,” Felix reluctantly confesses.

“I… okay,” Ace says, clearly fighting a smile at Felix’s social incompetence. “It’s… good that you were honest?”

“Why does that sound like a question?” Felix says, sulking.

“Aww baby, don’t pout,” Ace says, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. “I know you tried your best. We can tell her together, if you want. Just to make sure she knows you support her!”

“Thank you,” Felix murmurs, leaning his head on Acer’s shoulder. At least he has Ace, who despite his eccentric personality is always there for him.

If only Cheryl would also have the same kind of support from her partner.

“What the hell does she see in Feng, anyway?” Felix mutters, not able to stop himself from engaging in another round of shit-talk.

“Well—” Ace immediately starts.

“That was a rhetorical question,” Felix snaps without any actual heat. “She couldn't have chosen worse if she tried.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Ace grins. “What about, say… Élodie?”

Felix can't help the disgusted face he makes. No matter how much he pretends for the sake of keeping up appearances, he still doesn't like the Frenchwoman.

“Or David?” Ace eggs on.

“Oh, god,” Felix says, shuddering at the thought. “I see your point—”

“Legion?” Ace continues.

“Shut up! I get it, I get it! Feng is fine,” Felix says, going back to his brooding.

“You're not… upset with this whole thing because Feng's a girl, right?” Ace asks, his good-natured smile masking something unpleasant.

“What?” Felix balks. “Oh, heavens, no!” he hurries to explain. “After what I went through with my—ehm, sex… s-sexuality—” he stutters, still not comfortable talking about the subject when it comes to his own preferences, even in the arms of his very male partner.

But judging someone else for theirs? He wouldn't even dream of it.

“If anything, I'm just happy she's figured it out so early,” Felix admits.

“Okay, good! So Feng—” Ace starts excitedly.

“Is still on my shit list, regardless of her gender,” Felix deadpans.

Ace sighs and holds his hands up in defeat.

“Well, I tried,” the gambler says, before a familiar smirk appears on his features. “Now give me a smooch.”

“While you taste like a ten-year-old toolbox? In your dreams,” Felix huffs, curling up against the man instead in an attempt to save his tastebuds.

Finding the right opportunity to pull Cheryl aside seems to prove difficult, as any time Felix spots her she’s either with Feng or Ace is stuck in a trial. And after his previous failure, Felix isn’t ready to try confronting the girl alone.

But the Entity always seems to have a strange sense of humor or just impeccable timing, because after just a few short days Felix finds himself materializing at the pre-trial campfire with not only Ace and Cheryl but also Feng, all standing in a neat little row like the Entity placed them there purely to annoy him.

Great; just great. Just because Felix begrudgingly accepts the gamer, doesn't mean he wants to spend time with her. He’s been lucky to avoid any trials with her ever since Cheryl’s confession, but of course this would be the time they’re put together in one, when he’s supposed to have a heartfelt conversation with his foster daughter.

It’s a while before anyone says anything, Ace looking at Felix expectantly, Cheryl avoiding eye contact with Felix, and Feng clicking her flashlight in an annoying habit.

“Let's go, lesbians!” Ace eventually cheers, trying to muster up enough excitement to break the awkward silence.

“Try to actually do gens this time instead of just jacking off into chests,” Feng snarks just as the fog sets in.

And even though Felix knows she’s right and Ace could afford to do a lot less looting, he still shoots her an annoyed glare for daring to insult his partner, right as the fog takes him.

The trial starts much smoother than expected. The Hillbilly seems to be focused on chasing Ace and Cheryl, and Felix manages to get two generators done in between unhooking and healing them. Feng, as is typical of her, sticks purely to generators instead of going for any altruism for the first half of the trial, but then pulls through and unhooks Cheryl from the proxy camping killer.

And then the gamer proceeds to lead him straight to Felix’s generator.

As Felix is hoisted up on a hook, the last generator gets done. Felix doesn’t mind being hooked since it’s his first, more than happy to buy his two teammates dead on hook some time to escape, but he sure as hell isn’t happy with how the thing panned out.

Right as Cheryl is chased out of an exit by the killer, the Entity’s claws descend on Felix in the second phase of the sacrifice process. Ace, injured, is making his way over from the other side of the map, but he barely makes it halfway before he runs into the killer chainsawing across the map.

Felix curses under his breath, annoyed over dying on his first hook because of the selfishness of one of his teammates. Maybe Cheryl will finally see Feng’s true colors, seeing as even now the girl is just—

—running to unhook him at the last second?

The gamer doesn’t offer an explanation, merely grunting from exertion when she pulls his larger frame off the hook while Felix just gapes in confusion.

“Run, you fucktard!” Feng screams when Felix takes half a second longer than she’d like to take off in a sprint.

Luckily the killer still seems occupied with Ace and isn’t returning to defend the exit, and they manage to make it there with plenty of time to spare before the Entity forcibly ends the trial. Felix is just about to suggest they leave to give Ace a chance at the hatch, when he hears the chime of said hatch being opened with a key, signaling the man’s escape.

Now just the two of them remaining in the trial, standing in the safety of the exit gate, Felix sees an opportunity and takes it.

“Thank you for the rescue,” he says, but doesn’t get an answer, Feng merely glancing at him in distrust before looking away. “I don't know if Cheryl told you, but—” he starts, wanting to clear the air.

“You were a cunt about us dating?” the girl snarks, crossing her arms. “She mentioned it, yeah.”

“I see,” Felix says, cringing from embarrassment. “I guess I never realized how much you do for the team—and especially for Cheryl. I'm sorry.”

“Ugh, spare me the fucking sob story,” Feng scoffs. “I'm gonna be with her regardless, but you not acting like a bitch about it will make Cheryl happy. So… I guess it's fine.”

She's crossing her arms and looking away in a gesture of indifference, but is also hiding her reddening cheeks behind her bangs and showing a side of her Felix has never seen before.

“Truce?” Felix asks.

Feng looks at him warily, but then she smirks.

“Only because I could kick your ass any day.”

Felix finds himself huffing out a small laugh in amusement, and when the killer finally comes to chase them out, he’s not even annoyed at the girl’s obnoxious crouching and taunts.

As soon as they make it to the other side of the invisible threshold of the trial grounds, Cheryl and Ace are there waiting for them.

“There you are!” Ace scolds while Cheryl looks between the two, hesitant. “I thought you'd killed each other!”

"We had to stay to say bye to Billy,” Feng says.

And then Cheryl comes up to her and grabs her hand.

“Thank you,” she whispers with a happy smile, and Feng bristles like an angry cat.

“I don't know what you're talking about!” Feng exclaims and stomps further away in embarrassment, tugging Cheryl along with her.

Meanwhile, Ace sidles up to Felix, giving him a wink.

“I told her everything,” Ace explains. “And I also mentioned Feng saved you. You ever consider Cheryl might be a good influence on her, instead of the other way around?”

'No,' Felix should say if he were being completely honest.

“I still don't like her,” Felix says instead.

“Aww, it's okay," Ace says, before turning to where the girls are walking ahead of them, chatting away. "We make a good team, don't we kids?” Ace calls, smirking.

“Sure, grandpa,” Feng shoots back.

Ace gasps in shock and Cheryl has the audacity to snicker, pulling Feng along by her sleeve to continue their conversation in private.

“Well?” Felix prods, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh this means war,” Ace says with a mischievous grin.

When his lover leans in to whisper about replacing all of Feng's skeleton keys with broken ones, Felix feels a smirk tugging on his lips. Even if he no longer minds them being together, he can at least get petty revenge for all the times the gamer has been less than polite to him.

Smiling pleasantly as his boyfriend goes on in detail about putting bugs in the gamer’s toolbox and other practical jokes, Felix decides that if worse comes to worst, he can always just blame Ace for being a bad influence.

#riconti #felix richter #ace visconti #cheryl mason #feng min #cherylmin #dweetwrites #dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight

53 notes · View notes

pit-and-the-pen · 4 years

Note

Hiiii, you know I love angst so can I please request with prompts 22 and 45 from the angst list please? Happy or angst ending its up to you. Thank you!!

Dirty Little Secret “Which part of me wasn’t enough?”

“Would you hate me?”

Warnings; extremely brief mention of torture. Extremely brief mention of ‘Parental’ abuse. Briefly implied smut if you squint at the end.

Word count:5k

A/n: Just get ready. Honestly. I’m so sorry for how sad this about to be

taglist: @thoseofgreatambition @ickle-ronniekins @summer-writes @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrysweasleys: message me if you want to be added to taglist :)

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“For the last time. Please don’t call him my cousin” You pleaded as you sat in the Gryffindor common room surrounded by your friends. George and Fred sat closest to you as Harry was sitting in an armchair across the room, yet again complaining about whatever Malfoy was currently annoying him with.

“I mean he-” George started. You shot him a glare that instantly made him recoil from you.

“They pretend the Tonks name doesn’t even exist . Why should I claim them?” You muttered out under your breath.

“Come on, Y/n. we know you’re nothing like him.” George says, leaning over to give you a small peck on the forehead.

“But what if I was, even a little bit? Would you hate me?” Your voice wasn’t any louder than a whisper. He just frowned at you.

“You know what, I just remembered I have homework I need to do.” Pushing yourself off of the couch, you snatched up your school bag and headed out the portrait hole, needing to get out of the room. George just stares at the place you just were. He balls up a piece of paper and chucks it towards Harry.

‘Nice going. You upset her.” Fred piped up.

“You know how she gets whenever someone brings that up. Like just mentioning it enough will make her go bad.” George continued.

“I didn’t think she would react like that.” Harry said defensively. “I’ll apologize when she comes back later. Alright?” He obviously felt bad but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

You had stayed in the library much longer than you planned. At first just using it as an excuse to leave the common room, but you suddenly realized how much work you had been avoiding. Your last year was not a piece of cake at all. Umbridge constantly looming over you didn’t make things any better. Quickly shoving all of your work into your bag, you ran back to the common room to make sure you didn’t get caught out after hours. The last thing you needed was another detention with the toad.

Much to your surprise, the group was still sitting in the same position you left them in. A few have dozed off, including George. Stretched out across the couch while Fred was reading some book you couldn’t see the cover of. When you walked back through the opening, a few of them flicked their eyes over to you.

Fred hit George’s shins and he woke with a start. “She’s back” is all he said to Gerorge. With that, you notice him give Harry an expecting look. Harry cleared his throat, getting your attention.

“Hey I wanted to say sor-” You held up your hand. Not wanting to bring up the subject again.

“Don’t worry about it.” He tried to argue it further but you just shook your head. He seemed to get the hint that you didn’t want to talk about it anymore and let it drop. You walked over to the couch and leaned down to give George a small kiss.

“Go to bed.” You mumbled to him with a small laugh, noticing how he was already falling back asleep.

“Why would I do that when you’re down here?” He said, eyes seeming to be closed. Suddenly his arms wrapped around your waist and he pulled you down onto the couch with him. You let out a small scream in surprise.

“Get a room!” Fred shouted at the pair of you. This caused the few people who had fallen asleep to wake up.

“We already have one. What would you call this?” George joked back, leaving small pecks all over your face and neck as you laughed. You managed to swat him off of you and stood up, straightening your uniform.

“Well with that amazing display. I think I’m going to bed.” You were breathing heavy and laughing. That was one of the things you loved most about George. He never let you go to sleep anything but perfectly happy. He gives you one more big sloppy kiss, much to the displeasure of the rest of the room, before he also heads up to bed. You should have known things were too good to last.

The next morning, you, George and Fred walked down to breakfast together like normal. There was an eerie hush that seemed to be over the great hall. It felt like walking into a brick wall with how much tension was in the room.

“What’s everyone on this morning? Umbridge drop a new decree?” You asked Lee as you sat down at the table.

“Take a look.” He responded while throwing this morning's edition of the Prophet in front of you. George and Fred both peered over your shoulder as your face dropped.

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN

The heading read. Displayed on the front was a picture of none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, seeming to be trying to bite whoever had the displeasure of taking her picture. You threw down the paper and suddenly felt sick to your stomach.

“Hey.” George said, grabbing your arm as you turned to stand up. Right as you were about to pull your arm out of his grasp, you noticed your family's large silvery owl swooping down. You caught a letter that was dropped down to you and it flew out of sight. Probably to the owlery.

Immediately, you noticed your mother's large loopy handwriting on the outside. Still standing, you ripped open the envelope and read the letter.

“I am sending Nympthadora to Hogwarts to talk to you. Go to Dumbldores office the moment you receive this. - Love mom.”

Your breath seemed to get caught in your chest. Why did your sister need to come to school? Did they think you knew something about the breakout? If anyone needed to be questioning Malfoy. And even that would be a stretch. You looked around and noticed George was staring intently at you. Silently asking you if you were okay, his hand still wrapped around your arm.

“I..I have to go.” Was all you could manage to sputter out.

“Are you okay?” His voice was full of concern.

“I don’t know. I’ll talk to you later okay?” You grabbed his hand and gave it a tight squeeze before grabbing your bag and all but running out of the great hall.

On your way to the headmasters office, you ran into Professor McGonagall.

“Ah Tonks.. I was just heading to the great hall to look for you.” She eyed the letter in your hand.

“I see you got the letter. Very well, follow me.” You were getting more scared by the second. Never in all your years at Hogwarts have you been in Dumbledore's office. To say you were terrified was an understatement.

“Sherbert Lemon.” McGonagall said when you approached the gargoyle outside of his office. She waved her hand for you to go up and you had expected her to leave, instead she followed behind you. On the way up you started going over in your mind everything you had done lately. Nothing you could think of warranted all of this.

Once you got to the top of the staircase, you heard a few voices talking rather loud and fast. You couldn’t make out anything, only that one of the voices was from your sister. You froze instantly, not wanting to deal with whatever was happening ahead.

“Go on.” McGonagall sighed when she noticed you paused. You stepped into the large round room that was the main part of Dumbledore’s office and the few people in the office looked up. Along with your sister, Remus was with her.

“Y/n!” She called out and ran to give you a giant hug. You haven't seen her since the summer and if you weren’t as scared as you were, you would have been more excited.

“We’ll have time for that later, Tonks.” Remus said in a tense voice. She let go but stayed by your side.

“Well. We shouldn’t wait any longer to tell you. I bet you’re wondering why you’ve been called up here?” Dumbledore asked you. You had suddenly lost your voice and could only nod.

“You aren’t in any trouble. But that is all the good news I have, I’m afraid.” He paused and gave you a smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “With the recent breakout from Azkaban, Andromeda decided it was time to tell you the truth. Tonks? Do you want to be the one to tell her?” When he said that, Tonks grabbed your hand and gave it three little squeezes, the two of yours sign for ‘I love you’. She cleared her throat

“This really isn’t easy to tell you. Okay.” She took a deep breath and turned to you. “A few years before Bellatrix went to Azkaban. The family discovered she had a child. The only problem was no one knew where they were. Then she was arrested and that’s when they found..Found you.”

Suddenly you felt very light headed. You had to have heard her wrong. Tonks had said they found you.

“You had been obviously neglected. Stuck in a small nursery and looked after by only a few house elves. That’s when mom agreed to take you in. Narssica and Lucius were still under heavy suspicion to be working with you-know-who and didn’t need more connections to that side, plus she had only just had Draco. The decision was made not to tell you because she was never really a mother to you. And up until last night, we never thought she would be out of Azkaban.” She looked at you, her eyes suddenly full of tears. She was expecting you to say something but your brain had suddenly stopped functioning. You could only stare at her blankly.

“The reason why we’re telling you this now, y/n” Remus started. You had forgotten he was there up until he spoke. Your eyes flickered over to him. “Is, since you are of age now, the order is concerned she might come and collect you.” That seemed to do the trick.

“And do what?” Your voice was tiny.

“We don’t know. We know Voldemort lost a large amount of followers so maybe to try to recruit you.”

“I would never do that!” You interrupted. He held his hand up to stop you.

“We all know that. You’ve been interested in the order since this summer. We’ve all seen it. But she isn’t known for playing fair. We just need you to be on guard.” He seemed to sag down after saying this, as if a great weight was placed on his shoulders.

“We just want you safe. If mom didn’t think it was better for you to know, we wouldn’t tell you. But everyone decided it’s better to hear it from people who love and care about you then hear it from her if she got the chance.” Tonks’s voice was soothing. Or at least it should have been but you were still numb from shock. She grabbed the sides of your face.

“Don’t think for a second that this changes anything. You’re still my sister and I still love every bit of you.” When she said that, it broke whatever you were holding onto and tears started falling from your face. You vaguely processed the others shifting out of the main room.

“I know your head is probably going to a million different places at once. But this doesn’t change the way anyone looks at you.” She said.

“Did everyone know?” You managed to get out between sobs.

“Everyone that needed to know, knew. All of the Order. But again, no one looks at you any differently.” You nodded. Whipping away the tears as you started to calm down. It didn’t change anything. But that nagging voice in the back of your head only shouted all of your worst fears at you. You’re no different. Evil is in your blood, not just your family tree. If you’re her kid, then some of the worst blood is in you too.

“Are you okay?” Tonks asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“As okay as I can be.” You say with a slight laugh. You wipe away a few more tears and give her a small smile.

“You can write to me if you need anything. Even just to talk okay. Anything you need.” She says as she gives you another big hug. This time, you squeeze her back until someone else clears their throat.

“I do hate to say it but we have to leave.” Remus chimed in. Tonks gave you a look and you nodded.

“Okay. Seriously write me if you need anything.” Tonks says as Remus grabs her hand. The two of them leave in a ploof of green fire.

“Well if that’s all, Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, I’ll leave.” You say, your mind still playing catch up. McGonagall gives you a sad look and they both say goodbye as you walk out of the office as fast as you can while still being polite.

You all but run back to the Gryffindor common room trying to beat the tears threatening to start up again. You barely make it back to your bed before you started crying. Everything you had been scared about fresh in your mind. There really was nothing good about you in the end. How you ended up in Gryffindor was suddenly all you can think of. After a little bit you had cried yourself out to the point of falling asleep.

It must have been a couple hours, you woke up with a start as the image of you in dark black robes burned out of your mind. The sky was just getting dark, making the dorm pink with the sunlight. When you walked up to the sink near your bed, you saw how puffy and red your face was. Sighing, you splashed some cold water on your face before you walked out into the common room.

“Y/n!” George bellowed when he saw you. “There you are. You disappeared earlier and I haven’t seen you since.” His face fell when he noticed your face. “What’s wrong.” He whispered when you sat down next to him. Of course he would be able to tell right away something was off. You shook your head.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.” And surprisingly he dropped it. You really did want to tell him but not in the crowded common room.

Days went by and you kept coming up with ways to avoid the topic. It was always the wrong time, it was too crowded, someone interrupted you.Umbridge's rule of boys and girls not being within six feet of each other is also not helping at all. You can’t tell if it was a good thing or not at this point. The longer you went without telling him the more nervous you got, having already come up with a million different ways he’ll react.

You haven't meant for it to just come tumbling out. Not like that, not in the mean, clipped tone that it did. The two of you stood facing each other, eyes wide and round. He took a second to process the words you had just shouted at him.

“This is a sick joke right?” His words make your world shatter. You suddenly can’t find it in yourself to meet his eyes as you shake your head.

“You..You didn’t think this was important to tell me?” He ran his hands through his hair. “Did you really only just find out? Or have you been lying to me this whole time?” You flinch a little at his tone.

“I only just found out the other day. I promise I didn’t li-”

“You know what.” He started, interrupting you. “I don’t even want to hear it. You swear up and down youre so much different from the rest of your family. And I believed it because I mean, look at Tonks. Look at who I thought was your family. But her?” He spat out. “How can you look at Neville ever again? How can you sit in the same common room as him and just pretend everything is okay?” You felt the tears run down your face. No one looks at you any differently. Tonks’ words from the other day echo in your head. You knew she had been wrong. The only person whose opinion of you really mattered saw you from what you really were.

“I’m still me.” You manage to say in between sobs. “I’m still the same person you fell in love with. George please.” You grab at his robes as he starts to leave the room.

He freezes and looks at where your hand grabbed him, like it burned him, like it made him dirty.

“That’s the worse part.” Was all he said as he pried your hands off of him and gave you a little shove backwards. The action taking you by such shock, you almost lost your balance. You started up at him wildly, tears streaming down your face. A sob of his name left your lips but you could barely understand it and he was already gone. You sunk to your knees. “Which part of me wasn’t good enough?” You screamed at nobody in particular. You never made it back to the common room that night.

You also never got another chance to smooth things over. To explain to him the way you had planned. The twins set off their bound-to be-infamous fireworks display the next day and they were gone.

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You didn’t know why you came. A small part of you deep down knew why. It had been so long since you had been wanted. Since someone had asked you to be a part of anything. The halls of the manor were as cold as you remember. The few times you had come here as a small child played in your head. Back when the Malfoys were still trying to prove they were good by letting you come over. You now realized it was because you fell into what they deemed worthy of being in the house, and that’s why Tonks haven't been invited.

Narcissa was still leading you through the house when you seemed to come to your senses. What the hell were you doing? You didn’t want to be in the house. You wanted to be at the burrow with Fred and George. They don’t want you, remember? He could see what you really are.

You ignored the voice and focused on how the hallways never seemed to end. The small shadows of house elves scurrying out of your way was enough to make you sick.

“In here.” Narcissa said when you got to a random room. You took a deep breath before she suddenly grabbed your arm.

“Think about what you’re doing. Think very hard. Say the word and I’ll let you turn around right now and no one will know. But walk in there and I can’t help you.” She was dead serious. The voice of a concerned person. It warmed you a little bit.

“I just want to talk to..to her.” You say as convincingly as you can.

“It’s your life. I’m damned one way or another. You on the other hand, you have a choice.”

“And right now I’m choosing to try and talk to her. I’ll figure it out from there.” She seemed to sag down but composed herself and announced something to the room. You heard a high pitch laughter that chilled you to your spine. She nodded to you and put a should- be- comforting hand on your back as you walked into the room.

You swear the temperature dropped ten degrees as you walked in. The bedroom was big, like a cavern. A high ceiling with very little furniture in contract to the sheer size of it. A small part of you was surprised to see a bed, thinking hanging from the ceiling like the bat she was, would have been more appropriate.

“Hi, mom” You said in a dead voice and her laughter echoed off of the walls. High pitched and nailing you to the floor.

“So they told you after all. How sweet.” Her voice didn’t match her appearance. It was a soprano baby voice, that was almost worse than the gravelly voice you thought she would have.

