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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 3 years

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Don’t Go Baking My Heart || Seokjin

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

Summary: You fall in love with Kim Seokjin’s bakery after wandering into it to take advantage of the post-Valentine’s Day discount on the chocolates. Maybe it’s the owner’s bad jokes, maybe it’s the other regulars, maybe it’s the delicious pastries. Or maybe there’s something more that keeps you coming back to that shop.

Also available on Ao3.

Word count: 14.7k

Genre: Strangers (to Friends) to Lovers, Bakery AU, tooth-rotting Fluff, some smut

Warnings & Tags: mentions of insecurities and of former relationships, smut (vaginal sex, oral [male receiving], fingering), Jin makes Bad Jokes, Valentine’s Day themed

A/N: Soooo this was supposed to come out for Valentine’s Day, but it wasn’t ready then, so you guys get it now instead! I’m bad with puns so I definitely had to look online for those used in this oops. Finally, I’d like to give a big thank you to the amazing @elidebrey who actually worked in a bakery shop and told me all about (I’m sorry you guys ran out of milk all the time). She’s an amazing writer and you should check her out if you like the Batfam! Hope you’ll enjoy this one-shot!

February 15th

You first walk into Kim Seokjin’s bakery the day after Valentine’s Day. Your eye was caught by the chocolates and cakes you noticed on sale from the outside, and also the name of the place, The Rolling Scones, which is either genius or terrible, you can’t pick. The door bell chimes happily, first when you push the door open and then when it closes behind you.

The place is empty. There’s no one behind the counter, and you find yourself hesitating there for a second, both arms behind your back like a shy schoolgirl — which you once were, but that was a while ago now. Natural light, the cold sun of February, is falling through the bay windows, and the place is cute, clearly decorated with love and care. It makes you feel just a little warmer inside.

Since no one seems to be showing up, you take your time to look at the display. You’ve spent the past week crying over the end of your two year relationship, and you’re desperately craving something sweet and sugary to fill the hole in your heart and in your life. Post Valentine’s Day discount is definitely the best way to do that.

If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you knew this relationship was never going to be your forever. It was just a nice and comfortable situation to be in, and you expected you and him to part ways at some point.

You just didn’t particularly expect it to be now.

“Jungkook!” a strong voice shouts from the back of the shop, startling you. It’s quickly followed by a curse, and then a man walks in, glancing back with a worried expression, tying an apron around his waist and adjusting a small black hat on his head. You notice the ‘Jungkook’ tag on his apron, and it makes you soften in sympathy. The second his eyes fall on you, he recomposes himself, and shoots you a smile that’s professional, though the nervousness doesn’t quite disappear. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just looking,” you say, and he leans forward, probably straining to hear. Your voice has always had that weird tendency to become inaudible when you’re talking to strangers. “You don’t have anything with strawberries, do you?”

“I’m afraid everything we had went yesterday,” he says with a sympathetic frown.

“Oh, right,” you mumble. You’re disappointed to a stupid degree, and you know it’s because your emotions have been running wild recently, to the point where any small contrariety threatens to make you cry. Fortunately, you don’t, right now. That would be horribly embarrassing. “Um, I guess I’ll take that box and, uh, the éclair, please, then.”

“Of course!”

His movements are quick and precise as he takes it out, and you could be mistaken, but you think he’s deliberately not looking at you. You’re not particularly blaming him for it, though, because you’re doing the exact same thing.

“Anything else?” he asks once he’s done, and you shake your head, avoiding eye contact. “For here or to go? We’re also a café,” he elaborates when you give him a surprised — and slightly panicked — glance.

“Oh. To go, please,” you say, not so much because you actually want to, and much more because you’re bad at changing your plans when you had already made your decision.

Except… You eye the bakery. It’s not like you have anyone to come back to, and you don’t particularly want to be back at your apartment to wallow alone. You might even get some things done while you’re here.

“Um, actually, would you mind if I…?” The question dies on your lips. You’re already feeling too embarrassed to continue, but he looks up, eyes wide, and nods.

“No, no, please take a seat! Do you want something to drink as well?”

“That— That would be nice, actually.”

“Alright, just give me a second and I’ll bring you our, er, menu.”

It’s not a menu, it’s a list of drinks the owner printed and coated with plastic, and insists on calling a menu, but he isn’t going to tell you that.

You pick a table that faces the door, and after choosing and ordering your tea, pull out your computer. It’s not that the things you have to do can’t wait, but you don’t like sitting alone doing nothing. The shop is desperately empty, and part of you is terrified by the idea that Jungkook could come over to talk to you. That would probably end up not being completely unpleasant, but you’re not sure you can handle that much interaction with other human beings right now.

While scrolling through the text you are currently working on editing, you pick a chocolate out of the box to eat it and hold back a satisfied moan at the taste. The fact that it’s so good makes you feel a little more upset that you’ve never been in a relationship for Valentine’s Day and therefore have never been given anything like that.

It’s always been bad luck really, because you’ve been in a few relationships, but even with your last boyfriend, the two of you were on a break in February. The others never made it longer than a few months, and never fell at the right time. It’s not even like you want to celebrate Valentine’s Day, you do think it’s mostly a commercial holiday, and you definitely don’t want any expensive gift, but you’d be happy to have someone by your side to make fun of other couples with. Someone to love you, and someone to love.

God, you want to be in love so bad. For a few months, you thought you had it with your ex, and maybe you did, for a moment, but it had slipped from your fingers without you managing to do anything about it, leaving you sad and empty. You want to feel everything the movies and books promised, the butterflies in the stomach, the rush in the beat of your heart. You want to feel like someone holds your world in their hands. You want them to love you back — really love you, so much that you’ll catch them looking at you and see it in their eyes immediately, so much that they’ll remember how you like your tea in the morning.

You don’t think your ex ever loved you, and you don’t really blame him for that. He liked you, certainly, and for a long time that was enough for you. But now, with it being over and him telling you he’d ‘met someone’, you want more out of your next relationship.

Then again, you’d thought that last time as well.

You’re grateful when Jungkook brings you your tea, tearing you away from thoughts you really don’t want to be having right now. He gives you a smile, then is quick to retreat back behind the counter, and something tells you that he has the same difficulties talking to people as you do.

That can’t make his job fun.

You’re soon able to immerse yourself in your work, much to your surprise. Usually, you’re hyper aware of your surroundings, and it’s hard to get work done unless you’re in a place that’s both quiet and familiar, but the atmosphere in here is so warm and pleasant that you’re able to relax and focus, all while drinking your tea and eating your sweets. It’s quite close to perfect, actually.

Which is why you jump violently when someone’s voice booms into the shop.

“Jeon Jungkook!”

You look up, panicked, and Jungkook turns around with the exact same look on his face. You don’t remember the doorbell ringing, so it has to be someone from the shop, and indeed, a tall man with short black hair walks in from the same place Jungkook entered. And your brain short-circuits.

It doesn’t happen all that often, for you to simply find yourself frozen because of how good-looking someone is, but in that case, you just can’t help it. The man who just walked in is tall, with very nice, broad shoulders, and the apron he is wearing underlines the muscles of his chest in ways you didn’t think were possible, but more than that, he’s also, quite possibly, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on. When you glance at his plump, full lips, you find yourself having a hard time to tear yourself away. You’re relieved that you didn't have to order from him, because you’re sure it would have made you blush and stutter.

“Jungkook, there’s a mess in the back! What are you waiting fo—” Jungkook gives panicked glances in your direction, and the man catches your presence from the corner of his eyes, turning his sentence around as smoothly as is humanly possible, all while his lips curve up into a professional smile. “Ooh, hello, dear customer! I don’t think we’ve seen you here before, have we?”

A smile spills on your mouth, much to your surprise.

“No, it’s my first time here,” you answer. Your voice isn’t as strong as you’d like for it to be, but at least you didn’t choke. You suppose still being heartbroken serves as a shield against the man’s handsomeness. “I figured there’d be some discount after Valentine’s Day, and I was hungry, so…”

“You figured you’d kill two birds with one scone?” the man asks while Jungkook, behind him, silently smacks his forehead. You figure he’s heard it a million time before, but you haven’t, and you can’t help but laugh. That makes the man’s smile widen genuinely and his eyes crease.

“I guess you came up with the bakery name,” you chuckle.

“Absolutely. Isn’t it a great name?”

Jungkook shakes his head in disgust.

“It’s genius,” you say, and the man slams his hand on the table.

“See? I told you! Jungkook keeps saying that I have a terrible sense of humor—”

“I’ll be in the back if you need me,” Jungkook grumbles.

“Hey, what do we say to customers?”

“Ah— It was nice to meet you!” he says, turning around to look at you and he seems somewhat sincere. “I hope we’ll be seeing you again.”

Then he bows his head politely and disappears in the back of the shop. The other man — who you suppose is the owner of the place — watches, laughing fondly, but goes quiet after that, so you go back to your work.

You don’t stay around too long, not wanting to overstay your welcome, but you’re still the only one in the shop by the time you decide to walk out.

“Was the tea any good?” the man asks as you walk by him.

You nod and smile.

“And the chocolates were delicious,” you add. “I’ll make sure to come back.”

“That’s music to my ears,” he says, dramatically putting a hand on his chest. That’s when you notice the ‘Seokjin’ tag on his apron. You don’t know what to do with that information, though. You don’t call strangers by their first name and you also don’t stalk people on line.

Especially not when you don’t have their last name.

You say a quick ‘goodbye’, then walk out. Jin’s eyes follow you for a few seconds, before he sighs and turns around, already taking off his apron.

“Jungkook!”

The boy is quick to appear again, scanning the shop for your presence.

“She’s gone?” he asks, and Jin gives a slap at the back of his employee's head with a groan. There’s no strength in it, though, and Jungkook barely reacts to it.

“How could you run away like that, you little—”

Jungkook easily avoids him when Jin tries to him it again, laughing at his outrage.

“We’re not going to be getting a lot more clients today, are we?” he asks, looking outside at the passers-by that don’t even spare a glance at the little shop.

“No,” Jin groans, letting himself fall on a chair.

The depressing calm that follows what is possibly the busiest day of the year for him is just one of the reasons why he absolutely despises Valentine’s Day.

February 22nd

When you show up at the bakery again, about a week later, you’re feeling surprisingly good about it. Last time went well, you decided, and the people were nice, so you’re not afraid to throw a quiet but polite “Hello!” when you walk in. It’s kind of funny — or is it sad — how it always surprises you when people are nice to you, much more used to passive disinterest at best.

There’s another man in the shop this time, with a laptop and a coffee in front of him, but he doesn’t look up at you. A head lifts up from behind the counter though. You feel vaguely embarrassed that you remember this one is Seokjin, and you only feel more awkward when he gives you a dazzling smile.

A glance at the display tells you that they have restocked on their strawberry-based pastries, and you happily pick a slice of cake for yourself.

“For here or to go?”

“I’ll have it here,” you say with a smile. You feel strangely proud of yourself for being able to say it spontaneously. He has no way of knowing it, but it’s quite the victory for you. Usually, you try to run from the presence of others as fast as you can, and it’s even worse those days. “And I’ll also have Darjeeling tea with it, please.”

“Coming right up, just take a seat and I’ll bring it to you,” he says, and then he winks. He doesn’t stick around to see the surprised look on your face, so you just do as he told you, wondering if he was flirting with you or if he’s just Like That. You think that second explanation might be the answer.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says when he arrives with the cake and the tea. You’re pretty sure he can’t place you exactly, just thinks your face is familiar, but it still makes you happy.

He tells you he hopes you’ll come back when you leave, and you decide you want to believe it.

June 1st

You’re not sure when you become an official ‘regular’ at the bakery. Maybe it’s when you ask Jin if they even do scones, and he leans over the counter to tell you conspiratorially that he actually wanted to call the shop ‘bake it ’til you make it’, but was told it was too long. That elicits a brief burst of laughter from you, and Jungkook tells you to stop encouraging him, but Seokjin looks so happy with himself when you laugh that you decide not to listen to him. Jin has that way of breaking past your shyness that fascinates you. It might be what keeps you coming back, more than the delicious sweets and how beautiful the two workers look.

Or maybe it’s when Jin tells you that it’s not fair you know their names but they don’t know yours, and that he’d ask you for your ID before selling you stuff if you don't tell him. When you tell him, he repeats it a couple of times, like he’s tasting it, before nodding with satisfaction. After that, him and Jungkook start greeting you with it, and insist you do the same with them. You’re reluctant at first, feeling somewhat confused about the whole thing, but it turns out to feel… nice, to have people to greet, and who also know your name.

Maybe it’s when Jin tells you that you’re late when you come in, or complains when you don’t show up on one of your usual days because you had a meeting with your boss. He doesn’t say anything on the day where you take your pastries to go because you’re visiting a friend at the hospital, though, and you wonder if he can just tell. Regardless, you appreciate it.

You find out about other people who come here frequently, too, and especially the ones who are friends with Jin and Jungkook. Namjoon, who sits with his laptop at the opposite end of the café from you. Yoongi, who usually sits in the same spot as you, and eyes you threateningly when he comes in and you’re there the first time, until Seokjin tells him to knock it off. Taehyung and Jimin, who always come in together, and who Jungkook usually joins to bicker and laugh with them. Hoseok, who likes to waltz in at random times, and whose smile actually rivals Jin’s.

You yourself come in twice a week, getting to your usual place to work — except on the couple of occasions where Yoongi gets there before you and gives you a triumphant smile when he sees you. You enjoy the way you’re always greeted by Jungkook or Seokjin, like they’re genuinely happy to see you. You discover that the old ladies who come here to gossip love to flirt with Jin and that, even though he flirts back outrageously, much to their delight, his ears tend to turn a bright red when he does.

You even bring your friends on a couple of occasion, and Seokjin jokes that you’re responsible for half of his turnover at this point. Your friends enjoy the food, and the drinks, but they enjoy the handsome employees and customers a lot more.

“So this is where all the hot men were,” Hana marvels when you walk out, and you burst out laughing. You like that you’ve shared this place with her, because it’s something that makes you really happy these days, motivates you to come out of your bed, and even to talk to people, something you’ve never been good at.

When you walk into the shop and make small talk with the people you’ve come to know, something you used to consider yourself terrible at, it might be silly, but it kind of feels like home.

June 21st

You are pretty sure you know when you go from regular to friend, though. It’s a day like any other and you hum on your way to the shop. Instead of the joyful “Welcome back, (Y/N)!” that you’ve gotten used to hearing these past few weeks, however, you’re greeted with Seokjin shouting “(Y/N), my savior!”.

You freeze on the spot and give him a worried look. From his table, Namjoon looks up, just as puzzled.

“Is everything okay, Jin?” he asks.

“Jungkook isn’t there today,” Jin tells you. His voice doesn’t sound different from usual, but there is a glint of panic in his eyes. “I need your help.”

Namjoon stands up.

“Why didn’t you ask me? I could—”

“Stay where you are and don’t even think of approaching my kitchen,” Jin says threateningly. “(Y/N)? Please?”

Well. You suppose your work can get done later. You’re more productive when you come here, so you have some advance on your usual deadlines these days. But you don’t know what Jin wants from you and you’ve never worked in a bakery.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask cautiously.

He grabs your shoulders and your eyes widen at the contact. Not that it’s unpleasant, just unexpected.

“I knew when you first walked in here that you were a godsend,” he tells you seriously, looking right into your eyes, and you tell yourself that if he’s that good of an actor, you should probably watch out. “We’re out of milk.”

You blink.

“Okay. Is there a specific type of milk you want?”

“Just, milk. Get me milk and I’ll worship the ground you walk on until the end of days.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, and take your bag off your shoulder, handing it to him.

“Look after that, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll protect it with my life,” he says solemnly. “Also paper napkins please!” he shouts as you’re already walking out.

“Will do!”

“Bake a leg!”

You want to protest the joke that even you find to be quite bad, but the door has already closed behind you, so you just shake your head at him, only to see him laughing with satisfaction through the glass, and head to the nearest supermarket.

You come back with two big packs of milk and a lot of paper napkins, just as two men are exiting. You’ve seen them before, but they never stay to chat. Inside, Jin is juggling three women, and he looks more relieved than you’ve ever seen him when you walk in.

“I’ll help you with that,” Namjoon says immediately, bumping in the table as he gets up.

“If you break anything, I’ll kill you,” Jin warns him. He’s smiling like he’s joking, and his tone is light, like he doesn’t want to scare off his customers, but his eyes say he’s sincere.

You’re quick in the back, and Namjoon does drop the packs once, but nothing bad happens. He presses a finger against his lips to tell you to keep it a secret, and you grin without a word. Part of you is kind of wondering what you’re doing there, why Jin feels comfortable letting you in the back and why he asked you to do that, but you don’t have an issue with it, not by a long shot. This is… kind of fun, actually.

“Anything else you want me to do?” you ask Jin when you come out, and he looks at you in a pleading way.

“You don’t mind?”

Something tells you you shouldn’t accept too quickly, that you could end up in way over your head faster than you know. But his brown eyes are wide and desperate and you just can’t say no. So you smile and shake your head.

“Of course not. You look like you really need a hand here.”

“I do.”

That’s how you find yourself in an apron, with the cute, black hat Jin and Jungkook always wear on your head. Jin mostly sends you in the back to pick up things he needs, or makes you bring the beverages to the customers, which you’re thankful for, because that way you don’t have to greet anyone. Time flies quickly, and you can barely find a second to breathe for the first few hours.

“Sorry, it’s lunch time,” Jin grimaces as he passes you by, and you think to yourself that at least, it will get better, but it takes a while even after that, and when it’s done, Jin sends you to buy some more stuff from the supermarket, because as it turns out, things go fast.

Before you know it, it’s closing time, and you look outside in disbelief. The sky is starting to turn a nice pink, and other shops are putting up their shutters.

“You can go, if you want,” Jin tells you. He sounds terribly sorry, and that makes you feel bad. It’s such an unusual tone for him to have.

His offer is tempting, of course. Your feet hurt, your head aches a little from all the noise that never bothered you before but turns out to be a lot when you’re there all day, you’ve burned your hand against an oven, and you’ve found out that carrying things ends up really hurting your back. But you know that he’s experiencing the same thing you do, and you just don’t have the heart to abandon him here. Also, you’ve already lost your day, so you might as well help him out now.

“It’s fine,” you sigh. “Do you want me to help with anything?”

Cleaning up goes quietly in the main shop, and that soothes you a little. You don’t mind the silence, even enjoy it, and find yourself relaxing for the first time today. Surprisingly, you’re feeling… satisfied. It’s not something you would particularly look forward to doing again, but you’re happy you did it, happy you helped Jin, and you feel like you’ve accomplished something today, which is always a good thing.

“You have flour everywhere,” he tells you bluntly when you walk in the back of the shop, and you laugh.

“Well, it got everywhere,” you reply, trying to rub some off your face, and it’s Jin’s turn to laugh when you fail miserably.

You know you shouldn’t do it, but you gather a small handful of flour from the table, and throw it at him. A good chunk hangs in the air and makes you cough, but the rest does land on his apron. His mouth falls open into an ‘o’ shape and you know you’ve messed up.

“Listen, I am so sorry—”

“No you’re not,” he says, taking a step towards you. His hand is on the table, which is covered with flour, and you swallow.

“Sure I am, Jin, please—”

But your pleas fall in deaf ears, and flour is soon flying your way. It’s your turn to stare at Jin in disbelief, and then you’re laughing, loud and clear.

Maybe that’s the exact moment when the two of you become friends — really friends.

Or maybe it’s seconds later, when the room you’re in turns into the scene for an all-out flour battle. Regardless, you’re laughing the whole way through, when you’re not choking on the flour hanging in the air. Jin’s laughter is quieter than yours, miles away from the booming and somewhat fake laugh you’re used to hearing from him.

The fight only escalates when Jin picks up an egg. You shake your head, mouth ‘no’, but he doesn’t listen, and after that, things get a lot messier. By the time the two of you, exhausted and bent in half because of how much you’ve been laughing, finally stop, you can feel yoke trickling down your back, and you know the sight can’t be pretty. Jin reaches out to you in a useless attempt to wipe some flour from your face, only to laugh more when it, of course, fails once more.

You try not to think about the jolt of electricity that ran through you when his fingers came in contact with your cheek.

“I’ll clean up in here,” he tells you, “but you should go take a shower upstairs.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, surprised. Suddenly, you’re very conscious of the fact that you don’t know him that well. In recent months, you’ve talked to him more than you do with your close friends, and you did just throw several eggs at him, but you don’t know him. You’re aware of the fact that he lives above the shop, but you’ve never been there. The two of you have never even exchanged numbers.

He makes dramatic hand gestures to signal you to get away, like you’re bothering him, and you leave with a last laugh. You don’t notice the way he looks up when you do, or the way it makes him smile. He can’t help it, he just loves that he makes you laugh.

You’re relieved to step into the shower, both because you’re happy to clean up and because there was something really awkward about being in Seokjin’s apartment for the first time, alone. The place was not quite as decorated as the bakery was, with paler colors. Walking through it, you had noticed big speakers, some books in a shelf, and a couple of cute plushes that you had had to resist not to fawn over. The place worked for him, you had decided. It was more understated than you would have expected when you had just started to know him, but it doesn’t surprise you anymore. Jin tends to be quiet when he doesn’t have to be ‘on’, and it’s something he doesn’t seem to feel he has to do around you anymore.

You sigh in pleasure when the hot water hits you, close your eyes. You’ve been craving it for hours now — long before the food battle with Jin. It helps relax your aching muscles, washes away all the sweat from the day, and you have to resist not to just let yourself fall down onto the floor. Your back hurts, but the worst part has to be your feet. You feel yourself gaining a lot more appreciation for Jin and Jungkook, who are always kind, smiling and polite despite all of this. The only thing that kept you from biting someone’s head off tonight was your crippling anxiety when it comes to interacting with strangers.

It’s almost funny now to think you used to feel that way around Jin.

You look around for some soap you could use, and in your search, you’re surprised to find shampoo that was definitely intended for a woman. You don’t know why you’re surprised. It’s no wonder that Jin would have a girlfriend, really, it’s the opposite that should shock you, but you still didn’t expect it. You force away the pinch in your chest. Jin is a new friend, you can’t have your heart fluttering like that.

You consider using it for half a second, before deciding that it would be very awkward if you came out smelling like his girlfriend. Instead, you do your best to get rid of any egg, and tell yourself you’ll wash your hair at home. You barely hear the sound of the door opening and closing over the water, and you’re startled by Jin’s voice outside the bathroom.

“You can take a towel from the chest of drawers,” he tells you, “and I’ll leave a shirt outside, if you want it.”

“Thank you!” you shout back.

Seokjin stands there a few seconds, before quickly shaking his head and walking away. He knows his ears are turning red, and he hates himself for it, but is it his fault, really? Is he supposed not to think about you, right now, in his shower, water running down your body? He never even thought to pretend he was that innocent.

He occupies himself by preparing a drink for the two of you, and then by cleaning around. He’s not particularly messy, though, and there isn’t much to do, so he ends up sitting on his couch, feeling awkward in his own house, and scrolling aimlessly through his phone. He freezes again when he hears the bathroom door open and close, guessing you’re picking up his shirt. Which means you’re— God what is wrong with him tonight? When did he regress to the state of a hormonal teenager?

He hopes he looks natural when you come out, because he’s doing his best for that. The nervous way he’s running his hands over his thighs would probably give him out, though, if you weren’t feeling just as stressed as him.

“I’m done,” you mumble, your shyness coming back, which you decide is to be expected in that situation.

It vanishes the second Jin looks you over and snorts.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, glancing down, and immediately you know that you’re probably ridiculous in his black shirt. It looks like it’s swallowing you whole. “It’s not my fault if your shoulders are that broad,” you pout.

“You look so small,” Jin chuckles. He sounds endeared, and if you noticed that sort of things, you would absolutely realize that his eyes linger on you in his clothes fondly — and a little longer than necessary.

“Want something to drink?” he asks, gesturing at the stuff he got out of the fridge when he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Sure,” you smile, letting yourself fall down on the couch next to him and pouring yourself a glass. The brief awkwardness that washed over you when you came in vanishes already, because of how comfortable you feel around Jin. He’s always been good at making you feel that way, and now he doesn’t even have to try.

“So, how did you find your day?” he asks you, and you look at him, surprised by his tone. He sounds quiet, cautious almost, like he’s worried about what your reaction might be, or that he could be bothering you.