She stood up and walked closer to you. Every inch of your body was screaming to run but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Eventually she was standing right in front of you. Her hand reached out to twirl a piece of your hair.

“Now why did you really come here? I hope you’re smart enough to know I’m not going to start singing you lullabies.” That seemed to be the very question you were asking yourself now. Why had you come? A deep part of you just wanted to have a normal family. Bellatrix was far from that.

She suddenly grabbed your left arm. “Could it be something to do with this? I don’t think the Dark Lord has sunk low enough to need someone raised like you were though.” She looks over to her sister who is still standing in the corner of the room, tense as a board. “What do you think Cissy?” She says with a slight pout.

“No.” You said, shaking your hand out of her grasp. “I needed to come here to see what I’m not. I was so afraid of becoming like you, even before I knew, I had to see. And you know what I learned?” You suddenly felt brave. Like everything had finally clicked into place.

“Aw. What would that be?”

“We make our own choices.” Your next moves were very calculated. You had a few seconds at best as you pulled your wand out of your cloak.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Every part of your body hurt. Like you had been in a particularly nasty game of quidditch. You went to open your eyes but instantly shut them at the pain that radiated through your skull.

“Just let me see her.” A voice called from outside of the room you were in.

“Why? So you can hurt her even more? George just leave it. She’s not even awake yet.” You recognized the voice as Tonks. Wait if she said George, does that mean? You peak your eyes open just a tiny bit and notice the familiar surroundings of the burrow. How did you end up here? You didn’t remember a lot past the first move. Everything had gone by so fast.

The door clicked open then shut and you heard, who you assumed to be, Tonks huff. You tried to sit up a little bit.

“Oh. You're up!” She was at your side in a second. “If you weren’t so banged up I would beat you right here.” Her voice held no malice despite her words.

“Do you want to tell me what the hell happened?” She all but screamed.

You winced at the volume but tried to sit up a little more. She helped you prop up on a pillow.

“Well.” Your voice was raspy. “I..I don’t know what I was thinking.” You had never felt more stupid in your life. What did you expect to happen? You took a deep breath and told Tonks as much as you could remember. She just stared and you blankly. Looking for something to say. All of a sudden you found arms wrapped around you.

“You are such an idiot. Do you know that?” Her voice shook with tears. “I guess that explains some stuff too.” She seemed to be talking to herself. “God I could kill that boy right now.”

“You came here in the middle of the night, bleeding. Half conscious. It was a miracle you were even able to apparate in the state you were. Molly was able to patch you up but you might have a few scars.” She paused. “Well, one really.” With that she pulled up your left sleeve and your heart sunk.

“It’s not what you think. She started the process but didn’t finish it.” You stared at the bumped skin that was clearly a hastily carved dark mark. Looking at that hurt more than anything. Sure it wasn’t the real thing, you needed to fully commit to be able to get one and from what you’ve heard, it’s not a pleasant experience. Knowing you have any bit of that on your body makes you fight the urge to be sick. Tonks rubs your shoulder.

“I’ll give you some time to process everything.” She gives you a quick peck on the forehead and closes the door softly behind her.

You start to drift off when there's a small knock and the door creaks open just a crack. You’re half expecting it to be Tonks. But in all reality, the face you’ve wanted to see the most since that awful day greets you.

He awkwardly stands in the entryway of the door. You can’t meet his eyes, but move over slightly to show he’s welcomed to sit on the bed. The only thing he does is shift his body weight so he’s leaning against the wall directly across from the bed, and gives the door a soft nudge close.

The silence hangs heavy in the air. All the words you’ve wanted to say hang on the tip of your tongue, you try to hold them back. For once, his face is unreadable as you finally look up at him. You threaten to melt on the spot right then and there, realizing immediately you haven’t lost an ounce of love for this man. If anything, from the dull throb in your chest, you probably love him more somehow.

A deep sob touches your ears and you suddenly realize he’s crying.

“George.” You start but he holds up a hand.

“This is all my fault.”He walks towards the bed and sits down in the space you gave him. “Tonks just came down and chewed me out”

“She-” Once again he interrupts you.

“I deserve it. I explained to her what happened because the plan was for you to leave Hogwarts with us that day. That’s what I had even dragged you into that room to tell you.” He laughed a little, not his usual laugh, this was stiff and cold.

“I was stupid enough to let my own prejudices get in the way of everything that I felt.” He started.

“I don’t blame you” Your voice was small. You were fighting back tears at seeing how upset he was.

“No. See that’s the issue.” He grabbed your hands and looked at you for the first time. “I made you think that you were different. Unloveable to the point where you felt like you had to go to Death Eaters to feel like you belonged. I regretted what I said the moment I had time to think clearly.” He took a deep breath. “I was so angry at the idea of it, I never thought to think of how you might be feeling. You never seemed so afraid of me as when I got mad at you. Merlin” He took a deep breath. “I would rather die than ever see that look on your face, let alone know that I put it there.” He moves one of his hands to your cheek, wiping a tear with his thumb in the process. “I love you more than anything y/n. I was a stupid git and I’m more sorry than you can ever imagine. I don’t deserve you accepting my apology but I’m here if you still want. I’m here no matter what.” His words took a few seconds to sink in.

“You know what I realized?” You said after a few seconds of silence. His face showed he was taking in every word you said. “I was so afraid of becoming like the rest of my family, I never stopped to think that I had a choice in it too. I could never be like them because I’m not them. I mean look at Sirius. If he can be raised in that family and still be as good as he was.” You paused. “I’m good because I want to be. Because there is nothing that is black and white. And most importantly I am not my mother.” George just stayed silent. You took another deep breath.

“You hurt me more than I can ever explain. And I do still love you. I love you more than anything in this world.” You smiled. “But boy do you owe me a lot of kisses to make up for this.” George sat still for a couple seconds, fully processing your words. Then a giant smile formed on his face. His arms wrapped around you and ripped you up from the bed. Spinning you as you yelped it pain.

In an instant, his lips crashed to yours, swallowing whatever sound you made. He was everywhere all at once. Hands gently exploring and your hands fused into his hair. He touched a spot that made you wince particularly hard and he separated from you just the slightest bit.

“Marry me.” He said, panting. You laughed, a fuller laugh than you had in months. “I’m serious. I should have asked you that day.” You just wrapped a hand in his hair.

“After all of this is over. I just might take you up on that offer Weasley.” He smiled once again before reconnecting your lips. You ignored the pain. After all, he had a lot to make up for.

#george weasley #angst #there will be angst #request #george request

181 notes · View notes

panharmonium · 3 years

Photo

@captain-jaybird @solo-by-choice - i love you guys XD

So, the fic in question was originally a collection of ten location-based vignettes following the development of Obi-Wan and Padme’s friendship from AotC to RotS. I wrote it seven years ago and only ever showed it to my sister and @dyingsighs, so unless I fall hard back into Star Wars at some point, I probably won’t ever post it in its entirety, because I don’t think I have quite enough energy to do the kind of rewriting it would need in order for me to feel like it meets my current standards. HOWEVER - given your replies, I pulled the only two vignettes from it that I do actually still like, because I know it has been literal years since I made any Star Wars-related work for you, and I feel like this is the least I can do to thank you for your many years of fandom friendship! 😊

@all my old Star Wars peeps: Ancient fic snippets under the cut! Consider this an affectionate “hello there” from me - I hope you guys are all doing well out there! <3

-naboo-

Anakin is insistent.

“Come on, Padmé,” he cajoles her. “Just a little walk. I get to be here without breaking any rules for once and you want to just sit inside?” He flings open the embassy’s balcony doors and gestures out over the city. “Look at this day!”

Sunny skies or not, Padmé can’t quite wrench her gaze away from the festival itinerary in her hands. However many times she’s been over it, she can’t help but feel they must have missed some small detail, and in a situation as precarious as this one, the slightest slip could be deadly. “I can’t, Anakin.”

Anakin’s carefree expression starts its rapid but familiar descent into a scowl. “Why not? No one’s going to bust a Senator for showing one of her Jedi guests around. We can just walk the perimeter of the Festival platform – ”

“Anakin – ”

“You can pretend to show me the security arrangements or something – ”

“Anakin! You’re supposed to be here to prevent an assassination attempt on the Chancellor. This isn’t a social call.”

Anakin lets out his breath in a huge gust, waving a hand dismissively. “That? We’ve got that under control, Padmé. Don’t even worry about it.”

“I am worried about it.” Anakin opens his mouth as if to make another placating remark, but Padmé cuts him off. “This is serious. I can’t leave the embassy right now. I’m not going out for a stroll. I’m not doing anything until the Festival is over and done with tonight.” When Anakin’s scowl does not subside, she sighs and makes a passing attempt at smoothing things over. “I’m sorry, but the Festival of Light is enough of a headache without adding assassination threats into the mix. I’m just a little tense right now.”

Anakin comes extraordinarily close to signing his own death warrant by rolling his eyes at her, but he stops just short of an irrevocable mistake. “Yeah, you and everyone else,” he says instead, a very particular brand of irritation edging into his voice. “But whatever. Go ahead and read that thing again. I’ll just come back when everyone’s got their bad feelings under control.” He sweeps out of the room with the type of stormy bluster only he can manage.

Wrestling down a surge of irritation of her own, Padmé tosses the itinerary onto the desk. Anakin, for all his moodiness, is partially right – she has the elegant program memorized back to front, and poring over it further is only going to make her feel worse. And, come to think of it, there are a few other security measures she needs to double check with the rest of the Jedi task force.

Pushing back her chair, she sets off in search of Anakin’s derisively referenced “everyone else.”

Most of the embassy’s guests, including the recently arrived contingent of Jedi knights, appear to have vacated the premises – emulating Anakin’s shining example and enjoying the day, perhaps, or, in the case of the Jedi, probably walking the security perimeter in preparation for tonight’s festivities. After making inquiries, Padme finds a staff member who directs her to the rear of the ornately decorated building, where she discovers Everyone Else in the courtyard, boots and cloak discarded against the wall, dappled sun playing over his inner tunics.

She hesitates on the steps. It’s bad form to interrupt a Jedi in meditation, not that she has much opportunity to commit such faux pas. Anakin rarely meditates, resorting to the ancient art only when he has failed in his attempts to outrace or outright beat his troubled thoughts into submission.

But this doesn’t seem like meditation, exactly, not the kind she recognizes. Obi-Wan is performing what looks like some kind of kata with a ritual slowness, pivoting and stretching with unhurried grace, flowing smoothly out of one stance and into the next, like liquid filling a clear vessel. He holds himself suspended for an interminable count between each position, bare feet rooted on the sun-warmed flagstones, the only thing moving around him dust motes drifting through heavy beams of sunlight.

She doesn’t really mean to stay and watch, but there’s an almost hypnotic quality to the rhythmic motion – exertion of the body, sun and warmth and muscle and bone intertwined with stillness of the mind, an empty calm space, peace in the eye of the storm.

He sinks into a low stance with his back to her, head bowed, upward-facing hands loosely fisted, elbows bent and tucked in at his sides. Then, after a long, still stretch of time, the calm murmur of his voice, rippling with something like amusement. “Good morning.”

She blinks. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s quite all right.” He seems to come back from some far place, and straightens, turning to address her. Holding her gaze for a moment, searchingly, he draws some private conclusion. “You are disturbed.”

She presses her lips together by way of response, grudgingly impressed yet cursing Jedi perception to the lowest pit of Chaos. “It’s not important,” she says. “Just the festival.” She changes the subject. “What’s that you were doing?”

Obi-Wan paces over to the courtyard wall to retrieve his footwear. “One of the alchaka forms,” he says, pulling on the soft nerfhide boots. At her blank look, he adds, “It’s...a type of moving meditation. One of the oldest known to the Order.”

“It looks relaxing,” Padmé says. Would that she could expunge her own anxieties with such artfulness.

He shrugs slightly. “In theory.” He bends down and scoops up his cloak with an easy physicality. “The intended goal is to clear one’s mind. To...release troubled thoughts.”

Something about the crease in his brow seems to belie this statement. Thinking back, she remembers suddenly what Anakin had said earlier, and, surprised, frowns. “Are you worried about the festival tonight? About the assassination attempt?”

He blinks at her for a moment, as if she had only just reminded him about the possible catastrophe. “No. No, I don’t think so. Even if the intelligence we’ve gathered is accurate, I doubt the Separatist forces will be able to achieve much when they must first go through six Jedi. And Naboo’s finest,” he adds, glancing up at the overhead balconies, where far-away security personnel stand sentinel, their uniforms smears of dark red across the golden walls.

“But you are worried about something.”

A beat. Then, “No. Merely practicing good habits.”

She laughs humorlessly and sinks down onto the steps. “Tonight could be a disaster.”

Obi-Wan thinks for a moment before responding. “If so,” he reminds her carefully, “it is one which all your worries will be completely unable to prevent.”

“I know. But when it’s my people concerned...and the Chancellor, obviously...” She ticks things off on her fingers. “Public support for Queen Neeyutnee...the well-being of the Republic...”

“Fate of the galaxy.”

“Little things.”

They exchange almost shy grins, private smiles. Padmé feels one tiny knot of tension uncoil inside her, and she breathes out an exasperated sigh, ineffectually commanding the rest of her anxieties to untangle and be gone. “I need some of that alcha-whatsit business, clearly,” she says ruefully. “I’m a mess.”

Obi-Wan takes a step back and looks her up and down. “I agree,” he says.

Excuse me? Padmé suppresses a surge of indignation.

“You will forgive me for saying so, but a senator is no good to her people preoccupied. She must keep a cool head about her at all times.”

“I beg your pardon –

“Therefore,” Obi-Wan plunges ahead, and Padmé suddenly sees the glint of humor starting in his eyes, “I feel it is my duty in this case to help you attain such calm.”

She narrows her eyes at him in mock severity, but inside, she feels her mood beginning to lighten. “By insulting my competence?”

“By exposing you to some of that alcha-whatsit business,” he says. “If you like.”

Padmé hesitates. This is Jedi business for sure, far outside her arena. But Obi-Wan just smiles reassuringly at her and extends a hand.

“Not to worry, Senator. I have it on good authority that I am a reasonably competent teacher.”

Padmé eyes his hand for another moment, then slaps her own lightly into his open palm. “Very well then,” she says. “I submit myself to your reasonably competent tutelage.”

“Obi-Wan, I don’t think this is for me.”

Padmé looks down at her bare feet, torn between luxuriating in the warmth of the sun-soaked stones and fretting over the ever-widening stance Obi-Wan is asking her to assume.

“Patience.” He sticks his own soft-booted foot against the inside of her ankle and slides one of her feet out to the left.

“Obi-Wan – ”

Still applying a gentle pressure against one foot, he pushes the other further away.

“I don’t know how to do a split, Obi-Wan,” she warns him, tamping down on a little flare of alarm.

“That’s far enough.”

Thank goodness she’d worn a relatively uncomplicated dress today. Senatorial garb was nowhere near so flexible as the Jedi’s simple tunics.

She looks up at Obi-Wan, who, by virtue of her lowered, bent-kneed stance, is now slightly above her. “What now?”

“Now,” he says placidly, sinking into the same low stance beside her, albeit with considerably more familiarity and ease, “you do as I do.”

All right, then. She waits for him to begin, but the only thing he does is close his eyes, and she can’t close hers if she’s going to follow him, so she waits, doing nothing. Her legs begin to protest the prolonged exertion in this unfamiliar position, but the trace of fire starting to bloom in her muscles doesn’t bother her. It’s...ferocious. It burns the way she does inside, sometimes.

Obi-Wan cracks an eye open and looks at her. Padmé doesn’t flinch. “What?” she challenges. “You aren’t doing anything yet.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I am breathing,” he says.

“So am I.”

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he says, and in the span of a moment, he seems to grow in authority before her. His voice shifts into the calm certainty of a millennia of tradition, the well-worn tracks of an ancient, unbroken line of instruction. “Attend.”

He closes his eyes again, and this time she watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slight shift of tunic as his ribs expand. “All meditation begins with the breath. You breathe in life, I breathe in the Force; without either of those things both of us are nothing.”

What a strange thing to say. “I’m not Force-sensitive, Obi-Wan.”

“It does not matter. You are not Force sensitive, but the Force is in you nonetheless. We are all of us full of it. Your people are full of it. Your planet is full of it.” He breathes in, slow, and she attempts to follow him. In. Full. “Your breath must fill more than your lungs. Without breath, the body starves. Without the Force, life starves. Therefore you must let it suffuse you. Breath; the Force. Everywhere. Small, forgotten places. Empty places. You must allow yourself to be full. A gas expands to fill a container – your breath will expand to fill you, if you allow it.”

She does not answer. She is breathing. He falls into silence beside her, joining her rhythm. Inhale, beat, exhale, beat. She does not count the minutes. They slip by into nothing.

“Now,” he says. “With me.”

She trains her eyes on him and follows as he moves, one bright light and its smaller, slighter reflection, moving in a bumpy sort of unison. The fire in her leg muscles climbs higher, but it doesn’t faze her. She breathes it out, from everywhere, the small, forgotten places. She exults in it.

“Balance,” he says, maneuvering her hands to the proper places, the knuckles of one fist pressed flat against a vertical open palm, two hands meeting just in front of her lower abdomen. “Two opposing forces.” He sticks his foot back against the inside of her ankle, and she slides her feet apart without needing to be told, dropping back to the correct position. “Close your eyes. Breathe.”

In. Full. Small, forgotten places.

“Now,” he says, stepping back from her. “You will count.”

“How high?” she asks. Her legs are screaming with a pleasant sort of exhaustion, but she’s wobbly, and this position isn’t easy to maintain.

“One hundred,” he replies. Then – “Three times.”

Her eyes fly open. “Obi-Wan, that’s – ”

His eyes are glowing with suppressed mirth. “Three times, apprentice.”

If she starts laughing, she’s going to fall. “Obi-Wan, three times is too many – ”

“Protest again and it shall be six.”

“You know,” she grunts, wriggling down in an attempt to find a slightly more comfortable position, “I’m beginning to think I’ve done Anakin a disservice.”

He raises an eyebrow archly. “Because...?”

“All this time, he was telling the truth about you.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “Impudence. I’d have been running circuits around the Temple for that kind of insolence.”

“Somehow I doubt that ever stopped you.”

And there’s the smile – trademark Kenobi, dimples and all, subtle and half-hidden behind the close-trimmed beard. “No,” he agrees. “You are quite correct. I became an accomplished marathon runner.” Dropping down to the same low, planted stance she is struggling to maintain, he returns to the matter at hand. “Let us begin.”

“Obi-Wan.”

“Mm.” He has already closed his eyes. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already made it to twenty while she’s still dithering around trying to get her breathing in order.

“This is the silliest thing I’ve ever done with anybody.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but the corners his mouth curl up.

“But,” she says, never one to skimp on gratitude, “I like it.” Her legs are shaking and she can’t count the number of joints she’s heard crack since they started this ridiculous exercise, but the anxious tangle in her chest is now tiny threads blowing in the wind, unwound and strewn about by breath and motion. “And I do feel better about tonight. So thank you.”

“I come to serve, Senator.”

Formal response, for someone who just moments ago had been shoving her into positions more suited to a gymnast than a senator. She smiles to herself in private amusement and closes her eyes. Reminds herself to breathe, full, everywhere.

And begins to count.

-chandrila-

Padmé has to give Obi-Wan credit. By now, she has watched him extricate himself from Senator Se’lab’s clutches three times, and while a moonlit cocktail party in a garden of this size provides the Jedi with plenty of spaces to hide, the shadow cast by a group of hulking Ithorian senators is a more creative choice than she had expected, even from him. Observing him from her position on the other side of the lush garden, she bites her lip in an attempt not to laugh at the deadly seriousness with which Obi-Wan keeps the Ithorian delegation between himself and the beverage table towards which the Bothan senator had stumbled.

She cannot pass up such a rare opportunity to tease him. Excusing herself from her group of colleagues, she sidles across the garden towards him, ensconcing herself in the shadows behind the wide backs of Ithorian senators Stonk and Bendon. “Master Kenobi,” she greets him, smoothly.

Obi-Wan’s cool voice betrays nothing. “Senator.”

Padmé fights to keep a straight face. “I see you’ve made Senator Se’lab’s acquaintance.”

“I have made his acquaintance several times,” Obi-Wan replies. “He had little memory of our first meeting at our second, and no memory of our second at our third. Forgive me, but if I can avoid a fourth such performance, I will. I grow tired of introducing myself.”

Padmé stifles a smile. It isn’t fair, that one so skilled in diplomacy to earn himself a galactic-wide nickname should hate it so much. “And did the Honorable Senator from Bothawui tire of your company?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Then how – ” She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “You didn’t – ”

Obi-Wan gives her an affronted look. “Senator Amidala, what sort of nefarious rogue do you take me for?” He chances a harried glance past the Ithorians, checking for any signs of his unwanted companion’s return. “Along with the memories of our previous two meetings, the good Senator appeared to have forgotten how exactly it was that he’d been able to achieve such an impressively amnesiac and befuddled state. I merely reminded him about the open bar.”

“Formidably underhanded,” she says, approvingly. “But then, that’s why they call you the Negotiator.”

Obi-Wan makes a face at the nickname. “Yes,” he says. “And if I could only negotiate myself out of this whole affair, I would perhaps believe the title to have been aptly bestowed.”

“Obi-Wan,” she chides him. “The best negotiators know when to call for assistance.”

He raises an eyebrow, just slightly, in what might be a faint feather-brush of amusement, then follows her gaze over his shoulder, to where the clearly intoxicated Bothan senator is making his weaving way through the festive crowd back towards them. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen very slightly, in definite alarm. “Indeed. Very well said. In that case, my lady, consider my distress signal activated.”

She extends an arm to him formally. “Walk with me.”

Thanks to the friendship she and Bail share with Mon Mothma, Padmé knows the Chandrilan Diplomatic Gardens better than most in attendance. She knows Obi-Wan, too, better than most, not because he opens himself to her, exactly, but – well, being in her position, one hears things, and Padmé is well-practiced at extracting trivia and truth from Anakin’s well-worn litany of complaints, worries, and fears.

She guides them serenely down a lesser-used path, the raucous festivities behind them fading into a murmur. “Here,” she points. They turn through a simple, cream-colored arch into a wider space, far-away party sounds now faint, distant enough not to grate on the nerves. All about them, only the cheerful babble of water, tumbling from multiple small falls into a network of mossy pools and rock-bordered streams.

Obi-Wan turns his head from side to side to take in the shimmering falls and eddying pools, chin rising as if in response to some sound only he can hear, features lightening. “We’ve a place very like this, in the Temple,” he says. “The Room of a Thousand Fountains.”

Padmé knows this. Knows too that it is a favorite haunt of his, though she will not tell him so. Better he think her fortuitous choice a welcome coincidence, for she knows what she knows about him from Anakin, and, strictly speaking, should not have access to such confidences.

“I’ve heard of it,” she says instead. “It’s much larger than this, though, I think.” She waves a hand at the small garden.

“Size matters not,” Obi-Wan intones, as though reciting an oft-repeated adage, and extends a hand gracefully under one of the falls’ streams. To Padmé’s surprise, the water curves around his upturned palm, bending as if repelled by an invisible barrier before continuing its swan dive into the clear pool below.

“Just a game,” Obi-Wan says, in answer to her unasked question. “And an exercise in control. One practiced by Temple younglings.”

Not any game Padmé knows. She and her sister – then later, her handmaidens – were more apt to occupy themselves with jumping straight into the water, shrieking with glee, than with avoiding its flow. “What’s the objective?”

“Just this,” he says. “Stay dry.” He curls his fingers up to his palm and then flat again in a gentle wave, the water above his hand twisting in a delighted dance before resuming its tumble around an untouched sleeve. “Even the youngest initiates, when exhibiting proper control, can easily redirect a flow of water around their forms. One stands under the falls, keeping dry, while their agemates or teachers attempt to break their focus.” He quirks a smile, one laced with equal parts memory and mischief. “One gets distracted, one gets wet.”

She smiles at him. “I take it you were good at this game?”

“I was passable,” he says with a diffident shrug. “But I did not win every time. My own clan members’ antics were at times difficult to ignore.”

“And Anakin?” she asks. She can’t help herself.

Obi-Wan pull his arm out from the falls, hand disappearing back into the long sleeve of his robe. “Terrible,” he says bluntly. “Without a doubt the worst in his class.”

Padmé refrains from making an unbecoming snort. So she will have something amusing to hold over Anakin’s head when she returns to Coruscant.

“You mustn’t misunderstand me, of course; Anakin is highly capable and could easily manipulate the water were he left to his own devices, but I’m afraid his mental discipline left much to be desired.” Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head. “Anakin is so easily distracted – he reserved his limited ability to focus for very singular pursuits.”

“Such as...?”

Obi-Wan looks to be almost on the verge of rolling his eyes, but that would be un-Jedi, and he settles for a narrowing of them and crooking his fingers sardonically into the universal sign for quotes. “‘Fixing stuff,’ I believe he said.”

Padmé can’t help but laugh at that, and Obi-Wan indulges her merriment graciously. Looking re-energized, far more hale and hearty than he had in the reception area proper, he stretches out a hand. Ribbons of water arc away from the falls all around them, streaming through the air and coalescing into a shining globe above his palm, a miniature model of Mon Cala. The sphere’s globular surface ripples and turns slowly, casting small refractions of moonlight over the courtyard. Small-scale beauty, to be sure, but Padmé only has eyes for Obi-Wan’s face, lit with reflected light from below, a study in simple happiness.

A Jedi at play, she realizes. Most people didn’t believe there really was such a thing.

“That’s lovely,” she says, peering into the globe’s transparent yet distorted depths. Something about it...she is suddenly reminded of Anakin, in another time and place, levitating a muja fruit in much the same way, and with the same burst of simple enjoyment. “But I thought frivolous uses of the Force were discouraged.”

Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows at her, accepting the friendly challenge. “Frivolous?” He turns his hand so that the palm now faces outward. Rippling with light, the globe coasts several feet away and comes to rest over a pathetically drooping momus bush, its leaves yellowed and cracked, balmgrass spiky and dry around its exposed roots. Obi-Wan twitches his fingers downward, and the globe disintegrates, water sluicing down in a joyful shower onto the parched earth, transforming the yellow dust to a rich, wet brown. He gives her a significant look. “The preservation of life is never frivolous, Senator.”

Her smile climbs its way out of her with ease. Of course. An answer for everything. “I stand corrected.”

In the distance, a chorus of laughter rises above the sound of burbling water, followed by what sounds like someone calling for a toast. Obi-Wan casts a lingering glance at the falls, then back at the arched entrance to the grotto. “We should return,” he says, and if that is reluctance in his voice she will not comment on it.

She nods in agreement. “You’re right. Typho will start to worry.”

Taking her outstretched arm, Obi-Wan frowns. “I am quite certain I gave Captain Typho my word that no harm would come to you whilst I am your escort. He must learn to trust me.”

“He does trust you. But he’s a worry-woolamander. It’s his job.” It was, after all, why she had personally selected him to replace his retired uncle as her new head of security. But, at the same time, she had grown weary of the constant trail of guards orbiting her at all times, rings of human satellites, so many she can hardly blink without catching a glimpse of security burgundy in her peripheral vision. Far preferable to have an escort of one Jedi, especially this Jedi, than that wall of armed guards.

And besides, Obi-Wan had promised. While Captain Typho may not appreciate the import of such a gesture, Padmé does – Obi-Wan Kenobi’s word is worth his weight in solid aurodium bars and more. He has nothing left to prove to anybody, on that count.

At the threshold to the main garden, wide flowering pathways thronging with diplomats and officials and lackeys alike, Obi-Wan takes in a resigned breath. “Once more into the breach,” he proclaims, with tragicomic stoicism.

She cocks her head at him in sympathy. “Straight to the dance floor,” she advises, and they set off, she steering him in the proper direction. “I doubt even a Bothan will try to cut in on a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan snorts under his breath. “Her Highness is grown very devious, in her slippery Senatorial position,” he murmurs.

“And Master Kenobi very witty, in his old age,” she shoots back.

Obi-Wan favors her with a grin, a real grin, full and shining with rarely displayed pleasure. He bows to her, ushering her onto the formal dance floor with a graceful sweep of his hand. “You had better hope your earlier supposition is correct,” he says, eyes glinting with the same clever playfulness she’d seen in him earlier. “The Bothan senators have hooves, you know.”

#pan sharing star wars fic in 2021 - no one could have predicted #anyway as i said these are seven years old #please forgive them #XD #star wars #fic

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sillylittlestoryteller · 3 years

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Fic Writer Questions!

Tagged by @posingasme - seeing as my last fic was posted in 2016, thank you for still thinking of me!

1) How many works do you have on AO3? 5 little fics, and a sixth one I sadly never finished

2) What's your total AO3 word count? a humble 5758 words

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? I started with Spernatural, then stumbled my way into the phandom, and I did one little Merlin crossover. (If I ever start writing again, it will probably be for audio drama's/fiction podcasts tho...)

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1) Of Hidden Memories and Kitchen Adventures - Phandom/Merlin Crossover. I just thought that Phil Lester and Colin Morgan looked similar enough to warrant a reincarnation fic.

2) Made by Gabriel - Supernatural. A fluffy little fic where the young archangels all get to create an animal. So of course they all try to outdo each other.

3) Couples Yoga Challenge - Phandom. Sweet, short and fluffy. The title says it all, really.

4)Temporary Bliss - Supernatural. Angsty and raw. Basically, I wrote a fic about Dean's internalized homophobia before I even knew what those words mean. (Started as a songfic with lyrics from temporary bliss by The Cab, but later I deleted the song quotes)

5) Tale of a Vessel - Supernatural. After the Jimmy Novak episode, all I could think about was how it must feel to be one. So this one is Jimmy getting a bit of a break from Cas and taking some time to reflect.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not? I always try, but sometimes I got a little overwhelmed with attention and didn't know what to say. But all comments are super appreciated and sometimes I'm just staring happily at the screen. Every notification brings a smile on my face!

6) What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? Oof, definitely Temporary Bliss, that fic is just a heap of emotional turmoil wrapped in a little bow. Fun fact, Elysian would have the most angsty ending, but that's the one I never finished...

7) What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? Either Couples Yoga challenge or Made by Gabriel. The first one is just happy people in a happy relationship living their own happy life. Made by Gabriel is definitely very fluffy and adorable.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've written? Just the Phandom/Merlin one! But I think that's a pretty rare combination ;)

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic? No, I've been very fortunate in that way. Only on ff.net, a little warning against copywrite that made me delete some of the song-quotes in Temporary Bliss and one little harsh but well-meaning comment on Elysian that if I didn't update, people would stop reading. But nothing that I would call "hate".

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind? Oh no, I don't trust my writing abilities enough for that. I think there's an art to writing a good smut-scene and it's one I haven't mastered

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Someone translated Made by Gabriel into Russian! Sometimes I google-translate the comments there and it's so lovely to read. (I'm very okay with translating, as long as you ask first and properly credit and stuff)

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, I haven't.

14) What's your all time favorite ship? That's the hardest question of the list! I don't think I have an all-time favorite, it changes too much! Whenever I stop watching a show I also tend to stop reading fic for it. sastiel and sabriel were definitely long-time faves, so were Dan&Phil. Right now I'm very into non-romantic queerplatonic Sammy and Ben from the podcast King Falls AM.

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? Elysium, definitely Elysium. I had so much of that story planned out, and then I lost all my notes for it. Accidentally deleted and never found again. It completely crushed my enthusiasm and I never finished it. It was supposed to be a five-chaptered story. A prologue, and then the four episodes that featured Gabriel (Tall Tales, Mystery Spot, Changing Channels and Hammer of the Gods) from his point of view, interspersed with flashbacks of his time in heaven, with his brothers, and his time under the apprenticeship of actual norse-god Loki before Gabriel became a trickster himself. It was supposed to end with his death at the hands of Lucifer in season 5.

16) What are your writing strengths? Short fluffy stuff and I also like a bit of introspection, mostly with Temporary Bliss and Tale of a Vessel. Just kinda crawl in a characters head for a little bit. Also, not necessarily a writing strength, but I'm very proud that I write them in English even tho it's not my first language.

17) What are your writing weaknesses? Planning/writing long fics. And dialogue. I find it so hard to get the voice right.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I haven't tried, but I always like it when I read it. Especially when the character isn't American/English. Makes it feel more real :)

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for? Supernatural! It's the fandom that made me start a tumblr.

20) What's your favorite fic you've written? Made by Gabriel. It's cute, it's fun, it's the first one I've ever written and I'm still very proud of it.

I'm throwing this challenge to the podcast writers!: @kurofae @houseofbeesart @lucifer-kane and anybody that wants to do the tag!

#silly writes #i haven't used that tag in sooo long!

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

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From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 14)

Fair warning, this chapter is going to be much heavier. And it will include death and blood. Nothing graphic but some sensitive themes including the deaths of children. If this isn’t something you’re comfortable with you might want to skip the flashback part or the chapter as a whole.

Azula leans over the rails of the bridge. The deep summer air blows through her locks. They have grown long again. She supposes that she has regained enough dignity to not warrant cutting it once more.

She takes a deep breath. She is going to tell him today. She is going to tell him everything. She thinks that it is quite long overdue. Especially now, she smooths her hands over the stretched fabric of her shirt. The world around her smells of moss and pine. It smells fresh and new.

Her feet thud against the wooden planks of the bridge as she crosses it. Hajime...her house isn’t so far from the woodland but her feet are already plenty sore from having stood on them for so long. By the time she reaches her porch they are throbbing rather incessantly.

“Mom!” Atsu shouts and throws himself at her legs. She braces herself against the doorframe as Hajime calls for him to slow down and be careful. Atsu never had known how to slow down. He is practically bouncing up and down as he pulls on her arm, “look what I made! Look at it! Look at it!” He gives her several more tugs and leads her to the nursery. It isn’t quite ready yet; the crib has been assembled and filled with many cozy, handmade blankets and pillows and a few toys rest at the foot of it, ready to be played with. They have yet to build a changing table and there are several stuffed animals that she would like to have sewn.

“Look!” Atsu grins. “I made posters for him!”

She has long since given up on trying to tell him to not get attached to the idea of having a brother when he very well could have a sister instead.

He holds up his first painting, “this is a tigerdillo and this one’s me, you, and dad...and this one is Bao fighting Fire Lord Bonsai and…”

Azula quirks a brow. “You’ve been working hard.”

“He’s making his sibling an art gallery.” Hajime laughs.

“I can see that.” She replies. She picks up one of the paintings. “Where do you want to hang this one?”

“The ceiling!” Atsu declares.

“Alright, if you can get it up there, you can hang it from the ceiling.”

Atsu blinks. “No, mom, you put it up there!” He flashes her a wide grin.

“Your mom needs to take it easy, Atsu.”

“I can handle a simple task like that just fine.”

“I know that you can, but it wouldn’t kill you to just relax, would it?”

If boredom could induce death, she is sure that it would kill her. She puts her hands on her hips and gives a slight pout. She supposes that her back is rather sore and she had just taken quite a decent walk…

Hajime comes to stand behind her and rest his chin on her shoulder. He takes her hand and guides it over the bump. It still leaves her feeling slightly perturbed to feel the baby kick against her touch. It is a reminder that it is all real. That she isn’t making it all up.

On some days, the rougher days feeling that little kick is what makes her feel real. Though daunting and frightening in its own right, it is grounding. It is a constant when Hajime isn’t around to help her.

But on her worst days, the kicking only adds to the unrest and disconnect in her mind. It takes her to a place where her body is not her own, where someone else pulls the strings and she is only a husk…

Today is a pleasant day. Today she feels a sense of security in the little kicks. At the very least, she is growing used to them. Hajime kisses her neck while she watches Atsu attempt to walk up the wall. He takes a running start, manages to take perhaps two or three admirable steps up the wall before falling on his rear with a loud, “owie!”

“Okay, wall!” He declares, pointing a finger at it. “Get ready to get climbed!” He very confidently stomps back up to it and tries a second time. And a third before Hajime finally remarks, “alright, how about we try hanging your pictures somewhere else?”

While the man goes to help their son, she makes her way into their bedroom and lies down. She takes off her shoes and lowers herself upon the mattress. She rests her hand atop her belly and absently rubs her hand over the bump. She isn’t sure how to or when she should begin telling him who she is. She just knows that it has to be done tonight, before she loses her mustered courage.

.oOo.

She watches Atsu and Caihong teeter after a glowing plume of fireflies. The critters are all over the place tonight, gathering in swamps. It must be the height of their mating season. And how the trees sparkle with them. She has seen the bugs in the Fire Nation but the cicadas usually outnumber them and she has never had the pleasure of watching them tuck themselves into such thick canopies.

“So, how are things coming along?” Seukhyun asks.

Azula drums her fingers against her belly, “as smoothly as they can be I suppose.” Though she can certainly do without the aches and pains and the occasional need to update her wardrobe.

“Good to hear.” He replies. “Ojihara misses having your help with the planting and harvesting. It certainly isn’t as fun for me without being able to compete with you.”

She gives the thought a lazy little hand wave, “you can certainly stop by any time and beg for my help. Of course, when I say yes you will have to provide me with plenty of refreshments.”

“I think that Ojihara and I can work something out.”

“Wonderful.” She claps her hands together. “The baby is partial to pineapple juice.”

“The baby or Rikka?” Seukhyun quirks a brow.

It is the both of them really. Hajime wanders up the porch steps. “I think that I’ve caught enough fireflies to light up our whole bedroom for the night. And that’s without Atsu’s contribution.”

“How many did Cai catch?” Seukhyun asks.

“Way too many. In fact she told me to go get you so that she can show you.”

Seukhyun rises and stretches his arms. “I’ll talk with Ojihara tonight and see if we can get you some light duty work and some pineapple juice.”

Azula gives him a thumbs up.

“You’re trying to go back to work?”

Azula shrugs. “It isn’t too hard to pluck a few turnips.”

“Under the scorching sun?”

“I’m a firebender and so is the baby.” She declares, pridefully turning her chin up and gesturing to her tummy. “I can feel it.”

Hajime laughs. “If you say so. But don’t be upset when our baby grows up and starts throwing rocks.”

“I won’t. It’s a fire baby. Only a fire baby would be this intense.” And intense things have been. Her cravings are quite ravenous and her spells of nausea can be rather overwhelming. She has only complained of them as often as she can. Only a fire baby can be so extreme.

She waits for Hajime to fill Seukhyun’s empty chair. She waits a little longer after that, watches the fireflies drift care-free and enchantingly. At least she speaks, “I have something to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

She clears her throat. “First, tell me that you will hear me out entirely.”

“I can do that.”

“No interruptions. No questions until I am finished.” Her stomach grows jittery, doubly so with the baby squirming about.

“No interruptions or questions, Rikka.”

She takes a deep breath. “Not Rikka.” She pauses. Another deep breath. “My name isn’t Rikka.”

He smile softly and gives her a nod of understanding. He waits so very patiently for her to continue. She supposes that, that in itself makes a difference. He interlocks his hand with hers.

She opens her mouth but the silence is stolen by a sharp cry from Caihong and a loud curse from Seukhyun. Atsu cries out too. Hajime grips her hand tighter and stands up. She with him. “Rikka, sit down.” He knows very well that she has no plans to do anything of the sort.

She sees it on the treeline, a small and efficient blaze. “I’m good with fire, Hajime. You need me.”

“I need you and the baby to be safe.”

“We will be.” She replies rather flippantly. She can’t run as fast as she had some six months ago and her balance isn’t so enviable. But she can still out pace Hajime.

Seukhyun carries both of the children, his face red and horrified. “They’re burning and razing the village.”

Azula’s stomach drops.

“Why would the Fire Nation…?” Hajime starts.

She shakes her head. “This isn’t a Fire Nation attack. There would be a lot more fire than this.”

“It’s them, Hajime.” Seukhyun huffs. “They’re back.”

“Who?”

“The Gemsbok Bulls.” He shouts over a wailing Caihong.

“Who are they?”

“They’re the army faction responsible for the last massacre.” Hajime answers grimly.

“I reckon they want vengeance.”

Hajime throws the door open. They are inside already. “Shit.” Seukhyun hisses. He backs out of the doorway. She sees the arrow pierce his head, a shot so skilled, so mighty that it goes in through one ear and nearly out the other. He pitches over, Caihong and Atsu topple with him.

“Daddy!” Caihong screeches.

Azula yanks her back, she and Atsu both. Her stomach cramps and she winces. She turns and kicks a ring of fire at the men who are already inside of her home. She doesn’t think that Hajime has taken notice of her attack. She doesn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it, the dull ache becomes quite intense, involuntary tears prickle behind her eyes.

The men duck and Hajime lurches forward, landing a sturdy punch to the man’s ribs. It is enough to rattle his armor and knock him off of his feet. His combatant catches Hajime by the jaw. Azula tosses her best fireball at the man. He staggers back as an arrow whizzes past her head.

Decidedly, the archer is the deadliest foe.

She has to take the archer out.

“Hold them off, Hajime.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just hold them off.” She throws herself outside and throws up a wall of fire. The arrow turns to ash before it can reach her. She waits for another to fly. If she can take the archer down then she can get Atsu and Caihong out of this. She catches a flash in the treeline. She throws up another line of fire and readies her lightning. The arrow disintegrates, her fire falls, and her lightning discharges. The sound of the woman’s body dropping is lost beneath a crack of thunder.

“Atsu! Caihong! Get out here!”

She gets answer from neither and her anxious queasiness swells. She lurches back inside, Agni she is so tired. The ache in her belly is growing to be quite searing. The baby’s kicking is insufferable. She grits her teeth and presses a heated hand to her tummy, it does nothing to soothe the babe this time.

“Mama!” Atsu shouts.

Hajime is on the ground, arm pinned beneath a boulder, nose bleeding.

“Ya got’a new wife?” Speaks the largest of the soldiers. His eyes--one blind and one a vivid green--flicker from she to Hajime.

“I won’t let you take her from me too.” He winces.

The soldier gives a bellowing laugh before another boulder crashes through their wall and drops onto his other hand. Atsu shrieks again. She can’t find Caihong. “And how are you going to stop me from under there? You can’t help her.”

“I can help myself just fine.” She promises. She takes down the men behind her first. Normally she would reach back and launch them over her shoulders but the bump is in the way. Instead she raises her arms and lets two bursts of fire rise from her palms. The men stumble back.

The soldier throws Atsu to the side, the boy lands with a thump and a whimper. She knows now that she will have the man dead. He throws himself at her, she lets him lumber forward before taking a quick step out of the way. She takes a sturdy stane and catches him by the arm. She hears his shoulder pop and she pulls him back towards her.

The other two soldiers rise. And now she is torn between fending for herself and keeping them away from Atsu and Hajime. Her first fire whip, buckles the man reaching for Atsu. Her second strikes the half-blind soldier. His blade grazes across her neck as he falls back.

Her heart races as a slowly flowing curtain of blood trickles down her neck and to her chest. She slams another fireball into him for good measure. Her baby gives another violent kick, she wills the poor thing to hang in there. She is almost finished.

The third soldier, a woman, she notices, has made it to Hajime. She shoves the half-blind soldier aside and charges the woman. She dodges a wall of rock, blasts it away. She knows that Hajime has seen this time, and how could he not have?

That rush of blue fire is the last thing he sees before the soldier scowls and brings a larger rock down to crush his throat. And Azula hopes, at the very least, that he got to know--even if for only an instant--the real her. She dreads that his last thoughts were ones of hatred and regret over having slept with the Fire Nation’s very worst.

Atsu’s piercing cries barely register as the light leaves Hajime’s eyes. His final exhale whistles through her like a spirit. She doesn’t scream neither does she cry. She isn’t given the decency. Several more soldiers pour into the house. They seize her, pin her hands behind her back and the half blind soldier steps forward. He holds a blade to the top of her belly. Drags the cool metal down it, cutting a hole through her shirt as it goes. And when he reaches the bottom of her bump he takes pause. “I was hoping to to open you up in front of him...for old time’s sake. But…” He gestures to Hajime’s lifeless body. “You’ve deprived me of the pleasure. You and her both.”

The Earth Kingdom woman has just enough time to process his words. Just enough time to let her eyes go wide. She is dead as soon as the boulder bashes her into the one she’d killed Hajime with.

His attention comes back to her, the blade bites deeper into her stomach and he swipes it horizontally. The tears come forward with a second rush of blood. And with her tears and blood comes another rush.

She screams. Her shout comes out as fire. The man stumbles back, clutching his face. She can see the blood seeping through his fingers. She hopes that he is suffering greatly. He must be. Only pure pain can induce the rage that drives a man to growl and growls give the belly of a pregnant woman a good kick.

She doesn’t remember what happened after that. She only remembers agony to a degree that she has never felt before or since. It comes from her body, from the baby’s body, and from her mind.

That night she learns what it is to die.