“Fine,” you say with a shrug. “I can’t say I’d want to do it again— When is Jungkook coming back?”

Jin chuckles, and again, it takes you by surprise. It’s so… quiet. So discreet, compared to his usual attitude.

“He should be there tomorrow, don’t worry about it.” Then, he grimaces. “But seriously, thank you for helping out today. I owe you.”

“Yes you do,” you say with a grin, bumping your shoulder against his, trying to lift the mood a little, because he sounds genuinely worried. “Just offer me the tea next time, and I’ll consider us even.”

Finally, a smile forms on his lips, and he shakes his head dramatically, putting his hand over his heart.

“No, I don't think I could ever repay you,” he says, and you laugh at his antics, like you always do. He looks a little appeased by that, and that’s a relief. “Your back must hurt,” he says. “Turn around.”

You raise an eyebrow, but do as he says, startling when his hands fall on your shoulders. They’re large, engulfing you easily, but they also move gently as he slowly massages you.

“Oh,” you gasp, leaning back into him. This is— good. This is very very good. For a few minutes — or maybe much longer, you couldn’t tell — you just stay there, eyes closed, lips parted, focused on the delicious feelings of his hands gently rubbing all the pain and soreness of the day away. When he stops, it takes you a few seconds to come back down to reality, and maybe, just maybe you miss the feeling of his hands. “Oh,” you repeat, rolling your shoulders slowly. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Jin says. “It’s kind of my fault.”

You turn around, shaking your head.

“Seokjin,” you say. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind helping.”

“You’re too kind,” he frowns. “You shouldn’t let people take advantage of that.”

“I’m not!”

Then Jin smiles, in a way that only lifts one corner of his lips, and suddenly you feel— you’re not too sure. Something seems to melt inside you, something moves in your stomach like you’re free falling. You probably should recognize the feeling. It’s not like it’s anything new to you, and yet you miss it. You do something you almost never do in that situation, and you take a step back. You glance up from his lips, shoot him a smile, and get up from the couch.

“It’s getting late,” you comment. “I really need to go home.”

Jin is on his feet immediately.

“I’ll walk you back,” he says, concern flashing in his eyes.

“I’m good. It’s not that far and I need to clear my head after, you know, everything today.” You’re not sure you know, but Jin nods, though a little reluctantly.

“You’re sure?”

“Very.”

He sighs. He doesn’t seem too pleased about it, but you guess he doesn’t want to insist too much, either.

“Give me your phone,” he says, and when you hand it to him, he types his number in, pouting as he explains himself to you. “Text me when you get home, alright? Otherwise I’ll just worry all night, because everyone is so unreasonable, and just wants me to lose sleep, and—”

You take your phone back from him with a laugh.

“I’ll text you,” you promise, briefly putting your hand over his. That feels— normal, you decide. It’s not like your hands have never brushed in the months since you’ve started frequenting the bakery. It just feels fine, and whatever there was before could just be a false alert. But then Jin looks into your eyes, and the feeling comes back.

“You better.”

You practically flee the bakery. You’re trying to make sense of the whole thing in your head, and it doesn’t go over great. You let Jin know you got home safe, and then do your best to push the whole thing out of your mind when you go to bed. You refuse to think about it too much. Not because you don’t understand what’s going on, but because somewhere, deep down, you do. This isn’t— this isn’t something you do. You fall hard and fast, that’s— that’s your thing.

Sometimes it’s nice, others it’s disappointing, but most importantly, it means that when the relationship is over, your life just goes back to what it was before. It you ever had feelings for a friend, someone you’re so used to having around… You’re sure it would truly break your heart.

July 15th

Summer is horribly hot this year. Fortunately for you, your favorite bakery has started serving ice cream. There is air conditioning in the store, but with the door constantly opening and closing, gusts of hot air regularly reach even you. No one seems too happy with the situation, with Jungkook seeming to slowly come apart under the temperature. Even Namjoon has abandoned ship, leaving much earlier than usual today. He waved at you when he got out, and you waved back.

Who knew, maybe the two of you would actually talk next time.

Jin uses a lull in the otherwise busy afternoon to drop at your table, and you smile to him. You haven’t really gone through anything like that night ever since, and you decided it was just a one time thing. You were tired from the work, and you were touch-starved, and, surely, there was nothing there, other than you gaining a new friend.

Yup. Nothing to see at all. Even when he’s sitting next to you, trying to fan himself with one of the bakery’s menus, head thrown back in a way that makes his Adam’s apple even more prominent.

You never thought yourself as someone who particularly enjoyed necks, but it seems you were wrong.

Not that that has anything to do with feelings, of course. Jin’s just hot. You already knew that.

“Hey, (Y/N), what’s your favorite cake?” he asks you.

It takes you just a second too long to answer.

“Uh. Anything that has strawberries in it, I guess,” you say, and he nods, but he’s also frowning. “Are my tastes not up to par?” you grin, raising an eyebrow.

“Clearly, your tastes are great, since you keep coming back,” Jin answers immediately, with the confidence that you now know to be mostly facade, but that you’ve still come to love. “No, strawberries are good. I can work with strawberries.”

“I actually wanted strawberries the first time I came here,” you reminisce. “But there weren’t any left because that was after Valentine’s Day.”

Jin clicks his tongue in disgust.

“Worst day of the year,” he says, “though February is a bad month for strawberries in general.”

“You don’t like Valentine’s Day?” you ask, and if you were a dog, your ears would be perking up with interest. You’ve always loved to hear people’s opinion on the holiday, because it’s so divisive. “You guys must make quite a lot of money…”

“I’m wounded that you’d think money is all I care about,” Jin sighs dramatically, though the glint in his eyes lets you know that he’s only joking. “It’s just very busy,” he admits. “It’s a lot of work to prepare, people place a lot of orders, and we basically don’t get a minute to ourselves. Not to mention— do you know what it does to a person to know that the food he lovingly prepared is probably going to be eaten off someone’s body?”

You can’t help it. You burst out laughing. When you do, you’re completely unaware of the fond way Jin looks at you. He’s always liked that he made you laugh, from the very first day you came into the store.

“No,” you admit, “no, I haven’t thought about it.”

“Well I have to.”

“I’m so sorry for you.”

“I’m sorry for me too.”

Then Jimin practically waltzes in and energetically greets everyone in the room, including you, and Jin gets up to serve him and Taehyung because Jungkook looks like he’s about to collapse, and you don’t give much more thought to the conversation.

But Jin remembers that strawberry cake is your favorite.

September 18th

Somehow, you get roped into helping Jin with his grocery shopping. He sat at your table and complained about how Jungkook wouldn’t be able to help him that week, and you voiced your sympathy, and next thing you knew, you were in the supermarket with him.

Well, maybe you’d offered your help. Maybe you just didn’t want to admit it because of that time he’d told you you were too kind.

“You know, I thought I’d be helping you for the bakery,” you comment, “but this mostly looks like it’s for you.”

“I am the bakery,” Jin replies, and you grin.

You watch him as he carefully crosses item after item of his detailed list. You expected him to be messy, to grab whatever he wanted, but he is as meticulous with this as he is with the baking he does for his customers. Which is— strangely endearing to you.

“Most of what we get comes in bigger orders,” he explains to you once he’s done with that aisle. “Sometimes, we find ourselves missing some things…”

“Like milk.”

“It’s always the milk,” he sighs, shaking his head it brings back bad memories. “But that’s not an issue for a lot of thing, unless something very specific comes up. Like a customer wanting a pineapple pie.”

You tilt your head as he cautiously picks pineapples. You’re not even sure how you can tell if a pineapple is ripe, but he looks like he knows what he’s doing.

“That sounds… interesting?”

“It’s going to sound very interesting when I’ll make you carry half the bags,” Jin says, and you roll your eyes. Does he think you’re going to bail on him? You would never do that.

Well. Until your eyes fall on Minho, standing there, like he hasn’t simply vanished from your life six months ago. There’s a woman with him, and she’s laughing at something he said. You suppose she was the one he met — or maybe another one, there’s no way of knowing, really. But they look like they’re getting along well, and it— it makes you happy. You think.

“Huh,” you mumble. “That’s my ex over there.”

Jin looks up so fast you worry he might hurt his neck.

“What? Where? Do you need me to insult him?”

You’re about to say no when Minho turns around, and his eyes meet yours. He gives you a hesitant nod, and you think that’s going to be it, but then, after a few seconds of obvious inner debate, he makes his way towards you.

Great.

“(Y/N),” he says, a bit awkwardly. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you reply softly and, much to your surprise, you mean it. You did your best not to let yourself miss him, but you suppose you did. It’s been a long time since you last saw him.

“This is, erm, this is Lisa,” he says, gesturing at the woman, who gives you a polite smile. It looks like she knows exactly who you are, and you suppose it must be uncomfortable for her as well. “My girlfriend.”

Yeah. You’d pieced that together. But then, Minho’s eyes move to Jin, and he raises an eyebrow, and you realize what he’s thinking about.

“Oh, this is—”

“Seokjin,” Jin says, extending his hand. “I’m her boyfriend.”

You’re sure that anyone looking at you can tell from your expression, from the way your mouth falls open and from the incredulous way you shake your head that that’s not true, but both Minho and Lisa are looking at him, and miss it completely. When Jin looks at you, he gives an imperceptible nod and puts an arm around your shoulders.

The warmth is— kind of nice. Maybe it even sends a shiver down your back, but you’re sure it’s because you’re still quite touch-starved those days.

Nothing else here.

“That’s great,” Minho says, and he looks relieved. “It’s great that you’re with someone.”

“Isn’t it?” Jin says before you can think of anything to answer to that. “She walked into my bakery and I just knew she would become my favorite client. Basically love at first sight.”

“Love at first sale, maybe,” you can’t help but answer, even if you know, reasonably, that you shouldn’t entertain him. You’re pretty sure he’s trying to show off in front of the two, which is really unnecessary, but you appreciate the gesture. “Jin makes the best cakes you can find in the whole town,” you tell them. Not to show off, but because it’s true. There are a lot of good things you could tell them about Jin, come to think of it. A lot.

“Maybe we should try it then,” Lisa says, smiling. She looks more relaxed than earlier, though you suppose she could also just be trying to get out of this conversation.

“Oh, it’s a must,” you reply sincerely, and Jin laughs, pulling you against his chest a little.

“She’s too nice,” he says, and you immediately protest that no, definitely not, he does, and you’re sure you look like a very annoying couple, because it doesn’t take long for Minho to clear his throat.

“Well, we have to go but it was— it was nice catching up with you.”

“Same,” you nod, and when he leaves, you can’t help but watch him. You don’t really feel anything right now. You were sincerely happy to see him, but it felt like running into a childhood friend you haven’t seen in a long, long time, and now have nothing in common with outside of those memories. Except it hasn’t been a life time since you last met him. Just a little over six months. Soon, he’ll just be someone you used to know.

You wish you were more upset by this. You wish there was anything that told you that what you had with him actually mattered. Instead, this vague indifference lets you know that your paths had probably diverged before the two of you even broke up. And that makes you kind of sad.

“Are you okay?” Jin asks. He has that quiet voice you’ve heard a few times now.

“I’m fine,” you nod, “but you really didn’t have to do that. I wasn’t— Minho and I aren’t— there really was no need.”

“I was happy to do it,” Jin says, and you notice how petty he sounds. “It’s always a joy to let an ex see how much better than them you’re doing.”

You laugh. You probably agree with him on that, but you’re not going to help feed his ego even more. Jungkook would probably never forgive you for it.

“I don’t think your girlfriend would like you doing that,” you observe, and Jin answers that remark with a blank stare.

“When have I ever said anything about a girlfriend?”

“Well, there was a bottle of shampoo at your place that—”

“So a guy can’t like having his hair smell like fruit, huh?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Wow, way to reinforce stereotypes, (Y/N). I expected more of you.”

He ignores your attempts at protesting and strides away from you. It takes you a few moments to catch up, because of his stupid long legs of his.

“If I had a girlfriend, I would never stop talking about her,” he lets you know while you’re catching your breath. “So don’t worry. You’ll know about it.”

“Duly noted,” you say. You maybe feel a little too happy about that new information so, to distract yourself from it, you change the subject. “So I’m your favorite customer?”

He scoffs and glances away from you, refusing to meet your eyes. He thought you hadn’t picked up on that.

“You’re a strong contestant, I guess,” he says reluctantly, and you laugh, not pushing it further.

“Anyway— Minho broke up with me a week Valentine’s Day,” you say. You’re not sure why. Maybe to let Jin that you’ve been over it for a long time.

“That’s rude,” Jin comments with a disapproving click of his tongue.

“He probably wanted to spend it with her,” you shrug. “When we got together, he told me he didn’t cheat. He left. So— I guess that was it.” Then there’s a laugh, and you can’t tell if it sounds bitter. You hope not. “I’ve actually never had a boyfriend for Valentine’s Day,” you confess.

The silence that follows is unusual for Jin. When you glance up at him, he’s just looking at you, and for a second, you think it’s pity you find in his eyes. But, from the way he frowns, you realize it could just be genuine sympathy.

“Would it make you feel better if I tell you it’s a terrible holiday that’s just there to sell things?”

“I already know that,” you chuckle, even if it does make you feel a little better. “I just want someone to buy me roses once, you know?”

Jin doesn’t answer, just looks at you, and something about the intensity of his stare makes you feel— feel things you told yourself you weren’t feeling for him. But then, you just ran into Minho, didn’t you? It makes sense that you would be all over the place emotionally.

“Anything more on your list?” you ask, and Jin blinks.

“Yeah, that way,” he says, sounding a bit off, but then he adds “More things for you to carry,” and you decide to brush it off.

But he stores the information in his mind. Strawberry cake and roses. Duly noted.

October 31st

“So do you actually like Halloween, or is this just another shameless cash grab for you?” you ask Jin when he brings you your tea.

You have to admit, him and Jungkook truly went all out for this. They’ve decorated the shop with pumpkins, and there are fake bats hanging from the ceiling. There are also themed cakes and chocolates shaped like spiders. It’s spooky, and it delights the kids that come in and ask the parents about it. You definitely appreciate the atmosphere it creates — and you also appreciate the way Hoseok jumped when he walked in front of the witch that lets out an evil laugh when someone passes the movement detector.

“Halloween is not terrible, I guess,” Jin says, like him and Jungkook don’t take a full day out of their schedules and bring in some friends just to decorate the shop. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you answer sincerely, and Jin’s expression softens.

“Hey, we’re having a small get-together after closing tonight,” he tells you spontaneously. “Wanna join us?”

You take a second to answer. It’s not like you don’t want to — far from that — but there’s that voice inside of you that tells you that you’ve been weird around Jin, and you don’t want to be weird around him. You want to keep things as they are, because he’s such a wonderful friend to have around. You’d hate yourself if you changed that.

But if the point is to have him around, then surely, telling him no right now would be counter-productive, right?

“Absolutely,” you say with a smile, and Jin beams, and you feel all warmed-up inside.

You already know that you’ll have fun, and you’ll laugh, and he’ll insist on walking you him and you’ll tell him no. And it sounds exactly like how you want to spend your evening.

January 10th

You first meet Sungho on New Year’s Eve, at Hana’s party. The two of you click immediately, and you enjoy the familiar rush of feelings, the waiting for a text after you’ve given him your number, the anticipation of knowing where this is all leading, if everything goes right. After a week, you run into him at the bakery, or, well, you’re sitting in your usual corner when he comes in. He doesn’t see you immediately, but when he looks in your direction after a little while, you happily wave him over.

“You don’t usually come here, do you?” you ask him. “I would have seen you by now if you were a regular.”

He chuckles, flashes you a bright smile, and you smile in return. Sungho has a nice smile. He doesn’t laugh easily, though, from what you saw when you met him, which is a shame, but definitely not a dealbreaker, even if you love to hear people laugh.

“No, I saw you were talking about this place a lot online, and I figured I would come and check it out. Of course, seeing you here is the best part,” he adds with a wink, and he leans towards you a little. The obvious flirtation sends a wave of heat through your chest, and you don’t hesitate to lean forward as well, resting your elbow on the table and putting your chin on your hand. You enjoy the closeness, the proximity, the chase.

You pull away when Jin arrives with Sungho’s order.

“This looks great,” Sungho comments. “I’m glad (Y/N) advertised you so much.”

“Well, there’s a reason she’s our favorite customer,” Jin replies, smiling, and when you meet his eyes, they’re fond and— and something else that makes it hard to breathe for a second.

But the smile fades when Sungho takes a portion of his cake with the spoon and offers it to you.

“Wanna try it?” he asks, and you do, because you know everything Jin makes will be amazing. You’re not sure you love the gesture itself — it’s kind of cute, but you’ve also just met him and it feels a bit strange — but you still giggle and take the bite.

And all Jin can do is stand there, looking at the two of you. He feels something he has felt before, and it’s that he let something he wanted pass him by. He waited too long to make a move, once again, and once again, it’s cost him something he doesn’t know how he’ll live without, and now he’ll have no choice but to figure it out.

You glance up, and he catches himself, plastering a smile on his lips.

“Enjoy yourselves!” he says, a little too loudly, and he knows, from the way you blink and the puzzled look you give him, that you’ve noticed and it’s— it’s horrible. It’s horrible that you know him that well and that you’ve seen so many facets of him and you’ve chosen someone else. You don’t ask anything, though, and he’s quick to leave.

He’s also quick to ask Jungkook to replace him in the shop, and he, very deliberately, doesn’t ask anything about how things went. Doesn’t want to know if you kissed, or worse, if you left together.

He’ll be fine. It’s not like it’s anything he hasn’t been through before.

February 5th

You feel impossibly excited when Sungho asks you out for Valentine’s Day. You gush about it to your friends, a lot, and Hana is delighted for you — and very pleased that her circles of friends are meeting like that. Jungkook sounds happy, too, though slightly more reserved, but you get the type of enthusiasm you wanted from Jimin and Taehyung.

Jin gets quiet when you let him know, though. It’s not something you haven’t seen before, but it does take you off guard, because you’ve never seen it happen while in the shop, where he’s usually on top of his game.

“Are you okay?” you ask, worried, leaning over the counter to put a hand on his arm. “You look a little under the weather these days.”

He smiles, but it lacks his usual flamboyance.

“Valentine’s Day is coming,” he tells you. “The worst day of the year.”

You laugh at that, relax, and take your hand off. You miss the way his eyes fall on the place you were just touching.

“Well, not this year, hopefully. Not this year.”

Yeah. He’s not so sure about that.

February 14th

It’s your first time, ever, having a date on Valentine’s Day, and you’re determined to do everything right. Sungho is taking you to a fancy restaurant, so you decide there is no issue in going all out. You take the day to prepare yourself, enlist Hana to do your make-up and hair, and you use the opportunity to wear a lovely bright red dress that you had been saving for a special occasion.

Hana whistles when you come out of your room after you’ve also put on half-transparent black tights.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” she says with an appreciative nod.

You glance down at your body self-consciously and try to smooth the fabric of the dress. You do think it looks pretty good, but you could be wrong. Does it show too much of your legs? Does it hug your curves too tightly?

“You think he’s going to like it?” you ask, somewhat shyly.

“He should if he knows what’s good for him,” she replies, expression turning murderous, before softening. “Just… Are you sure you want to be doing that?”

You give her a confused look.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, going out with Sungho,” she says with a vague hand gesture. “I just— I don’t know. Do you like him that much?”

It’s funny. You haven’t really asked yourself that question. You’ve just been going through all the usual motions — the flirting, the dates, and, inevitably, the start of the relationship, which is probably for tonight.

“We— we get along fine,” you answer. “I like him.”

You leave the words ‘well enough’ out of that sentence. You like Sungho well enough. But then, that’s always been good enough for you, so why should it change now?

Hana seems to think about it for a little while, then shrugs.

“Okay then. Do you need my help to walk to the cab? I would not trust these things.”

She’s pointing at your heels, and it makes you laugh. These aren’t even that high, and they’re pretty stable. You don’t think you’ll have any trouble walking in them. Hana wouldn’t abandon her flat shoes to save her life, though, so you suppose the question was to be expected.

“You can just tell me if you want to hold my arm,” you tease, and it seems to take her by surprise, before she chuckles.

“You’ve gotten a little too good at that. I don’t know if I like it.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid Jin has infected me.”

That gives her pause, and she shoots you a weird look, but you miss it. She opens her mouth to say something, then gives up. She could be wrong, after all.

She kind of hopes she’s wrong, or that if she’s right, you’ll realize it soon enough.

The dinner is perfect. You’re dressed perfectly for the occasion, fitting right in the restaurant’s decor, Sungho complimented you when you walked in and you told him he looked great, which is true, the food is delicious, the conversation flows easily, and there are roses on the table. They’re not for you, part of the decoration, and it doesn’t look like Sungho’s gotten you any, which gives you just a little pinch of disappointment in your chest, but it’s also not a big deal. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

And you’re not happy with it.

You can’t place it, and it slowly drives you insane, as you and Sungho make your way through the meal. You try your best not to let it show, but you think he notices your increasing restlessness. You feel bad about it, because really, he hasn’t done anything wrong. You just— something’s not right.

Dammit. It’s your first time having a date on Valentine’s Day, and you can’t make it work.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Sungho says while the two of you are waiting for your desert, and you do your best to snap out of whatever is going on in your head to focus on him.

“Tell me,” you smile, though the smile is polite, rather than genuine.

He takes a deep breath and reaches over the table to take your hand. It’s far from the first time the two of you make physical contact, you’ve even kissed a few times, and it was nice, but something makes you want to recoil, in that moment. You don’t, though. Why would you? It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about you makes sense right now.

“I like you,” he says, and you find the breath knocked out of you. It’s not unpleasant, though, it’s very nice in fact, and it almost completely dissipates your previous discomfort. “And I think— you know. We haven’t said anything about being exclusive yet, so I figured I’d— ask.”

He looks pretty confident, which you thought would put you off, but it doesn’t. The answer seems obvious to you. It’s been just a little over a year since you broke up with Minho, which is a reasonable time, so your lips part to let him know that you’d be happy to—

It’s then that you remember. You remember what you told yourself after that break-up, and what you thought after the break-up before that, and the time before as well. You remember you told yourself you wouldn’t settle for less than what you really wanted. You told yourself you wanted to love and be loved. You told yourself you wanted someone who’d remember how you liked your tea.

And, just like in a movie, Jin’s face appears in your mind. You almost dismiss it, tell yourself it’s just because of the tea, until you realize it’s not. It just isn’t. You should have noticed earlier, you know that, but you’ve never been friends with someone before developing feelings for them. You’ve always told yourself you were an ‘all or nothing’ kind of person, that you were the type to know immediately if things could happen. Maybe you didn’t quite believe in love at first sight, but you’d always thought that love didn’t wait.

Apparently you were wrong.

Jin’s the one who inadvertently makes you pulse rush, when his hand brushes against you. Jin’s the one who lifts your spirits, no matter what. Jin makes you happy, makes you want to get up in the morning, has done that for months now. Jin actually knows you. Jin looks at you like you’re precious to him. Maybe that doesn’t mean love, maybe to him, it’s all just friendship, but to you, it’s much more than that. And the feeling you get is so strong, so powerful, that you understand that you need to tell him. Need to tell him now.

“I’m sorry,” you say to Sungho, who’s been waiting for an answer all this time. “I’m really sorry, I don’t think that can work out.”

His face falls, but he looks far from heartbroken.

“Oh,” he says. “Um. That’s—”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, already getting up from your chair. You’re buzzing with excitement, with feelings. “I have to go. I’ll pay for the meal, okay?”

“No, don’t—”

“Sorry!”

You stop at the counter briefly before rushing out into the night. You feel that you know exactly where you need to be.

You get to the bakery minutes before closing time, which is exceptionally at 9 p.m. for the day. A couple is just coming out, and that leaves only Jungkook inside. There’s nothing left on display, and you know it’s been impossibly busy, which means Jin is probably in a bad mood, but you can’t wait until tomorrow. When you walk in, Jungkook looks up from behind the counter, clearly surprised by the sound of someone coming in that late, and a puzzled look settles on his face when he notices that you’re out of breath, your previously perfect make-up now looking a little worse for wear.

“Is everything alright?” he asks. He sounds worried, and any other day you would take the time to reassure him, but in that moment you’re pushed by an energy that can’t be stopped, so you just nod quickly as an answer.