.oOo.

Sokka’s mouth runs dry. His eyes drift from the badgermole to the scar on her neck and then the partially exposed scar on her belly. He takes her hand and squeezes it as he fumbles for something to say. Anything at all.

Yet nothing sounds right in his mind. Because it isn’t okay and it won’t be. Some things just aren’t okay. He considers that a good majority of the things that have happened in her life will never be okay. Why else would she have run from those things, those places.

He swallows. “I’m glad that you’re here now.” He tries.

She grits her teeth and wipes at her eyes.

“I’m glad that you’re here and not wandering out there alone somewhere.”

She draws a shaky breath as he recalls her mention of a long trip home. A long, lonely trip home. He recalls her joyful smile that night at the theater. That enthusiastic twinkle in her eyes. He wonders how many times Hajime got to see that.

And he wonders how she has managed to hide all of that hurt. How it had even been possible to bury it out of sight. How, up until now, she has been so composed. How she is still able to smile at all.

She is resilient.

He wishes that she wouldn’t have to be.

He isn’t sure if he should but hugs her tightly. If she hates it she can always shove him away. She doesn’t. In fact, she presses her face against his chest and bunches her hands in the folds of his clothes. He squeezes her. He can’t take the pain away, but he can try.

She still sobs so openly.

The sort of gut-wrenchingly hunting cries that only true loss can bring.

“Sokka, what’s going on.” Zuko’s face is grim. Concerned. “She’s not…” he trails off. “Is she?”

“It’s a long story, Zuko.”

“I have time.”

“I should let Azula tell you herself.” He rubs small circles on her back.

.oOo.

Zuko has tea and a hot meal waiting for her but she hasn’t the appetite for even a single bite. She stares at her palms. She feels rather numb. She thinks that she would rather feel numb. It is better than feeling grief.

“I was going to name it Juro.” She whispers more to herself, vacantly she trails her pointer along the scar. She feels herself slumping over again. Zuko catches her and holds her upright.

“What are you talking about, Azula?”

She shakes her head. She was going to do a lot of things. She was going to tell Hajime her name. She was going to tell Ojihara and Seukhyun. She was going to be Azula again. She was going to teach Juro to firebend. She was going to teach him about Fire Nation culture. She was going to breakup squabbles when Juro tried to snatch Bao from Atsu. She was going to bring them all to see the palace one day. She was going to make a life where they could vacation to Ember Island and return to Wujing after.

She was going to be happy.

She was going to heal.

She is furious and tormented.

She is more wounded than before.

“At least have a sip.” Zuko tries gently. She absently picks up the teacup and gives it a small sip.

She squeezes her eyes shut and swallows down an unreleased sob. The tears still leak out. Sokka cups his hand over hers.

“What happened, Azula?” Zuko asks again.

She rises, she isn’t quite steady but she makes it to her nightstand. She rummages through it and pulls out her journal. She drops it into his lap and drops herself back onto the mattress.

It is much easier to just let him read it. She isn’t up for speaking of it a second time. She rolls onto her side and bunches herself up, nauseous with stress and mourning. It settles quite heavily that she hasn’t processed it. Not truly.

Zuko tucks himself into the corner and begins reading.

“I don’t know if this will help at all.” Sokka starts. “But I lost someone too.”

“Suki?”

Sokka shakes his head. “No, not Suki. Suki’s still around, she just decided to focus on Kyoshi Warrior stuff instead of a relationship. I lost someone named Yue.”

Azula is quiet for a very long time, trying to figure out why he is trying to make this about him. Empathy, she remembers. He is being empathetic. She supposes that there isn’t much else he can say anyways. But that doesn’t stop him from trying.

“I promise that you don’t have to go through this alone.”

And she supposes that, that means something.

It means almost everything.

She promised herself on that day in the plains, that she wouldn’t let herself wander through everything on her own.

It means absolutely everything.

He was the first person to make her feel truly alive in a very long time.

She rolls over to face him and reaches for whatever is steaming on the plate. She sits up as Sokka hands it to her. She should take care of herself. She likes to think that she is solidly past the catatonic stage.

“I know.” She finally says.

She has waited too long to reply, “Huh?”

“I know that I’m...not alone.” She clarifies. And she thinks that, that very well might be the only reason that she is willing to sit up and eat. She thinks of her first night home, of the well wishes she had been given and of the warm welcome back. She thinks of awkward game nights with Mai and TyLee. She thinks of sparring sessions with Zuko. Mostly she thinks of story swapping with Sokka and a very humiliating and liberating night at a theater.

She thinks of life.

Of the things that she is still going to do.

Even if she can’t bring herself to do those things now.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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lucifer-kane · 4 years

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Finally my side of this whole KFAM debacle

I’ve never had to write something like this before, so here we go. I know that there have been other people who have said things on this topic, people who I’m very grateful towards in all of this, who have come forward in this… strange time. I feel like I finally can say something after freaking out for a few days and talking with others as well online who are on this side of it all. But I feel like I finally need to say something as…. Probably the person who really started it all, I guess? As the one who made the post saying “Me casting death of the author onto kfam” Because I was finally fed up with just everything I had learned over the last year + of talking about criticisms in the show and of the creators/writers. I spent months talking to others on at least two different servers about all of this, from learning it myself, to being here in this position of what’s currently going on.

A lot started a few months ago in the Official Server, when a graphic artist posted an edit of a character of the show in BDSM gear, which, automatically, is NSFW. Some had issues and said that it got taken down, then a few hours later uploaded it once more with a spoiler cover over it. Friday morning, it happened again, this time with a group shot, but he was still there. Now. I don’t think I would have issues with this if it was posted on a server with specific channels for 18+ members of it only. But it wasn’t, and this server is a SFW only, but apparently “canon compliant” NSFW is a-okay. Which, I think is utterly ridiculous, because minors are still in there, and that should not be allowed. If you’re going to allow that stuff, at least have designated channels where only 18+ members can opt in to see that sort of thing. You can’t have both.

Two people called this out, one directly sending an @ to the mods in said server, and it was a little bit before a response happened, then two other messages were taken down, the message with the @ left in it. Kyle had also retweeted the art on twitter, and while I don’t think that was such a bad thing, his response to at least adding a warning that it was NSFW, was pretty unprofessional. The person who asked Kyle to say as such, was bullied by both Kyle and Trent on twitter as well.

Now, onto my DotA post once more. After posting that I had a few hours of chillness, up until in the middle of a call with friends, I looked over to my discord list of servers I was in, and the Official was no longer there. I panicked, left the call, and cried for a long time about it, because despite my criticism, I loved being there! I told my friends on this server, where the criticism was most of the time, and there was a few hour period of questioning what the hell was going on. It was late at night, and everyone was confused. No one would give reasoning to what was going on. Until I was vagued to have been a problem for a long time.

Now, it may have been my bluntness when it comes to text, bc you know, autism! But I don't think I've ever done anything that would warrant people to be uncomfortable, other than criticize the show (and the server at times) on my personal tumblr (twitter on occasion). Which I can see as being upset about that, but I was way too damn scared to PM a mod to talk about what was going on, because at this point, it was very obvious they hated me. I didn’t like that they never came to talk, like a civilized person, about all this. I don't want to make people uncomfortable, that's the last goddamn thing I wanna do in this world.

Now, we’re here. A few days after everything went down, to what I feel like was a simple miscommunication, I would never wish death on someone at all, that’s disgusting behavior and I don’t like that Kyle even vagued that I did such a thing. I have never interacted with him at all, even when he would come and talk on the server. I actively tried to avoid interactions with the creators because I’m not a fan of creators being this close to their fanbase, where people have actively said it makes them uncomfortable.

I love this podcast a lot, for the first year I praised it like others did as well, but then, I read some things about Kyle, and then some of the things in the show. We all know those things, the Hellen Keller episode, how Lily is written, Jacob in his whole character, and the racism in Walt. But I started being critical on main, voicing my thoughts and concerns. Because criticism is an okay thing, it helps artists grow in the things they do. And I understand not liking criticism, I don’t like it sometimes, but sometimes it’s needed, to move your art forward. Kyle’s reaction to criticism is that of a man who doesn’t have thick skin and doesn’t wanna be proven wrong in the things he does.

As of now, because of all this, I’ve been blocked from the KFAM twitter, Kyle himself, and I think the tumblr as well (Or at least they’ve unfollowed me, I don’t care enough to check on there). And I’ve seen my friends get bullied by the creator of this show, and even members of the community. While at a lesser scale than Kyle, it’s still gross to see the fanbase act like this, especially acting like my friends and I are actively bullying them, when we just wanted one piece of art to be taken down from a space that, in all reality, has a lot of minors in it.

And finally, I just wanna talk about the server in general. I joined maybe six months after getting into the show, we were pretty far into the first hiatus at this point and I wanted more content, so, I finally beat my discord anxiety down and joined. And I had so much fun! I talked to people who I still think about, posted art, fics, did headcanons all the time. I talked in there quite a bit up until I got kicked. But the overall vibe of the discord after being there longer than a month, was not the greatest. And it took me longer than average to notice, shortly before posting public criticisms. This was when I started getting ignored more often than not, and not that everyone did that, I still had people talk to me, which was nice. But as time went on, this happened more and more, to more and more people.

People who saw my criticisms, and came to me, mostly anonymously, to say they felt the exact same way. And that’s… not a good thing. The whole “Only happy things, no negativity about the show!” attitude that is in there, is bad. You can’t criticize something you love, and if you do, you’re dogpiled onto until you shut up. This has happened to many people, not just me. There’s times where queer members of this community, will talk about themseles as some lgbt+/queer fans do. Saying things along the line of “___ is gay culture!” or “I think [x] is trans!!” and they’ll either get ignored (in the latter case) or just someone won't get the first one is a joke and get upset. Which, I can see if you’re new to a place where people say that, but don’t outright shut someone down like that, ask what it means. That goes for anything.

I enjoyed my time there, and I was super upset when I found myself kicked, distraught even. Then they started kicking more people without even a word which isn’t how you run a server, no one should get an instant ban without being talked to, and I think I would be less upset if I had been talked to, to at least tell my side. But no, I got this, and here we are. With multiple testimonies that aren’t my own, telling how horrible that server is towards some people who they don’t like, who speak out, who say “Hey maybe we should do [x].” And that’s… Not the safe environment they say they have, because I, among many others. Was also super uncomfortable when it came to some things in there.

As a queer member of this community, I, and others like me, felt ignored. Ignored in the criticism of their queer characters who were written by non-queer men, and then, as stated above. Upset at literally everything else that wasn’t good in their show. But now, we’re being painted as the villains in a way, being bullied by the creator, and others acting like nothing is going wrong. But that’s all I have to say, if prompted, I will talk more on any subject here.

I’m not angry, I never once was. At this point I find more saddened amusement in all of this, rather than anger. But. That is all, thank you for your time on this subject.

#I may have missed some things but this is so much of it #king falls am #kfam #kfam critical

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vanaera · 5 years

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Daffodil Rings

Synopsis | In a world where the red-string-of-fate tale has been proven true by science, each scientific journal has been up to date with every new-found “soulmate system,” and everyone out there has been in their never-ending search for their soulmates, there stands one bug in the system: You. You don’t believe in the absoluteness of the soulmate phenomenon, nor the too-perfect-to-work-out soulmate systems, arguing each and every bit of them are for everyone but you. With 17 years of defiance against such natural occurrence, you did not expect you will be literally swept off your feet by your soulmate on some ordinary Thursday into the wildest night of your life. Everything only goes downhill when you learn that “soulmate” of yours happens to be Park Jimin, the singer from the worldwide famous boy group BTS, you have embarrassingly crushed on for six years.

Characters | idol!Jimin x law student, part-time florist!you (soulmate au proven by science; strangers to lovers trope)

Genres | Fluff, angst, implied smut

Wordcount | 22.3k (I’m sorry)

Playlist | I was Made for Loving You by Tori Kelly ft. Ed Sheeran

Cross posted on | AO3

A/N | Hi everyone! Friendly reminder that everything in this story is fictional and has no intended connection with actual individuals and groups involved in this story. I just felt the need to remind you all ;)

You always loved arguing. Whether it be about politics, philosophy, human rights issues, science advances, or if pineapples really do belong in pizza (which you agree with) – the topic doesn’t matter because you found it always necessary to go against the current. For check and balance, you insist. You don’t want to admit that “hobby” of yours was almost pathological.

You tell people it started from a time you were five and went around your neighborhood. Your mother told you to get outside your introverted shell and talk with the kids of your age. However, instead of striking friendships, you started arguments, arguing person after person on the littlest of things–from the notion that ocean sunfishes are the stupidest animals to exist, to the fallacy behind ‘blood is thicker than water’. Unlike your mother’s expectations, you earned angry snarls and glares to the point she was almost bothered by the stinging stares of anyone who will pass by your house. “Almost” is the keyword, because as soon as local debates were announced in your community centers, you became the most sought-out consultant of every single contestant. Times now seemed short of instances people can prove what they’re ideas are worth. Anyway, your mother forbade you to enter the contest because you were too young to join at that time (“Goodness, you’re just five!”). And because Mrs. Thornbow, your third grade English teacher and adviser, was not impressed of your carefree negligence of school rules, especially regarding proper attires. You guessed your teacher warned your mother of letting you participate in debates in your notorious black slacks, the one you always wear in school instead of your red plaid skirt, in case you get too “out of hand” again in school.

Unlike the story you told everyone, the real origin of your almost-sick hobby has to do with the red string of fate. The invisible, indestructible string created by fate which ties two people together, two soulmates, for the rest of their lives. Generations upon generations were expecting to be paired with a person made by the heavens just for them. Even more, most relationships, marriages, and families are the fruits of this system. Thus, it will be unnatural for anyone to go against such destiny.

The soulmate phenomenon was an inexplicable truth and people explained such phenomenon through the myth of these red strings, until 1986 when Professor Vandikes and Doctor Weber discovered biological evidences of the soulmate phenomenon. The two found extraneous neural interconnections of two “soulmates” through neuroimaging. Vandikes and Weber discovered that thoughts can be transmitted back and forth between the soulmates because of their identically coordinated neural activities. Even more, the soulmates simultaneously produced similar accurate results even when they’re living in two different countries.

As soon as Vandikes and Weber’s study hit the news, everyone was automatically convinced in this soulmate science. It even prompted researchers to investigate every single existing soulmate systems. No wonder everyone accepted the soulmate phenomenon as an unarguable truth, an unbreakable tradition, and even as absurd as a purpose in life. Of course, everyone except you.

You didn’t believe in fate dictating who you should love when you already have enough of the society telling you who you should be. Science has proven fate is capable of planning someone to be awfully compatible with you but, it does not ensure it will always work. Your existence was enough of a proof.

You do not have any existing soulmate system countl. There is no “soulname” on your wrist, a permanent, inborn tattoo of the name of your soulmate, the very soulmate system your mother and father has. You do not feel any kind of “soulbond,” the emotional transparency system between two soulmates, nor do you see any “soul-art” decorating your body, a system of identical, dull tattoos, which only turn vibrant at the touch of a soulmate. You already see the world in color since you were born, unlike your playmate Jung Seolhee. She said she has “soul-vision” as her soulmate system that’s why she sees the world in black and white until her soulmate comes and enters her field of vision. And, you most definitely do not have any thoughts, other than yours, rambling in your mind as you grow up unlike what Vandikes and Weber claim in the rare soulmate system, “soul connection”.

In short, the soulmate phenomenon did not include you into their equation. Hence, at sixteen, you’re adamant about your disagreement with this red-string-of-fate bullshit–a sentiment you nurtured since you’re five–when everyone of your age has already set out to travel the world to find their soulmates. You decided you won’t base your life on what fate has dictated. You will create your own path, your own life, and your own destiny. Cures for numerous illnesses have been discovered yet their effectivity for every single person are not identically applicable. The soulmate phenomenon excluded you and it most probably happened so because it’s not for you.

You love arguing, most especially when it comes to the soulmate phenomenon. Your 17-year-defiance is enough of a solid proof and such experience warranted you enough skills not only to graduate college as the top of the class, but also to pursue law school. You just didn’t imagine your longest duration of arguing will not be against a competent lawyer inside the court, but against a stranger you met in a hole-in-the-wall bar, who unknowingly becomes your greatest misfortune of your night.

It all started at ten o’clock, fifth of September 2019, in Marti’s Hub, a small bar you always frequent when you’re in need of intoxicating liquids. You never thought anything aberrant will happen as two hours prior, you were just mourning over the disappointing results of your Law 114 essay with some drinks with your bestfriend Lucy.

“C’mon, Y/N, let’s dance! Stop being such a party pooper!” you feel Lucy’s insistent pull on the sleeve of your jacket and you glared at her before putting your drink down on the table.

Actually, two hours prior to that dreadful ten o’clock, you were mulling over your Law 114 essay while Lucy is mulling about the probability of her soulmate appearing in the bar. And as much as you totally love arguing, there is only one exception to your uncontrollable hobby: you hate doing it with your bestfriend.

Lucy Kim has been with you since you’re an intolerable ten-year-old in elementary and for the longest time your friendship lasted, it isn’t hard to tell the girl was a sensitive bunch. You remember her fat ugly tears in senior high when Peter Lee, the local asshole, told her her braids look dumb. Like every other friends, you’ve had fights here and there. Everytime you argued with her, you hated yourself a bit for making her feel bad and you feel much worse when you have to apologize and see her tear-streaked face. It’s ironic how you’re this soft for Lucy when you didn’t bat a damn eyelash at your mother whenever she complains you’re the frequent source of her headaches. In your defense, Lucy understood your anomalous hobby as your second nature far better than your mother could.

However for tonight, you’re gonna cross the line and disregard the exception you reserved for your bestfriend.

“Lucy, I told you I came here to drink. Not dance.” You picked the lime on the plate and took a bite. Your fingers enclose firmly on your glass before your friend could attempt to take you away again. “Plus, I just agreed to tag you along because you told me you want to cry over your fruitless job hunt. I did not agree to accompany you to hunt for your soulmate tonight, which is what you’re doing right now.” You look pointedly at her.

“Well,” Lucy drawls, rubbing her arm, “you can’t blame me. I’ve already searched our entire neighborhood, my hometown, and even my old university and still I can barely see any Michael Hudson coming my way.” Your eyes caught how she grazes her fingers on the soulname marked on her right wrist. You tried to sympathize with her but still-

“That does not justify why you’re asking me to accompany you to the dance floor.”

Your remark is returned with a scathing look from your friend. “Are you not listening to me? I told you I already searched the entire city! And you’ve always accompanied me in every single soulmate hunt! Plus, you didn’t have any qualms yesterday when you and I started to search in nightclubs. It won’t hurt for another try tonight.” You turn away, silent in the truth of what she said. Lucy huffs, “Also, a Michael Hudson sounds someone that usually goes to nightclubs.”

“It does not,” you mutter, taking another swig from your drink.

“Uh yeah?” Lucy’s frown deepens, eyes turning into slits as she glares at you like you’re an imbecile. Hypothetically, you are one based on your non-impressive streak in your law essays but that’s beside the incredulity of the things your bestfriend is spouting. Whether she understood the disinterest painted in your whole face or not, she continues on, “I already met lots of Michael’s yesterday and I just met two ‘bout 20 minutes ago. My Michael Hudson may actually be here.”

You placed down your drink on the bar to stare at your friend. “Lucy, your argument is a false causation. Look,” you sigh, “a bar is not an ideal place to find true love. In this generation, it is more likely you’ll meet an asshole Michael in here instead of your prince charming Michael.” You grimace but you continue on, “Your Michael Hudson may be having some coffee right now in a sophisticated café while some ‘Michael’ here turns out to be a jerk who just wants to get into your pants. Why don’t we just go home, yeah? I’m already finished with my drink and I don’t want to drag your drunk ass back to your home again.”

“Y/N, you don’t understand,” Lucy groans. “I feel he’s here right now. I can’t just go up and leave without trying. My guts are telling me to stay. It’s a soulmate thing!” You scrunch your face in a disgusted cringe. Lucy narrows her eyes. “See? You’re just saying these stuff because of your prejudice against the soulmate phenomenon.”

“It’s not a prejudice. What I believe is true–”

“Doesn’t matter. Look,” Lucy sighs, “If you want to go home, you can go. I’ll stay here and take my chances.” She doesn’t wait for your reply and turns around to head for the dance floor.

A heavy rock settles on your chest. You don’t like arguing with your bestfriend especially when it comes to this soulmate thing where your views are in absolute disagreement with hers. You don’t like to come off as a bitter, unsupportive friend who ruins everyone’s mood with their cynicism. But sometimes, you can’t help but say a thing or two to wake Lucy up from her fantasies. After toxic relationships with already three Michael Hudsons in your university, you figured Lucy is annoyingly naïve for outright jumping in a relationship with anyone who has the same name as the words inked on her wrist. You’ve already picked up broken piece after broken piece of herself from relationships after relationships, helping her stand on her feet again and again. You’ve always been by her side to not let her stay far too up in the clouds, balancing her happy-go-lucky spirit with your boring seriousness to help her grounded to reality. That’s why you can’t ignore the thorns pricking your chest when she dismisses your advice so easily as if she never learned anything from her hopeless romance just a week ago.

You bite your lip and decide to have some soda. You’re not yet leaving but you most definitely won’t wait for her to go home with you. You just have to soften the heavy walls building on your chest so you won’t sleep tonight crying. You hate doing that.

Another glass of soda and a plate of lime later, ten minutes have passed with just you indulging on a combo you know will be frowned upon by other bar patrons. Ten minutes of doing just that is also enough for you to notice the man in a navy button-down by your left was now a little too close to you. You saw him seated on the far left of the bar, about three feet from you prior to your argument with Lucy. He was ducked on the table, shoulders hunched, which guaranteed you no opportunity to assess his face before. Now, he’s by your side, elbow brushing against your jacket and back straightened enough to see a cringe-worthy smile he’s sending your way. You don’t manage to make out his whole face though because his disheveled brown locks were covering about half of his face. You take your focus back on your plate. Your grasp on your glass tightens. There’s no need to panic. Maybe the stranger transferred seats because your spot has closer proximity to the shelves where the bartender is situated. Maybe he’s sober and you’re just making this whole situation blow out of proportion in your head. Maybe–

“Hi, doll. You seem tense. Wanna come over to my place to loosen up?” His breath against the shell of your ear makes the hair on your neck rise. Your shoulders stiffen and you gulp. You could feel a ghost of a hand looming on the exposed skin from your ripped jeans. Warning bells wail in your head.

“I’m not interested,” you mutter between gritted teeth. You don’t look his way as you swat his hand away that was about to rest on your knee. You don’t want to make a scene when you’re about to finish your drink and leave this hole of a bar. You’ve had enough drama for the night already.

However, the man seems to turn deaf because he smiles at you again. “Oh, don’t play hard to get now, doll. I know you want it. You’ve been staring at me earlier.” His alcohol-stained breath fans against your face and despite what you said earlier, he places his hand on your knee, grazes your clothed skin, and then gropes the swell of your thigh.

Motherfucking hell–

“Hey, man, can you please take your hands off my girl.”

A voice from another stranger blares behind you and you freeze in your spot. What the fuck, now you have another gross man to deal with?! You grunt in annoyance and whipped your head to the side to finally yell the fuck out to these creeps. Social conventions be damned. You’re gonna make a scene. However, the man behind you holds you on the curve of your shoulders, not too tight to hurt yet not loose enough for you to turn in your seat. You furrow your brows, bewildered. You lean away slightly to get a glimpse of this man’s face but it didn’t do much because his bleached blonde fringe is almost covering his eyes and a midnight black mask was pulled over the lower half of his face. Now you’re just terribly confused. Is he a wanted criminal to cover up almost majority of his face or is he severely ill with something much worse than the common cold? You don’t know whether to trust this man or be wary of him.

“I don’t know man,” the drunk creep slurs, hand still poised too comfortably on your thigh. You wriggle in your seat but the man keeps his hold on you firm. The stranger smirks at you, then to the stranger behind you. “From what I know, this girl is my chic. Go find your own, dickhead.”

What the absolute fucking shit–You found your rage already growing the best of you and you swat his hand repeatedly but the man grips your thigh even tighter. You open your mouth to scream at the the drunk out of mixed pain, anger, and frustration–but the guy behind your back beats you to it again.

“Look, man. Take your fucking hands off my girl before I call the cops. She’s my soulmate.”

At the mention of ‘soulmate,’ the drunk man lets go of your thigh as if his hands were burned. He raises both arms to show he’s not touching any part of you anymore and before you could say something back at him–to redeem yourself and at least roast him into his next life–the guy behind you has already grabbed you by your shoulders, taking you in tow as he walks in fast, short steps towards the exit of the bar.

The chilling wind of September slaps you in the face and even if you’re still shaken up from the whole deal earlier, you still have your brain on your head to make out the dark interior of the semi-vacant parking lot of the bar. Another set of warning bells blare inside your mind and you thrash your arms around, never caring who you’ll hit or if you’ll be hit, just to break free from the hold of the stranger. You’re not going to get kidnapped after being just indecently hitted on! The man instantly lets you go but it doesn’t put him in any good light for you not to turn around and raise an accusatory finger at him.

“YOU! Just who do you think you are to hold and take me out here?! Who–”

The man pulls down his black mask and immediately, words die in your throat. It’s his drooped eyelids and warm brown eyes that hits you first, then it’s the small slope of his nose and the soft curves of his full, pink lips. Your eyes fleet toward the side of his face and goddamn, the long silver earrings dangling on his pierced ears were the same ones you were ogling at an online article you were reading yesterday.

Your eyes widen and your jaw falls open in shock. “You-you-you’re–”

Some random stranger was grabbing you by the shoulders earlier and now in front of you is fucking Park Jimin. Park Jimin, vocalist and dancer of BTS, the biggest boy band in the world who sang tracks upon tracks that earned the greatest number of music show awards in history. Park Jimin, member of BTS who performs in sold-out concerts in countless stadiums around the world. Park Jimin, the famed contemporary dancer from Busan, the beautiful man whose full lips and gentle eyes you’ve continuously written about in countless fanfictions since you started stanning BTS. Park Jimin, the person who may or maybe not have been your ultimate celebrity crush and the object of your both innocent and not-so-innocent fantasies for six years now. Goddamn, is he Park Jimin, the boy you straightaway took a liking to ever since you saw him in his cringe-worthy snapback and No More Dream black jersey ensemble in BTS’ 2013 debut music video.

Your jaw twitches. “Oh my–Oh my God. You-you–”

“Wait, don’t panic!” Jimin reaches for your trembling fingers and then you feel it–the explosion. Blinding silvery fireworks seem to go off behind your eyes as hot white combustions fill your chest for a millisecond before their aftereffects register in a series of numbing kaleidoscope of feelings running hot and wild. Your body is tingling, your chest is burning, and searing pain is engraving its way down your arm from where the man touched you. You immediately pull up the sleeves of your jacket and there you see it–tens, no, hundreds of vibrant, yellow daffodils growing an inked garden in astounding speed from a bloom that has looped around your left ring finger. The blooms spread towards your elbow, creeping even further up to your chest where you can see a bud already peeking out on the skin exposed from your low-cut white tee. Your mouth remains open in shock. You clasp your right hand on your newly-tattooed left arm only for you to mumble a faint “oh my god” when you see your right hand–and right arm–also inked with the same yellow flowers.

Still hunched over, your eyes fleet towards the stranger–towards Park Jimin, and it was only then you manage to let out audible words again. “You’re-you’re–”

“–your soulmate.”

“–Park, Jimin.”

Jimin smiles, “Oh, you know me already. This wasn’t so hard as I thought.”

You don’t register what he said, still caught up on the instant sleeves you are now sporting and the outlandish word the man in front of you spouted. “My soulmate,” you trail off, voice softening into a little above a whisper, “my–my soulmate. Oh my god.”

Unaware of the war going on in your mind, Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, I’m your soulmate. I already know. You don’t have to repeat it again and again. It’s true–”

“Out of all people, why you?!”

Jimin’s face falls. “Why? What’s wrong with me?”

“I–you–ugh!” you throw your hands up and cover your face in hopeless dismay.

Jimin is more confused than he has ever been in his whole life. “Hey, what do you mean? What’s wrong with me?”

Your eyes peek out from your hands and you see the distance Jimin has closed between the two of you as now his beautiful, perfect face is practically shoved in front of you. A gunfire inside your head resounds and you blow up. “You! What’s wrong is that you’re Park Jimin! Manggae of BTS who sing in sold out concerts in every goddamn country and the youngest recipients of the Order of the Cultural Merit from South Korea and are now the biggest boyvband in the world!” You huff out, breathless. And then you pale. Oh my god, did you just word-vomited–

“I didn’t know you know me that well,” Jimin giggles. “That’s great! We’re off to a good start!”

Confusion flickers in your eyes for only a second before it turns into aggravation. “Why is this not bothering you?! You’re an idol!”

Jimin nods, “Yeah, I’m an idol. And I’m also your soulmate.” He takes a step toward you and you take one back. Seeing the apprehension in your tensed form, he doesn’t push further and instead opts to place his hands in the pockets of his ink black leather jacket. “Don’t you know why I came just in time before that drunk jerk even tried to further push his sick plan?”

You don’t answer him, still shaken up from everything that’s suddenly happening.

Jimin just smiles. “I felt you’re near and you’re distressed and anxious. Soulbond, as people say. I went with my gut feeling and I proved it true when I saw you at the bar with that man. It’s a soulmate thing. And oh, I also have this.” Jimin pulls up his sleeve and raises his left hand, flashing you his ring finger inked with a daffodil looped around it just as yours. His tattoo didn’t spread into a sleeve, hinted by the clear skin peeking from the seams of his leather jacket toward the rest of his hand. But still, his inked ring is undeniably a daffodil bloom just like yours. Jimin smirks, “I told you, I’m your soulmate.

You could hear your heart pulsing loud against your ears and you could still feel your veins thrumming with the aftershocks of the explosions of stuff you don’t want to label anything that is already connected to the grinning boy in front of you. You open your mouth only for you to close it again. You cannot deny his statement when two full sleeves of tattooed flowers bloomed right in front both of your eyes. He’s your soulmate and that’s undeniable. However, a different chaos brews in your mind again when you remember that this man in front of you was very much the celebrity you have fawned over for the entire latter six years of your life. You must have weirded him out already when you blurted out the achievements of his group earlier. You cannot let yourself further creep him out by telling him you’ve always raved about him, dare even adored him way, way back then before this very night. Sure, you’ve never believed in this soulmate thing for 17 years of your life but it doesn’t mean you didn’t know about love nor experienced it. Your three ex-crushes under your belt and your six-long stable years of intense crushing on this boy in front of you (that even prompted you to write cheesy romance and dirty filth about him in your still-very-alive tumblr writing account) are enough to color your single-as-fuck-since-you-were-born life with enough joy and pain. But anyway, you can’t let him know everything about this. It’s too embarrassing. It will definitely make him run for the hills just like your three ex-crushes.

You wouldn’t have to do all of this hassle in the first fucking place if Park Jimin is not your fucking soulmate. Goddamn it, you didn’t even imagine in your whole life you will actually fucking say that ridiculous “s” word.

Frowning again, you storm off.

Jimin laughs and joins you in your furious steps outside the parking lot.

***

Unlike your initial plan of running away, you didn’t know you will actually stay with Jimin into the night as he rambles about future date plans.

Half past ten, the two of you are seated in Aunt Marie’s, a 24/7 retro-themed diner you frequent every finals week for late night dinners. Massive cheeseburgers are on your plates and Jimin is seated across you, sporting the mask you have seen on him earlier.

You drop your utensils and sigh. “See? This won’t work. How the hell will we date if your face is always covered with that?”

“I didn’t know you’re already thinking about dating me.” Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he sets his elbow on the table, cupping his face. “I’m liking this fast pace so far.”

You didn’t know this man can easily evade your question by getting sidetracked like a pesky toddler. You purse your lips, unamused. “I’m not thinking about dating you. I’m just laying out a general probability for anyone who will date you. Don’t get ahead so fast, you don’t even know me.”

“You know me.” Jimin shrugs. “At least that’s a headstart.” You glare at him and he laughs. Jimin continues, “We have lots of time to know each other. That’s why we’re here.”

“Correction, we’re here because you told me you’re starving and this is the only near place I know that serves good food this late in the night.”

“Which means we get to know each other,” Jimin repeats, smile turning into a grin. “I could have brought us to a place I know but you insisted going here, hence I learn tonight that you like eating at Aunt Marie’s. Therefore, we are here to eat and also learn about each other. It is inevitable.” You sigh in defeat and Jimin smirks at his victory. “Also, I can eat, look.” He slices his burger, pulls down his mask and shoves a piece in his mouth, and then pulls up his mask on again. You can’t see his teasing smile but you could tell he’s already giggling because his cheeks grow rounder, making his eyes turn into crescent moons. Slicing another piece, Jimin says, “So, can I know more about you, Y/N?”

Your mouth opens again like a blubbering fish. “Wait, how did you know my name? I haven’t told you my name yet.”

For a second, you see his eyes widen but it passes like a blur when you find yourself starting to like the mischievous glint shining in his warm eyes. Jimin shrugs and answers, “It’s a soulmate thing.”

You cringe and Jimin chortles. Okay, you take it back. You don’t like the mischievous glint if he does that while saying that ridiculous “s” word. When his snickers die down, Jimin repeats his question, “So, can I now know more about you, Y/N?”

You dab your napkin on your lips and sigh for the nth time. “Well, everything about me is as plain as plain Jane can be. Name’s Y/N L/N, only child from a middle-class family. I had a quite nice childhood, playing here and there, making many…friends.” You can’t help but cringe at the word, quite unsure if you could ever tell your neighbors who consulted you during community debates were your friends. You want to make a good impression even if you weren’t still sold into this soulmate phenomenon. Unlike back then, you weren’t too fond of people seeing you less of what you are now. You pushed on, “Until middle school came and I learned how friendships work only if everyone gets to free-ride on projects and you carry the whole group.”

Jimin snorts, “Who hurt you, Y/N?”

“That asshole’s name is Kim Yeonjun. I still remember the cookie he stole from my lunchbox. Never gonna forgive him.” Your serious front breaks out into snickers and Jimin follows suit. “Anyway, I didn’t know my life will get more boring until high school came and our teachers taught us in detail about Vandikes and Weber’s soulmate science–”

“Wait, this soulmate thing has a science behind it?” Jimin looks at you, eyes round.

“Well, yeah,” you reply, brows scrunched. “Your teachers didn’t tell you about them? It was like the only thing any kid will actually remember from studying next to reading and writing.”

“I don’t remember anything about such science. I studied in a performing arts school in Busan.”

You look at him incredulous, “Impossible! It’s more likely you’ll know about the soulmate science before you even learn how to read. Parents already start the red string of fate bullshit as soon as their kid starts to speak gibberish. It’s impossible to leave out anyone from the soulmate science since everyone was raving about it–teens, adults, and even kids.”

“Do you rave about it?”

The furrows on your forehead deepen. “What? No!”

“Well, that’s not everyone,” Jimin leans on his seat. “So, people like me who’ve never heard of such science are justified.”

“Touché” you agree, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get away without learning at least a two or thing about it because teachers start to teach soulmate science in basic sciences at the end of middle school.” You lean forward, eyes challenging his. “And everyone studies basic sciences in middle school. Heck, you even mentioned soulbond earlier. You’re just probably asleep when your teacher taught it in class.”

“Okay, I surrender my fight,” Jimin mutters and you laugh.

“So long story short, Vandikes and Weber first discovered the biological proof of the soulmate phenomenon. They show how neural interconnections of two soulmates transmit info to each other at the same time even when they’re in two different countries. Which then means the soul connection and all other soulmate systems are scientifically accepted as a truth now than just some folklore.”

“Wait, what’s the soul connection?”

“It’s the soulmate system where two soulmates get to read or hear each other’s thoughts. It’s the phenomenon Vandikes and Weber witnessed while formulating their biological proof. Also, it’s rare. Only five couples were recorded to have that system. One of them was the participants of Vandikes and Weber’s study.”

Jimin hums and you continue with your story, “Anyway, I was surrounded by screaming teenagers desperately looking for their soulmates and all that cringey stuff while I busy myself with studies because that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

“And you’re busy loving pre-debut BTS.”

You choke on your burger, eyes wide before you glare at him. How did he know? The guilt on your face must be evident because Jimin starts breaks into a laughing fit that other people (a couple of nightowl teens and couples) look at your way. In your defense, 2013 you didn’t know any better and just spent hours googling BTS and buying posters with each members’ faces on them (with always an extra poster of Jimin’s solo picture everytime you buy a bundle) instead of getting a social life. At least 2013 you were smart enough to realize you’re broke and you can’t afford to buy albums yet when you’re already struggling just to get your hands on required textbooks your teachers assign. You maintain your pointed look at him, refusing to admit to his very much true statement. You don’t want him to know even when the proof is right in your home–the posters you collected for three years, rolled up and still tucked in the corner of your closet. You never found it in yourself to dispose them even after every annual promise to throw them away.

Jimin sniggers before he cues for you to continue on. “Sorry, it wasn’t funny.”

“Anyway,” you stuff your face with the last piece of your burger and swallowed it, “I got high honors and got into my dream college. I realized next to studying, I was good at arguing–

“–so true–”

“–so I decided to go into law school.” You send Jimin another glare for his (very true) remark and he smiles. “So here I am now into my first year in law school, flunking every essay, and currently worth minimum wage.”

Jimin nods in interest, “Where do you work?”

“Oh gee, I didn’t know you’re into asking occupations of your date like every other cliche dates.”

You see Jimin’s eyes spark in interest and you regret what you just blurted out. “Oh, so you do see this as a date.”

“Nooo,” you groan, heat already creeping up on your cheeks, almost like a wildfire. What the hell is happening to you? You always know how to control your word vomit; you’re never impulsive when it comes to speaking out. You’re a law student for Christ’s sake!

“Don’t worry, I also see this as a date.” You could feel Jimin’s stare linger on your warm cheeks. You snug deeper into your jacket, wishing for the ground to break open and eat you up. Instead of further teasing you, Jimin repeats his question. “So, where do you work?”

“At Petal Hill,” you mumble. “It’s a flowershop two blocks away from my flat.”

“Oh, a flowershop. Then, you must probably be knowledgeable of a lot of flowers.”

“Yeah” you answer, a smile instantly tugging on your lips. “I get to recommend the best bouquets and sets to my customers, not to mention I have great grasp on the flower language to help them pick flowers they want to convey their messages through.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I mean, I get to understand your confusing I Need You and Run music videos just with the two flowers used alone,” you blurt, thinking fondly of your Tumblr text-post, the only one that got you over 300 notes, where you wrote flower theories about BTS’ music videos. However, the moment you see Jimin gawking at what you said, it’s too late to undo what’s already let out in the open air.

“Really? Oh my god, I never even knew the meaning behind those flowers. The directors just tell us to sit here, hold this or that, and do sad-emo-boi hours.”

You stifle a giggle but it comes out unsuccessful when you break out into a huge grin, “You– what?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jimin laughs, “We actually knew the plot of the music videos and internalized the characters assigned to us. But really, I never knew the flowers alone are a huge hint to the whole story.”

“Well, my time to shine has finally arrived,” you grin, finding the need to stretch out your arms comically like how Tom does when he’s smug about catching Jerry. “The most iconic flower you guys used again and again is the white lily. Although the flower means rebirth, royalty, and purity with its delicate yet grand petals, they are often associated with funerals. White lilies symbolize the restored innocence the departed soul receives after death. That’s why the moment the music video flashes Seokjin’s character spreading six lily petals on the floor, I already knew either all your six characters or Seokjin’s, will die, before the video even reached to your guys’…sad-emo-boi hours.” Jimin nods in interest and you continue, “The Japanese version of the music video for I Need You was a large give-away since the large masses of flowers surrounding Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s characters resemble like the clump of flowers thrown at a coffin being buried.” You gulp, “Anyway, going to the lighter side because I don’t want to dwell on such grim topics, the second flower you guys used that caught my eye was the blue rose.”

“Oh yeah, that one!” Jimin eyes glimmer in recognition. “It was the only flower we used in the Run music video. What’s its meaning?”

“Impossible love.” You said, lips forming a thin line. “Blue roses don’t occur in nature because roses do not have the specific gene to produce such color. Instead, they are made by placing blue dye into the bark of the roses’ roots. Since it’s impossible to produce blue roses naturally without artificial means, these roses mean impossible love. So when the video flashes the blue rose in the background of Yoongi and Jungkook’s characters fighting, it can be said their familial love for each other, as they were depicted like brothers in the videos, will be unable to mend the wreckage of their characters.”

“Wow, I didn’t know it’s possible to reach to such accurate perception with the flowers alone.”

“Then are my theories true?” You lean forward.

“Yeah, on Jungkook and Yoongi’s characters being brothers and their strained familial bond. Also with the connotation of the lilies, although,” Jimin leans forward, too, smirking, “I wouldn’t reveal to you who really died or didn’t in the music videos.”

You scoff. “Wow, such torture. You’ve been keeping the fans in the shadows about the story far too long.”

“Not my choice, blame Big Hit. The concept team just tells us anyway the plot when we have to shoot them so you can say I’m also in the dark” Jimin shrugs. “Also, I want to keep you on your toes, making theories and analyses. They interest me. How did you easily connect the dots?”

“I’m a part-time florist. And, I took English literature as my undergraduate study. The plot analyses and the story critiques we did really grew in me.”

“Oh wow,” Jimin gasps, leaning back. “My god, I didn’t know you were so out of my league!”

“What?” Out of his league? Is he fucking crazy? He’s the one across you who’s got millions of followers, followed everywhere by the media, known and loved in every country, not to mention, worth of millions of dollars. And you’re here, who’s got millions of bills to pay, followed by countless work and university deadlines, barely spared a glance from the people in your university and work, and you hate to mention again, worth minimum wage. Hell, you could tell Jimin’s face is glowingly beautiful even with his mask pulled on while you’re here, probably sporting a full oily face look. By all blatant circumstances, he’s the one who’s out of your league.

At the sight of your frown, Jimin’s hands wave in front of you, trying to dismiss any misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just–I didn’t know you’re such an intellectual. You read lots of books and do analyses and you’re so damn good in arguing. You always get me convinced. I haven’t done anything yet in our date but gawk and say ‘wow’ like a kid. I don’t…want to look stupid in front of you.”

“You’re not.”

“Huh?”

You clear your throat. “You’re not stupid. And no, you didn’t just ‘gawk and say wow’ at me. You did a good job arguing with me earlier…about the ‘date.’ And that takes a lot because it looks like you’re having fun doing this friendly debate with me when people curse me for being so adamant in arguments.”

“Why would they curse you? There’s nothing wrong in fighting for what you think is right.”

You shrug, “They got nothing substantial to say so they resort to shaming you for what you know. Sick way of lifting yourself above others. Anyway, why don’t you fire me some flower questions you have in mind? I’m in the mood to go all out in my flower-nerdiness today.”

“Okay, so…what do you think is the best flower to give for your friends?”

“Pink tulips are automatic to-gos. They mean ‘I care for you’ and also ‘good wishes’ so they’re also perfect for joyful gatherings. Pear blossoms also do the trick as they mean lasting friendship.” You glance upwards and hum before you return your eyes to Jimin, excitement thrumming in your nerves, “Oh, and Arborvitaes may not be popular but they’re the perfect flowers to give to a friend if you want to have ‘everlasting friendship.’”

“Hmm, then what about the best one to give to your parents?”

“Flowers of gratefulness are the top candidates. Campanulas, azaleas, and dark pink roses all mean gratitude and thankfulness.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that next time I buy flowers for my mom,” Jimin smiles. “I always go for red roses every damn single time.”

“It’s the classic. Can’t blame you though, it has the most generic message applicable to many kinds of relationships.”

“Yeah, really?”

“Yeah, they mean true love–True love for your friend, true love for your parent, or true love for your significant other. People usually use the connotation of “true love” for romantic relations when it’s actually applicable to familial bonds and friendships. After all, all of these relationships require truthfulness and love at the same time.”

Jimin’s mouth forms an o-shape. “Oh, I never really thought of that.”

“Well now you know,” you grin.

“Inked and stamped now, ma’am,” Jimin slaps his palm on his head and you giggle. At your laugh, Jimin smile grows bigger. “Okay, here’s another one: what flower is the best one to give to your mortal enemy?”

“Are you insane? Who gives flowers to their mortal enemy?”

Jimin shrugs. “Why not?”

“Disregarding the money and time you’re wasting picking these flowers for such person,” you squint your eyes at him and Jimin laughs, “you should definitely go for foxgloves and orange lilies. They literally mean ‘Fuck you’ to the hardest core.”

“‘Fuck you’ in what sense?” Jimin teases.