“Is Jin here?”

“In the back,” he says, tilting his head in that direction, and you’re pretty sure a glint of understanding lights up in his eyes.

“Can I….?”

He nods, a grin on his lips, and now you’re sure he knows why you’re here. You don’t wait for him to tease you about it, quick to make your way past him.

You freeze the second you walk into the backroom, though. It’s not just because of Jin’s back, though that definitely has more of an effect on you than you’d like to admit — the broad shoulders, the muscular back, and inexplicably, the nape of his neck. It’s also because of the large bouquet of red roses, standing in a vase on the table next to him. Your breath catches in your throat as you look at them. They look beautiful, vibrant, their fragrance floating through the room, all the way to you.

“Who are the roses for?” you ask, making Jin jump.

Any other time, you would have been pleased to take him by surprise for once, but right now you’re hanging on his words, waiting for an answer. The air feels heavy between you, and it doesn’t help that he doesn’t answer immediately, swallowing silently as his eyes travel over your body. You had almost forgotten about the dress you were wearing, and, instead of making you feel comfortable and confident, like it had earlier, you feel naked and vulnerable under his gaze.

Finally, his eyes meet yours, mouth slightly open, and by that point your heart is hammering in your chest. You wonder if he has any idea of how you’re feeling right now. Had he noticed your feelings when even you weren’t aware of them?

“What?” he croaks, voice dry, like he’s forgotten what you said.

“The roses,” you repeat. “Who are they for?”

You need an answer. Desperately.

Jin’s eyes move to the roses, and his face falls. He turns his back to you again as he goes back to whatever he’s cleaning.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?”

You shrug, though he can’t see it.

“I broke things off with him,” you say lightly, and you don’t miss the way his movements pause, or the way his shoulders tighten, for half a second, before he keeps moving. “Are you— are you meeting someone?”

“No,” he protests immediately. “You know I don’t believe in Valentine’s day.”

You do. You remember that. So you wait for an explanation. It takes a while, and you just wait silently behind him, suspecting that he’s waiting for you to go away. After a few minutes, though, he slams his hand on the table, still not looking at you.

“They’re for you, okay? You said you’d always wanted roses for Valentine’s Day, and I figured, maybe your stupid boyfriend didn’t know that yet, and that I could maybe just drop them off at your place, and—”

“You didn’t ask me why I broke up with him,” you interrupt him, cutting his rambling short, and he falls silent. You catch his eyes from over his shoulder. Finally, you’re feeling yourself calm down, and at the same time you’re practically shaking with anticipation. “I realized I had feelings for someone else,” you say when he still doesn’t ask, just watching you, lips tight.

“…You do?” he simply says in reply. He’s tense, guarded, and you take a careful step towards him.

“Yeah,” you nod. Your eyes aren’t leaving his, not even for a second. “He’s smart, and kind, and handsome.” You take a step for each description you give, and you can’t help but smile on the last word. But your smile doesn’t reach Jin’s lips, and he’s just looking at you like he’s expecting you to tell him someone else’s name, or to make fun of him. “And he makes me laugh,” you add quietly, as you get to him, leaning against the table. “A lot. Some have even said it was a little too much.”

“So who is he?” he asks, and you smile. It’s wild to you that you haven’t understood earlier how absolutely head over heels in love with him you are, especially right now, when you’re standing so close to him. It’s also wild that he can’t see it, because you feel as though you’re radiating with that emotion, feel that anyone should be able to tell.

“It’s you,” you breathe out. “It’s obviously you.”

Then you’re pushing yourself up against his mouth, soft and slow. One of his hands closes around your waist as he leans forward, towering over you. His eyes are shut, and you close your own, reveling in the feeling of his warm body pressed against your own. You feel his tongue darting out to brush against your lips, and they part to grant him access, eager to taste all of him and—

“Couldn’t you tell me that earlier?” Jin protests loudly, tearing himself away from you, and your eyes snap open. “I would have planned the best Valentine’s Day you’ve ever—”

You groan and cut him off with another kiss, faster and harder this time, grabbing his wrists to guide his hands to your hips. You moan in contentment into his mouth when he kisses you back and he swallows it eagerly, pressing you into the table, bodies meeting like they’ve been waiting for it for forever and you—

“I wanted to make you an amazing strawberry cake! Now I don’t have any strawberries left!”

“Jin, please,” you sigh, unable to tolerate any other interruption, “would you just shut up and kiss me?”

And, finally, he does. Holds you like he never wants to let you go, kisses you like there’s no tomorrow, and when the two of you part, he rests his forehead against yours like he can’t bear the thought of being away from you even for a second. The silent stretches, comfortable, only filled with your respirations, until someone clears their throat, and the two of you jump away from each other.

“Sorry,”Jungkook says with a shit-eating grin that tells you he’s not sorry at all, “but I was about to leave. Will the two of you be okay?”

“I’m sure we can work things out without you,” Jin says. “Goodbye!”

But Jungkook doesn’t leave right away, turning his smile to you. You would hide into Jin’s shoulder, but you feel so good you can’t be bothered right now.

“Goodbye (Y/N)!”

“Bye, Jungkook!”

“That kid, I swear,” Jin says, shaking his head, as Jungkook leaves, his laugh hanging in the air behind him for a few seconds.

“I quite like him,” you comment, fingers dancing down Jin’s neck to come trace the border of his shirt.

“Oh, you do?” There is a dangerous edge to his tone and you glance up, surprised.

“Are you jealous?” you ask. “I didn’t know you were the jealous type.”

“I’m not.”

“Because it’s not Jungkook I abandoned my date for.”

“Good that you did. I never liked him.”

“So you are jealous.”

Seokjin mumbles something incomprehensible and you laugh and hug him tighter. And when he asks you if you want to come upstairs, even if he doesn’t have the perfect Valentine’s Day dinner planned, even if really, all he has to offer is himself, you tell him yes, of course.

Because he’s all you want right now.

It turns out, you wouldn’t have eaten the dinner anyway. The second the door closes behind you, you’re pulling him down against you for a kiss, and he doesn’t oppose any resistance, doesn’t protest like he did before, just lets out a moan into your mouth. He’s just as eager as you are to get rid of that tight dress.

“Careful with the tights,” you warn when his hands start roaming your thighs.

“Take them off then,” he groans.

You press a few kisses against his mouth, feeling delighted with the way he restrains himself, hands turning into fists against your hips as he stops himself from tearing off your closes. Finally, you pull away with a giggle. His eyes are wide and dark with desire, and they only get wider when you playfully slide off your dress’ strap.

“Don’t tease,” he says, practically growls, but you decide that you will. You guide him to his couch, push him down onto it, and evade him when he tries to pull you down with him, slipping out of his grasp. You stand just out of his reach, but more than close enough to be tantalizing, and you see in his eyes that it’s working just fine.

You take the time of making a show out of sliding down your dress down your body, letting it pool down at your feet before stepping out of it. The heels are the next thing to go, and then, finally, the offending tights. The second you’re out of those, Seokjin pounces, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto the couch.

“If you want us to move this to the bedroom, now would be a good time to say it,” he says as he kisses your neck, hands traveling up and down your body, large and calloused, but kind and gentle.

“I’m good here,” you say, arching your back to grant him better access — and to roll your hips against him. “Are you good here?”

You feel his breath catching in his throat when you move, as well as something hard pressing against you in his pants, and his voice is slightly choked when he answers.

“Yeah. This would happen at some point anyway.”

You laugh. You can’t wait to try this in all the places the two of you can think of in his apartment.

“Then let’s get to it, shall we?”

Jin doesn’t seem to have anything to answer to that, especially not when you hook your leg around his, using your heel to push him down on top of you. He’s still dressed, but you plan on rectifying that. You stop kissing him to work on the buttons of his shirt, and he lets you, breathing heavily. Your fingers explore the skin you reveal in the process, and you’re delighted when he shivers as you find out where his sensitive spots are — right under his collarbone, his nipples, his ribs.

Finally, the shirt joins your dress on the floor. You take a second to marvel at his body. His shoulders are even nicer to look at like that, you decide. You capture Jin’s mouth again, this time with your hands fisting his hair. You’re feeling yourself growing more impatient, wetter, and while your panties are the only thing still covering your body, he’s still wearing pants — which is far too much clothing.

“I want you so bad,” you whisper to him, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Fuck. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

That makes you grin, and you arch your back into him again, pressing yourself against his now rock hard crotch.

“Oh, I think I do,” you reply devilishly, and all Jin does is to bury his head into your neck. His fast breathing tickles your skin, and you love it. You love discovering that you have that effect on him, love how you can make him come undone. Another night, you might really, really enjoy teasing him about it, but you have something else on your mind tonight.

Your hand travels down his body to palm him through his pants, and he groans, bucking his hips against it involuntarily.

“Let me take care of that?” you offer, and he pulls away to raise an eyebrow at you.

Wordlessly, you guide him so he’s sitting on the couch, and then, without breaking eye contact, you drop to your knees. You watch as his eyes go wide and he swallows loudly. You don’t give him time to regain his composure, gently nudging his legs apart so you can place yourself there comfortably.

“Fuck,” he repeats as your hands travel over his thighs before unbuckling his belt.

He lifts himself off the couch so you can slide down his pants and underwear, and that leaves him in his naked glory. And boy, is he glorious, dick standing erect and proud, precum already dripping from the tip. You suppose it’s been a while since the last time he had any sort of intercourse, and so you decide that you will do everything that’s in your power to make it worth his while.

You do your best to maintain eye contact with him while you lean forward to gently take in the head of his cock, wrapping your red lips around it as your hand grips the base.

“Ah,” he gasps, and you wonder if he gets loud during sex.

You hope he does.

You mostly tease him at first, running your tongue over the tip, and you feel his hand grabbing the back of your head gently. He doesn’t try to control your pace or to push you down. He seems to just be anchoring himself as he lets you do whatever you want. Glancing up, you see that he’s thrown his head back and his mouth is hanging open, letting out quiet moans that sometimes get high-pitched.

For some reason, the sight of his exposed throat turns you on impossibly. You slide a hand down your body to try to get some relief as well, and you moan loudly when your fingers finally find your clit. The vibrations have Jin push his hips up as his hands tighten on you. A second later, his eyes snap open.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, “I don’t mind but— Do you have a condom somewhere?”

He hesitates, then reaches for the coffee table. He opens the drawer, rummages through it quickly, and finds what he’s looking for.

“Taehyung said it was good to have them all over the house, just in case,” he feels obligated to explain to you, even while he struggles to open it and to put it on.

Well, you owe Taehyung one, you decide, but now really is not the time to discuss that, so you pull him down for quick kiss before he can lose himself in his ramble.

“Want you now,” you tell him, and it sounds like an order.

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbles, pulling you back up onto the couch.

Your panties are soon gone, and he spreads your legs open with utmost care. Even if you’re pretty sure he could just slide right in, with how wet you are, he pushes a long finger inside you, then another.

“You’re so wet for me,” he marvels. “So wet, and I haven’t even touched you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much yet,” you moan. “There’s still work to be done here.”

His eyes are full of love when he looks at you, taking in your body, now completely naked and offered. Just for him.

“Oh, I’ll do it. Don’t you worry about that.”

You’re about to call him out for his cockiness when he lines his cock with your entrance, tip rubbing against your folds, and you close your mouth instead, wisely choosing not to provoke him when he could so easily make you pay for it by making you wait. Except it seems he’s just as impatient as you, because he pushes himself inside you without pause.

You moan and shift to accommodate the stretch, and Seokjin goes still on top of you.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You’re satisfied with the strain in his voice, like knowing you’re not the only one to be so affected here.

“Hmm,” you hum. “Can you— move? A little?”

He pulls out a little, experimentally, and you moan louder than before. It takes you a few minutes to figure out the pace, as your hips keep moving, desperately searching for more friction, but they’re not unpleasant, filled with kisses, sweet nothings and the feeling of his warm skin against yours. In those moments, you feel like you’re discovering him all over again, and you find yourself enjoying that more than you can say.

Finally, you find yourselves, and the sound of skin against skin fills the room, along with your loud, high-pitches moans, and Seokjin’s — softer, quieter, but definitely there. You meet each of his thrusts, with one hand between the two of you to rub against your clit. When you first clench around him, he finally lets out a moan that’s as loud as yours.

“Fuck, fuck, fffuck,” he says, head falling against you, cheek pressed against your collarbone. “If you— If you do that again I’ll— Wait, please, wait, wanna— wanna cum with you—”

You arch your back, your nipples grazing against his chest, and force up the pace of your hips. Jin is moving incoherently, begging into your neck, and you want to give him exactly what he’s asking for. When you clench around him again, it’s with your orgasm. It’s all it takes to push him over the edge as well, but you barely feel his hips stutter into you, completely taken over by your own pleasure.

It takes you a little while to come back down from your high, and when you do, you meet his eyes. They’re soft and gentle, and, more than anything that’s happened until then, they make you melt.

“Hey,” he whispers, “you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, more than okay, in fact. You?”

“More than okay, too,” he says as a lazy smile spreads across his features.

“Good. That’s good.”

Pillow talk is not your forte.

“Hey,” Jin says, coming to rest his forehead against your shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You chuckle.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

“That’s good,” Jin says, but his voice sounds choked up, raspy, and you know he’s probably blushing. So you don’t add anything, just run your fingers over his scalp, the nape of his neck, down his back. Let him know you’re here, that you’ve got him, that you’re not going anywhere.

“Are you— are you staying the night?” he asks.

“Sure, unless you’re kicking me out.”

His arms tighten around you possessively.

“I would never.”

It takes a little longer before Jin manages to get the two of you off the couch to go get cleaned up, and then into bed, but of that night, there is not a second that you would call unnecessary or superfluous. Not one.

Every single one of them, every moment you spend with Jin on that first night, are essential, and you could not pick one of them to take back.

March 14th

The bell chimes happily when you walk into the shop, and even though Jin is busy with another customer, his eyes immediately find you. It’s something simple, yet it’s something you love about him. The way he always seems to find you, and the pleasant warmth that fills you without fail when you see him. You’ve been told that it was just the high of the first months of a relationship, not to get too used to it but you hope that, even if it dims, it won’t go away completely.

“Hey, Jin, your ears are turning really red. Why are your ears turning red?”

You laugh while your boyfriend turns to shoot a furious look at Yoongi. He’s sitting in your spot, in the back of the shop, and he’s looking smug. That comment of his has become a pretty common thing to hear whenever you walk in, or just when Jin and you are speaking. To be completely honest, you’re not too mad about it. Jin is good at acting like you have no effect on him, but the blush betrays him, and it’s been both cute and useful to see what actually gets to him, or bothers him sometimes.

“I’ll kick you out of my shop if you keep that up!” Jin shouts at him. “Don’t think I won’t!”

But Yoongi just chuckles into his mug, clearly not taking him seriously — and he’s probably right for that.

“So, do you know what today is?” Jin asks nonchalantly after he’s turned back to face you, gesturing for Jungkook take over with the other customer.

Your eyes widen in horror.

“Please don’t tell me you want us to celebrate our one month anniversary. I haven’t planned anything for that.”

Jin rolls his eyes.

“I would argue that our one-month anniversary is tomorrow, if we’re being precise, because that’s when we, um, really talked about it.”

He’s not wrong. It had been a pleasant thing, to wake up in his arms the morning after, to the sensation of his lips gently kissing your neck, and an even nicer thing to take your breakfast with him. You couldn’t pinpoint why exactly. It had just been what had absolutely and irrevocably sealed the deal for you. You knew it hadn’t been a mistake. You wanted to be with him.

“Hmm, but there is still some sort of anniversary to be celebrated tonight then,” you say, leaning over the counter. “I’m sure I could prepare something for that.”

His ears and neck flush, and Yoongi has the delicacy of not pointing it out this time.

“That’s not— That’s not what I’m talking about! Today is the white day.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“That’s when boys are supposed to give chocolates back to the girls they like,” Jin elaborates.

“But I didn’t give you chocolates,” you say.

“No, but you’re still the one who— Yoongi, I swear to God— You know. You’re the one who took the first step.”

Despite his recent outburst, it’s obvious that he feels embarrassed and vulnerable in that moment. You’d kind of gathered that he really regretted not asking you out before Sungho had, but you had never thought that it was actually an issue.

“I’m really happy I did,” you tell him quietly. He’s not fond of PDA, but you still allow your fingers to brush against his. That feels discreet enough.

“I know,” he says, and there’s so much love in his eyes when he looks at you that it’s a real miracle that you don’t melt into a puddle right then and there. “But I still—” He sighs. “You’re really ruining my plans. This was meant to go over smoothly.”

“Sorry,” you apologize with a wide grin while he picks something up from behind the counter.

“There,” he mumbles, handing you the box.

You open it, genuinely curious. You feel the eyes of everyone else in the shop — Yoongi, Namjoon, Jungkook and, of course, Jin — on you, and you want to tell most of them off, but you suppose that since this is where most of your relationship development happened, they’re kind of part of the story too.

The box is filled with chocolates shaped like roses.

“I know it’s not much,” Jin is quick to say, “but I just wanted to—”

“Jin?” you interrupt him.

“Y-yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

His eyes go wide, and then he sighs, but he can’t force away the smile that’s forcefully making its way on his lips.

“Well, if you absolutely have to—”

But he doesn’t protest when you pull him over the counter to kiss him, hands gently closing over your shoulders. He even brings you back for a second, even briefer kiss, and there’s something fierce in his eyes then. He superbly ignores the cheers that come from your friends in the room.

“I have to warn you, you’re never getting rid of me now,” he says, and it’s light-hearted, but you know there’s a lot of truth behind those words.

“Good,” you simply reply. “I wouldn’t want that for the world.”

He looks like he wants to add something to that, but he chokes on the words, and he falls quiet instead. It’s just as good, really.

There are some things you don’t need words for.

Some things that can be expressed just as easily with a box full of rose-shaped chocolates.

#jin x reader #seokjin x reader #bts #bts imagine #kim seokjin x reader #jin imagine #seokjin imagine #jin fluff #seokjin fluff #bts fic #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfic #kim seokjin #jin smut #seokjin smut #candywrites

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spideymarvelws · 3 years

Text

had so much fun writing the first scene dude... i feel like as a fanfic writer its a sin i haven’t written anything like it yet lmfaoo (to be fair i probably have but I just dont rem💀) anyways i hope you enjoy!

REPOST BECAUSE OF TAGS!!!

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Prompt : 9. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Warnings : just some cute floof, some cursing here and there

Word Count : 2.2k

Hesitation

Technoblade x GN!Reader

It was always peaceful in the tundra right before the sun set. Not only did the orange and red colours that reflected off the shiny snow send a wave of tranquility through the lands. It was a specific time where all the animals would go back into their homes before the mobs spawned at night fall, leaving the lands in complete silence.

Phil loved working at this time, getting small tasks done around the house that he wasn’t able to do throughout the day. Whether it was washing the dishes or dusting out the book shelves. Maybe even lounged around near the fireplace, planning out what he had to do the next day. It was always quiet, void of distractions to keep him from doing them.

But of course, with peace always came chaos.

“YOU CHEATED!”

“NO I DIDN’T!”

“YES YOU DID!”

The door cracked open, slamming against the wall behind it making the blonde jump from the sudden noise. He was ready to pick up his sword by his side until he recognised the voices of his house mates, shouting like little children.

Phil sighed, continuing to wash the dishes in front of him. While the bickering tended to amuse him at times, right then he just wanted to stay in the silence. He was quick to grab a pear of earplugs from his chest, pushing them snugly into his ear, blocking out the noise you both brought into the house while humming a small tune.

“There’s no way that your horse is faster that Carl! That’s just not possible!” Techno shook his head, his entire body still except for his left foot tapping consistently on the floor, “It’s just not possible.”

“Okay-” you pointed your finger in his face, “First off, her name is Raven and secondly, you just can’t admit that she’s better than Carl.” you crossed your arms on your chest, looking up at the piglin with teasing eyes.

Tech threw his head back with a groan, turning around gruffly and taking off his cape along with the skull mask covering his face.

“I won’t admit it because it isn't true!” he turned back to face you, mimicking your stance and tilting his head slightly to the side.

You raised your eyebrows at his response, nodding slowly, “Alright, alright,” you slowly took of your cloak, bunching it up and throwing it at him, his reflexes catching it before the fabric hit his chest, “Maybe it’s just the ridder and not the horse.”

Techno gasped, “You take that back.” he threw your cloak to the side.

You hummed, looking up and faking a thinking face, “Nah... I don’t think I will, I said what I said.” you stepped closer to the hybrid, sizing up his figure, “And what are you going to do about it?”

Techno squinted his eyes, a small smirk making its way to his face before he grabbed you by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder and walking away from the entrance into the living room.

“Hey!” You pounded at his back, wiggling in his tight grip, “Put me down you loaf!”

He laughed at your words but obliged, throwing you on the couch near the fireplace. Before you could sit up, he crawled over your form, knee besides one side of your waist with his other foot planted on the floor, keeping him steady hovering over you.

“Techno-” you chuckled nervously, trying your best not to stray away from his intense gaze, fighting the heat starting to rise to your face. Your hands pushed at his chest, weakening when he brought his face closer to yours, making you feel smaller than you already were.

He didn’t say anything, instead his fingers dug into your stomach, wiggling them across the fabric of your shirt. Your laugher filled the air, high pitched and bouncing off the walls of the cottage. You tried your best to control them, not wanting to give in to the blood god’s actions so quickly. But your hands on your stomach did nothing to stop his.

“Oh. My. God! Techno! Stop you fucking- oh god!”

“Take it back Y/n!” he laughed along with you, continuing his assault on your stomach, “Take it back or I swear to god you’re going to loose a canon life from being too ticklish.”

“NEVER!” you shouted between laugher, screaming when his hands began to move faster, knocking the breath out of your lungs. In the heat of the moment, he took your wrists into his fist, pinning them above your head, keeping your hands from interfering with his plans.

“Say. It.” even with one hand we was doing enough to keep you squirming underneath him, desperate for an escape.

“Okay! Okay! You- You’re a good rider Techno! You’re a good rider!” you finally admitted, your body falling limp against the cushions when he finally raised his fingers from your stomach.

Techno laughed at your state, leaning back with a cocky smirk on his face, “Glad to know we could come to an agreement,”

“I hate you,” you mumbled, your head rolling to the side on your shoulder as you caught your breath. You closed eyes in relief that the past few minutes were over, nearly falling asleep with the amount of energy you spent laughing.

Techno chuckled, taking your chin into his fingers, turning your head to look back at him, “Is that so?”

You nodded, fluttering your eyes open to look up at the pink haired man. Your breath hitched when you noticed how close his face was to yours. His entire presence felt suddenly close, his chest puffed out with long breaths, his legs practically tangled with yours, his face hovering over you, radiating heat you didn’t notice while he was tickling you. You watched as his face lit up red, his piglin ears straightening out of the side of his head, probably taking in the proximity as well.

Techno wasn’t one to get flustered often, but when he did it was always with the people he cared about. He trusted them enough to let that blood god persona he put on fade away leaving behind his shy, nerdy side you always adored. The side of techno who would read by the fireplace with Steve sat snuggly in his lap, the Techno who would spend hours trying to fix his glasses that broke constantly in his strong grip only having to craft a new one. The Techno who would grumble about compliments from you and Phil but the subtle spread of pink across his face told everyone otherwise. The Techno you grew to love the more and more he let you it.

He began to get a lot more playful with you as you friendship grew. When you moved in with him out in the snow it only increased drastically. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for the both of you to end up in this position or something similar to it (like the time he pinned you down during training), but he would always stop before things got too intimate and while it hurt, you’ve grown to accept it. You were glad to be his friend, his companion. You would take his friendship over not knowing him at all any time of the day.

You waited for him to pull back. To stand up and dust off his clothes, offering you his hand to pull you up with him and continue that night like normal. But he stayed, his dark, dull eyes staying down at you with a shine you’ve never seen up close before.

Techno didn’t know what to do either. He didn’t know what was prompted him to stay in this position, the sudden confidence that pushed him to keep his hand on your face, his lips so close to yours. Maybe it was the voices in his head, annoyed with the constant stares and thoughts of adoration when you rode Raven around in the snow, your cape flowing beautifully behind you, face showing nothing but pure joy. They were relentless, calling him out on every emotion he was feeling because of you.