You easily go along with it, mischief easily brewing inside your head. “They mean ‘fuck you’ as a curse, but if you mean the suggestive ‘fuck you’ then go for balsams. Though they may not be that arousing because they have these large, curving petals that look worn and limp, and you DON’T want to imply you’re like that flower.”

Jimin guffaws, “Then why do they mean ‘fuck you’ if they’re not the least bit attractive?”

“I don’t know, blame the Victorians who invented this floriography. Preferences change over time anyway so we can’t blame them for thinking balsams back then are ahhhsm.”

You’re co-workers always found that joke dry and lame and yet in front of you, Jimin laughs as he holds his stomach, even finding the need for his other hand to slap the table again and again. At this rate, he’s toning his abs from how hard he tries to keep his laughter not loud enough to disturb other customers. Despite the forming grin on your face, you found the need to say, “Okay, sorry that came out really, really suggestive.”

“No, it’s okay,” Jimin assures. “I was the one who insinuated the suggestive themes anyway. I don’t mind at all.”

“Me too,” you gulp. “It’s cool that we get to sit and chat like this without worrying about anything sexual.”

“…Yeah, I agree,” Jimin tugs his shirt and clears his throat. “Anyway, what flower is the best one to give to your significant other? The most romantic one, the one that will instantly make your heart flutter?”

“Well,” your fidget in your seat, “that depends on what the significant other likes. Flowers may hold different meanings but the preference for them still largely relies on the recipient.”

“What do you like to receive?”

You look at him, gaze questioning any ulterior intentions, any flirtatious comebacks he wants to blurt after possibly faking interest about such important topic. But when he tilts his head, waiting for your answer, you can’t help but blindly disregard your doubts and just answer his question. “I think pansies would be enough for me.”

“Pansies?”

“Yeah… They have these delicate, round petals and they’re resilient whether the sun beats too harsh on them or the winter almost freezes them to their roots. Whatever weather, whatever place they live in, they’ll always, always live. I guess that’s why they mean ‘You’re always in my mind.’ There’s nothing more infectious, more resilient, than any disease but a constant thought. That’s why I think being always in someone’s mind is a lot. To have a significant other that gets to see you, feel you, hear you, smell you, even taste you without them being aware of it is already akin to…love. You can’t control what passes through your mind, much less on what or who stays in it. But it doesn’t matter,” you laugh awkwardly, throat hurting in the process. “I’m not into receiving flowers. They’re over-the-top and they wilt and I just have to throw them away when they served all their worth.”

“But what would you do if someone is willing to give you those pansies everyday, help you clean them away when they wilt, and assure you a new batch will make its way to you again?”

“Then…I will accept it. Gifts are free and my labor will be lessened.”

Jimin leans back, eyes shining. “I will make sure then to drop by in your shop and buy you a bouquet of those to make up for my lack of gifts for our date today.”

You scoff at him. “You’re buying flowers right from my workplace to give to me? That’s not romantic.”

“Wanna see me come over with a suit and tie, then?”

“Oh my god, why are you like this?” you wail, palms covering your face. You’ve always adored Jimin’s unwavering determination in their reality shows, however, having him here in front of you showing you this stubbornness is something else. You don’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. Wait, what–

“How about this then?” you feel Jimin’s fingers part your hands away from your face and a breath gets stuck in your throat. He has leant forward, mask pulled down to his jaw, and his eyes trained straight towards yours. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away, too absorbed in Jimin’s intense stare. The thought that his vision is probably just filled with you and nothing else just like how your eyes only frame his entire face makes you queasy in your seat. You’ve never had someone look at you this, sincere and so open before that your long-time indignation to real-life romance and the whole soulmate thing has rendered you incapable of thinking what you should do–or if you should actually do anything than just get lost in another person’s eyes. You see Jimin’s lips pull into a soft curve of a smile. “Is this romantic enough?”

Before you could choke on your own spit and indulge in awkward silence you know you’ll probably won’t get out of, a foreign voice by your side breaks your little bubble with Jimin. You glance to your left and a tall waiter bows. “Sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, sir, but would you like to order some dessert?”

You look down at your plates to find everything in miniscule bits and crumbs, your meals completely finished. You sneak a peek at your wristwatch. It’s only 10:51, just mere twenty minutes have passed since you stepped onto the diner’s black and white tiles. You never imagined time could run so fast with another person invading your space than just your comfort zone.

You see Jimin turn to the waiter. “Oh, no we’re finished. Can we ask for the bill?”

Wait, you’re already finished? So soon? Your scrunched forehead must have gave out everything you’re thinking because Jimin turns to you and says, “I want to show you to some place. My turn to let you learn more about me.”

Indifferent to the exchange between you two, the waiter hands Jimin the receipt. “Here it is, sir.”

“Okay,” Jimin hands the payment on the waiter’s awaiting hands and you gape as you flounder for your own wallet. Jimin dismisses you. “I got this. You can pay me later.” He turns back to the waiter, “Thank you for the service.”

“Thank you, too, sir.” The waiter returns and when you see him smile at Jimin again, his voice trails off and his eyes squint at the man across you. “Say, sir…you really look like Park Jimin from BTS.”

“No.” Jimin’s smile drops into a frown and he quickly pulls up his mask.

“No, really! I’ve been staring at you earlier and I can’t deny the similarities!” the waiter insists and you see his eyes spark in recognition. “You have the similar droopy eyes and familiar voice. Oh yeah, Jimin’s blonde hair on yesterday’s Music Bank is the same as yours–wait, don’t tell me,” The waiter pauses and raises his index finger to Jimin, “you’re the Park Jimin himself?” Jimin glances at you in panic and the waiter catches the small movement of denial. “Oh my god, you are Park Jimin! Damn, man, can I get an autograph? My sister loves you so much!”

Neither you nor Jimin were able to say a thing after that, nor did you get a chance. The customers that didn’t care about your presence twenty minutes ago are now looking at your way with full, intent stares.

“Jimin? Park Jimin? That singer from BTS?”

“Jimin is here?!”

“Oh my god, it is him! It’s Jimin! It’s the same hair color and jacket and earrings he wore in tonight’s V Live!”

In the next second, everyone is screaming and rushing out of their tables to approach you.

You’re frozen in your seat, chills rising in succession in your feet, arms, and spine. Crowds of faces were shoved right against your face, bunches of arms reaching and grabbing and thrashing around, and the screams and hollers were so loud they turn into garbled white noise. It’s like the zombie apocalypse except the creatures grabbing at you are still real, living people.

“Jimin! Jimin!”

“Oh my god, Jimin’s with a girl!”

“Hey, Jimin, look here!”

“Jimin, please sign this!”

“Wait, is that Jimin’s girlfriend?”

“Jimin, can I take a picture with you?”

“Jimin, who’s that girl?!”

“Jimin, I love you!”

The next moments are a blur. A second ago, jumpy teens and young adults were crowding your table, screaming and thrashing around. In the next second, Jimin has his hand clasped around yours, pulling you fast out of your table and out of the door. And now you’re here, running on the city street, your steps pounding on the cold pavement in heavy beats as a thunderous stampede follows close behind your tail.

You’re finding it hard to take in all that is happening that the sudden pull on your arm toward your right has you dizzy and almost nauseous.

“What’s ha-happening?”

Jimin sneaks a glance at you and then back on the street. “Our fans are chasing us. Keep running. We don’t want them to ruin our date.”

You purse your lips and will your legs to keep up with his pace. You’re about to chide him for what he said but you decide against it and just kept your mouth shut. You can’t bite back a witty comeback when you’re running out of breath.

Huffing, he pulls down his mask to take a breath. “C’mon, let’s run faster!”

The city whizzes by you, multicolored houses meshing into straight lines and warped shapes in a fast-forwarded reel. The streetlights overhead promise another corner to turn to and the pavement below your feet remains constant in its grayness and never-ending stretch. You and Jimin run and turn to corner after corner and it wasn’t until you’re stepping on the fifth street from your run do you realize your hand is still clasped in his.

It feels weird to have another hand next to yours, much less a hand with fingers that oddly perfectly fill each gap between yours. What’s more odd is that you are comfortable, running to god knows where, hand in hand with a stranger. Well, Jimin’s not technically a stranger, given that you’ve known about him onscreen for six years, but still, everything feels too new and strange especially when he’s your…soulmate.

The sleeve of your jacket has ridden upward your arm and your eyes immediately caught your inked daffodils. You’ve let your eyes miss their beauty in your shock earlier. But now, you can’t help but stare at awe when the flowers’ yellow petals rival the golden daylight as if the moonlight above has reflected every bit of the sun’s shine onto the art inked on your arms. You’ve never heard of this kind of soulmate system before, nor its strange incongruity with Jimin’s soulmate system. What is truly strange, is you’re already finding yourself dismissing any doubts about them. It’s horrifying that you can’t seem to care about anything anymore because all you could feel is…joy. Everything feels too perfect like a dream. Maybe it is true that you’re actually dreaming because as far as you’re concerned, the soulmate systems have ousted you since you were born. Everything about this daffodil sleeves and Jimin are probably just conjured by your unconscious, trying to make you feel better to ease the guilt of ruining Lucy’s night. You’ll wake up to your alarm to another shitty day in law school and then –

“JIMIIIIIIN!”

Unlike your expectations, it is a blaring scream that wakes you up to your senses.

“Where’s Jimin?!”

“There, there! I can see his blonde hair AHHH!!!!”

“Jimin! Don’t run away from us!”

And then, you’re running fast again, lungs squeezing in short breaths as Jimin pulls you to corner after corner, maneuvering you in and out of street after street. Your legs are starting to numb from exhaustion but before you could start to whine at Jimin for a short break to rest, he has already pulled you into a dark, narrow alleyway crammed between two clothing retail stores. Only a few seconds later, a mass of shouting teens runs past the street. You turned your face away, holding your breath in until the last one behind them misses your hiding spot, only finding it permissible to breathe again when the fans’ loud voices dissipate in the next corner.

When you turn your head back to your front, you’re met with Jimin’s own flustered face. Only mere inches separate your lips from brushing against each other. Words are caught in your throat as you let your eyes take in his flushed state: his fringes matted on his forehead, his pink lips parted as he huffs, his ears reddened from the cold, and his warm brown eyes that reflect your own blushing face. If everything that has happened tonight really turns out to be a dream, you hope your sleep could be long enough to let you drag this night for as long as you could.

“What are you staring at?”

You’re suddenly brought back to where you are, pressed uncomfortably against the cold walls of the alley. Your eyes instantly moved down to your feet and with the motion, you caught a glowing thing sitting right atop on your left ring finger. It takes you a second to realize that the yellow glow is coming from the inked daffodil on your ring finger. Your daffodil ring is glowing like a fucking firefly. Your eyes widen and they fleet upward to meet Jimin’s eyes, your mouth gaping. “I–uh-uh–um–”

Jimin raises his eyebrows, lips curving upwards. “Can’t get enough of my beautiful face?”

“What? No!” You turn away and scowl, hoping the night could cool down the heat forming on your cheeks. You frantically pull the sleeves of your oversized jacket to hide your glowing tattoo.

“Don’t need to be defensive. You can stare as long as you want, Y/N. After all,” Jimin raises his index finger and gestures to his face and down to his body, “you own all of these.”

Your eyes twitch and your lips form an unamused frown. Jimin laughs.

Jimin was the first one to squeeze out from the narrow space and you follow next. Despite your reaction earlier, you find it necessary to keep the frown on your face. You try to not let it show how much his words are making your heart pound loud and proud against your ears.

You clear your throat. “You’ve got some serious fans out there.”

Sighing, Jimin takes off the mask pulled under his jaw and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. “Ah, yeah. We always get that occasional…warm greeting whenever we land at airports. I guess we’re already used to that.”

“Warm?! It’s borderline harassment!”

“They’re just…excited to see me, that’s all. I can’t complain because I signed up for this when I decided to pursue this career.”

“But still! That doesn’t mean they get to shove their faces to you and scream and demand you to take pictures with them or sign this or that. You still have your personal space and people should respect that. You’re still a human being, Chim.”

Jimin stares at you before he breaks into a chuckling fit. “I didn’t know we’re on the stage to be making petnames for each other now, Y/Nie.”

You gulp as you feel your cheeks heat up again. “I’m serious!”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just joking to laugh off the heartbeats I hear pounding loud in my chest. You look at him, brows furrowed. Jimin shrugs. “I can’t help it. You make me feel like this.”

You clear your throat again, diverting the conversation to where you are before he got sidetracked. “Anyway, can’t you get like a restraining order on them or something?”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just pissed off.” He looks at you smirking, and before he can come up with another cheesy line, you spoke out, “For you! Pissed off for you, yeah. Any person shouldn’t go through such trauma.” Jimin nods and you ramble on, “I only saw you guys’ airport fiascos on fancams. I never knew a toned down version of those like this will be already this bad. Heck, I’m already trembling with just a couple of fans hot on our toes, what more for you guys who get pushed and shoved and grabbed here and there by a flock of them. It’s goddamn scary and infuriating. If I were in your shoes I would have dropped down and screamed and cried. I’m glad I didn’t push my stupid 17-year-old dream of becoming an idol. I can’t do that stuff.”

“I’m glad too you didn’t pursue that dream. I don’t want other men freely ogling my girl with no lawful repercussions.”

“’…Ew. Don’t say that again.”

“What?”

You blanch despite the heat gathering on your cheeks. “The ‘my girl.’ It’s cringey.”

“Oh hell no am I never gonna say that again if you’re blushing and being cute like this because of it. Oh my, Y/N, you can just say you like it! I can say it again if you want to–”

“Oh please, no–”

“My girl.”

“Shut up!”

“Ahh, you’re blushing more!”

***

The skyline has long deepened in an inky indigo blanket yet you can’t feel your eyes fluttering close any minute now. It’s true because about eleven thirty, you’re still busy chirping away flower meanings to Jimin who was attentive to every word down to every flower color, to notice you two have already reached the business area of the city. There were no more residential areas or any run-down bars. Skyscrapers stood tall and brooding on strict two sides of the road while cut-straight gravel streets measure a meter or two to separate establishments. Unlike the streets from the bar to the diner, which were colored in various hues of maroon, beige, blue, and occasional flickers of yellow, the buildings in front of you followed a narrow color palette of light gray to black. However, the gloomy vicinity did nothing to dim the colorful trivia-dump you’re doing with Jimin.

“Did you know, most yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, like the marigold. Despite being a vibrant flower, it actually means envy and jealousy. And oh, don’t get me started with carnations. I always find myself inquiring young men who came into the shop picking yellow carnations if the flowers were for a first date.”

“Why is that?” Jimin raises his brows.

“It’s a horrible choice for a first date! Yellow carnations mean disdain and you DON’T want to jinx a starting relationship with such a negative connotation.”

“What flower should I pick then for a first date?”

“Roses are safe. Red, pink, or white are definitely the charmers. White carnations also do the trick for you as they mean sweet love. Although I mentioned yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings, there’s one flower I know that stands out, the most perfect one I think for a first date.”

“What is it?”

“Sunflowers,” you grin. “Despite all their beauty and all that mechanism where they turn towards the sun’s direction, they are quite tedious to grow. They’re needy of nutrients. They drain the soil from its nutrients, hogging them that no other kind of plant should be placed near them as they will easily die. That’s why they carry the meaning of draining love. But you know what? Even if they’re draining, they hold one of the most delicate and romantic message”

“What is it?”

“Everlasting love,” you smile. “They may be quite draining but their beauty is worth every effort. See? Wouldn’t be that the perfect flower for a first date?”

Jimin nods. “Yeah, they are.” He looks at you, smiling and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling too wide.

When you turned to another street, Jimin asks, “Do you know another flower that holds such a…bittersweet message?”

“Yeah, spiderlilies. But you know, I think that flower has the saddest story to tell.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s the flower of parting. It–” You suddenly trail off and Jimin stops in his step the minute you pull his arm into a stop. “Wait, where are we? Why are we in the business part of the town?”

Jimin tilts his head, “I told you I’m gonna show you a place.”

“A place? In here?”

“Just trust me,” Jimin chuckles and he grabs your hand before you can utter another word.

After a couple of minutes weaving down two streets and turning two corners to the left, the two of you stand in front of a humongous gravel gray tower. It would have looked uptight and intimidating if it weren’t for its darkening edges, from the soot or age, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that Jimin is already pushing through the large glass double doors with you in tow.

“W-wait, what are you doing? This is trespassing and if you don’t know what it is, it’s illegal!”

“We’re not trespassing. Trust me.”

The furrows on your forehead deepen, anxiety grappling at the edges of your nerves, but you couldn’t do anything but follow him. You don’t want to admit your feet were walking on their own so you’re gonna blame Jimin for holding your hand too firmly.

The ground floor of the tower wasn’t that much. All it has was clean white walls and cream-tiled floors. Its reception desk wasn’t too grand with just a gold bell, a couple of stacked news articles cased to the side, and a fake Picasso painting hung behind it. You can tell it’s Picasso because it was the same painting you always stare at in the guidance counselor’s room, with a small black label printed “Picasso” underneath it. And you know it’s fake because the guidance counselor told you the original piece of that painting now resides in the residence of an old Italian antique collector. The two of you wound a corridor and passed two hallways before you stop in front of metal double-doors, the ones used for fire exits in hospitals. It has a built-in lock and by the way Jimin pushes the door without any advances, you know it’s locked. Jimin fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans and produces his wallet, taking a silver key tucked in its small flaps.

You gawk. “You have a key for this?”

Jimin doesn’t answer but smiles, inserting the key. When you hear the doors unlock, he pushes one open and gestures for you to come inside. You didn’t have any qualms and just followed him. You figured that if Jimin has the key, then what you’re doing is not trespassing, and you find yourself relaxing eventhough you’re boggled as to why Jimin possesses such key when his entertainment company is in another twenty-six storey building on the opposite side of town.

Jimin leads you down a wide hallway past the metal double-doors, now colored in gray walls and darker gray tiles instead of the standard white and cream of the rest of the ground floor. There were a couple of doors lining on the sides, each designated with a position of an authority you didn’t catch to read. At the end of the hallway, a set of stairs lead downwards and you find yourself yet again, waiting in front of another set of metal double doors as Jimin inserts another silver key into the built-in lock. He pushes the doors open and as you stepped inside, you feel your jaw drop to the floor.

In front of you was a skating rink, surrounded by glass partitions that measure about a meter. Black benches surround the rink like the ones you see in the hockey games inserted in films. However, unlike the ones you watched, the benches weren’t many enough to hold spectators of a game, and the rink was too small to hold a proper hockey game. It’s probably ideal only for recreational skating like the ones you went to with your mother whenever she feels like taking you out in winter.

You turn to Jimin. “What is this skating rink? I thought we were inside a business building.”

Jimin leans on one of the benches. “Me and my group always go here to let out stress. When we were stressing for our debut, when we need a breather for comebacks or, when the cameras and media were too much–we always go here. It’s a secret hangout place, tucked underneath this large corporate building.About 50 years ago, this building was like a winter sports complex. It has this large skating rink where monthly local competitions for hockey and curling are held. Sometimes, it’s lucky enough to hold regional competitions as this part of town was far from the business center back then. Aside from contests and trainings being held, anyone–kids, teens, adults–gets to arrange who uses the spare time from the fixed schedule of the complex for recreational hockey, curling, or just…skating round and round.” Jimin laughs. “Sometimes, the complex frees it schedule to invite anyone to come and skate for a downgraded price. You know, like how your local authorities turn the frozen lakes into a public skating area when winter comes.”

Jimin’s lips form a straight line, “However, business turned sour in the long run because another sports complex was built near the area, equipped with more supplies and employees. So the owner of the complex and the land had to sell their whole business because of that, and also because her family is going to migrate to the States. This skating rink was supposed to be taken down but the first owner of the land run back to this town and made an agreement with the buyer. Pleaded nothing will change from the negotiation except she’ll pay anything just for the buyer to keep the rink. She went all out with her money then. Even sold her house and her ancestor’s villa in Taiwan.”

“She…spent all her money for this?”

“Well, yeah. She did go almost bankrupt but at least she got to keep her skating rink before she died.” Jimin glances at you, waiting for a reply but when you just return a stare, he tilts his head in inquiry.

You pull on your sleeves. “I didn’t say she did bad choices…it’s just that–it’s a lot of risk. I don’t think anyone could do that but her.”

“Anyone can do that, it just depends what they’re willing to risk. Because–well, some things are just worth risking everything for.”

You stay silent, staring at him. Jimin chuckles and grabs your hand to lead you towards the locker room. He proceeds with his story, “The buyer built a commercial building but fulfilled his end of the agreement by keeping the rink. And when the buyer eventually handed over the building to his son, the skating rink was then cut into half as the 3rd owner got the building renovated and sold half of the land to another millionaire. The other section of the rink was turned into another building but this one remained because the owner’s son loved to skate whenever his dad brings him for bring-your-child-to-work day. Now the son, the current owner, kept this skating rink and even opened it to the public because unlike the previous owner, his dad, he’s fun and wants to let kids come into this concrete jungle just to play and hang out.”

“How do you know all of these?”

“I’m friends with the current owner. His name is Henry Kim, a friend from preschool, and I swear I never knew how filthy rich he was back then. We became friends because I got enticed by his story of the first land owner meeting her soulmate, her husband, in a local skating rink which inspired her to build the sports complex and even had the succeeding owners keep the rink. Henry even got me some articles about it to read. So now, I and the boys get to have alone time in here whenever we want, away from all the cameras and the media and the pizzaz. It’s a privilege, I know, given our…status, but I’d like to think it more as out of our friendship.” He turns back to smile at you. “It makes me warm.”

You didn’t know how to reply to his last statement so you just returned his smile and let his hand guide you to the locker rooms where you can strap on your skating shoes. It didn’t take you too long to lace up your skating shoes and waddle onto the rink because within just a couple of minutes, you’re already giggling, waltzing on the ice. It’s been a while since you let yourself enjoy like a child like this–free from societal pressure, success strife stress, and family expectations; to laugh aloud and feel nothing akin but being on top of the world just because of simple things like this–skating round and round.

“So you told me, it’s your turn to let me learn more about you,” you skid in front of Jimin, grinning. “When is that gonna happen? You’ve been rambling about on and on about a lot of other people.”

“Well, there isn’t much,” Jimin skates in time with you towards the east end of the rink. “I practically showed and revealed everything already on TVs and magazines.”

“Not true. You’re more than what the cameras show what you seem to be.”

“You’re a fan though. You practically already know everything about me.”