He wanted to move for your sake, he was the one on top of you in the first place, pinning you down. You were probably being polite not shoving him off of you, even if you’ve never done it before, he just always pulled away before you could. But he couldn’t, his muscles stiff and unable to move.

A small part of his brain told him you wanted this too, but he ignored it for his own sanity.

“Techno-” you whispered but before you could continue, the hybrid immediately took the single word as a protest, finally letting go of your hands but keeping his body close.

“Shit I’m sorry that- that was probably a bit much.”

You giggled softly, “No- uh, it was fine tech, no worries,”

He looked down at your bright smile glowing in his face.

“You’re really beautiful Y/n,” he whispered, letting the rough pads of his fingers trail down the side of your face, blushing when you nudged them with your cheek, accepting the comfort.

“You think so?” you whispered back, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“I-” he started, his breath hot against the tip of your nose as he glanced down to your lips, quickly looking back into your eyes. Why weren’t you moving? Why weren’t you cringing, laughing at the thought of ever kissing him?

“You- Do you want this.” you whispered, letting his thumb pull down at your bottom lip, watching as the plush skin softly bounced back.

He nodded, shivering when you tangled your fingers into his pick curls, pulling his face down and nudging your nose against his. He closed his eyes, a small, cute snort coming from the back of his throat at the affection.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“FUCK!”

You jumped at the sudden curse, Techno falling off of you and on to the floor besides the couch. Before you could process what just happened, the curse sounded again followed by a crash, both of your senses on high alert when you realised it was Phil’s voice coming from the kitchen. You rushed to grab your weapons from nearby, quickly pulling yourself together on the fact that your friend was in trouble.

You both ran as fast as you could, Techno in front of you with his sword drawn while you were behind loading your cross bow with an arrow. He barged into the kitchen, holding his blade in the air, ready to attack but all he was met with was a pair of wings slapping him in the face.

You dove under the large feathers, bumping the winged man to alert him of your presence.

“Oh... hey guys!” He smiled, taking out something from his ears and resting them on the kitchen counter. He sent a pointed look to the weapons in your hands, crossing his arms over his chest in confusion, “Why the weapons?”

“Are you alright?” Techno said, rubbing his nose from the hit.

“We heard you scream, thought you were in trouble.”

Phil chuckled nervously, “Sorry, my bad,” he turned around to face the both of you, “I just dropped a plate.”

You and Techno let out an audible sigh, dropping your weapons to the floor with a clank. You didn’t know how many times your heart could deal with the sudden bursts of adrenaline. Walking up to Techno, you took his hand away from his face, inspecting the soft red mark across his face from the whip of feathers. No matter how small the attack, you always made sure to check up on him, even when he didn’t need it.

But with your delicate touch came memories of the events that just happened

“Were- were you here the entire time?” Techno said hesitantly, looking up at his father with worried eyes. You took in his words, immediately pulling away from the hybrid, ignoring his small noise of protest.

“Yes, but i put in some ear plugs,” he pointed to them on the counter.

“Oh!” you piped in, “That’s- That’s good.”

“Was there something I missed?” he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the both of you curiously.

“Nothing!” You both shouted at the same time, chuckling nervously.

“Okay?” Phil dragged out, pointing back to the sink, “Well, I’ll just-”

“Yeah! You- uh, get to that phil,” you began walking backwards, bounced into the edge of the counter. You played off the pain with a quick thumbs up and walking quickly out of the kitchen, mumbling curses under your breath.

“Are they alright mate?” Phil asked his son who seemed to be lost in his own world, staring at the spot you were once in, “Techno?”

“I- what?” He shook his head, “Uh, yeah- they’re,” he let out a small sigh, letting his hand pass over his face, “Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Are you alright?”

Techno didn’t respond for a while, stuck in his own thought. Phil turned to his son, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Tech?”

“I think-” He let out a shaky breath, “I think I love them.”

...

IM SORRY FOR ENDING IT SO SUDDENLY

it was just getting to long and i didn’t want to loose motivation writing more😭

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years

Text

Aaron Hotchner / August Part I

Request: Hotch and reader become unlikely friends after a broken doorknob brings them together, and maybe start to feel something a little more? (College AU)

Word Count: 8,224

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mutual pining, mentions of Hotch’s dad and difficult home life, Haley being jealous, a kiss (*gasp*),

He was never yours, you thought, your fingers grasping at the pen, the same hands that had held his once. You knew that, but you let him in anyway.

Into your apartment. Into your life. Into your heart.

And then you let him go.

Out of your apartment. Out of your life. Out of your heart.

You signed your name, placing it on the arrangement of fresh cut white lilies, wrapped in plastic, before handing it to the florist.

But you wouldn’t now, not again.

~~~

A knock on your door roused you from sleep. A groan on your lips, you rolled over on your bed, kicking off what remained of your thin blanket draped over you. A cool breeze rolled over you, cutting through the thick, sticky August humidity, but it wasn’t enough to lull you back to sleep. And the sharp rapping at your door certainly didn’t help. You grumbled, stuffing the pillow over your head, hoping whoever it was would take a hint.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Apparently not.

You threw yourself up, face twisted in a scowl, as your eyes flickered to your clock: 12:17 AM.

Yet another knock, and you pulled on a robe over your tank and shorts, draping it over your shoulders, “I’m coming,” you growled, and the fourth knock stopped short, and you tripped over nearly every piece of furniture in your sleep, throwing open the door, “what?”

He blinks, his dark hair as black at the night behind him, several locks falling in front of his forehead, “Sorry, I, uh—”

“Hotchner?” you tilt your head, crossing your arms, “what are you doing here?”

And it’s his turn to be confused, “I’m sorry, do we—”

He didn’t remember you — how lovely, an unwelcome interruption who doesn’t bother to learn your name. You tell him your name, and it still doesn’t register, “We’re in the same criminal justice class? The one we literally started last week?” One of two summer classes that you seriously believed that you conned into taking, all in the hopes that you would be able to finish up your degree a semester earlier. If you passed, you would be done next semester.

Red runs across his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I sit in the front, I—”

You wave him off, while fanning yourself with your hand, “I don’t care honestly, just why? Why are you here?”

A flush climbs his neck, “I just moved in next door, and I got locked out of my apartment. The door handle is rusted over, and my roommate is out of town—”

“And?” you rubbed at your brow, your manners didn’t exactly shine at 12 AM.

“Could I stay with you? Just for tonight,” he held up his hands, “we have that midterm tomorrow in Crim, and I really—”

“So you remember the midterm but not my name huh?” and the flush bridges over his nose and cheekbones, “I’m kidding Hotchner.” you scratch your head — on one hand, you didn’t want to let a stranger into your apartment, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to sleep outside his apartment, you sighed, “take the couch, but I’m locking my door, and I don’t want you disturbing me unless I’m somehow sleeping through the exam tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I—” you wave him off, “I really appreciate—”

“Just come in,” you yawn, stretching your tired muscles, still heavy with the sleep you were deprived of, but just like that, you felt your mind rouse, sleep deflating from your head in a slow leak, “ugh fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m wide awake now,” if looks could kill, you were sure your criminal justice class would be investigating Hotchner’s murder, “I have a hard time falling back asleep once I’m awake.”

He raises a brow, “I thought you were exhausted?”

“Well tell that to my brain,” you groan, collapsing in an armchair, covering your face, “now I’m going to be up until 5 AM.”

He glances at your kitchen, “How about I make us some tea?” you look up, lips twisted in a frown, “decaffeinated, if you have it?”

“Third drawer from the left,” you snuggle into the chair, hoping to lull your brain into a false sense of sleep.

His voice cuts through your haze, the familiar click of the gas burner, “Can I ask you something?”

“At your own risk,” you mumble, utterly too comfortable.

“How did you know who I was?” the sink knob squeaks as he turns it, the rush of water, the quiet hum of the water as it filled the cups he was undoubtedly rinsing now, “there must be at least fifty people in that class.”

“You make a hell of an impression, Hotchner,” you sigh, shifting in your chair, wiping the sweat from the back of your neck, “the first day of class, you argued with the professor about his opinions about criminal justice reform and the necessity of it, or as he put it, the unessential nature of it. ”

“Well, his opinion was wrong,” you laughed, eyes still very much shut, “his opinion wasn’t even based on facts, he was just dictating to us on his own notions—”

“I know, and you made sure he knew that,” you finally opened your eyes when you heard the tea kettle whistle, “that’s why I remembered your name — the way he asked you for it, and the way you replied—”

He poured the hot water into each freshly washed mug, “With hopefully with an equal amount of respect,”

“A very minimal amount,” you propped your head up on your elbow, watching him bring over the mugs.

“So an equal amount,” you take the mug from his hand, pressing it against your lips, warming your lips, chuckling, “I give respect to those who deserve it.”

“And what does that mean for me?” and he smiles.

He raises his mug, a wry smile on his lips, “Well considering you could kick me out at any point, I have the utmost respect.”

You roll your eyes, hiding the smile on your lips by taking a sip, “Smart.”

~~~

And you soon learned Hotchner was very smart — when he touted his 100% on the exam a week later, next to your measly 98%.

“You owe me two points, Hotchner,” you would say to him, walking back to your apartment building, the humidity as thick as a fog. You tugged at your oversized shirt, hanging loosely around your torso, but somehow still sticking to your sweaty body. You felt like a drowned rat who hadn’t even had the pleasure of being in the water, “I would have gotten your score if someone hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night.”

“Well, how about instead of talking the professor into giving you two points, how about a coffee instead?” he offers, hands in his pockets, “on me.”

You grin, “It better be.”

~~~

“FBI track?” you whistle lowly, sitting across from Hotchner in a coffee shop around the corner from your building, “some ambitions you got there, Hotchner.”

“I aim high,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What? Can’t see me as an agent?” You shrug, your eyes flickering over his form, biting your lip — well he would look good in a suit and tie, wouldn’t he? And the vest— “What are you smiling about?”

“Just imagining you as a G-man,” you admit, a grin on your lips, “let’s just say I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“And what high aspirations do you have?”

“Nothing too fancy,” you stir your drink, watching the liquid swirl, “law school is the plan, hopefully eventually landing at a corporate firm and then move into the nonprofit sector.”

“You don’t seem so excited,” you shrug.

“Not everyone has high hopes and dreams, G-man,” and he rolls his eyes, lips pressed into a purse, unconvinced, “well I would love to be a writer, but I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” he raises an eyebrow, “or you’re too scared to try?”

“Cute mind games, nice try,” you sigh, eyes falling to stare at your drink again, “it’s hard to believe in yourself when you’re the only one who does, and I can barely manage it.”

He leans back in his chair, black locks falling across his forehead, “Well, how about I pick up the slack?”

“You don’t have to say that—”

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and you glance up, his gaze utterly paralyzing and earnest, that you almost want to believe and maybe you do just a little — otherwise that thump against your ribcage is something else — some other feeling you are not ready to contend with. But you don’t get the chance. He breaks your gaze to glance at the clock, and curses, “I have to get home. My girlfriend is going to be calling me soon.”

Your heart twists, but you ignore it, because this was enough — this moment was enough, “Yeah, get home quick. You gotta tell that girlfriend of yours about that grade of yours. Nothing is hotter than a nerd,”

“Speaking from experience?” you scoff, and he pauses, “can we do this again sometime? This was fun.”

It was enough, right?

You smile, “Of course.”

~~~

“Fucking fuck—” you hissed the shattered glass all over the floor, and the hot liquid splattered across the wood, “Shit.” you stare at the mess, cursing, stepping over the broken glass, as you pick up the shards with a cloth napkin, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the closet.

You sweep up the mess best you can, but now before cutting your finger on a shard, “Shit, fuck,” you wrap the cloth around the wound, digging through the drawers for a bandage. Fuck your roommate for going away for the summer, and also moving everything around while digging through the apartment for their shit. You slam the last drawer shut, no bandages, but you found a dozen condoms of varying shapes and colors — not exactly useful for treating a wound.

So either you walk down to the corner to the store with a cloth wrapped around your finger, or you could tie this cloth around your finger while you studied.

Well, you glanced at the door, there was a third option.

You and Hotchner had seen quite a bit of each other over the past few weeks— June bleeding into July — studying, watching TV, grabbing bad coffee after class. He was one of the only people in three years who had made you comfortable to be yourself — to admit to things you would have never dreamed of telling, without guarantee of a memory wipe (well maybe if he joined the FBI).

What was it about him anyway?

He opened the door, a smile pulling at his lips, before he glanced at your hand, “What happened?”

“Cut myself on some glass, do you have a bandage neighbor?” you glanced at the door knob, “I see the landlord finally fixed your door knob, so I won’t have any more late night visits.”

“Come in,” he herds you in, shutting the door behind him, “give me a second, I have to find the first aid kit.”

You grip the cloth, watching him dart around the apartment, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration — you particularly enjoyed the way his lower lip— no. No you could not do this.

“You’d think a first aid kit would be easier to find,” you call after his disappearing back, “since ‘first’ is in the title.”

“And where’s yours?” he asks, as he walks back into the living room, kit in hand, “I don’t think you’d be over here if you found yours.”

“Ah, I like the company,” he raises an eyebrow, placing the kit beside you, “plus I don’t have to use my own bandages,” you watch him grab a paper napkin, running it under water, before returning. You reach for the cloth, but he brushes you off, taking your wrist, “you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” his eyes remained concentrated, as he pulled the rag away from your finger, “it’s mostly stopped bleeding now, it’s not so deep.”

“Really, Dr. Hotchner?” and you hissed a little as he cleaned the wound, red staining the nearly translucent tissue, “did you ever consider a career in medicine?”

He clicked his tongue, his hand was so much bigger than yours, his touch gentle, sending warmth blooming up your body, “Biology puts me to sleep,” he raises his eyes, “no jokes. Plus,” he scrunches his face and pulls the napkin away, grimacing at the blood, “I don’t like blood.”

You chuckle, “Come on, Mr. FBI agent, won’t you have to deal with a lot of blood?”

His lips twist in a line, “Actually seems like I may see you in law school,”

You furrow your brow, “What do you mean?” he sighs, grabbing a bandage from the kit, peeling the backing off of it, “Hotchner—”

“Law school is a safer option. I can still put bad guys away, I can be a prosecutor, and I won’t be at risk of getting shot—”

“Bullshit,” you cross your arms, “it’s not what you want.”

“It’s not always about me—”

“This is your life,” you get up, and his shoulder sag, “we get one life, Hotchner — are you going to waste it doing what other people want?”

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps, “you should be a writer, but you’re going to law school, just like me.”

You know he’s right — you know you’re a hypocrite, but you don’t care, “Why did you change your mind?”

Your question is quiet, but heavy — it hangs in the air, in the silence, and you feel as if you know the answer already, “I was talking to Haley,” and you hold your tongue, “it’s safer if I go to law school. It’ll be better when we start our life together.”

“Hotchner—”

“That’s not the only reason,” he swallows thickly, he slumps in his chair, “my father — he—” his voice broke.

You shake your head, throat dry, “You don’t have to—”

“He abused us,” he says quietly, “He worked a lot, and if it wasn’t for that, I…” he trailed off, glancing down, “but when he was around…” he scoffed, “nothing was good enough. No one could please him, not my mom or my brother. I never tried. He didn’t like that,” he ran his fingers across his face, flinching as if he can still remember the blows, “It wasn’t long after he gave me a black eye and broke my rib that he had shipped me off to boarding school. And I never looked back.”

Your chest aches,“Aaron—”

“I want a good job, and I want a good life,” his eyes are hard when he looks up, “ I don’t want to be the kind of husband that my wife isn’t happy to see. I don’t want to be the father who isn’t there. I want to give them everything I have, and if this is what it takes…” he shrugs, biting his lip.

“I understand, I get it,” and he nods, taking your hand again to place the bandage over your cut, “But Aaron, one thing?” he smooths over the bandage with his finger, glancing up, “just don’t lose yourself along the way, okay?”

Your fingers entangle with his, he squeezes your hand, “It’s a promise.”

~~~

There’s a knock on the door, but you don’t bother to get up from your bed. Only twisting in the sheets, burying your head in the soft comfort of the pillow. And you hear the faint and familiar call of your name through the plaster thick walls and paper thin doors.

And you knew how this went.

So you rolled out of bed, stalking over to the door, but instead of opening it, you frowned at it, rubbing at your forehead, “What?”

“Some way to greet someone who brought you today’s notes and assignment,” and you sigh, opening the door, plucking the assignment from his hands, tilting your head.

“Thank you. Anything else?”

He frowns, “What’s wrong?” you sigh, shaking your head.

“You sure that you’re here to study criminal justice? Maybe you would be better off as a Psychology major,” you mutter, allowing him in, as you collapse on the couch in a huff. And you see him sit, waiting and watching, and you slump against the cushion, “what?”

“Words are dangerous around you,” he shrugs, “I’m waiting for them not to be.”

“I’m just having a bad day,” you cross your arms, words sharp, “have you ever had one before?” and then you crumple at the hurt that flashes across his face, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry — this is why I wanted to be left alone.”

And he moves, sliding in beside you, grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table, “You up for something light?” and you furrow your brow, “or we could watch what I want to watch?”

“What are you doing?”

“You clearly don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not going to leave you alone,” he shifts next to you, gaze unverring from the now lit TV, casting the contours of his face in a low light, “so what are we watching?”

He clicks on some medical drama, and you snatch the remote from him, hiding your smile from him, as your shoulder brushes his, “Not this.”

~~~

Aaron doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, but he does. When he wakes up, the sun has already peaked over the horizon, the low hum of the TV rousing him from his sleep. And he stirs, before feeling a distinct weight on his shoulder, the mumble of his name near his ear, and fingers brushing his thigh.

His eyes flutter open, and he realizes where he is.

Shit. You both had fallen asleep. His neck aches as he turns to look at you, making him pay for the position the muscles were forced to contort to the night before. He glances at you, biting his lip. You snore softly against his shoulder, lips parted. A few strands of hair fall across your forehead. He brushes them back, tucking them into place. He should move. He should wake you. But he doesn’t. He watches you sleep a moment — you were so peaceful, unlike yesterday.

There was a part of him that wished you would have told him what was wrong. Told him what was bothering you. Told him what was on your mind. Told him everything about you.

But that was normal right? Friends always want to know everything about each other? And he would consider you a close friend, right? A friend, a good friend. Just a friend.

You murmur his name again, under your breath, and he feels a small shiver run down his spine, as he shuts his eyes again, finding your hand and resting his on top.

Just a few more minutes.

~~~

“Hey Hotchner,” you knock at his door, clutching your binder to your chest, hearing only silence in return. “I wanted to give your notes back, and see you were free, open up,” still nothing, you knock harder, “come on. I know you don’t have class today, I really don’t want to go to that movie alone—” Your fist nearly collides with a person’s face as the door whips open, and you rear back, finding not Hotchner, but a very upset girl, “hi, uh—”

“Who are you?” she crossed her arms across her petite frame, her blond hair tied in a loose pony, bangs hanging loose and framing her face.

“Hi,” you say your name, plastering a weak smile on your lips — you weren’t used to this much hostility this quickly (usually at least took five minutes before someone hated you this much), “I’m Hotchner’s neighbor, we’re in the same criminal justice class. I wanted to return his notes and see if he was free—”

“He’s not,” a saccharine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, “He’s spending the weekend with me. I’m his girlfriend, Haley.”

You nod, “He’s mentioned you before, it’s nice to meet you—”

“And you,” her fake smile informs you that it very much has not been nice to meet you, as her eyes flicker to the bathroom, “Aaron’s busy, but I’ll let him know you dropped by—” and you open your mouth, holding the notes up, “I’ll take those. Thanks again. Bye!”

The door shuts, as you stand mouth open, staring at the door.

And that was Haley.

~~~

You see Aaron the next Monday in class, as he slides in beside you, rubbing his eyes, hair askew, “What happened to you?”

“Didn’t sleep very well last night,” he mumbles, pulling his book from his bag, and you frown, opening your mouth again, only to be interrupted by your professor.

Class passes in a painfully slow haze as always, with one exception — Hotchner wasn’t taking notes. Usually each class he would be thoughtfully taking careful notes, while you scribbled every word the professor said, hoping your notes would be legible when needed later. But today, he wasn’t. Instead, he stared straight forward, his pen unmoving, lying flat against the page between his fingers, but he wasn’t looking at the professor. Not really anyway. His eyes were glazed over, his brow impossibly furrowed, expression twisted under a thick haze of anxiety and worry. Even when the professor adjourned the class for the day, he still sat, staring at the blank notebook page.

“You planning to attend the next class? Heard that Immunology is a hot ticket,” and he jerks from his thoughts, blinking as he glances around the quickly emptying classroom.

“Shit,” the expletive flies from his mouth, as he gathers his things, shoving them unceremoniously into his bag, following you out of the room as students for the next class begin to file into their unassigned assigned seats.

He doesn’t say a word as you both schlep back to the apartment building, the only accompaniment the low buzz of flies, the too warm embrace of the sun, and the silence that hangs between the two of you, much like a funeral march.

“Okay,” you said, standing in front of him, “what is going on?”

“Nothing, I’m fine—”

“So you don’t want the notes from today?” his mouth opens and closes, shaking his head, “Hotchner, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to — but I just want to know you’re okay.”

“I’m having a bad day, you ever had one before?” he echoes your words, before a smile pulls at the corners of his lips, a heavy sigh following it, but your gaze is unwavering, “You really care, don’t you?”

Your cheeks burn, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat, helplessly exposed, scratching at your skin under his steady gaze. You hide it under rolled eyes and a coy smile, “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

Friends, just friends. Because that was all you were. That was why you cared.

And you don’t notice the corners of his lips falling or the dimmed amusement in his eyes, “Of course,” he sighs, “I’m fine, just long distance with Haley has been hard on both of us.”

You nod, not bothering to bring up your tension injected meeting in the hallway, “I understand, it’s tough doing long distance,”

And you see an unreadable look cross his expression, before it’s gone in a moment, and he just sighs, “Yeah.”

~~~

Things don’t get better.

When Haley isn’t here, Hotchner is constantly on the phone. And when she is, you could hear the faint sound of yelling through your all too thin walls, until you chose to put on headphones to drown out the noise.

You don’t want to hear his heart breaking anymore than he wants it broken.

He’s quiet in class, and snapping when he’s not. He comes out less. He declines your invites. He spends most of his time on the goddamn phone.

And it stings.

You stare at the wall you share, the apartment feeling wholly emptier than it did at the start of summer. You glare at it, a cross between huff and a sigh filling the silence for a moment. How did Hotchner weasel himself into so deeply in his life that you felt his absence?

Three years at this school, and you had barely made a friend. It was hard in large lecture halls and even small classrooms lined with people who were nothing like you. It was harder when you often left class right after. It was difficult to connect to people, it was difficult to get beyond small talk. But it was never difficult with Hotchner.

Not once.

You supposed that’s what made this so difficult. And there was nothing more to it than that — right? The question lingered in the back of your mind, an unspoken thought that did not wish to be punctuated with a question mark, but nevertheless was.

It was stupid. It was so stupid. You lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, pulling a cushion over your face — hoping it would be enough to drown out the “evidence” your mind presented as signs of his affection — it wasn’t.

He stayed with you that night. Like a friend would.

He always is looking at you, longer than necessary. You’re imagining it.

He was so gentle when you got cut. You were hurt, he was trying to help.

He told you about his dad and about his dreams. Again, a friend? He trusted you, but it doesn’t mean he has feelings.

He fell asleep with you on the couch. And then went back to sleep. You paused. That was one thing you couldn’t explain.

You were awake when he had woken up, you had felt him rouse because you had already awoken yourself, his name flying from your lips without a thought when you saw him, felt his solid presence, his head resting against yours. You panicked. So you pretended to be asleep, and you felt him awake, heard his pause, felt his touch, and then felt him settle back in beside you.

But you didn’t know why.

It was easy to explain things away, it was simple — but nothing was simple when it was him. Nothing was easy.

~~~

"No I'm sure, I don't want to go to the party tonight." you waved off Alex, who still followed you instead, her arms crossed.

“You shouldn’t be waiting for him to call,” you furrow your brow, as she jerks her head toward the wall you and Hotchner shared, “you need to move on.”

“I’m not waiting, I’m just tired, and unlike you, I haven’t had the entire summer off, and just came back after a fabulous vacation,” you cross your arms, lips pursed, but you know that she sees right through you, “just go, Alex. I’ll come to the next one I promise.”

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head, "I'll see you tomorrow." The door shuts behind you and you groan.

What the fuck were you doing?

Who were you kidding? You collapsed onto your couch, facefirst into the couch cushions. You knew what the fuck you were doing — the exact thing you promised to never do, you sighed loudly into the cushion, pulling a pillow over your head — canceling any plans in hopes a guy would call. A guy — a guy with a girlfriend who he was in love with, one who didn’t give you the time of day anymore, and one who was barely a friend now.

But still, he wasn’t just any guy was he? He was Aaron Hotchner.

And that was the fucking problem.

But right now, you turned your head to glance at the clock, your main problem was that you were still conscious, and that meant it was time to go to sleep. You looked to the wall you and Hotchner shared — you weren’t going anywhere tonight, that was for sure.

~~~

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

You groan, pulling the pillow over your ears, “This is a joke, right?” and again, you are stumbling out of bed, half asleep and half blind, eyes barely open, “who is it?” But a part of you knew the answer before you even asked.

“It’s me,” Hotchner intoned, and you opened the door, frown on your lips dropping when you saw his face — even in the dark, you could see the tell tale sign of tear tracks on his cheeks, barely glistening in the dim light, “can I come in?”

You step aside, shutting the door behind you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, and he catches a glimpse of your hands crossed across your chest. He scrubs a hand down his face as he slumps down on your couch, “I just...broke up with Haley.”

The words echo in your ears, as you gape at him, blinking, “You...what?” you shake the shock from your mind. He needs you right now. He needs your support.

You slide next to him, “I’m so sorry, Hotchner, I—” the words die on your lips, as you see him stare at the floor, his gaze blank, “hey—” He finds your gaze, his eyes glassy but somehow still so steady, and your heart stutters in your chest, “It isn’t your fault.”

He gives a bitter chuckle, “How do you know that?”

“Because I know you,” you tuck one leg under the other, one hanging off the end of the couch, “and I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone, much less Haley, intentionally.”

His expression is inscrutable as his eyes fall to his lap, his teeth grazing his bottom lip, and he looks back to you, “Are you sure?”

And the question hangs in the air — words wrapped up in meaning, tucked away behind punctuation and subtext. And he’s looking at you — a look that you can’t pin down, but it makes your heart squeeze harder in your chest and your blood turns molten in your veins. Why is he looking at you like that? And why for so long? The way his eyes linger make you want to believe — makes your foolish heart want to believe — maybe, maybe there’s something more to his question, something he’s asking you without asking you. A question within a question, that only makes your head spin and butterflies bloom in your stomach.

“Of course I am,” a statement within a statement, tentative and as unsaid as his, but the words were on your tongue like an ice cube, rapidly melting away like your hope was that maybe — maybe this was something more. But the moment is broken when he looks away, and silence encroaches once again, strangling and consuming — you have to say something, anything to break it. More than that, you needed to do something — so you said the only thing that occurred to you, “Do you want to go to a party?”

~~~

You were surprised.

And you weren’t sure by what more — the fact Hotchner agreed to go to a party on a weekday or the fact he was two shots ahead of you now.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. The blaring music shook the fraternity house to the screws and joists holding the building together. The kitchen had been set up as one giant alcohol station — bottles of every kind of cheap alcohol lining the counters and shelves, much of which Hotchner was helping himself to.

He was pouring himself another shot, and another beer into a red cup, as you watched him, eyebrow raised.

“Pace yourself,” you tell him over the music, as he downs another, no chaser, the chaser long forgotten, but Haley seemingly wasn’t by the melancholy scrawled across his face, “have you eaten a single thing tonight?”

“Isn’t the point of college parties to drink?” his words are more than a little slurred, his usual crisp intonation down for the count, and his balance was barely existent at this point, swaying as he spoke.

“To drink, not to leave in a body bag,” you say, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, and to your surprise he doesn’t brush it off — no, his hand rests over it, holding it there. His eyes flutter shut, as he leans against your hand and his, “You alright there?” your cheeks burn as his eyes open again, his gaze intense and steady, and you see something you hadn’t seen before — a look that you can’t decipher.

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, his hand around your wrist now, dragging you through the kitchen and the throng of people in the house.

“Where are we going?” you call over the roar of the party, but you don’t know if he even hears you, his head still turned as he weaves through the crowd, and up the stairs, until he pulls you into an empty bedroom, the door shutting behind you. Moonlight streams in from the window beside the bed, what little light illuminating his figure in the inky black between the shutters, “Hotchner, what is—”

“I just wanted to say sorry,” he shakes his head, sitting on the bed, gaze dropped to his feet, “sorry for pushing you away. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to— I just—”

“It’s okay,” you find your way to his side, the creak of the bed beside him making him look to you, “It happens. You were going through something. I’m not mad—”

“You’re important to me,” he shakes his head again, insistently, “I shouldn’t have— I was a fucking ass, I just—”

“Hey, I know you’re a fucking ass,” and he scoffs, “who’s the bigger fool? The person who’s an ass or the person that’s friends with him?”

“I always knew you were a nerd, but Star Wars, really?” he grins, elbowing you, “you are full of surprises.”

“Takes a nerd to know a nerd,” and he leans back, palms splayed against the bed, “I am a person of many facets.”

“I know,” he whispers, finding your gaze in the dark, “And that’s what I love about you.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest, “Hotchner—”

He leans forward, his fingers cupping your cheek, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes and back again. He’s so close, you can see his eyelashes flutter as he stares at you half-lidded, the heat from his body radiating off of him, as his chest nearly brushes yours now, “I’ve wanted— I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his words sending warmth blooming across your cheeks — his scent consumes you — pine, musk, and mint, your breath stolen by his words — ferreted away in the night that covers you both.

“Please,” you whisper into the night, and when his lips brush yours, you wonder if it is real. Or a dream of your own design in the dark. But no, it’s real as the forehead that brushes yours after he parts a moment, “Aaron,” you sigh against him.

Your lips find his again, noses brushing, and he lingers this time — more sure, but still hesitant. Just as hesitant as you are. He’s sweet on your lips, sliding against yours softly, his thumb brushing at your cheek, before your fingers knot themselves in his hair, deepening the kiss. You want more, you need more. And you hear him moan against your lips, a deep rumble that sends a shiver up and down your body.

Then his tongue runs across your lips and you taste it — the alcohol on his lips, and you remember — Haley, the drinking, everything — it had been just to get over her.

And your palms press against his chest, stopping him, his quiet pants still warming your lips, “I can’t do this.”

You couldn’t be his rebound. Not after all of this. Not after what you felt for him, what you still felt for him. You didn’t want to be something he’d used to forget, something he’d want to forget. You couldn’t be his second choice. You deserved more. You wanted more.

But you also wanted him.

A moment passes, another, and he pulls back, “I understand,” he nods, “I’m sorry if—”

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t—” you cut off, “I’m sorry if I—”

“You didn’t,” he rises slowly to his feet, rubbing at his eyes, “let’s go home?”

The walk home was in silence, which was somehow more eruciating than the two hour of constant, deafening music you had just endured. Your head throbbed, and whether it was from the alcohol, the music, or the night — you glanced at Hotchner — that was up for debate. Your nausea burned at your throat in time with your headache hitting a crescendo —- just not at this particular moment.

“Good night,” were the only words he managed when he dropped you at the door, stumbling into his own apartment. And you only realize as you slide into bed that you realize you didn’t explain why you couldn’t — why you couldn’t kiss him. But with your face pressed against the cool pillow, the memory of his lips on yours lingering, and the siren song of sleep, you couldn’t dwell on it.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the sandman’s embrace too tempting. There was always tomorrow.

~~~

Or maybe there wasn’t, you realized as you stepped out of your apartment, at least, not a tomorrow that included him. After pacing for an hour, convincing yourself to talk to him — to say something about last night — after you had re-lived that kiss a dozen times, after you practiced what you were going to say to him, and after you realized he was worth the risk.

But you weren’t to him.

But Haley was.

Her lips pressed against his, right where yours were last night, her bags dropped beside their feet. His arms winded easily around her waist, comfortable and familiar, pulling her somehow impossibly closer than she already was. Her fingers cupped his cheeks, evidence of tears gliding down her cheeks. He inhales her breath, as they part, murmuring things only the other can hear, until your door bangs against its frame, still helplessly open behind you.

Their eyes snap to you, and you have to tuck away the hurt and pain quickly — quickly, your lips somehow finding itself in a small smile, even as your heart splintered to pieces in your chest.

His mouth opens silently, eyes painfully wide a moment, while Haley greets you with a smile, your name from her mouth painful to your ears, “It’s so nice to see you again. Aaron told me he wouldn’t have been surviving class without you.”

Painful because you can’t hate her, painful because it isn’t her fault, painful because maybe in another life you could have been friends, painful because you had to fall for her boyfriend — “Of course,” you manage to find your voice, “someone has to keep their head on straight.”

And you had to.

“I keep mine on,” he withers under both of your gazes, “sometimes.” His eyes linger on you a moment too long, but Haley doesn’t seem to notice, instead, stepping over her bags, and pulling you aside a moment.

“I just wanted to apologize for how I acted before,” she shakes her head, “me and Aaron have been having a hard time lately, and I think I took it out on you — but we’re okay now. I just don’t want any bad feelings between each other because I know you’re a good friend to him.”

Friend, the word rings in your ears, “Of course,” friend, and you wonder if your ears are bleeding by now, “we’re good. Don’t worry about it.”

You find him unable to meet your eyes, his stare fixed on Haley instead.

Of course.

You were just friends after all.

~~~

You don’t see him much after that.

And you prefer it that way.

There was only one more class before the final, and you arrived late, slipping into the back of the lecture hall, tucked away — out of sight.

You left before it ended, sparing one last glance at Hotchner.

Out of mind.

The exam rolls around soon enough, the study period relatively short for summer courses, and you find yourself packing as you finish studying. But still, your mind drifts to him in between moments of taping up boxes and trying to remember the answers you scribbled on the back of flashcards. You would have been studying with him — he would have quizzed you while you boxed up your kitchen, he would have teased you for your barely legible chicken scratch, and he would have been here.

But he wasn’t. You folded the flaps of yet another box down, tape gun in hand, pressing it to the lip of the box.

Out of sight, the rip of tape across cardboard, But was he out of mind?

~~~

“You’re moving?” he catches you moving boxes out of your place, the van you rented outside, sticking his head out of his apartment, his brow furrowed.

“I am,” you continue down with your boxes, and he moves forward to help you, but you brush by him, heading down the stairs, “I got it, thanks.”

But he doesn’t let you go, “I thought you still had another year left—”

“I’m finishing a semester early,” you reply, opening up the trunk again to place the two boxes in the back, “and next semester I’m studying abroad. That’s why I did summer classes.”

“Studying abroad?” he blinks, “when—”

“I’m going home for two weeks, and then I’m flying to Switzerland,” the thump of the boxes is loud in his silence, as you slide them into place, “that day I wasn’t doing well— It was because I had gotten rejected from the program. My financial aid hadn’t pulled through,” you pull the trunk closed again, locking it, before brushing past him and trudging up the stairs again, “But last week, my financial aid office helped me to find a private lender. So I’m going.”

You hear the slow clunk of his shoes following you up, as you grab another two boxes, and you finally glance at him, finding his lips in a thin line twisted in something resembling a smile, “Congratulations, I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you,” you nod, bite your lip — biting back the words burning on your tongue — hauling the last two boxes into your arms. You try to slip past him again, but he grabs a box from your hands.

“At least let me help you with this,” at least let me do this if not anything else — unspoken words lingered in the air, his fingers grazing yours as he took it, hefting it with relative ease.

“You know, I’m happy for you too,” you say when you slide the box into place, after unlocking the trunk again. His brows knit together, and it’s not from the strain of carrying your things down the stairs, “I mean it,” and his eyes meet your gaze — you see too many emotions to pull them apart — sadness, regret, worry — and a few you don’t care to pick apart. It doesn’t matter now, “for you and Haley, it’s great you worked it out. You’re good together.”

And you know it’s true. He’s happy, lighter than he had been for weeks, but now, his shoulders seem so heavy, weights pressed upon the corners of his lips and against his brow.

“We are,” he shakes his head, sighing, “I just wanted to say s—”

“We’re good,” you cut him off with a small smile, and you shut the van up, locking it. You turn back to him, only to find his lips pursed, glancing between you and the van, “I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning, so this isn’t goodbye. Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He chuckles, “Intent on dragging this out?”

“I’ll never make it easy for you, Hotchner,” your hands slip into your pockets, walking back up to your apartment, adding, “but you’ll always have my respect and my friendship.”

“I know,” he says softly, over the low buzz of the hallway fluorescents, “you’ll always have mine too,” he frowns, looking at your door and his, a question on his lips.

“I should get to bed early,” you turn to unlock your door, “I’m leaving at 7 tomorrow.”

“Right,” he shakes his head, stepping back, before sparing one more smile, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I should too — you don’t mind if I say goodbye tomorrow right?”

You shake your head, “I expect it, bright and early,” and he rolls his eyes, “Good night Hotchner.”

“Good night,” he says your name, and even as you shut the door behind you, you love the way his mouth curls around your name — achingly and annoyingly perfect. And you remember what else he could do with those lips, how your name felt whispered against your own lips —

And you remember who those lips would be kissing for the foreseeable future — at home, at their engagement, at their wedding. You catch yourself, heart twisting unto itself, and you had almost forgotten that it was broken — for a moment.

And you know — you know then that you can’t say goodbye to him.

Not in person.

Because you wanted him still, despite it all. And wanting was enough — for a time. But now wanting only hurt because you were wanting what you would never get. You wanted him — but he was never yours to begin with, was he?

He wasn’t yours to lose — but you did.

And he would lose you too.

~~~

Aaron had woken up on time.

He woke up before his alarm went off, eyes fluttering open to sunlight streaming in his bedroom window. And he tossed off his sheets, rubbing at his eyes.

He couldn’t be sad — he was happy for you.

You were graduating, you were moving on, you were doing something you always wanted to do. He sat up, throwing his legs over the bed, pressing his fist to his lips, elbow digging into his thigh. He only wished he was brave enough to go after what he wanted.

What he wanted, his eyes drifted to the picture of Haley on his bedside table, did he even know what he wanted?

He slips out of bed, brewing two cups of coffee — knowing you would be on the road for quite a while. He still had some time before you were leaving.

He opens his apartment door, finding your apartment door open. The landlord pokes his head out, “Hey Hotchner, that doorknob treating you well?”

Aaron raises an eyebrow, “It’s fine, what are you doing?”

“Just going over to see what the damage is and if I’m going to be returning that security deposit or not,” he fussed over the clipboard in his hand, pulling the pencil from behind his ear, “looks like the apartment was in relatively good shape so guess I’ll be mailing a check.”

“Mailing?” Aaron blinks, and the landlord tilts his head.

“How else do you suppose I give something to a tenant who has already moved out and split?” In that moment, he brushes past him, peering into your empty apartment — the only things left were those of your roommate’s, “Left about an hour ago in a rush, couldn’t even wait for me to do my walkthrough.”

He was on time, he was early even, he stepped downstairs to only find the truck long gone.

But he was still too late.