“Also not true. No one is capable of fully knowing everything about everyone. All you have is your perception of others and others’ perception of you, but they will never be enough to be everything about you nor others. People are like mirrors, you know. They see each other based on the images they envision them in so, they’re just staring at what their thoughts collectively created about another person. In the end, the only one who truly knows themselves are no one but themselves.” You sigh, turning to him and taking his hand as you let centripetal force control your balance and skate you backward. “How about this: you tell me things you’ve never told anyone before.”

“Okay,” Jimin agrees and he pulls you back to his side, hands still connected. “Do you know I used to dream of becoming a fisherman?”

“A fisherman? Do you even know how to fish?”

“Well…no. But you know how preschool assigns you this homework where you have to draw your dream?” You nod. “Well,” Jimin continues, “I don’t really have a dream for me back then and I can’t draw for the life of me. And then, I figured a fisherman is easy to draw because you just have to get the trapezoidal boat, the swirling waves, the stickman, and the two lines of a fishing rod right. You can add puffy clouds and the ‘m’ birds for background. After that, I convinced myself all I ever wanted is to be a fisherman and when I told that to my mother, she almost fainted.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle, “you just made up a dream for yourself out of a drawing?”

“Yeah, and it wasn’t the only scenario,” Jimin laughs. “By 3rd grade, I learned how to draw a motorcycle from sticks and circles so when the draw-your-dream assignment came up again, I upgraded my drawing skills and changed my dream: I now want to be a pizza delivery guy. Of course, I told my mom about it again and this time, she also upgraded: she chased me around with a slipper.”

“I understand your mom though,” you manage to chortle in between snickers. “Being a fisherman and a pizza delivery guy are honorable but they weren’t the greatest permanent jobs in this down-slope economy.”

“True,” Jimin agrees and this time, he lets himself skate backward, keeping his hold on your hand, firm. “Anyway, the rest is history. The media already wrote about how I got into a contemporary arts school and from there I learned to love dance and eventually dreamed of becoming a performer.”

“What did I tell you about not being only what the people see you to be?”

“Okay, okay. Umm,” Jimin trails off, eyes wandering as if the things he wanted to say can be easily picked up in the skating rink. But just a second later, he’s suddenly looking straight into your eyes, his own ones glimmering. “Oh, I got one! I was a hell of a headache when I was a kid. I was always so jumpy, running around, loudy as hell–the type of kids you cannot contain in one place?”

You nod, smiling. “A lot of kids were like that.”

“Well,” he chuckles, “the difference is that I cannot still be contained in one place even I’m way past a kid. Anyway, the me back then was a whole different level. I like going to town after town, wandering around, always hoping for some adventure. I once got on top of a delivery van, parked near my neighbor’s house, so near that it was easy for me to jump on it from their balcony. Their balcony wasn’t that tall anyway because their house was some kind of a Spanish-inspired bungalow. We were playing hide and seek at that time. I was so competitive I thought if I got on top of the van and lied down very flat, I will be unnoticed. It turned out to be a good idea because ten minutes later, the kids are now calling out for my name, yelling for me to show up so we can start another game. When the van suddenly rumbled, I quickly realized what I did was a terrible idea. The van picked up its pace and now we’re really moving from the front of my neighbor’s house. You know what I did?”

You shook your head, giggling.

“I cried. Real loud. Snot, sweat, and tears mixing, I look like a dumb, reckless kid who always gets complaints from the neighbors.” Jimin laughed. “So after crying for like good two minutes, that I thought was an hour back then, I started choking on my own spit. With the wailing turned down, I heard my father running behind and screaming for the van to stop. I was lucky that the driver immediately stopped after hearing my father’s cries. But after that, I wasn’t lucky anymore. My mom felt the need to keep me away from vans and my neighbor’s balcony. God, it was so embarrassing.”

“At least your ‘hobby’ got corrected,” you quip.

“You think jumping on vans was my hobby?” Jimin scoffs then smirks. “Don’t underestimate me. I can do much more than jumping on vans. I even did bungee jumping. Remember that episode on Run BTS!, our TV show?”

“Of course I remember. You screamed like a screeching pterodactyl.”

“No, I did not. That was Taehyung.”

“Okay, okay, touché. I was just trying to make you laugh.”

Jimin grins. “You don’t have to try though. You can always effortlessly do that.”

You tilt your head. “Are you telling me my existence is funny?”

Jimin pulls you towards him and you almost tumble forward but his firm grip on your hand keeps you balanced on your skates. However, you could feel every bit of warmth coming from his body as his arms are now wound around yours, keeping you as close to him as possible. Close enough for you to feel his breath fan against yours, close enough for you to trace every constellation marking up his face, and close enough for you to see the reflection of your face in his eyes…again. Jimin breaks into a grin. “I’m trying to tell you that you can easily make me happy without even trying.”

You feel scorching heat immediately spread on your chest and to the rest of your body. You lightly push Jimin away, scoffing. Jimin puts his hands into his pockets. You sputter out,“W-what? As if I can do that. I’m really really intolerable and insufferable, you know?”

Jimin chuckles, “It’s okay. I can handle that.”

Before you can mumble out another disagreement, Jimin grabs your hand again, leading the two of you to the other side of the rink, this time, skating side by side.

“Continuing from what I left on, you know what good came out from my reckless days?”

You don’t answer him but glance his way.

Jimin continues on, “I managed to get lots of friends. I got a bunch of them in preschool, then in elementary. When I got into high school, my group of friends got so large that almost everyone in the school, not just our batch but the lower grade levels as well, practically knew me before I even knew their name. Man, it was crazy. I get to hang out with different people per week and I get to learn their stories. It’s so fun.”

“You must be quite of a people-person even back then.”

“Ah, yeah,” Jimin nods. “People said I thrive off people surrounding me. Said I like being complimented and that I grow more when I’m surrounded by them. Something about collective growth.”

“But, who wouldn’t like compliments?”

“True. Everyone likes them. It’s just…I think they are right, but sometimes…I beg to differ.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like it’s the people who thrive on me, not the other way around.”

You look at him, curious. “How come?”

Jimin breathes out, tugging the collar of his leather jacket closer to his neck with his free hand. “I thought why people liked me back then was because I was fun. You know that type of kid, who gets the crowd’s attention easily and entices everyone to join them in in whatever they do? That type of kid who’s easy-going and can effortlessly make boring things look cool? The people around me told me I was like that and at times, I do feel it’s the reason why I got so many friends. But as I grow up, I feel people liked me because I really love listening to their stories. I love it too much that it was even quite…abnormal.”

“Abnormal?”

“Yeah…abnormal. You see, back on the days, I used to latch on to person after person telling them, no, begging them to tell me their stories–the place they were born in, where they grew up in, their secrets and interests, anything. I learned how to clean vinyl records from an old unmarried man in our neighborhood. I got to travel to Geneva from a rich girl who told me her summer vacation at the playground. I even unknowingly caught up with the local gossip of a married man and his mistress three blocks from our neighborhood. I don’t know why exactly I did it. It just felt nice. It seems our generation’s now short of anyone willing to listen to what they have to say. So when people heard of my abnormal…hobby, they searched for me and spilled everything. They get someone to listen to them, and I get myself new stories. It’s a win-win situation.”

Jimin steps to the side, creating a wider gap between your bodies as you skate but still kept your hands interlocked. “They treated me like a pond they could throw rocks into, entertaining them with my fascination and curiosity and assuring them I will not tell another soul about what they said. Just repeating what they said, nodding when they ask questions, and taking everything they told me inside when they bid their temporary farewells. They always come back for another listening session and everything will repeat. Some people I listened to talked too excitedly as if a day will never be enough to tell their story. A few talked in spurts that it’s hard to determine the beginning and the end of their stories. There were the factual lessons, rambles of nonsense, litanies of achievements, and some tear-jerkers.” Jimin sighs. “But the most amazing one I ever got to listen to was how my mom and dad met.”

You purse your lips. “U-uh, who told you that story?”

“My mom,” Jimin grins. “She told me the story of how they met as soon as I can understand anything. Of course, they told me the red string of fate story, but what interested me the most was their soulbond. Their soulmate system lets them know what each other is feeling even without talking about it. It’s amazing.”

“How did they meet then?”

“Well, my dad had a crush on my mom before he even knew she was his soulmate. My mom is my dad’s childhood friend. She became his friend in his very first day in school after she defended him from a group of kids bullying him for being too short. After that, all he ever did was admire her. He wasn’t too adamant about the soulmate system before then because all he could ever feel from his system was annoyance and irritation. My mom lived next to dad’s house and belonged to the same group of friends he has so it was easy for him to always see her. However, talking to her was a difficult feat because my dad is one hell of an introvert and he always gets frozen feet just at the sight of her. So when my mom finally had enough of my father’s tiptoeing around her, she demanded for him to just tell her whatever issue he has with her so she can stop feeling awkward with his coldness.” Jimin giggles, “Of course my father is bad at confrontations so he just hiccupped and ran away in embarrassment. However, my mother’s words sunk in so he pulled out a recorded track he made about a month ago–a song he made just about my mother, and edited it, ending with a shy ‘I-I know you probably have many suitors by now…but can you please, please, please take a chance on me? Okay, that was too forward, shit, I’m sorry, how do I turn this off?’”

Your jaw hangs open in disbelief. “You memorized it word per word?”

“Of course,” Jimin chortles. “It’s too funny to let go!”

“So after my mom heard about the record my dad left on her doorstep, she immediately asked him to dinner that night. And during their date, that’s when dad felt his soulbond feeling at peace and in love. It didn’t take them to put two-on-two together to tell they were each other’s soulmate. I swear, their soulmate system is wonderful. Dad can easily tell when mom is upset and he easily convinces her to talk it out with him. I always think communication is a strong foundation of every relationship, and to have such a soulmate system to let you feel easily what the other is feeling, it must be heaven! Imagine not having to guess or tiptoe around one another when conflicts arise. Feelings assure you the truth because no one can control what they want to feel, not to mention that soulmate system betters you to become a more empathic person.” Jimin turns and locks his eyes with yours. “Don’t you think it’s amazing to have such phenomenon? To have a significant other crafted by the universe just for you?

You glance away. “…Yeah.”

Jimin diverts his eyes back on the ice. “Unlike the me back then, I wasn’t that much into stories now.”

“Why?”

“These days, it’s hard for me to reach out and listen to people who have anything but hate or illusioned righteousness fueling their systems. The only things people tell me now were how great I was, how much I make from this job, how handsome I got. Sometimes I get to listen to bitter people who feel the need to question my career choices, making me feel bad to uplift themselves. And then majority of the time, I get people who idolize me so much, put me on the pedestal, and make me out as someone that wasn’t really me. I know some of them mean well, but sometimes…you’re just not comfortable anymore.”

You look up at him, “Because you know you’re more than that?”

“Well, yeah,” Jimin glances at you. “You put it really well into words. I’m impressed.”

A question was on the tip of your tongue and you purse your lips, debating whether to ask him or not. But then, this might be your only chance you could ask him this, so you made up your mind and tugged his jacket. “Tell me, sometimes…do you ever wish you didn’t get this humongous fame at all?”

Jimin stares at you and a couple of seconds passed before he decided to answer. “Yes, sometimes. I hate how people follow me everywhere, invade my privacy, and treat me more as a commodity than a human being. I hate how I have to hide my family and childhood friends from the limelight just so they don’t get dragged in any scandals people are so obsessed in making up. I hate having to wake up and unconsciously worry about my looks, my angles, and my weight more than anything else because I know more important matters in the society are more worth thinking and talking about–but I–I don’t know, I just can’t help it. I can’t help how the media changed me. Of course, there’re good and bad changes it brought to my life but I hated the bad ones to the very core. But you know, when I look back and trace my steps to where I was before, I realize that fame made me happy before,” he looks at you, “and how it still does now. With this fame I was able to bring joy to lots of people and give them love they were unable to receive from those around them. With this fame I was able to give my parents a home they used to only dream about. With this fame, I was able to meet my bandmates who loved me like a family…and, I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t become the Jimin now.”

“H-how so?”

“You wouldn’t have taken a chance on this date, on this soulmate thing for one whole night with me, if I wasn’t who I was today.”

Your forehead furrows, your chest constricting in pain. “N-not true. Why are you telling me that –okay, maybe I gave you that impression of an obsessive fangirl because I blurted everything on my tongue when I first saw you, but honestly I wanted to know you more as a person and not as–”

“No, no,” Jimin waves his hand, chuckling. “I’m sorry I implied it that way. What I mean is: You wouldn’t have trusted me enough to stay with me tonight and try this soulmate thing if I wasn’t able to love myself first before I met you. I didn’t know what love was back then. I just imagine myself being unconditionally admired and taken care of my soulmate. And, I guess I wasn’t my best during that time. I complain a lot, demand too much, and bottle my feelings inside until they suffocate me. When things go wrong, I find it easy to blame someone else. I regarded too highly of myself that I’ve become selfish and insensitive to the people around me. So when I slowly started to outgrow my horrible past-self, I then learned it’s impossible to trust someone about love and relationships if they are still unable to love themselves. Sure, people will argue that they can figure that out together. But still, I think it’s better if we learn how to be comfortable in our own skins before we demand others to love us. It’s not fair for them to tolerate their significant others who can’t love them right. How can we love others when we don’t know even know how love is supposed to be and feel like? That’s why…I’m glad I met you now, because I think I’m ready to love–” Jimin bites his lip, “Okay sorry, I got too sidetracked and went off the loop again , but do you get what I mean?”

“Yeah, it’s just,” you close your eyes, shaking your head, “everything about this soulmate thing still shocks me and I’m still trying to get a hang of it so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You keep your glance down, apologetic, waiting for Jimin’s reply. But all you got is, “Why do you like flowers so much?”

You look up and Jimin looks at you, eyes warm, smile wide. You didn’t have to stare for long to know he’s trying to change the topic. Trying to make you comfortable again. Actually, he never failed to make you comfortable throughout the whole night. He has never pushed you to tell everything about yourself–never demanded for you to tell him about your family like how he openly talked about his, never forced you to reveal your weaknesses and insecurities when he let you in on his vulnerability. And even though you’re starting to think whether to talk about each one of them or not now, he still gives you the choice to come back to your safe zone whenever you want. All of these are enough of a reason to grip his hand tighter in yours and pull him to the center of the rink, facing each other.

“Wait, whoa!”

“Okay, why don’t we dance?”

Jimin’s eyes almost bulge out “Dance?”

“Yeah, dance! You know what, I’ll take the lead.” You pulled him closer to you, looping your arms around his frame in a gentle hug. Jimin’s shocked and tensed for a bit, but it wasn’t long before you can feel him giggling behind your ear and returning the hug.

“I didn’t know you were this…aggressive.”

“Shut up,” you laugh. “Can you just indulge in my free offer and not say another cheesy pick-up line?”

Jimin chuckles. “Okay, will do.”

You didn’t move much. Just, swaying and turning in small motions with your arms wound around each other. You can’t exactly point out why you’re suddenly doing this when an hour ago, you’re too adamant showing him you’re not affected by him at all. All you know is you can no longer disagree that everything with him felt right. Even if you’re still afraid and unsure, everything you did with him made you feel good. Everything you did with him made you feel something akin to happiness.

And this time, you feel the urge to take the risk and dive in. Just for this night, you’re going to do yourself a favor. Only for one night.

“I… like flowers so much because words can sometimes be never be enough. Flowers are the only ones that can materialize them. They’re ephemeral and they wilt, like how words evaporate into thin air once you let them out in the open. But, you know that they once lived to fill a moment because you saw their beauty and their ugliness in such a short period of time. They did exist and you know it. And I guess,” you murmur, snuggling deeper into Jimin’s hug, “it’s only through those flowers I get to be true to myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Out of all the things I said tonight, the truest of them all are only the flowers. I’m not a great…arguer at all. I’m a pathological liar. I lied to myself about my distrust in this soulmate system. My cynicism to it was never solely because I wanted to make my own destiny. It was because I saw my mother and father’s relationship go down the drain even when they’re already made for each other. They knew each other so well that it’s easy for them where to hurt each other each time one of them fucks up. They divorced and I have to live in a broken family, torn between the two of them, afloat and in limbo as to where I should stand when they’ve easily marked my days as to what kind of daughter I should portray whenever I have to visit them. And for me to live without any soulmate system at all, it felt I was further kicked down to the curb by life. Because as much as important love is, sometimes what only matter the most is the assurance that somehow, someone will love me. Because that thought is enough of an emergency kit for my mind whenever I feel too cut off from the world. And having no soulmate system as any kind of assurance….I pitied myself, thinking I can never find out what love truly feels.”

You hiccup. “I lied to myself for years that my mother’s disappointment in me didn’t bother me. I always knew I’m difficult and for her to see me grow as a woman that she did not expect me to be is hard. I was never into law. I’m into gardening. My mom knows that because I was the one who always tended to our plants and made our garden grow as much as it could even if we’re just in a single bedroom condo unit. I just decided to take law because I know I can’t make a living out of gardening yet. It’s sad, I know, but I have to push through so when the time comes I get to save enough, I can open my own garden shop. And,” you trail off, grasping Jimin tighter in your arms, “I lied to myself I hated every bit of this night with you when tonight’s probably the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

Jimin didn’t say anything. He just hugged you tighter when your shoulders quiver, stroked your back when he felt stray tears wet the skin of his neck. He didn’t push you to say more. He lulled you back to comfort in his swaying, singing you a tender melody by your ear to help you feel at ease again. He is just there, unobtrusive, just patiently waiting for you to do anything.

When he felt you loosen a bit in his hold, he lets out his voice. “Would you mind to continue the story of the spider lily? You left me quite hanging there.”

You don’t know why he’s diverting the topic again, but you didn’t mind, having the chance to relieve yourself from years-worth of heaviness you just have mindlessly let out in the empty ice rink. After all, he’s a stranger and telling him everything in your mind wouldn’t hurt because they all leave unobtrusive marks in your life which they easily erase once it’s time for them to go. However, it pains you to type in Jimin as just a stranger in your life.

You clear your throat. “The-the spider lily is the flower of parting. Their flowers only bloom when the leaves die. They were believed to be lovers who aren’t destined to be together at all.”

“That’s…terrible.”

You nod. “…Yeah.”

“I’ll make sure our story does not go like that.”

You draw back to look at his face. “What?”

Jimin smiles. “I’ll make sure our story does not turn out like the spiderlily’s. I know you’re still probably against this soulmate phenomenon. But…I want you to know that you don’t have to feel alone and unloved anymore. I’m already here. And I’m serious about you. Soulmate or not, what we have now isn’t just a one-night thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you.”

Jimin stares at you and it only takes a second before he suddenly rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I-I know it’s too soon and you don’t have to say it back but I can’t control what I feel and–”

You lean forward and shut him up with a kiss. Jimin freezes in your hold for a second, and then he instantly melts in your arms and returns your kiss. You don’t know why you’re doing these–embracing him tighter, angling your head, deepening the kiss to taste more of him, letting him pull you closer so that you can now compare the matching rhythm of your heartbeats. You don’t know why you’re exactly doing these things with a man you just met, no, your soulmate you just found tonight, when hours ago you’re expressing your disdain on the existence of the soulmate phenomenon. The only thought unwaveringly running in your mind now is you don’t want this to stop.

You don’t want to stop staring at Jimin, even when you struggled getting in the cab he hailed, too busy getting lost in his eyes. You don’t want to stop enjoying the warmth from the small kisses he places against your nape, even if you had difficulty pulling your house keys from your tight jeans pocket as you giggle and moan in his warmth. You don’t want to stop feeling hot and high, even when the coldness of your home starts to seep into your toes as Jimin sheds the clothes on your body, piece by slow aching piece. You don’t want to stop holding his hand, even when you had to strain one arm pulling off his black shirt as he laughs against your neck. But most of all, you don’t want to stop kissing his lips, even when you have to part from him for a second as you lose your breath when his hips bucked into you when he laid you down on your bed.

Jimin hovers above you, kissing you with such passion as if it will be the last time he would be able to hold you. And, you tried to return the same intensity, to balance the heat he radiates on your burning skin, to pave every expanse of his skin you could reach as he ventures every curve and ridge he could touch. With your bodies bared and stripped naked to each other, you can no longer hide the plethora of feelings that has welled on your chest just from such dream-like night you had shared with him. When Jimin parts away to cup your face in his hands, thumbs slowly caressing your cheeks, you see nothing in his eyes but the image of you–breathless, flustered, happy. You almost wanted to cry.

“Can you be my first and last, Y/N?” Jimin asks, voice almost quivering.

You can only manage a whisper through parted lips. “I can, Jimin. A-and I want you to be mine too.”

After that, you were a goner. No words are further exchanged as Jimin starts to leave a trail of kisses from the sunken juncture of your jaw, to the ridge of your collarbones and onto the valleys of your tender breasts. He travels the gentle swells of your stomach, onto the curve of your hips until he’s down to the banks of your hot core, aching and willing and waiting for him. No words are slipped past each other as he dives in and savors every inch of you, nipping, and licking, and kissing your sopping heat until you’re a moaning mess on your sheets. And when he finally brings you to your high, no words are enough for you to express the euphoria thrumming in your nerves, settling on your chest, filling your head. No words are needed when your eyes and his convey them for you as you plead for more, more, and more and Jimin willingly gives all of him to you.

Every touch of his hand on your quivering hips has you groaning and pleading. Every caress on your waist and shoulders has you sighing and moaning. Every brush of his hard chest against the soft buds of your breasts has you moaning and wailing. And every graze of his lips against yours, you can’t help but melt and let your body speak your thoughts for you. You pull him desperately, cupping his face as you roll your hips against his that has him choking out a moan.

“Jimin,” you breathe into him and he smiles.

“W-What?”

“Please.”

You don’t need to say anything in words for your dazed and glimmering eyes are enough to convey them all. Jimin smiles and gives in. He captures your lips into another kiss, murmuring your name between interlocked mouths. You feel him shift in his position above you and when he deepens the kiss again, you finally feel him burying himself deep in you. Jimin gives himself to you in slow and deep strokes that have your back arching off the bed, fingernails digging into his skin. You sputter his name again and again and despite how far gone he is losing in your heat, his gaze on your eyes never wavers, nor loses trace of every bit of him he has exposed to you, making you lose yourself into him even more.

Everything compounds into each other in such miniscule timeframe–from the moment Jimin intertwines his tongue with yours, to the second you clutch his head closer underneath your chin to continue his featherlight kisses on your jaw. When he angles his cock deeper into you, you can only think about nothing but him, him, and only him. As he holds your hand tight in his hold, with his lips on yours as he mutters “I love you, I love you, I love you,” in between every thrust, you finally feel what it’s like to be on top of the world.