Always too late.

~~~

But always wasn’t always forever.

“Hey, stranger,” you nestled the phone between your cheek and your shoulder, hands full with a bread dough you were currently trying to knead for its next proof, “it’s been a long time—”

“Did you hear?”

“Hear what, Alex?” her voice grows quiet on the phone, “what’s wrong?”

“You know how I’ve been organizing in preparation for the reunion in a few months?” and you lick your lips, moving to wash your hands.

“Yeah, you told me about that and said on uncertain terms could I refuse to attend, unless I’d like to risk certain bodily harm,” you shook your head, “I didn’t forget, so is that what—”

“It’s Haley, Haley Hotchner?”

You pause, “Yeah Hotchner’s gi— wife?”

“She died, just a week or two ago,” her voice falters, “I just heard about it from Paul, do you remember him? He was in your poli-sci class. He’s in the FBI too. I wanted to get Aaron’s information, and he told me it probably wasn’t a good time. And I pressed him and then….”

“Oh my god,” you rested your back to the counter, “How did she—”

“He didn’t get into details, but it was pretty fresh it seemed like. He’s still on leave, and the funeral is soon.”

Your hands shook, squeezing your eyes shut as your mind returned to that summer — his smile, his laugh, his touch, his care — “When is it?”

She says your name slowly, “Why?”

“I have to go,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “I have to go see him.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x oc #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fanfiction

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aellynera · 3 years

Text

Loose Change (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

LOOSE CHANGE

For this week’s Writer Wednesday hosted by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog! Llewyn was the first thing that popped into my head when I saw this, and I really don’t know where the rest of it came from, but I just had to write it. Thank you for reading, commenting, liking, and reblogging! 💜💜

This week’s inspiration:

Word Count: 2300 on the dot.

Summary: How bad can it be when your phone rings in the middle of the night? (An alternate take on what could have happened on the way back from Chicago.)

Warnings: Angsty. Hopeful. Hopeful angst? Angstful hope? Maybe a swear or two. Sketchy phone booths. Wrong numbers. Yearning. Secrets, poor decisions, better choices.

The bed was warm but you could hear the cold rain pounding on the window behind your head. Ignoring it and staying in your cozy, comfortable cocoon was definitely your best option, and you rolled over and pulled the blankets tighter over your head. This was the right place to be and you felt yourself start drifting back to sleep.

Until your phone started ringing.

Your phone, which was nowhere near your bed, or even in your bedroom. It wasn’t even within fifty feet of you; it was securely fastened to the wall in your kitchen, by the sink, next to the pantry door. And your kitchen was clear on the other side of the apartment.

A quick check of the clock told you that it was also the ungodly hour of 3:28 am, the red digits blaring at you angrily in the near-dark. Who in the world was calling you at this hour? For a long few minutes you thought about ignoring it. It was probably a wrong number. That happened all the time. Or maybe it was some kids having a party and pranking. In the middle of the night. That was probably it.

But a little tickle at the back of your brain, small and sinewy, kept curling around your thoughts and rationalization and it wouldn’t let go. Maybe it’s important. Maybe it really was. Maybe something happened to one of your parents or your sister or-

The phone didn’t stop ringing. So it must be important.

With an exasperated groan, you launched yourself out of bed, one quilt still wrapped around you to ward off the damp chill. Your bare feet slapped along the tile floor and your balance wavered slightly, your muscles still used to being asleep, until you finally got to the kitchen and yanked the receiver off the ringing phone.

“Hello?” your sleep-ridden voice rasped out cautiously.

“Hey,” the voice on the other end came back. “You got the stuff?”

“The...what?”

“You know, the…”

“The st...No! Do you know what time it is? This is a wrong number! What the hell!” You slammed the phone back down on its cradle.

Figures. It was a wrong number. You wanted to go back to bed, you really did. But now you found yourself wide awake because someone wanted stuff that you wouldn’t have day or night.

So you wandered over to the couch and tried to get comfortable on the lumpy cushions, and watched the rain coming down outside your window bounce dramatically off the fire escape.

Until your phone rang again.

A curse flew from your lips as you hurled the quilt off and stomped back to the phone. You grabbed it, put it to your ear, and shouted, “What?”

“I...are you okay?” a voice came back. A familiar voice, this time.

“Llewyn? Is that you?” you closed your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he replied. “Uh, sorry I’m calling you so late.”

You sighed. “I’m fine. It’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. I just...some stuff happened, and I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

Your heart immediately softened in your chest, despite your very strong desire to still be angry. Llewyn certainly didn’t sound okay, but that was his norm. You wanted to reach through the phone and hold him, care for him.

You always had a soft spot for him, ever since Jean introduced you so long ago, that day in the park when all the musician friends gathered to play at the fountain. He spent a fair amount of time sleeping on this lumpy old couch. You cooked him a hot meal when you could (and when he would let you), gave him a place to stay even if you weren’t home (on the rare occasion that he would even agree to it, which was slowly becoming more frequent.) You went to as many of his shows as you could, and you really just liked to hang out with him when he was around. He’d slowly become one of your best friends.

And yeah, he was kind of an asshole a lot of the time, but he was sweet and you probably liked him a little more than you were willing to admit.

“Llewyn, where are you? Do you need me to come get you or something?” you asked with a yawn. You really hoped that’s why he was calling you at...3:37 am..

His laugh was short. “Well, if you feel like driving to Ohio, sure.”

“Ohio?” you cried. “What are you doing in…”

The laugh from moments before fell into a sigh and you could hear a soft thunk follow. “I’m in Akron. In a payphone booth outside of a bar, banging my head on the glass. I’ll hitchhike home in the morning, it’s fine.”

“You’re in Akron,” you repeated slowly. “Why are you in Akron?”

“Because I was in Chicago-”

“Which is not Akron, the last time I checked. Or even the same state,” you pointed out. You picked the quilt up from the floor and wrapped yourself back in it, settling on the couch again. The receiver cord had just enough reach that you were able to sit with your back against one arm and stare back out the window and the slippery wet metal of the fire escape glinting in the moonlight.

Vaguely you remembered this was the quilt Llewyn had used the last time he stayed with you.

“Well it’s on the way back,” Llewyn snapped. “And I wouldn’t be in Akron if the car I was in hadn’t broken down and…”

“Does this have something to do with Diane?” you asked softly. That sinewy tentacle of intuition was back, curling around your brain again.

The rough exhale of air on the other end of the line was the only answer you needed.

“Llewyn.” You said again, still soft, but more stern. Something was going on, and you could tell he wasn’t going to tell you without some prodding.

After what felt like hours, he finally muttered, “Maybe.”

“Llewyn, what are you doing? You can’t possibly want to talk to her, after everything that happened. Did the car really break down in Akron, or did you request a stop? Because it seems kind of suspect that you would just, you know, end up there of all places on your way back from Chicago, and what were you even doing in Chicago? I just saw you a couple days ago and you didn’t say anything about--”

It wasn’t until Llewyn broke through your rant that you noticed you’d hadn’t stopped for a single breath.

“The car really did break down,” he insisted. “And I don’t actually want to see her. Not really. But...I feel like I kind of have to, and it’s...it’s just a coincidence that I got stranded here?”

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t, and after a beat, he continued.

“I have a kid.”

It suddenly felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. “I’m sorry, what?” You knew he couldn’t see you, but maybe he could feel the way your eyebrows shot up your forehead.

“Diane,” he sighed again, “she didn’t...I found out she had the kid. So I have a kid. Somewhere in Akron. Where I’m currently stranded, looking like a drunk bum loitering outside a sketchy bar.”

You blinked infinitely as you stared out the window. What do you say to that? How do you say anything to that? So you just said the first thing that came to mind.

“Are you drunk?”

“Really?” Now you were pretty sure you could hear his brows raise. “Do I sound like I’ve been drinking?”

“No, I’m sorry, I just...holy shit, Llewyn,” you breathed. “And she never told you?”

His chuckle sounded so morose. “No. Why would she? That was a pretty shit time, for everyone.”

“I’m listening,” you whispered.

You knew the story of what happened between them. Llewyn had told you himself, one night over coffee and an entire chocolate cake that one of your elderly neighbors had made for you for helping her fix her leaky faucet. Of course, Jean had (in her own mind) helpfully filled in all the blanks she swore Llewyn left out, but you preferred to go with his version. She only thought you knew the basics. But that night, fueled by caffeine and frosting, Llewyn admitted you were the only one apart from the actual players that knew everything.

But this part? This was something new.

“She never told me,” he explained. “I thought she went through with it and it turned out she didn’t and she’s not even the one who told me, it was...you know, never mind. That part isn't important.”

“So when did you find out? How long have you been in Akron?”

He sighed. “Just before I left for Chicago. And since this afternoon. I thought about looking them up, but…”

And he told you how he tried an old number he had for Diane’s parents, but it was disconnected. And he’d asked around at the diner he found (over something called chili which wasn’t like any chili he’d ever had and just further proved how weird Ohio was) but got no information. And how he didn’t really want to see her, and maybe he didn’t even really want to meet up with anyone, but if he could, he at least wanted to see what his own kid looked like, just to know.

The longing in his voice, the what if, the hurt. It was all laid bare from hundreds of miles away, yet you could feel it hovering next to you on that couch. Wrapped around you in that threadbare quilt.

It didn’t feel like the time to offer any advice, and platitudes, any words at all. Not now. So you simply curled up in that quilt - his quilt - and listened. It was rare for him to open up like this and you didn’t want to interrupt, didn’t want to staunch the flow of emotional honesty that he quite frankly needed.

Until the tinny, pleasantly fabricated, slightly mechanical voice broke in, if you’d like to continue this call, please add funds, otherwise this call will disconnect in three minutes.

“Shit, that was my last quarter,” Llewyn muttered. “I’ll get back to you when I get back in town, yeah?”

Oh no, you brain screamed. Well, yes, but no, no he was not just going to let the issue drop like this, quarters be damned.

“Llewyn, I need you to listen to me. Get home as soon as you can, and we can talk about this more. And get here in one piece, please be safe.”

“Okay,” he replied with a heavy exhale.

“And...and Llewyn, when you get back home, please...please come home.”

There was silence from his end, silence that lasted so long you thought the call had disconnected without you noticing. Your breath stuck in your lungs, for how long you couldn’t tell, but then suddenly his voice came through the receiver again, flustered and short.

“I...okay, yeah, I will, I gotta go, but...damn it, what is there to lose now, I lo--”

And the call cut off.

You stared at the receiver in your hand for so long the fast busy-beep of the receiver being off the hook is the only thing that snapped you out of it.

You didn’t sleep for the rest of what was left of the night.

For the next day, and the day after, you ran the entire phone call through your head more times that you cared to admit. Every word he’d said, every word you’d said, every pause and admission and what he might have been trying to say at the end. Your mind very (un)helpfully offered all kinds of ideas about what wasn’t said, what maybe couldn’t yet be said, and you just let it tumble around chaotically.

As if you could control it anyway.

You didn’t get much sleep.

Later that night, and on the second day after, after a long day at work and a longer day of thinking, you found yourself curled up on the couch again, with a glass of wine and a record spinning quietly on the turntable. Wrapped in that same quilt. Your quilt- his quilt.

You stared out the window, this time not at the rain, but the setting sun and the soft, rich colors it was painting across the sky.

You hoped he had really listened. You hope he knew what you actually meant. You hoped he wouldn’t get sidetracked as he often tended to do and that he would really show up. You didn’t know how you were going to do it, but you would help him like you always had. Together you would figure out what to do, what he needed to do, what he wanted to do, how to do it. Together.

This wasn’t something he should have to figure out on his own. He probably didn’t want to admit it, but you hope he knew he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, and didn’t have to. You hoped Llewyn would let you.

That tickle, that tentacle in the back of your brain, took firm hold. You knew he would come back, but you prayed he would come home.

That he had listened. That he knew. That he--

Your head snapped up at the sound of a knock on the door. You carefully set the wine glass down and slowly walked yourself, quilt and all, over to answer it.

And once you opened it, saw the man standing before you, exhausted and disheveled but...grateful, maybe even hopeful, you wrapped it around both of you and pulled Llewyn in.

~end~

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crash-cinematic-universe · 3 years

Text

the worst part

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: you’re the messenger that’s carrying the most heartbreaking message imaginable to the Maximoff household.

warnings: angst and thaaats it

notes: hey! so writers block and general mental illness/lack of motivation has been kicking my ass, but i didn’t want to leave you hanging for so long. here’s a super short angst fic that i think some of you will enjoy.

taglist: : @stranger-names @gooseyhouse @parkersdarling @amourtentiaa @toodles-me-doodles

You stood outside the Maximoff Household staring at the gold-painted door-knocker in the shape of a lion. The faint sound of Magda’s voice rings through the door, and after a few seconds, you can hear Wanda’s laugh as well. You were going to ruin that-- you hated that you had to ruin that. Wanda picked out the door knocker herself, deciding that a lion was a good guardian of their porch. It was worn down, and most of the gold had rubbed off and become a dull silver. Silver.

God, this was going to be harder than you thought.

The longer you stood on their porch, the more and more you felt the urge to run. You forced yourself to knock on the door, holding your breath as footsteps grew closer and closer. A very forced, very anxious smile found its way on your face as the door swung open.

Magda saw your chest tremble with your breathing, and immediately knew something was wrong. She’d known you for ten years now, since you arrived with Logan, Hank, and Charles at the ripe old age of 17. Peter had brought you over at least a thousand times since then-- Magda could read you like an open book. And judging by the way you glanced down at your lap, this open book had a tragedy to tell.

She invited you in with a smile, and the familiar home-y warmth overtook your body. Standing in their living room felt like being hugged by a human space heater. Peter always gave good hugs.

“Hey, Magda. I’m sorry this visit is so sudden, but it’s urgent. I didn’t think to call until I was already in the driveway-- it’s safe to say the last few days have been… hectic.” The award for biggest understatement goes too…

“No worries,” the tall woman pulled you into a hug. “It’s always nice to see you. You’re family, y’know.” Your chest ached, and you felt like you’d been hit by a car. The resolve you’d built for yourself was crumbling.

“Thank you,” This was the most genuine and raw you’d been in a while. “I, uh, I think we should sit down for this discussion,”

Magda led you to the living room-- the very same living room where you met Wanda for the first time. You sat on the couch-- the very same couch where Magda caught you and Peter lip-locked at least a hundred times. This was his home, the home that you had become so comfortable with. Photographs of the Maximoff Family hung on the wall, Peter's wide grin and signature silver hair stared at you from every possible angle. It felt wrong to be here without him; although, it just felt wrong to be without him.

“What did you want to talk about?” You folded your hands in your lap and examined them like they were made of precious crystals. You had played this discussion out in your head a thousand times and each time it ended in disaster. There was no easy way to go about this, but still, you were going to be as gentle as possible.

“Three days ago, the X-Men were deployed to deal with a hostage situation in Chicago. There was an apartment building that a legion of mutants took control of and were threatening to detonate to prove a point. It was… difficult, to say the least. There were a couple close calls, but as always…” There was something about the way you spoke and the way you trembled that echoed in Magda’s brain, making a pit of dread grow in her chest. You took a deep, shuddering breath, “Peter saved the day.”

“He went in alone with virtually no plan, and still, he got almost everyone out,” The emphasis you put on the ‘almost’ made Magda shudder. “There was one person left. A little girl who hid in her closet. Peter went in again, but this time--” You bit your bottom lip so hard you feared you’d break the skin.

“He didn’t come out.”

Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy and filled with the disgusting reality that you were cursed with. Magda looked expressionless, her eyes trained on the small coffee table that sat between you.

“What happened to him?” Both of you knew the answer to this question, but the both of you knew it needed to be said out loud.

“Well, after he went in the captors set off a bomb in the basement. The building collapsed and--” Your voice broke. “He used himself as a human shield. We found them in the rubble not long after the collapse. The little girl survived, but Peter didn’t.”

There it was. You hadn’t realized that you had started crying until the hot tears hit your palms, the painful reality hitting you like a train. You couldn’t look up at Magda, you knew you’d never recover from seeing the look on her face. Of course, as hard as this was, Magda’s job was harder. She was the one who would have to break the news to Wanda and Lorena-- the thought alone made you cry a little harder.

“What happens next?” Magda sounded monotone and hollow, a natural reaction to loss.

“Well,” You sniffled, “That part is kind of up to you. You can choose what happens to his-- what happens to him. He could be buried around here or back at the mansion or you could, uh, you could choose one of the alternatives--” At this point, you were effectively breaking down. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t talk about Peter like he was a possession, like he was a corpse to bury and nothing more. But that’s what he was. He’s dead. He’s dead, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.

Peter Maximoff is gone for good, and in his wake he leaves behind the broken pieces of the family he once had. You and Magda were adults, you both had the chance to really, truly know him for almost his entire life. But Wanda? Lorna? They were just kids. There were kids at the mansion who saw the one and only Quicksilver and a beacon of hope. Peter is leaving behind the young mutants who saw themselves in him; and that, without a doubt, is the worst part.

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

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wtfevenismypage · 4 years

Text

Bright Lights in the Big City

request: Can you do a fic where MGG and Reader have to film a sex scene? Which is awkward for reader who hasn't even had her first kiss before, but has a huge crush on MGG, unaware he feels the same for her and after the scene finishes, he asks her on a date hehehehheeheh

Warnings: Descriptions of sex(NOT SMUT), Cursing

A/N: Oooooooo this is a good idea nonnie~~~ Also! I made a fake TV show, so none of this is specific to And movie or show that Matthew has been in! AND HOW THE DIDDLY FUCK DO YOU WRITE A FAKE SEX SCENE I HAD TO S K I P IT IT FELT SO AWKWARD

Recording a show with Matthew was wonderful, he was one of the funniest people on the face of the earth and was super caring. He never pushed you to do things you were uncomfortable with, and he never acted snobby.

All of these were among the long list of reasons why you had a massive crush on him.

You don’t know when you fell in love with him but you did. You were just starting out in the acting world, and being a main character of the show with Matthew was stressful to say the least.

“Gube! What scenes are we working on today?”

You ask, strutting up to the board with two coffees in hand, one for you and the other for Matthew. He turns to you, accepting the coffee with a quick “thanks” and he smiles at you, leaning on the wall with one hand holding the clipboard.

“Well, we’re starting with the big argument between our characters, then the aftermath, and then there’s the sex scene. That’s it for the day!”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before snatching the board from his hands and looking at the eight letters with wide eyes.

“Sex scene? How come no one told me about this?”

“It was sent out in the email last night, I guess you fell asleep and forgot to check? Why what’s the matter? Don’t wanna tall glass of mismatched socks and granny hair?”

But you were too distracted to respond, to caught up in your own brain. You’re a virgin who hasn’t even kissed before, how the hell were you supposed to have sex with your crush without it being awkward? Without completely embarrassing yourself?

"I’m... I’m gonna... I gotta go.”

You say, tossing the board back on the small table next to you and running off, heart beating 200 miles an hour as you make your way to the writer and director. The two tall women looking to you immediately as you storm into the small office.

“Hi miss Y/L/N, how can we help you?”

“Hi, I’m so sorry I completely passed out yesterday from the action scenes and missed the email, but um... I really can’t do that sex scene.”

“Why not? Are you injured? A past with sexual trauma?”

You shake your head nervously, hands fiddling with your coffee as you look down a bit.

“I’m uh... I’m a virgin, and I haven’t even kissed someone before, so I uh... I have no experience with this kind of stuff?”

You blurted out nervously, worried about how they’ll react at the news, but they take it surprisingly well.

“Oh, well alright hun, how about this, go tell Matthew, he’s super chill about this type of stuff and really won’t care, and I’ll tell him to guide you through everything during our first take. Okay?”

The director suggests. It seems that you really don’t have a choice considering how last minute this is, but you nod anyways, walking out of the office to go find Matthew.

This might just be the most awkward conversation you’ll ever have in your entire life, you just hope that the director is right and that he doesn’t care. Because if he does, oh god that’ll be a mess.

After a couple of minutes of running around, you find Matthew in his trailer, chilling on his couch with the door open. You step in, looking at him with nervous eyes.

“Hey Gube? Can we talk?”

You ask, he looks up, moving his legs for you to sit next to you and putting his phone down. You smile a little, sitting next to him with your body facing him.

“So, first of all, I’m sorry I ran out on you like that, it’s just I haven’t done a sex scene at all ever? And I got nervous, but I’m here now, I just have to tell you something first.”

His phone pings, Picking it up and checking it.

“Hold up, the director sent me an email. Let me check it real quick.”

You already know what it is. He’s about to find out from your director that your a virgin. Better than you telling him at least?

He reads through the email quickly and doesn’t give any hints as to what he’s thinking, his face remains unreadable throughout the two minutes he takes to read it, then he closes it back down and looks at you.

“Alright, so you’re a virgin? Okay! She said instead of kissing that I’ll just tug on your bottom lip a bit, and I’ll guide you through the entire thing okay?”

Your eyes widen, shocked that he actually doesn’t care. Fuck, you just fell in love even more.

“You don’t... You don’t care?”

“No not really, whatever you do in your free time is your business and that goes for sex as well! I’ll help you through it okay?”

You nod, standing up and holding your hand out for Matthew to take.

He takes it, his mind travelling to a deep corner where he thought of you. If he was being completely honest, he was a bit sad he didn’t get to kiss you, he had always dreamt of kissing you.

Even to the point that he had hoped this could be his first time kissing you. He had treated you as just a friend for so long it was almost sickening. Oh how he longed to just hold you for ages and not let go.

Entering the set for the sex scene, A couch lays on the floor of the fake living-room, red dimmed light and props decorating the false-walled room.

“Okay! We are on in three, two, one, Action!”

You and Matthew stand a few feet apart, the crew pouring “rain” on you from a hose as you shivered, looking at Matthew with tears.

“I... I’m sorr-”

Before my character ould finish her lines, He yanks her in, guiding her to the couch.

Afterwards, you’re sitting in your trailer, listening to music and washing the set makeup off of your face when a knock emerges from your door.

“Come in!”

You shout, drying your face off before stepping out, meeting Matthew in the main part of your trailer.

“Oh! Hey Gube... Want a cookie?”

He chuckles, plopping down on your couch and sprawling his limbs across it.

“I’ll never say no to a cookie. However, after that very action packed scene, congrats on your sex scene debut by the way, I was thinking... Are you free this Saturday?”

A wild haze of blush fights its way onto your cheeks, stumbling and stuttering to find an answer as quickly as possible.”

“Y-yes! Of course!”

A smile covers his face as you slowly walk closer, sitting down next to him and returning his smile with your own.

CRIMINAL MINDS TAGLIST(OPEN) @pinkdiamond1016 @spencer-reids-snow-white @sheepfather @eusuntgroot @libradolan @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @zhangyixingxing1 @secretpickleprofessordean @aquarius-pisces-rose @hopebaker @law-nerd105 @roses-and-grasses @damonwhitlock

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #mgg fluff #mgg headcannon #mgg smut #mgg x reader #mgg #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid x y/n

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sortasirius · 4 years

Note

Prompt: Sam sets Dean up on a blind date. Dean is reluctant but Sam talks him into it. Dean meets Cas at the diner/wherever and hates to admit it, but the guy is kinda really hot and he's really enjoying their conversation. Before they've finished their meal, a girl/guy approaches their table. It's the person Sam wanted to set Dean up with. Cas realizes he got a text message half an hour ago from his actual blind date, who had to cancel at the last minute. Heheh :D

Boy I really swagged in fifteen minutes late with Starbucks on this one huh? Sorry for being AWOL, y’all, life got me a little down recently but I’m feeling better, love you all eternally and here’s some absolutely shameless AU fluff.

Thank you so so much for prompting me this, literally any and all prompts are welcome at all times always <3

Words: 1341

“This is embarrassing,” Dean whines, staring at Sam who’s staring at his phone, paying Dean no mind.

“It’s not embarrassing, lots of people go on blind dates.”

Dean rolls his eyes, Sam was purposefully missing the point here, he shouldn’t have to explain why this was embarrassing, why having your younger brother, who is in college, set you up with a blind date with someone he met at a party is embarrassing.

“I don’t think I’m ready.”

Sam looks up from his homework, equal parts exasperated with American History in the 1800s as he is with Dean himself. He takes a long swig of coffee, sweeps his hair out of his face, and fixes Dean with a stare that makes Dean feel like he’s being x-rayed. He turns away from Sam’s eyes, looking out at the park they were sitting in, Sam insisting that only commuting to and from work wasn’t enough fresh air for him, and had dragged him out to the park by their shared apartment to study in Sam’s case, to crush 40 levels of Candy Crush in Dean’s.

“You’ll be fine, they’re really nice, I think you’ll like them.”

“You really won’t give me any details?”

“Nope.”

Dean sighs heavily, looking around for some inspiration, some excuse as to why he can’t go on this date. He just doesn’t do dating, much less the type of dating that should be left in a nineties rom com. He comes up empty.

“Fine, but you have to do dishes for the next week. And laundry.”

Sam grins into his history books.

“Fine.”

Dean isn’t nervous as he walks into the little diner, because he doesn’t get nervous, thanks for asking. He doesn’t pick the seat at the booth the hostess shows him so he can see the door on purpose, he just happens to like to sit this way. He’s also not tapping his foot on the linoleum floor and twisting his hands together, because that would mean he cared about this, which he does not.

The diner’s familiar, which is a blessing and a curse, because he knows what’s good but also can’t look at the menu for something to do.

This is dumb. He feels like he’s twelve.

The door jingles, and Dean’s head snaps up. The guy speaking to the hostess is a little shorter than Dean, but not by much. His hair is dark and sticking up in all directions, he’s got a killer jawline, and the type of stance that says he knows he’s hot. He leans toward the hostess with a smile, and she stares at him for a second too long before leading him straight towards Dean, and he has to fight the urge to stand up and throw himself through the glass window to avoid this whole thing. Damn Sam, he really knew his type.

“Hi,” the guy says, and Dean tries his best not to stare at the way his dark jeans hug his hips and the way his t-shirt is just a little too small across his chest and shoulders. Fuck.

Dean takes the hand that’s offered and the guy slides into the booth across from him. His eyes are bright blue and so intense that Dean feels his throat constricting like he’s having an allergic reaction. This is going to be a fucking disaster, he had not expected this guy to be this hot.

“Hey. I’m Dean, nice to uh, meet you.”

“Dean, that’s a nice name. I’m Cas.”

“Cool, hi Cas.”

Dean will not let this be awkward, this guy is too hot not to take back to his apartment.

“So, what do you do?”

“Straight in with it, then?” Cas smiles a crooked smile that Dean melts a little at, “I’m a writer, I work for the university as a professor.”

Dean liked that he put the title of writer before professor.

“That’s cool, what d’you teach?”

“English and literature, depending on the semester. What do you do?”

The conversation is far easier than Dean had expected. Talking to Cas is as easy as breathing, and they go from one topic to the next with ease. From sports, which Cas knows nothing about, to literature, where Cas spends five minutes doe-eyed over Dean as he talks about his love for Vonnegut and Tolstoy. Dean doesn’t even really taste his bacon cheeseburger, which is a real shame because they’re the best in the city.

“I have to say, you aren’t what I expected,” Cas smiles at Dean with bright eyes and Dean feels himself turning red.

“Yeah you really aren’t either, not that I’m complaining or anything.”

“Glad to hear there aren’t any complaints.”

Dean grins, taking a bite of his burger and not even caring if he’s graceful about it.

“Who would I go to with complaints?”

“Hm? Oh, you’d have to take that up with the HR department, but they’re on an extended vacation at the moment,” Cas taps his own head, making a face that makes Dean choke into his fries.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had an HR department, it’s just sheer chaos up here.”

Cas laughs this full laugh that makes Dean laugh as well. He hasn’t found someone this easy to talk to…ever, except for Sam. As much as he dreaded this meal, he’s dreading the end of it even more. He thought “connections” with people right off the bat were made up by Hollywood to sell tickets to bad movies, he had never expected to connect with someone this fast, but the idea of the date being over made his palms get sweaty.

“Listen, I don’t wanna assume-” Dean begins, right as a pretty girl with long blonde hair comes up to their table, breaking the little bubble of bliss that had developed over the course of their conversation.

“Hi, so sorry to bother you, are either of you Dean?”

Dean looks her up and down, surprised. He doesn’t recognize her, and he’s not one to forget someone he meets.

“Uh yeah, I am.”

“I think we were supposed to meet for lunch forty five minutes ago?”

Dean looks from Cas, to the girl, to Cas again. Cas’ brow is furrowed with confusion as he goes digging through his phone. Dean watches his eyebrows knit, his eyes widen, and his mouth fall open as he looks up to stare at Dean.

“Um. My blind date texted me half an hour ago saying he had to cancel.”

They stare at each other, it feels like Dean’s brain is trying to catch up. The girl, Dean’s actual date, is watching them, looking more curious than annoyed.

“So…”

“So we weren’t meant to be on this date.”

Dean blinks several times. Fuck it, maybe this was down to fate. He turns back to the pretty girl and gives her his most charming smile.

“I’m so sorry. Can we, uh, reschedule?”

She eyes them, and Dean hadn’t even realized he and Cas were leaning across the table, as close to each other as the plastic would allow.

“Uh, yeah, we can. No problem.”

“I really am sorry.”

She smiles awkwardly and heads out the door. Dean immediately puts his face in his hands, Cas starts laughing.

“What’re you laughing at?”

“That was so awkward, I thought you were going to shrivel up right there.”

Dean rolls his eyes and picks up a couple of fries, pretending to ignore Cas, like he’d known him all his life. Cas pulls himself together after a couple of minutes, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

“What were you saying, before your actual date interrupted ours?”

Dean blushes again. But again, fate right?

“I was saying, I didn’t want to assume anything, but are you free later this week?”

Cas grins, and takes Dean’s hand in his. His hand is warm and solid and Dean does not want to let it go.

“I’ll check my schedule, I may have a couple of blind dates to cancel, but I think the HR department can fit you in.”

#my writing #destiel #spn #supernatural #deancas #anyway send me all prompts pls and thnk u #anonymous #lilly answers

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trashinaglass-archive · 4 years

Text

Stranger

Based on a dream I had lol

A/n: I’m not a regular Harry writer so like what’s up Harry people. This may be a stupid concept, but idk it played out really cute in my sleep brain so why not give it a try.

Also, this is going up a LOT later than I meant for it to because I had another sad bitch episode but like it’s all good now. Hope yall enjoy:)

College is the worst.

A sigh falls from your lips as you flip the page in your textbook, continuing to type notes for the upcoming exam. You took a second to let your mind wander, relax, as you sip your coffee. A group of friends were currently home getting ready to attend another party without you. Why you chose the hardest major in the world was beyond you at this point, but you put in your headphones and continued working.

“Hey,” a voice said as it approached your table. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

You shook your head lightly, “no that’s fine,” you told him before looking down again.

He sat down, placing his things on the table. Small taps started quietly beating on the table. Your eyes followed the sound to find his fingers moving up and down, tapping lightly on the wood. “You okay?” You asked, unsure of his behavior.

“Yeah, sorry,” he laughed and stopped tapping the table. A quiet moment passed before he spoke up again. “I’m Harry.”

You stopped again, a small smirk appearing on your face. “Is it rude to say ‘I know’?” you ask him. Of course you knew him. By this point, who didn’t know of Harry Styles, even if it was just his name.

He shrugged, “only if you don’t give yours in exchange.” You smiled and gave a teasing eye roll. If any other guy had dropped that line, you would have laughed in their face. It wasn’t unknown that Harry was a charming guy, but you wouldn’t have ever expected this. That he would ask to sit at your table, let alone flirt with you, was crazy.

“Y/n,” you say simply before going back to your notes. From your peripheral, you could see a smile on his face as he looked down at his hands, fiddling with one of his rings.

“Are you busy tonight?” He asked you. You look at him confused, biting your bottom lip as your brows furrow, pointing at the textbook you’ve been buried in. “Well, you can’t study forever.”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “Definitely not trying to.”

He looked at you for a second, “let me take you to dinner. My treat.” You take a second to think about it. Your test wasn’t for two more days, but with your schedule, any study time was golden. But you had been studying basically all day, so what would an hour hurt? “Come on, seems like you could use a break.”

“Can we get dessert after?” you asked seriously.

“Of course,” Harry replied in an equally serious tone.

You couldn’t help but giggle, “sold.” You closed the laptop and book, placing them in your bag, placing it in your shoulder.

. . .

Harry picked a nice restaurant that you had never heard of before. You could tell it was expensive just by the lighting as you walked through the hall, following the hostess with Harry only slightly ahead of you. The hostess sat you in a booth towards the back of the restaurant, the back of the booth rising all the way to the ceiling to provide more privacy.

“So,” Harry began after some conversation and alcohol, feeling more comfortable around you. “I wanted to ask you a question. It might be a little awkward, but I’m curious.”

Your brow furrows at his statement. “Go on,” you reply, curious what ‘awkward question’ he could have. You take a sip of your drink as you watch Harry, waiting for the question.

“When I introduced myself, you said you knew,” he reminded you. Mm-hm, you hum in response. “And this entire time, you’ve not asked about my job or who I am or anything like that.” You hum again, confirming his statement. “Why?”

You shrug, taking a thoughtful moment to gather a response. “Would you rather I ask about it?”

“No,” he said almost too quickly. “I’ve just never met someone that didn’t ask about it in some way.” Again, your shoulders rose to your jaw, your head tilting slightly before relaxing.

“I don’t know what it’s like to be in the spotlight as you are, but I imagine it’s not too fun. It’s always kind of bothered me seeing paparazzi photos and articles- they’re so invasive. It makes me feel bad knowing that’s what you have to deal with every day so I just didn’t want to contribute to it. Figure if I’m going to treat you like anything, I should treat you as I would treat a friend.”

Harry chuckled. He raised his glass, prompting you to lift yours also. “Treat people with kindness,” he toasted, tapping his glass to yours. You giggled, not expecting to hear the motto from his lips, but repeating it all the same. “I really appreciate that.”

“So, is it true?” You asked.

His brows furrowed slightly, looking up at you with intent eyes. “Is what true?”

“That fame and paparazzi suck.”

He took a breath before answering, “It’s difficult,” he told you, sounding unsure of himself. “I love what I do, I love the people I get to work with, and I love that I have a platform where I can encourage people to do good and be who they truly are...” he trailed off.

“But,” you say softly, anticipating a not happy answer lingering.

“But... it is invasive. I can’t go to the shops and get tea without news reporters inspecting every move I make. And scary thing is, sometimes you don’t even see them- you just see the article with your face on it.” You couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at the thought of it. “Then you have the occasional fan that thinks my life belongs to them. I guess you could say it’s a blessing and a curse.”

You sigh, “whatever it is, I hope you stay safe.”

Harry lightly laughed, a small smile appearing on his face as he looked down. “I definitely will. And uh, speaking of lives we wouldn’t want...”

“I didn’t say that,” you laughed, looking down at the table as you were totally guilty.

He pointed at you, “but you definitely thought it.. How’s uni going?”

You shook your head as you sigh, “it’s definitely going. My friends are actually out going to different parties every night while I get to stay in and do homework. This is the most exciting thing I’ve done in months.” You cringe to yourself, questioning if you should be admitting to how absent you’ve been.

“Well, then I’m happy to be of assistance,” he smiled brightly. “And let me give you my number so maybe we can do this again.”

You looked up at him, kind of shocked but not wanting to show it. “Definitely.” You smile to yourself as you exchange numbers, putting a funny emoji next to your contact name in his phone before handing it back.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

. . .

Harry walked with you back to your place, making sure you made it home safely before leaving. You open the door to see your roommate in her pajamas, still removing the party makeup as she looks up, acknowledging you.

“Hey! Thrilling study night?” She asked jokingly. She quickly flashed a sweet smile your way before looking back at the mirror to continue her skin care. Before you could answer, your phone vibrated.

H✨: Had a great night. Sleep well x

You smile and try to hold back the blush as you look back to your friend.

“You have no idea.”

#Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader

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henrycavell · 4 years

Text

homecoming part 3

summary: Syverson has been medically discharged from the army after a suicide attempt. He’d been able to hide his deteriorating mental health for years from the men around him, but now he has to face it head on. Hopefully not alone.

word count: 2.2k

pairing: Syverson x OFC warnings: suicide attempt, please read with discretion. it’s not very detailed, i don’t think, but just keep yourselves safe ok

authors note: sorry this took so long, i was facing a bit of writer’s block! let me know what you think about this chapter c:

taglist; @littlefreya @mary-ann84 @wondersofdreaming @forthebrokenheartedthings @geralt-of-baevia @asylummara @dearlybelovedluke @promptandpros @mansaaay @daddys-littlewhitegirl @vacant-writings @80scavill @kaatelyyynn @iloveyouyen @henrythickcavill @hell1129-blog please let me know if you’d like to be added to my general tag list!

part 1 | part 2 | PART 3 | part 4

Penelope sat rigid in her vehicle, both hands clinging on to the small phone as her eyes read over the text message for what felt like the fifteenth time. Just four words, four short little words and still, Penelope felt her heart hitting her stomach, turning to stone and somehow sinking even lower. An overwhelming sense of nausea crashed over her like a wave and she peeled her eyes away from the lit screen. Why was she feeling so much guilt eating away at her insides over this message? Just hours earlier, she'd felt so terrified, so fearful almost for her life that she never wanted to see that man ever again and yet... Now, here she was, sitting and feeling bad. Like she'd given up on someone who really needed her help, even if he wouldn't admit it.

She felt like there was nothing she could do anymore, at least not now. Well, she could. Penelope could get back out of her car, march back inside the offices, and head back to Syverson's counselor, tell him she'd changed her mind. That she didn't want to drop him, but something stopped her. Reason, logic, any single one of her last brain cells were practically screaming at her that the man was dangerous, or so it seemed. Telling herself she had a day or two to think about it, Penelope just dropped her phone into the passenger seat and turned the key over in the ignition.

That Friday evening seemed rather solemn. The sky was darker earlier than usual, especially for it to be still in the middle of Summer. Deep reds and purples washed across the sky as Penelope stopped her car on the side of the street, just a short walk up to the bar she liked to sit at sometimes. It was a quiet place, not the type of establishment where you had to worry about college students or fuck boys. Stepping out of her car, she felt a gust of cool wind and looked up to the sky, just in time to feel a raindrop smack right into the center of her forehead. Flinching from the sudden chill, Penelope wiped the droplet off of her face and shoved her hands down into the pockets of her jacket. Penelope loved the rain, storms of all kinds, but she didn't want to be caught in one.

Hurrying up the sidewalk, her crystal blue eyes fell on the red door into the bar, the blinking neon sign that read open. It was a little hole in the wall bar, the windows covered in stickers and logos for different beer and liquor brands, and on the inside of the door, a thousand different flyers for different local bands and art exhibits were littered. It was warm inside, comfortable enough that she could shrug her jacket off as she made her way over to the bar. Throwing her light coat over the back of the barstool, Penelope helped herself to sit before looking up at the bartender and raising her finger, trying to get his attention to. "shot of bourbon, Four Roses if you have it."

The bartender nodded in understanding, before turning away from her, tossing the cloth he'd been using to clean over his shoulder. It was mere seconds before she had a double shot in front of her and she looked up at the man with a raised brow. He'd waited on her hand fulls of times, but she'd never learned his name. "Can tell you need it today." Penelope took in a deep, shaky breath before letting it out, allowing her shoulders to droop. Was it so obvious how shaken up she was?

"Thank you," she answered him before picking it up and shooting it back with minimal effort. The liquor burned going down, leaving a sweet, spicy taste in the back of her mouth. One she normally didn't care for, but now it was almost welcomed, a pleasant distraction until her phone was buzzing off in her pocket.

"Hello?"

"Did you get a call from Syverson?" It was his counselor, Kenton, that was his name.

"Uh no, a text message... Why-"

"I think somethings wrong, he ain't the type to go around apologizing... Do you care to go check up on him for me? I know you didn't want anything to do with him anymore, but I have to pick my kid up from soccer practice..."

Her eyes couldn't have rolled back farther in her head. If it wasn't for Penelope feeling a pull, like she needed to speak to Logan anyway, she would've given Kenton a mouthful. The ex-captain had nearly laid his hands on her and he had just so quickly forgotten that?

"Yeah, I guess."

Dropping her phone back into her pocket, she looked back up at the bartender and gave him a small smile, before laying a crisp twenty-dollar bill on the counter. "Thanks, keep the change."

Penelope's cheeks were already tinted red from the bit of alcohol she had, parking her car outside of Logan's house for the second time that day. On the drive over from the bar, she found herself thinking she should've asked more questions on the phone to Kenton. About the call he must've gotten from Syverson, what he said, or what had him worried. It seemed a bit odd to get worked up just from someone sending an apology text, especially after what he'd done... An apology was in order, in her mind. But, Logan must've apologized to Kenton too and that was what she couldn't wrap her mind around.

Taking a few seconds to gather her composure, Penelope found that she was having to curse herself out in her head to force her hand to reach for the door handle. Walking up to Logan's porch was even harder, something just seemed wrong, off. Her footsteps felt heavier and the air around her was so brittle, sending goosebumps down her arms. The front yard looked frozen still as if she was looking at it from a photograph and not actively walking through it. Stepping up onto the porch, Penelope rolled her eyes at herself and grumbled under her breath, "get it together, what are you scared for?"

Tightening her hand into a fist, Penelope knocked on the door a few times before letting her hand drop back to her side. Even taking a step back, a little nervous for Logan to answer the door. She didn't want to be too close to him, but... an answer never came. Looking over her shoulder, she saw his pick up truck in the driveway, so he must be home. Penelope reached out for the door handle to the glass door, tugging it open so she could knock again against the wood. "Hey, you in there? I got your text-" Penelope called, getting up on her tiptoes to try and look through the small glass panels near the top of the door.

Barely able to glance inside, Penelope caught a glimpse of Aika. She was resting at the foot of the stairs, her paws hiding over her face. Even weirder... Knocking again, Penelope lifted up on her tiptoes to get another look at the dog. "Aika, hey girl! Get Sy?" Calling through the door to a dog to go and get her owner made Penelope just feel silly. Aika lifted her head up, barely looked at Penelope through the pane before dropping her head back to the floor and going back to hiding behind her paws.

Penelope's face scrunched up in confusion and without any more hesitation, she reached down to the doorknob and twisted it, relieved to find it unlocked. Pushing the door open, Aika just whimpered but stayed stuck next to the bottom stair of the staircase. That wasn't much like a guard dog, to just lay still when an intruder was right in front of him. Granted, Aika kind of, sort of knew her, but still... Penelope's heart had lurched up into her throat, a whole new sense of dread washing over her as she looked up the staircase to the dimly lit second floor.

"Hey girl, what are you doing down here all alone?" Penelope tried again to get Aika up, her eyes slowly coming back to the dog, but she still just sat perfectly still, like a statue. "What's the matter?" Penelope squatted down at the base of the stairs, reaching out with her left hand to scratch behind Aika's ears. The dog just whimpered, before forcing herself up on all fours and tiredly creeping up the stairs.

"Okay..." Everything about this situation just seemed unsettling. Penelope shifted from one foot to the other, nervously looking around before she took the first step up the stairs. The second floor was even darker than she imagined, every light turned off and every door shut tightly. Aika moved over to one of the doors and let herself fall down on her belly in front of it, whining and whimpering again as she looked up at Penelope with sad eyes. "What, in there?" Penelope asked Aika as if she'd be able to answer her.

Her eyes lifted to the door and Penelope quietly reached forward, holding her breath as she twisted the doorknob and let it pop open. She didn't swing it open, no, instead just stared at the slim crack in the door, still trying to gather her courage. Pushing it open a bit, Penelope stepped up as close to the door as she could, trying to steal a glance inside before just stepping in. Hearing a low, disgruntled moan, as if someone was in agony, Penelope was chilled to the bone, her hands beginning to tremble as she tried to push the door open entirely.

Stepping into the room, it was cliche to think, but nothing could've prepared Penelope for what she was met with. Three or four liquor bottles littered the floor, among the dirty clothes and trash... Three or four that she could make out at least. The curtains over the windows were pulled tightly closed, not allowing in even a sliver of light. Penelope could see Logan's form on the bed, one arm dangling off of the bed. It was too dark to make out any details, but she just knew something was horribly wrong.

"Logan?" She breathed, taking a few steps further into the room, trying to tiptoe around the clutter and mess on the floor. Her eyes were fixed on the ex-captain, how his body seemed so stiff and tense, and yet his breathing was rigid and shallow. Another pathetic grunt came from the man, but no discernible answer. "I got your message... Thought I'd come to check on you..."

The closer Penelope managed to get to the bed, the clearer the picture became. The arm that dangled off of the bed was trembling, blood running down all over his hand, dripping off into the floor. His face was pale, a thin layer of sweat had collected across his skin and his lips looked ghostly white and chapped. Penelope's eyes ran up his arm, her blood running cold as she tried to make out where the source was, but there was just so much red. Penelope had stayed petrified in her spot for long enough, forgetting to breathe until she rocketed forward, collapsing onto her knees next to the bed.

"What... what... are you... oh my god!" Her voice came out in chopped bits and pieces, just a testimony to horror-stricken she was. The girl had been sent into a straight panic, her brain refusing to process thoughts as she reached her hands out, trying to figure out just what to do. Her eyes dragged up to Logan's face once more, his eyes were closed and his lips were parted slightly, quiet breaths leaving him. Looking like he was hanging onto life by a thin, silver thread.

"It's... fine..." His voice came out hoarse and gravely, slow and slurred, too. Penelope's eyes widened at the words that left the man's lips, her hands gently hanging onto his arm now, his blood coating her hands and jacket, a bigger mess being made all over her. "Just... go... let me..." Syverson's words were coming out in just gentle, raspy breaths, barely audible, Penelope had to listen so closely because she couldn't believe what Logan was muttering.

Her hands started to shake even worse, finally flinging herself away from the man, scrambling out into the middle of the floor. "No, no, this isn't fine! I... I'm going to help you...!" No one had warned her about this man having any sort of mental health issues besides general anxiety, a slight case of depression... Kenton told her a slight case of depression!! Nothing to worry about, but now here she was, sitting terrified in the middle of his bedroom floor, watching him bleed out on his bed.

Penelope stared for a few moments more before something forced her to rocket to her feet. He's going to die, she thought, racing out of the room, back into the hallway. She had to get out of that room, had to scrub that image from her eyes, had to just... take a breath. Penelope checked every wrong pocket first before finding her phone in the left side pocket of her jacket, her shaking thumb punching 9-1-1 into the keypad.

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #syverson x ofc #captain syverson x ofc #homecoming

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outroshooky · 4 years

Text

no halo | kth

⇢ genre: oneshot (brief angst, fluff, smut) (exestolovers!au)

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader, bestfriend!min yoongi x reader

⇢ word count: 5.3k

⇢ audio: brockhampton’s ginger album

⇢ warnings: brief angst (it’s exes to lovers, what do you expect), a smoking mention, some varied cursing; implied and explicit smut (soft!! body worship). there’s a happy ending, i promise.

⇢ a/n: i sat down at my laptop today, turned on no halo by brockhampton, and started writing. six hours later, i cannot believe that i managed to smash a brutal writer’s block by churning this out in literally one day. i hope that this is a bit of bright light for you, dear reader, in a time where nothing seems to be going your way. you will make it through no matter how messy or uncertain life seems to be, and you will come out on the other side all the more stronger for having survived it.

Believe it or not, it’s the pair of battered red Converse slung over his shoulder that tips the whole thing over the edge.

It’s inexplicable. Perhaps it’s the memories attached to it, knotted and strung through metal rivets scuffed with night rides and hard asphalt. Tastes like cigarette smoke and ashen dreams wafting from the driver’s side window, but there’s something more bitter there. Heartbreak veins, like you’d expect them to pulse with anything but. They say love doesn’t last when it’s not built on something solid, but somehow, heady summer nights and network love aren’t enough to pass the time.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing with those?” It bites, thickened with venom. Somewhere far-off is a headboard banging, curses of those stupidly thin walls of the motel complex.

“They’re mine,” Yoongi says. Which they are. Unfortunately. “I need them to like, go outside and stuff.”

“Fuck you,” you fire back.

“A ray of sunshine you are,” he remarks. “Any particular reason you feel like biting my head off in this shitty hotel room?”

The silence explains absolutely nothing. What he doesn’t know is that it’s not his fault. It’s right there in the middle of the dingy carpet, cracked and bleeding, privy to one and one alone. You’re too stubborn and he’s too good and here you find yourselves, locked at an impasse. He doesn’t know how good he is, how he’s patched your wounds up with wind in your hair and sand between your toes. He tries his best; it’s better than anything you would allow yourself, a luscious pleasure in such a stark world. So you settle for what you’ve got, and he shakes his head.

“You know you can come to me, right? About what’s on your mind?”

You finger the fraying tear in the bedspread, the cotton crumbling between your thumb and index.

“Look, I’m not good at this feelings thing and you know that. But you’re my friend, and I care about you, and I want to hear you out, okay? Whatever you’re thinking about. You’re not gonna hurt me; it’s not like I haven’t been through the ringer myself. You’re not so different, yeah?” Yoongi’s eyes search your own for acceptance. Defeat. Anything at all. “You’re not some kind of lost cause because one asshole in particular who shall not be named made you feel that way. Maybe it was two assholes. Whatever. Your worth isn’t dependent on their opinion of you.”

It feels like rambling but burns like an iron, sears through the darkness hovering over your consciousness, casting shadow. That thing twitches, bent and broken deep inside, staining down the bedsheets and spilling onto the beige carpet. He’s hit home, and Yoongi knows it when the defiance in your brow drains, floodwater evaporating against the creamy popcorn ceiling. He’ll forever hold that he doesn’t have a way with words; you’d kindly argue the opposite.

“I’m sorry, Yoon.” You look up at him for the first time since you’d woken up on opposite sides of the same bed. Something about childhood innocence preserves moments like those, in spite of years gone past since the last time you shared a bed like that. Nothing dirty about needing companionship in the form of a brother you’d had since you’d skipped stones down at the pond in grade school. He knows you intrinsically, like the scars that cross his knees and the freckles that dot his neck, no better and no less. “You deserve better than the way I’ve been treating you. Because you’re right, you know. But right now, it hurts.”

“Hurt doesn’t make you any less human. It’s a part of life. And it’s okay to hurt sometimes. Just don’t let it consume you till there’s nothing left.” He readjusts the shoes tied together by one string, sitting on the narrow angular of his shoulder. “Breakfast ends in an hour. I’ll grab you something and bring it back, and then we’ll figure out what to do next, yeah? I don’t have work till Tuesday, so we don’t have to be back for a few days more.” He pauses in the doorway. “Oh, and for the record, fuck Kim Taehyung. I’ll knock his teeth through his ass for the shit he put you through.”

The small smile you crack brings a toothy grin to his own visage. “Excellent advice.”

There’s a wry fondness dancing in the deep russet of his pupils, burning umber in the low light. “I try.”

Fuck Kim Taehyung. The exact advice you needed to hear, and the exact advice you decided to act upon, in exactly all of the wrong ways.

It’s the number that is stamped on your brain like a fifty-dollar tattoo— not necessarily the most tasteful, a pain in the ass to remove. Unfortunately, it is the tattoo that your thoughts like to trace with gentle fingers, rubbing at the lines, blurring the edges. Laser removal takes time and patience, but the contrary nestles in the form of stupid decisions and late-night mistakes. Like a dead battery on your Wrangler at 1am on the back streets, a useless cell phone, and three weeks of time to think.

Grief gave way to rage gave way to kindling coals of sadness, burning low but bright enough to light your way. Gone were your attempts to fan them back into the roaring bonfire those motel walls once contained, but here were your best efforts to cradle them close, nurture them that they might die out on their own, and most of them had. Moving on tasted ginger-sweet and minty-bitter, the chill in the air as the leaves tumbled and crunched underfoot, ignited with reds and yellows and everything in between. A summertime flame left for the autumn rain.

Pour the rain did, leaking rivulets down the windshield as you sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the dashboard. In times like these you’d call Yoongi, but he didn’t get off work till the morning and an impossibly timed dead zone did nothing to help your wireless suffering. Nighttime meant comfort for souls like yours, an escape into the quiet of dusk when everyone else sought the dreamy confines of sleep. Unfortunately, it meant that everyone else sought sleep while you were cursedly awake and stuck in the downpour. No place to go, no one to find.

You let your head fall forward and hit the steering wheel with a thunk. Fuck.

Knock knock.

It’s a glance to the left, out the driver’s side window that reveals a silhouette framed in darkness, wrapped in a thick coat, peering through the glass. Hand raised to brow and you can’t help the involuntarily yelp that leaves your mouth from the sheer proximity of the stranger. The figure flinches back in response, and you can’t help the immediate pang of worry. You can’t afford to miss a chance for help, but you also can’t roll down the window, and thus you’re opening the door and squinting into the rain as it blusters through the open gap. “Hello, I’m sorry, my cell phone isn’t working, is it possible for me to borrow yours so I could call somebody to pick me up?”

“Wait, what?” The stranger hunches slightly, peering through the watery onslaught. “Is that who I think it is?”

Oh god.

Oh god no.

The sheer absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you, not like the way relief is wrapping that thick timbre around yourself like a familiar blanket. The irony of your car happening to die only a few blocks away from that little blue two-story, the coincidences of such a familiar stranger going out for a stroll in the middle of a fucking rainstorm. Of course he had to.

“Unfortunately,” you can’t help but grimace. “Taehyung, what the fuck are you doing out here in weather like this?”

You can hear the hint of a smile in his voice. It almost aches. “Are you saying this isn’t ideal weather to take a walk and enjoy the fresh air?”

“No,” you reply bluntly. Infuriatingly positive he is, always has been. “Ideal weather isn’t a fucking thunderstorm.”

“Mm.” The momentary quiet, save the rainfall, hints at what goes unsaid. “So what are you doing out here?”