Like the explosion you felt when he first touched your hand, it only takes one second for Jimin to let you fall apart in his arms. Euphoria living alive in every inch of your nerves, you clutch desperately on his arms and Jimin draws you closer to him as your walls clamp onto him and coaxes him to also let go in your arms. The fullness and torrid heat of him spreads inside you and Jimin kisses you once more with everything he’s got–sloppy but passionate, messy but powerful–a beautiful mosaic of the feelings you had in the most wonderful night of your entire life.

You’re dazed and shaken, wondering if it is possible for everything to be a dream. But when Jimin collapses next to you and pulls the blanket over your bodies, all thoughts cease in a staggering halt as he whispers, “I’m happy I get to know you.”

You smile in his embrace, “Me too.” Sensations always hit first before thought and without thinking twice, you find yourself breathing out, “Promise me you’ll be by my side ‘til tomorrow morning.”

Jimin kisses your left hand, the one with the daffodil ring, and as he says “I promise,” you fall into a peaceful slumber. His words are enough of an assurance for you.

***

When tomorrow comes, you wake up on a cold bed. Jimin is nowhere to be found. You didn’t need to feel more of his side of the bed to know his clothes and shoes and every trace of him in your home is now gone. But still, he promised.

You slip into your shirt discarded on the floor and drag your worn body to the living room. Your couch and your coffee table stood untouched. When you turn to your right, you find your kitchen and dining table empty. No smell of cooked food lingered in the air. You dashed to your shower even when you hear no sound of water splashing on the tiles. The door swings open and your shower stands empty, polished tiles dry, no trace of use on the faucet. With pounding steps, you run back to the living room, straight down to your door. Fingers skimming down on your bolts, your hand trembles when you find the knob and grasp it. When you twist it, your door clicks open as it unlocks.

You refuse to acknowledge the obvious possibility looming on your head since you woke up. But now, it only takes one more second of you standing by your unlocked door before your thoughts crash down, choking out a broken sob from you. Jimin left the minute after what happened last night. He didn’t go outside to just buy something before coming back to your home. He didn’t even stay long enough to wash up and clean himself. He just got up, locked your door close, and went out, leaving you behind.

You hunch over your doorstep, grunting, pain hammering on your chest as your body falls to the ground. Uneasiness, frustration, and desperation muddles into a heavy iron ball that sinks on your chest, sinking deeper and deeper until its heaviness constricts your lungs of any air.

Jimin left and he didn’t even bother to leave a note. He doesn’t have your keys, nor your number. He isn’t planning to come back.

You stiffle a broken scream on your clenched hands.

***

Three taps on your desk grow louder by the second, each one nipping on your nerves.

“Hey, Miss, my roses?”

“O-oh, right,” you stir, eyes fluttering wide, taking in the bouquet of roses you were wrapping. The flower shop is brightly illuminated by the overhead lights and the morning daylight, yet everything looks so hazy, the frantic movements of your hands sticking out so aberrant from your perspective.

“Here’s your bouquet, sir. Thank you for coming to Petal Hill.” The man waves off and your smile falls the second the glass door swings close in his exit.

Everything went back to normal. You went to university in the morning, started your shift in the flower shop in the afternoon. You didn’t miss a day and you eat and sleep the same way. Routines are done the same way they are until they blur day after day, just how you live your days with sleep marking the end and beginning of every tomorrow. But, they are still not enough to fill the gaping hole in your chest. Whatever you do, they’re not enough to let you forget of that night. Even if you tried to convince yourself that you felt okay after Lucy made up with you, your false defense just crumbles whenever you so much glance at the inked flowers on your arms, the ones Jimin ignited to bloom that night. More so when now the flowers have dulled in their yellowness after he left.

Even if you know it’s futile, you still did everything you can. You changed your sheets and cleaned your home. You refused to look into any online article pertaining to him. You busied yourself until you break down tired. You screamed and have already cried for so many nights. And you did something you abhorred: wait–wait for someone to come back without any assurance they have actually plans of coming back.

You wait for Jimin to show up at your door, explain and apologize and fulfill his end of the promise. Because even if you abhorred the sight of your mother endlessly waiting for your father to come back and how you did the same for the both of them, Jimin is different. He is your soulmate and that night you met him, he convinced you it won’t hurt to give this soulmate phenomenon a chance. So each day after that dream-like night, you waited and waited until all seconds, hours, and days add into an excruciating week.

For one week, Jimin didn’t show up and when a gray Sunday afternoon comes, eight days past the night, you’re starting to wonder if you should still keep your unrealistic hope alive.

The glass door swings, ten footsteps echo in the silent shop, five pansies are laid down on your table–and then you stop. Your thoughts halt in a frozen limbo, your body stills in staggering shock.

It’s the same bleached blonde hair, the same black leather jacket, the same silver earrings, the same drooped eyelids and warm, brown eyes – it’s Jimin, Park Jimin, who stands in front of you, waiting for you to wrap the pansies on your desk. It’s him, the soulmate you’ve been waiting to come back to you for so many days and nights and all you can do is–

Your eyes immediately dart down to your desk as your fingers scramble to wrap the flowers. “If you just came here to make sure I won’t tell anybody what happened, don’t worry, I already plan not to. Your reputation will remain clean and you’ll still have millions of fans. You can leave after I wrap this.”

“W-what? No, I’m not gonna do that, Y/N. Never...I came here to talk.”

“Oh, so now you wanna talk. After a week of silence, you now decided you want to talk.”

“Y/N–”

“So now that you wanna talk, what are we gonna talk about? How everything that happened was a mistake?” you spit out. You’ve already thought about this but hearing them loud from your own lips starts to make your eyes sting with tears. You immediately look down again at the flowers you’re wrapping. You can’t cry in front of him again, let him see you this weak again. You can’t have him to kick you down to the curb again.

“No, Y/N. I’m sorry. Please–please look at me.” Jimin says, a sob escaping his lips. Receiving no response, he places his palms on your desk and pulls down his mask as he leans forward to meet your downcasted eyes. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side that morning. But believe me, I didn’t want to break my promise, I just have to do something–”

“What do you have to do?” you cut him as you raise your hand to wipe away the tear that has made its way down your cheeks. “What do you have to do that is so fucking important for you to just leave me as if nothing happened between us? Why do you have to disappear for a week without any word? Why do you have to just show up now? Why, Jimin, why?”

You face Jimin, letting your eyes meet his for the first time and really look at him. His lips are chapped, his complexion pale, the bags under his eyes dark. He looks just as bad as you but you don’t want to dwell on it, afraid your resolve will crumble down when you should be keeping a strong front.

“Y/N, I–I'm sorry,” Jimin says again as a tear escapes down his cheek. “What I did is unforgivable and I know you have every right to hate me right now. But I-I have actually planned to stay and make you breakfast and tell you–”

“I don’t need to hear what you could have done because it did not happen,” you look at him and Jimin freezes. “You didn’t stay like you promised, Jimin.”

“Y/N, please–”

“Just tell me why you left me. Why do you have to appear now?”

“I,” Jimin starts and he sighs. “Namjoon called me around four, demanded where the hell I am. Apparently...the media has already published pictures of us getting in a cab together that night. Namjoon asked me to come back to the dorm right that instant before the media can do a massive stakeout in front of your building and barrage us with their cameras. So I didn’t come back the morning after to not raise any more suspicion. I waited a week to pass for the paparazzi to calm down and drive away their cars before I can go back to you.” He raises his hand to wipe a stray tear on his cheek but it’s not enough to prevent the small wet drop from landing on the pansies. “I-I can’t let the media invade your privacy and create horrendous articles about you. They can do that to me, but not to you. Never to you. You don’t deserve that.”

You’ve imagined this confrontation scene again and again in your head for the last couple of days. You’ve planned what you’re going to say and how you would end this goddamn connection with Jimin once and for all. And yet...you couldn’t remember the words you’ve planned for so long to say right now. They just died immediately at the tip of your tongue as if they were never there in the first place. And you hate it. For once, you thought you could finally have some control over the effect of this man has on you. You feel ashamed. You feel as if you’ve betrayed yourself.

Biting your lip, you bring your eyes back to the pansies. “I guess that’s better than having you figure out I’m just a simple nobody you can fuck over for one night of fun and throw away when you’re done and satisfied. Because that’s what I thought when you left me.”

“No, Y/N, I’ll never do that to you–” Jimin scrambles to reach for your hands but you take a step back away from him. You could see pain brim in his eyes and hurt pangs in your chest. You thought if you could deliver the same pain he brought to you, you would feel better. But no, you only felt worse. Worse for thinking hurting back the person you love is the right thing to do. Just like what your mom and dad did to each other. Tears sting your eyes at the thought. You swore never to become like them and you’re doing the very mistake they did. You hate this. You hate feeling so weak. You hate how you’re even thinking about Jimin and what he must be feeling when your own chest feels so heavy with the pain he caused.

You tear your eyes away from him and dart them to your clenched hands. “I already heard your apology, Jimin. You don’t have to repeat it again to convince me. I’ll just finish these pansies so you can go.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand. Can you please–please just look at me?”

“What for, Jimin? I already heard you out, what more do you want?” You wipe away the tears that have streamed down your face, “Do you want me to hear now how sorry you are because you didn’t mean everything you said? Because if you do–”

“I meant every single thing I said,” Jimin breathes out. “I love you, Y/N. So much that I want to do everything I can just for you to be happy. I waited for so long to finally meet you and I’m so, so, so sorry I broke my promise and fucked everything up. But I swear, Y/N, I want nothing but you and I meant everything I said especially when I told you I love you.”

You raise your head to finally look at him and you almost wanted to regret your decision. Jimin stands in front of you, sobbing, eyes wrecked. He looks so vulnerable, cut wide open for you to see. You know he must be saying the truth but you still can’t ignore the doubt clouding in your head. You’ve already believed him once. You don’t want to repeat your mistake again. “I would be lying if I told you I don’t want to believe what you said,” you choke out a sob, “But Jimin, I can’t just take you back and pretend what happened did not hurt me.”

Jimin freezes. “N-no, Y/N, please–”

“Jimin, I want you to prove you mean everything you said. I’m sorry, but I...I just can’t forgive someone so easily with mere words. I’ve seen hundreds of relationships go down because of that.” Your voice cracks, “Hell, I’ve seen my own mother and father destroy each other with repetitive apologies and forgiveness. I need to respect myself, Jimin, I–” you let out a shaky breath and hand over the wrapped pansies, “I’m sorry I can’t accept your apology now.”

Jimin looks down and nods, “I understand, Y/N.” He doesn’t take the flowers and turns away, walking to the door. Each step he takes is synonymous to another crack making its way down your heart but you know you have to do this for yourself–for you to have enough reasons not to regret the decision you already made up in your mind about his and your future. You have to do this for yourself so you can finally deal with your fears and doubts about the soulmate phenomenon. So if Jimin can’t do what you request for, then you’ll let him go. You can’t let him and yourself experience the inevitable tragedy brought forth by the intense intimacy and transparency the soulmate phenomenon brings. You can’t take it if the both of you will face the same horrible ending your parents had.

Jimin stops by the door and you look up to see his retreating frame.

“Keep the pansies. They’re for you. I-It was nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

After that, he’s gone.

***

You didn’t expect anything from him after your meeting in the flower shop. However, you know better than to anticipate nothing from Jimin but an effective counter-argument. You know your judgment is right when you found the proof first on your doorstep in the morning after of your talk, September 15. Five pansies stood in a small vase placed on the right of your door, next to your umbrella stand. Underneath it was a pink note, which said, “I’m sorry.”

That evening, you stayed up late into the night. Your clock ticks ten thirty and then you hear it: a click of a button, a faint clink of glass, and Jimin’s soft voice.

“Hi Y/N. I…I’m sorry for what I did. And I hope you know I won’t give up making it up to you for you to know I’m really serious about you. I–I’ve brought you pansies. I remember every single thing we talked about that night and after that night, the only thought that always comes to my mind ever since is you.”

The morning after, you see the same vase and a fresh set of flowers, the wilted blooms probably cleaned up and taken out. However, instead of the note, a record lies next to the vase. When you slid it into your beat-up player, a relic you kept from your mother’s home, it plays his short message last night.

The routine falls into place the following days.

“Hi Y/N. Our schedule today wasn’t full so I had the time to go to a library and read about flo-flo-floriography? My tongue always gets twisted when I say that so please don’t judge me. I’ll pronounce it better soon. So back to the book–I read that sweet peas mean ‘Thank you for the lovely time’ and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you that right after our date. After all, it was the happiest night of my life. Anyway, I got you some sweet peas now with the pansies. I hope you like them.”

“Hi Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late. We got dance practice until ten and I rushed here right after our choreographer called it a night. I wish I can show our dance to you now, but yeah…I guess you wouldn’t want to. You’ll probably throw the flowers I have now to my face. Okay, I’m kidding. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just want to make you laugh. I miss hearing you laugh.”

“Hi Y/N. I stopped by Petal Hill this afternoon but I didn’t see you there. Someone filling in for you told me you skipped your shift to study for your tests. I wish I could help you like how guys in cheesy romance movies do but I guess I won’t be able to do that because I’m not that smart. I’ll leave early today so you can study. Eventhough I know you’ll slay it, I’ll still wish you good luck. I hope these gardenias with the pansies will give you additional good fortune.”

“Hi Y/N. We did songwriting today and I wrote my first solo song. Guess who’s my ispiration. Surprise, Surprise, it’s you! Namjoon told us to just write out anything we’ve been thinking a lot lately and all I could think about is you. I can’t show it to you yet because it’s still messy but I promise, as soon as I made it perfect as it should be, you’ll be the first one to hear it!”

“Hi Y/N. I read a book about flowers again! This time, I got curious about azaleas, the small, pretty pink blooms on the front shelf of Petal Hill? The flower book I read says they look like azaleas. Anyway, I learned that they require quite an effort to grow because they prefer a little sun and a little shade. I guess that’s why they mean ‘fragile’ in the older books of floriography. However, I read that even if they’re fragile, they can last for several weeks. Thus, they also mean ‘take care’ in modern floriography books. Isn’t that amazing? I brought azaleas today so they can last long and remind you to always take care of yourself.”

Every morning you collect the records he leaves and every night you can’t help but forgive him bit by bit. His flowers and records make your mornings worthwhile; his soft voice and songs, a lullaby that you start to anticipate in the night. Jimin does his routine religiously night after night and it wasn’t long before you find your heart softening to him again, opening up for him so easily even when you didn’t want to. There’s no use to deny the fluttering of your heart anymore because as nights go by, you already find yourself gathering up your courage to open the door and finally let him back in.

For twelve nights, Jimin’s routine doesn’t fail. In the latter six nights, you’re by the door, practicing what to say. You plan to just throw open the door once you finally sorted out everything you want to say. However, that plan immediately goes down the drain because of one Monday night, the 14th night of Jimin’s supposed routine.

“Hi Y/N. I know it’s late but….I have to say something important. I…I won’t be able to stop by for the next few days. We’re having our comeback tomorrow and soon after, promotions will require us to go overseas. I just came because I hope you’ll open the door by now and at least show me your face. Doesn’t matter if you throw the door close to my face the second after you show your face. I just want to see you real bad. It would be long before I can see you again and I…I miss you. I miss you so much, Y/N. So can you please open the door? Because…I know you’ve already forgiven me.”

Your body freezes and before you know it, your feet are pounding hard on your floor towards your door. The millisecond you tear open your door, you barely whisper, “Ho-How did you know that?!”

Jimin stands in front of you, eyes wide. His hair is still bleached blonde like the last time you saw him, his gentle eyes still the same. He looked better than the last time you saw him, healthier. But unlike your expectations, there’s no vase and record this time. It’s just him and his flowers–a bouquet of pansies and sunflowers in his hands. Tears well up in your eyes and your lips tremble. But before you can say anything, he answers your question. “I–I can hear your thoughts.”

“W-what?” Your jaw falls open. Oh my God.

Jimin opens his mouth. “Oh my God.”

Your forehead furrows. What the fuck, is he copying me?

Jimin shrugs. “What the fuck, is he copying me?”

What the hell –“H-how did you know what I’m thinking? Wha-what–”

“It’s my soulmate system,” Jimin looks into your eyes and your body goes rigid in shock. Jimin bites his lip. “I lied about soulbond being my soulmate system because…I don’t want to scare you that night that I practically already knew everything about you before I even met you. That I purposely went to Marti’s Hub just to get a glimpse of you when I knew you’re going to that bar to cry over your Law 114 essay and I just happened to be near that area. And that how I came to your rescue was not perfectly a coincidence, but intentional because I heard your…mental cries of help.”

“The-then what about the-the daffodil ring?” You point to his left hand and Jimin breathes shakily.

“This ring wasn’t because of your soulmate system…or mine,” he admits. “Remember that time when you’re fifteen and you thought about how romantic it will be to have a daffodil bloom inked around your ring finger instead of a wedding ring? I thought about that a lot until I can’t think about anything else. All I knew is that I have to own a permanent mark of you on my body because it felt wrong not to be tied to you in some way when you already own every part of me. I have a daffodil inked on my ring finger because,” he trails off and looks into your eyes. “What’s the meaning of the yellow daffodils?”

You’re the only one.

“You’re the only one,” Jimin breathes out. You felt your tears trailing down your cheeks and Jimin’s thumb wipes them away. He keeps his hand on your cheek and you look up into his eyes, into his eyes that reflect nothing but you. One second is all it takes for your defense to crumble down and fall. Fall into Jimin’s arms, fall into him again, letting him hold everything that you are–your strengths, burdens, weaknesses–everything.

“B-but what about y-your parents?” you choke, “The-the soulbond–”

“They’re true,” Jimin says, firm. “Excluding my soulbond soulmate system, everything I told you that night is true. My parents, my stories, my wishes, my intentions, my ‘I love you’–they’re true. All of them.”

You tremble in his arms and Jimin holds you tighter. It is right then you decide to finally deal with your fears. “H-how can you be so sure, Jimin? How can we make this work? I-I’ve only known about you in one night.”

“That’s not quite true,” Jimin chuckles. “You’ve known about me since 2013. I know I caught your eye the instant I showed up in the screen with the cringey snapback, trying hard to swag with cheap gold chains on my neck.”

“But what about me? You only knew me i-in one night…”

“Not true too.” Jimin cups your face in his hands. “I told you, I can hear your thoughts. I’ve been hearing them since you were born–all that you did, all the things you liked, all the people you disliked–I’ve already known you since I started hearing you. Hearing the minutest details of your thoughts for over so many years is enough for me to know about you.” He breathes out, smiling. “Enough for me to know my soulmate already loved me before she even meet me. And I want her to know I already felt the same before I even saw her.”

Before you can say anything else, Jimin leans over and presses his soft lips against yours. It’s gentle, intimate–a delicate touch that conveys nothing but love. You make a noise of surprise but you already know you’ll be melting in his touch within mere seconds. You know because your cheeks feel warm and your chest flutters in joy. You know because everything about the night suddenly feels right. You know because even if you haven’t said it aloud, Jimin knows what he said is true.

When you part, you’re greeted with his soft smile and gentle eyes that you love so much. And right then, you know that even if it scares you, you’ll have to say everything in your heart aloud. What’s let out in the open air cannot be undone anymore and you have no plans of taking back the words you will utter.

“I love you, Jimin.”

Jimin smiles and beams back, warm and bright. “And I won’t get tired telling you I love you, too, Y/N.”

Standing there on your doorstep, as the world slowly turns around you, you think it’s finally time that you accept the tale of the red string of fate is more than just a fairytale for everyone else but you. Because right in front of you, is your own happy ending. And, you’re sure, even in another universe, you will relive that night you met Jimin again and again if it will grant you what you have now in your arms: love.

You don’t need to glance at your glowing daffodil ring to prove that you’re right.

Epilogue

As you touch your red-stained lips with one final dab, your voicemail beeps. Your free hand presses your telephone to hear the call you missed since you’ve been out of your house the whole day.

“Hi Y/N. It’s mom. I…I wanted to tell you this in person but it would be a while before my bus reaches your place. I just…I just want to say that your father met up with me two weeks ago and…yesterday, we decided to give us another chance. I’m sorry I’m only telling you this when I always felt I should have said this way back before: the soulmate phenomenon works and I’m so sorry we caused you to distrust it and lose hope in love. I know we’re not the best parents out there, but Y/N, I want you to know that you are loved and someone out there made by the heavens and destined by fate will love you more and make you happier than we ever could. This soulmate thing–it works as long as you give it a chance and work hard too to make it work. We will be there at your place tomorrow with your father…We missed a lot about you these recent two weeks…especially your father, and I hope we can catch up. Always take care, Y/N. Mom and dad loves you.”

“You ready, Y/N?”

You turn to your boyfriend, smiling. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m done.” You grab your purse and take Jimin’s open hand, giggling when he presses a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

Smirking, you said, “You really know now how to kiss me without smearing my lipstick.”

Jimin looks at you, grinning, “Of course, I won’t ruin your perfect makeup. You made yourself pretty for our date tonight.” He leans to the crook of your ear and whispers, “Unless…you want me to do now what I have in mind for us later in the night.”

You cringe at him but Jimin probably already knows his words have affected you because you already feel your cheeks starting to heat up. “Ah, you’re so cute. I love teasing you,” Jimin chuckles as he interlocks your hand with his. When you step out of your home, you glance back to your telephone and then to your daffodil ring, glowing faintly. Smiling, you close your door.

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Thank you for reading this 2nd long-ass oneshot I made after Translucent Fireworks! The inspiration from this fic came from one of the requests in my Songs to Read Playlist:

3 minutes of listening to I was Made for Loving You and one eureka moment are all it took for me to plot this story in detail from start to finish.Thus, I decided then to make this a full oneshot, and now, I am drained and tired after finishing this. This has sucked the lifeblood out of me as this kept me busy for one whole f*cking month and next week is all I have left of my summer break before uni starts hell again. But hey, at least I made up my lack of activity to you hons with lots of wordcount! Thank you for appreciating my works and I hope you all stick with me longer as I have a lot of upcoming works in store for you!

#kwritersworldnet #btsguild #bangtan bookclub #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #jimin scenarios #bts scenarios #bts smut #jimin smut #bts fluff #jimin fluff #park jimin #jimin x you #bts x you #IT'S FINALLY HERE #YESSS #NOW I AM OFFICIALLY DECEASED #I'll rest for a while and then will write again!

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