You bristle. How to formulate a response that would not warrant help, but also warrant help? “I was out taking a late-night drive and stopped to take a break. I was getting drowsy and I prefer to be a responsible driver, so I pulled over to make sure I was awake enough to drive home.”

“What a considerate person you are!” Taehyung trills, and you’re almost positive it is completely unironic. “How are you feeling then? Do you think you’ll be able to drive home?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll be fine.” A tight smile. Polite. It takes every ounce of will to not study him deeper, all of the curves and edges hidden snugly in the darkness. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s raining really hard as well; you won’t be able to see well even if you aren’t feeling drowsy.” There’s genuine concern in his tone, warmth bubbling from his throat like liquid sunshine. Maddening. But he’s right; he’s shining a bright light through the flimsy veil of your lies and you’re pinned. Even more maddening.

“Taehyung, it’s—” you clamp your mouth shut because in a slip of the tongue, you were that close to letting anger seep into your tone. That close to losing your stance as the better man, but the line of who exactly is the better man is smudged beyond sight in the downpour. You take a deep breath. Start again. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Lightning flashes, jolting the clouds and cleaving them in two. The very world could be coming down in tatters around him and Taehyung wouldn’t think twice about being his everyday self, annoyingly cheery and maddeningly gentlemanly. You swear you see a flash of teeth, a boxy smile despite the water dripping from his umbrella, striking the pavement with an irregular heartbeat. Not your own, of course. “Nonsense! We can’t have you left out here to soak like this. Come on, you can drive us home!”

Oh my god, he certainly has not disappeared quicker than the very implication left his mouth. He is not shaking his head like a dog shedding wetness, nor opening the passenger’s side and hopping in, pausing to fold his umbrella in the gap before pulling the door neatly shut. You are not seated in your dead Wrangler with your ex-boyfriend at one-thirty in the morning in the middle of the very heavens coming apart with a religious fervor.

Taehyung brushes his wet hair out of his face, dribbling water down his cheeks. For all of your expectations, he looks no different than when you saw him last, standing on the curb with all the world’s joys flickering in his pretty almond eyes. The shadows cast his profile in a gaunter light, sweeping down the hollows of his jawline, his cheekbones; your fingers tighten around the door handle. Apparently, three weeks might not change much after all.

“Oh sorry, did I rush you?” He opts to ignore your blank-eyed stare of shock, reaching out to you before pausing, his hand outstretched to touch you. “I didn’t mean to rush you if you’re not ready to drive yet. We can sit here as long as you’d like! There’s no rush for me to be home. I just wanted to get out of the rain; it was starting to soak through my umbrella!”

For all of this, you can manage a brief: “Yeah.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to go!” The optimism in his voice is painful.

“Taehyung.”

“Yeah!”

“I lied.”

You don’t need to look at him to know the way his forehead will furrow. “What?”

“Gah!” You can’t help pinching your brow between two fingers. “I can’t fucking believe this—”

“Believe what?” Blinking doe-eyes, long lashes wet and thick in the dimness.

“Taehyung, my car battery died three blocks from your house and my cell phone isn’t working, and now I’m sitting here with my ex-boyfriend in the passenger’s seat and I have no fucking idea how I ended up here.” You sigh. “Do you not see the irony in this?”

He blatantly ignores the gesture towards the massive elephant basically perched on the center console. “No wonder your car is off! We’ll walk then.”

“Taehyung, please just make it easier for the both of us and l—”

It’s no use. Dear god. How you had ever put up with him, shared a bed with him is currently escaping you, but regardless of this, he is already out of the car as the words punctuate empty air. Weighing options is impossible when you have none to choose from.

“-use my phone to call somebody to pick you up!” The driver’s side door opens and he’s there, right there, not across the console or the bar or whatever. Right there. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste!”

“Kim Taehyung, for god’s sake, I am your ex-girlfriend!” The exclamatory stops him in his tracks. Finally. “Why are you helping me?”

The rain pours rivulets down his black slicker, drenching his hair and bunching along his shoulders and running down his arms. And yet, he brushes the water from his brow with a swipe of his thumb, peers at you, sneakered feet planted firmly in the asphalt. He raises a finger to the sky, smiles— not a half-smile, lopey and lop-sided, but a true grin, squared and gummy and full of wonder. “Ideal weather.”

“Kim Taehyung, you are absolutely ridiculous—”

“Ideal!”

“So let me get this straight,” Yoongi grits as you sit across from him, your frame molded into the plush of his second-hand loveseat. “Your car died on the back streets, coincidentally three blocks from Kim Taehyung’s house, who is— just to double check— the asshole who shredded your relationship, and he happened to be out for a walk in the rain and stumbled across you in your car, and offered to take you back to his house and let you stay there till morning until you could get me to pick you up?”

“Yes.”

“What the actual fuck.”

You gesture at him with your free hand, the other occupying a mug of steaming tea. “Join the club.”

“Just to double check, we’re talking about the same Kim Taehyung. The dude who you officially dated for a solid four months but fucked around with long before that. That guy, right? That Taehyung?”

You release a deep breath; the steam rising from your mug winds away. “Yes, it’s the same Kim Taehyung.”

Yoongi looks like he is about to spit nails. “I hope you took the chance to kick him in the balls.”

“Yoongi!”

“Just saying.”

“It could’ve been a lot worse, actually.” Your companion raises an eyebrow. “He gave me his umbrella when we walked back.”

“Ah yes, because giving you his umbrella once undoes six months of emotional damage—”

“Yoongi, chill. I did what I had to do—”

“Which is good, because survival skills are important.” He searches your face for any hint of something other than stoicism. Forgiveness, maybe. “And it doesn’t have to be any more than that.”

“I didn’t say it was,” you affirm. “But even if I don’t like him, I owe him credit where it’s due.”

Yoongi frowns. He knows not to push, but curiosity pecks his bones, nips his intuition. “For the third time— why didn’t you call me last night when you got back to his house?”

You sip at your tea. Flaxen sweet, mild on your tongue. “You were at work and I didn’t want to bother. Paying rent is more important than saving my sorry stranded ass.”

“You’re neglecting to mention the Kim Taehyung part.”

He rubs a fine nerve, one push too far. “Yoongi, what are you so worried about?” You sit up, place your mug on the fold-out table. “It’s not like I’m suddenly pining over him just because he happened to be there when I needed help. It’s not like I had any other options; I can handle myself. Taehyung and I broke up a month and a half ago; I’m not as… broken as I was before.”

It’s written on Yoongi’s face that he doesn’t like it, but protectiveness wins out over stubbornness. It always does when it comes to you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

You soften. “I know.”

The tension drains from his hunched figure. “I know you can handle yourself when it comes to people like him. But I also know how hard you cried over him in a shitty motel all those weeks ago.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t want you to feel like that again because of someone. Fool me twice, you know? You deserve better than that.”

Your eyes flick to his. Steady, warm, weighing justice by the tawny flecks that glint in the raven black of his irises. “I do. And I don’t doubt that. It won’t happen again.”

His own mug clacks as it meets the wooden tabletop. “You know, you never told me what exactly happened between you two that ended it. Like, I know the rough idea, but not play-by-play. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but…” He trails off, leaving the gap.

“Ah.” A remark, neutral in sheen but bitter in taste. Like biting into the shell of a crisp apple, only to find that it’s not as sweet as once hoped it to be. “Sure.”

So Yoongi listens.

It’s strange how someone so vivid in nightmares, so seemingly real as the pen between your fingers or the breath in your lungs, can fade away so quickly by daybreak. Before you ran into Taehyung again (for better or for worse? For worse), he loomed as some larger-than-life figure in the back of your consciousness, spewing traumas and terrors like a river gully. But there he was in the passenger’s seat, no larger or smaller than before. Just Taehyung. Terrifying in premise, in rationality, on the contrary.

With that in mind, it was hard to not wonder if you had, perhaps, not given him credit where it was due. The Taehyung you met in the pouring rain was the same Taehyung whose hair you brushed sand from and temple you kissed and sides you pinched to get him to squeak when he laughed. Memories you tried to stuff away, filter through a new lens with every flicker in your mind, like a crackling film reel. But there he was, and here you were, and you weren’t quite sure who you were running from anymore.

Is it easy to run from someone who your lips know the taste of, fingers know the feel of? Is it easier to run from yourself when you strip away the miscommunications, aches and pains?

Yoongi knew the full story now. Terrifying to admit your fault, any measure of it, because you never liked to show him what being broken looked like. Some measure of personal freedom exercised, but with the wrong heart in mind, because he would never judge anything you had to say and instead, simply listen. He was always an older soul than you ever tried to be and he knew it, rugged wisdom at its finest. But ultimately, he only knew what he was told or taught, and there you were, spilling the unmangled truth to him on a Wednesday morning over two cups of chamomile tea.

Coming to grasp with imperfections is part of the cursed struggle of being human, of embracing those little nicks and dashes that make us who we are. It does not mean we are loved any less, but loved because of them; none of us are angels. These messes are our measures, our faults and our pleasures. How terrifying it all is, being ourselves. Being raw and vulnerable and attacking those thoughts that weigh heavy on our consciousness, day after day.

And it is easy to wonder if you matter through all of this, through the chaos of that inner dialogue. It’s moments like these that put those perspectives into frame, click them like camera shutters pausing time to breathe and think. To look at the white-framed ink is to rewrite tangibility, printed blurry on those transparent rolls. Nothing is so unforgettable when it is angled just so.

In the evening, in the comforts of your apartment, you uncork a Polaroid from where it is hidden behind some cheery optimistic phrase you stole off of tumblr. Bullshit for the purpose it serves, painfully ironic for the task it demands. A picture of a boy with cherry-red hair and a boxy grin on his face, arms wrapped around you with all of the comforts and ease of home. There’s mirth in your eyes, sheer joy and laughter. No alcohol involved, just two people who found it easy to slip into each other’s company just-so. A jasper gem for you, polished to perfection and printed right underneath your fingertips.

Anxiety clenches at the base of your jaw, massages your throat with the cruelest intentions. You swallow it back.

The phone rings once.

Twice.

Crackles to life.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Taehyung?”

His voice melts through the receiver like buttery chocolate, smooth and warm. “You still have my phone number! Hello! I thought I’d never hear from you.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?” You blink in confusion, then shake your head. “Never mind.”

“I thought I’d never hear from you. That guy who picked you up didn’t seem to say much, but I figured you’d call eventually to say that you made it home safe. So I guess you did! And I’m glad.” You can hear Taehyung smiling through the phone, easy inflections of speech.

“Yeah.” You fidget, playing with the edge of your sleeve. Now or never. “Taehyung, I owe you an apology.”

This is the first time he falters, hints at something deeper. “What for?”

You take a deep breath. “You were kind to me. And I didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time, so I was a complete asshole to you. And I’m sorry for that. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it was the least I could do! Nobody deserves to be stuck in the pouring rain—”

“I’m not talking about the rainstorm.”

He stutters. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Taehyung.”

He’s quiet. It is terrifying.

“Taehyung, both of us know what I mean.”

You momentarily wonder if the line has gone dead. Perhaps it has. A saving grace, and then that deep timbre crackles to life on the other side. You nearly miss what he says.

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispers.

“You were kind to me,” you stutter. “Kind to me; so, so kind. And I didn’t recognize it for what it was w-when you gave it to me. And I was a complete asshole to you. I’m sorry.” You wait for something, anything, but he gives no intention, and you continue. “Taehyung, you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was so terrified that I stuffed it away into some far-off corner and tried to pretend that it wasn’t happening. I turned so much outward onto you that you didn’t deserve because I didn’t know how to be good enough for someone like you. I took you for granted, Taehyung, the exact opposite of everything I should have done. You glow like the literal fucking sun, and I’m a little cloud drifting through the sky. I should’ve let you shine through me, but instead, I just blocked you out. And I’m sorry,” you confess, the tension in your shoulders collapsing. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time in weeks you wish you could see him in front of you, gauge his reactions like barometric pressure, but instead he’s across town and you are here, feeling ever-so-small in spite of yourself. It was easy to read what he was thinking, painted across his face in swaths of joy and sadness and everything in between, but here, he gave away nothing.

Please say something, Taehyung. Please say anything.

“Ideal weather,” he murmurs.

“W-What?”

“A sun without clouds in the sky shines blindingly. Clouds temper all that light; certainly we don’t need all of it.” It sounds so cheesy, some Shakespearean verse he quotes from off the top of his head, but it is the closest thing he’ll phrase to acceptance, and you swallow down a relieved sob. He calls you by name then, lets it ring warm and sweet, the way he used to say it. With life, energy, everything it lacked simply because it rang from all the wrong mouths till then. “Everything happens for a reason. You did the best you could. It just didn’t work out at the time.”

“Taehyung, it’s okay to blame me. It’s okay to say that I was the one who fucked it all up, not you. For god’s sakes, you never did anything wrong. It was always my insecurity, my mistakes—”

“You’re only human. You did the best that you could, just as I did. Who could blame you for that?” Taehyung’s words seep heat into your bones, calm your trembling fingers. “I couldn’t. Nobody could. I certainly don’t think any less of you for it. None of us are angels; we did our best with what we had. And that’s alright.”

You can’t help but laugh, dry, monosyllabic. “You handled this so much remarkably better than I did, god.”

He’s breathy with amusement. “It took a little while.”

“I could imagine.”

He hums. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

Your index finger finds the edges of the instant photo. His smile catches in the light of your desk lap. “There’s another reason I called.”

“That wasn’t it?”

“Believe it or not, no.” You trace his shoulders, the planes of his chest. “I just wanted to say. I have a Polaroid of us from July, from that bonfire that Jeongguk had with like fifty people down at the beach. I kept it, selfishly. It’s been pinned up on my bulletin board behind another piece of paper. But I took it out today. And I think I might pin it up in front now.”

“Oh, the cherry red hair.” The fondness seeps through the receiver. “I loved that night.”

“Me too,” you admit. A beat of silence. “Goodnight, Taehyung. Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re hanging up already?”

“What?” You nearly sputter.

“I haven’t gotten to talk about the Polaroids I kept, too.”

There are two ways to fundamentally seduce Kim Taehyung: make his coffee exactly how he likes it, or play with his hair while he’s lying on your chest. Both of which you achieved, and both of which led to your current predicament.

But we’ll rewind a bit.

That phone call, the first of many, lasted into the early hours of the morning, that sacred time that you both hold dear. It tasted like nostalgia and fondness, feelings you corked and bottled out of fear of what might lie on the other side. But in this case, the other side was a friend and more, a living history book for all of the cracks in between. And he simply adored filling them in.

That lazy afternoon where you planned on having a date at the park, but it had poured rain nearly as intense as the day you reconnected with him. You danced in between the raindrops instead, bare feet on the gravely asphalt, wishing you could touch heaven and so you kissed the boy whose cheeks were between your palms. The spontaneous road trip you took to the next big city over, five hours away, simply because for the first time in so long, you had nowhere to be but with each other. Hands held between library shelves, firelight’s glow on faces untouched. Sharing a tuft of blue cotton candy with sticky fingers, talking about everything and nothing under the moonlit, cloudless sky. For every instant photo saved were memories tenfold that he plucked from that mind of his like stars placed in the breadth of the cosmos.

One phone call became two, became four. Became texting over a break at work, FaceTiming over dinner. Became meeting each other for a late breakfast, studying at the cafe for an early afternoon cup of espresso. Depth and understanding, and Taehyung is slotting into your life without a second thought, as easily as you’re slipping into his. You let him this time, so much smoother than before. You want him to.

Neither of you can deny what it is happening, but neither of you can find a complaint to lodge. So when he asks you out, fingers entwined over the metal arm of the park bench, a bouquet of sunflowers tucked next to you, he already knows what your answer will be.

Indeed, there are two fundamental ways to seduce Kim Taehyung, and as a master of both of them, it is only a matter of time before you find yourselves at the foot of your bed; he pulls you closer to press his lips to your own. He tastes like cappuccino and chocolate and you’re humming into the kiss, shuddering underneath him. He still knows your body, every divet, every edge. He never stopped loving it— never stopped loving you.

He worships the way he loves— selflessly, giving every ounce of himself without abandon or question. When he eases himself between your thighs, the look in his eyes is nothing short of sinful adoration, seeking out every secret to your pleasure. It’s ingrained in his memory, the way you gasp or grab his hair when his fingers dance along your skin; he couldn’t forget it even if he tried. It is worth every wince as your digits tug at his scalp; he swallows down everything you give him and begs for more, more, more.

And likewise you lavish him, devoting minutes to dot his heaving ribs with kisses, stroking comforting palms down his sinewy thighs. Taehyung is every work of art you have wanted to see in a museum, living, breathing, merely mortal but so much more. So vibrant, so raw.

And afterwards you lie together, unable to tell where he begins and you end. Breathing in the heat, piecing each other together in the silent din. Clothes are tossed about the room; you can’t find it in you to care. You turn to him, caress his cheek, run a thumb over his lips. “Stay here tonight. Please.”

He smiles and your thumb brushes his teeth, boxy and exposed through the gap of his grin. “Was the overnight bag not enough?”

“How did I not notice you packed an overnight bag?” You sit up, wrapping the blankets around your torso, scanning the room to spot his duffel.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, wraps himself around you like a human koala. “I’m very good at being sneaky.”

“Mm, I noticed.” There it is, against your dresser. Your heart swells, fit to burst.

“Come to bed,” Taehyung hums, gritty, a little seductive. It sends a chill down your spine. You don’t think it’s meant to. Your fingers find his own and knit together over his knuckles.

“I’m right here, sunshine.”

He kisses behind your ear, the gentlest of intentions. “I love you,” he whispers. “Come to bed.”

You squeeze over his hand. Everything left unsaid, in the space of a breath. Two. “I love you too,” you whisper. “And I will always be here, loving you, with everything I could possibly give you. Every ounce of my heart. I love you.”

He squeezes back, wraps the blanket around your frame, tucks you in tight. He kisses your shoulder with lips of silk, and you roll on your side to get comfortable, his arm draped over your waist.

Against the far wall, propped up on his duffel, lies a pair of Converse sneakers, as scuffed and beaten as they were saturated with rain, on the day you fell in love with Kim Taehyung all over again.

#btswritersnet #bts #bts fluff #bts smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #kpop fluff #kpop smut #exes to lovers au #outroshooky

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kalypsichor · 4 years

Text

and they were quARANTINED [a beatles fic] - ch 1

summary: George takes a shit. Ringo braves a trip to the tescos and loses a bit of his soul. John harrasses the general public and Paul’s just trying to get them home before they kill each other. All while a virus tears the world apart.

warnings: CRACK (not cocaine), geo’s bad potty habits, ringo’s copious use of emojis

so, this is different... but i’ve always been a crack fic writer at heart. this is the result of being quarantined myself due to COVID-19. i’ve been seeing so much fear and frustration and hatred that i just wanted to write about it kinda cathartically. enjoy!

Unfortunately, George doesn’t realize that they’re out of toilet paper until after he’s taken a shit.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Ringo?”

No answer.

“Ringooooooooo. RINGO!!!”

George’s legs are starting to lose feeling. He bounces them up and down a bit and the motion almost makes him drop his phone in the toilet.

“RICHARD FUCKING STARKEY!”

There’s the sound of footsteps and then a pause before Ringo answers.

“What’s up?”

“What took you so long?”

“Had my headphones in. Sorry I couldn’t be at your beck and call, O Lord of the Loo.”

“SHUT up. Look, do we have any more loo roll?”

A pause. “Why, are we out?”

George rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars. “No, I’m askin’ for the banter.”

“I’ll go check. Don’t move!”

George can almost see the shit-eating (heh) grin on his mate’s face as he walks away. With a sigh and some choice curse words that would make Louise cry, George pulls out his phone again. Opens Twitter. Sees yet another tweet from that spraytanned clown across the pond. Closes Twitter and contemplates deleting it. After about three rounds of this, Ringo comes back and knocks on the door.

“We’re all out. Got you some tissues, though.”

Krishna help me. George tips his head back against the wall and thumps it a few times for good measure.

“Thanks,” he says flatly. “Could you- ?”

The door opens just a smidge before he can finish talking there’s a flying blur of Kleenex box, a blinding pain in the side of his head, and a sickening crACK—

***

“I’m really sorry,” Ringo says for the millionth time, hovering over George as he examines the spiderweb of cracks on his phone screen. George huffs. He wants to be mad, he really does, but Ringo’s face is doing that stupid thing where his eyes are very, very blue and droopy and his teeth are worrying his bottom lip and it’s obvious that he’s genuinely remorseful and—fuck, he’s got it bad.

“It’s fine,” George insists, even though he can hear his bank account having a fit. “Piece of shit phone, anyway. And look, it still works!” Very shittily, his brain adds, but that’s what you get with a five year old phone.

The older boy’s eyes still have an unconvinced, sad look about them and George wishes he could kiss it away. No homo, though.

“How can I make it up to you?” George’s brain does a slutdrop into the gutter. “I’ll… I’ll get the groceries! How ‘bout that?”

“NO!” Scrambling off the couch, George just barely misses smacking noses with Ringo. “What about the… the virus?”

“I’ll wear a mask and all. Wash hands for twenty seconds, stay six feet away from people… am I missing anything?”

“Yeah, the quarantine bit.”

Ringo snorts and puts a hand on George’s arm. “Quit your worrying, Geo. I’ll be fine. Haven’t John and Paul been out all day?”

***

John and Paul want to go the fuck home. They’d walked all the way to a new art gallery opening only to find out it was cancelled (“Why didn’t you check Google?” “Why didn’t you?”). And now, both being tired as hell from their long trek, they couldn’t even flag down a single cab to take them home.

“This is the worst thing ever,” John cries, flopping his entire body down on a park bench. Paul rolls his eyes and lifts up John’s stupidly long legs so he can sit down as well.

“People are dying, John.”

“I feel like I’m dying.”

“John.”

“Okay, fine, maybe I’m being dramatic. But this stupid… thing… is fucking up all our plans!”

“It’s not fucking Voldemort, you can say the name.”

“Alright, fine. Coronavirus. CORONAVIRUS. You happy, Paul?”

A woman hurrying by shoots them a wide-eyed, nervous look and crosses the street, tugging a little boy by the hand.

“... bitch.”

“Jesus, John.” Paul pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’d do that too if some rando was shouting in the streets.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t hafta shoot that nasty look at us… did you see that? Paul?”

“Hold on, hold on.” His phone is vibrating in his pocket and he fumbles to pull it out. “Your stupid legs are in the way.”

John huffs and makes a show of wiggling said legs, almost kicking Paul in the face. Still, he tucks them to his chest (flexible, Paul thinks and then instantly regrets) so that Paul can take out the buzzing rectangle.

bongo: do u or john want anything? 🤔🤔

bongo: like groceries

bongo: going to tescos

Shouldnt you be quarantining?

bongo: ur literally at an art museum 😂

It’s a gallery

And it got cancelled :/

bongo: oop sorry m8 thats tough

bongo: srsly tho whaddaya want

We need more vegetables. Carrots, etc

“Tell him to get cornflakes,” John says, peering over Paul’s shoulder. He’s sat up and practically draped over Paul’s lap. Paul sighs and shoves his legs off, ignoring the indignant squawk the other boy makes when he almost falls off the bench.

Also that cornflake cereal stuff

bongo: k

bongo: tell john i said hi

Heyyyyyy rich wots up

Paulie’s being a bitch he pushed me :((((

Why is his auto caps on lsdnfol

“Give it back!”

“Ow! Ow stop hitting me Jesus fuckin-”

Sorry that was john

bongo: yeah i could tell lmao

bongo: where are u guys??

Stuck at some park. Can’t get any cabs home

bongo: well duh coronavirus 😷😷😷

bongo: bad time to be a cabbie man 😔

Yeah yikes

Pick up some rice for george too

And hand sanitizer

bongo: ill try but twitter says handsan itizer is going fast

bongo: what the fuc why did it space like that

Lol

bongo: oh also

bongo: geos being a mother hen and making me wear a face mask

bongo: u know where they are?

Second drawer down in the bathroom, behind the rubber gloves

bongo: … how did u reply SO fast

Uh i know where things are in our flat? Like a normal person?

bongo: thats sus but ok

bongo: wow theyre actually here

bongo: okay imma head out before it gets dark

What’s after dark? Zombies?

bongo: u never no

bongo: *no

bongo: FUCKING *KNOW

Nice

Okay stay safe ritch

bongo: 😘🙃👍🏼✌🏼✌🏼🌈🌟🥦🥦🥦☮️

***

Ringo has never seen this many people at Tesco in his entire life. Two grown men are having a full on argument in the pastries. A harried-looking dad almost knocks Ringo into a rack of Twinkies, pulling along two screaming kids with one slung on his hip. And… is that person actually wearing a Hazmat suit??

“This is insane,” Ringo mutters to himself, slightly muffled due to the face mask. He just needs to find the loo roll and then he’s going to yeet outta here ASAP.

Okay, hygiene aisle… here we g—what the—

The entire aisle is empty.

It’s like a goddamn Old Western. Just add a cow skull… cue the tumbleweed… and it would be perfect.

Not for the first time that day, Ringo sends a prayer to whoever is listening above. There’s got to be something left. He walks down to the end of the aisle. Walks back. Jumps a couple times to check if there’s anything on the top shelf. Sincerely hopes no one just saw him do that. Finally, shoved at the very back behind a couple of Always boxes, Ringo digs out a dusty as shit six-pack of toilet paper.

Well. It’ll have to do.

As he’s walking to the check out lines, a woman drops her bottle of hand sanitizer. It rolls across the floor in a perfect arc and Ringo scoops it up before it can get too far.

“Oops, you dropped this!” He says cheerily, handing it to her. Well, trying to. The woman makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, physically flinches away from his outstretched hand, and almost drops the rest of her groceries. Before Ringo can react, she’s disappeared behind the produce aisle.

Ringo’s arm falls to his side. He stares at the space where she was just a second ago and holds in a scream.

“More for us, I guess.”

***

By the time Ringo reaches the flat, he’s ready to never see another person again. He trudges right past George in the kitchen, dropping the groceries on the table with a thwack. John hums a greeting to him in the living room and offers him a biscuit.

“No thanks,” Ringo says. He faceplants into the couch.

Something clinks onto the coffee table. Well, coffee table is one way to put it; it’s more of a hunk of stone from back when Paul thought he was going to be the next Michelangelo and get really into classical sculpture. It now sits in the living room and primarily holds George’s textbooks, plus takeout for whenever they don’t feel like cooking (which is all the time), so you can see how that panned out for Paul.

“Tea for you,” George says. He plops onto the floor between the couch and the table and runs a friendly, comforting hand through Ringo’s hair. Ringo practically purrs, leaning into the touch, and George feels his heart melt and trickle through his ribs. “You okay?”

“I’ve lost all faith in humanity,” Ringo mumbles into the cushion. John reaches over and pats him on the back.

“Don’t worry, Ringo. There won’t be any humans to have faith in soon.”

George throws a packet of sugar at John who dodges it, snickering. Ringo groans and tries to sink even deeper into the couch.

And that’s when they hear Paul scream.

#mclennon #starrison #mclennon fanfic #starrison fanfic #john lennon x paul mccartney #george harrison x ringo starr #beatles fanfic #beatles crackfic #kalwrites #idk

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swanqueeneverafter · 4 years

Text

The Once & Future Queen Pt.3

Storybrooke. The Dragon's Lair. (Regina stands behind the bar with her arms folded, deep in conversation with her daughter, Maria.) Regina: "I know what you're thinking. You think I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Well you're wrong. (Maria sticks out her tongue:) And no, I'm not keeping busy, either. I offered to open the place up this morning to show Robin and Zelena my appreciation for looking after you so much recently. (Maria gurgles:) Yes, I know I should've talked to you about how I'm feeling sooner, but we can't all be perfect like you now, can we? (Maria blows a raspberry and giggles:) Well, exactly. (Hearing the door to the bar being pulled violently, calls out:) We're not open yet! (The jostling of the door continues:) Right..." (Regina reaches under the bar and retrieves a baseball bat. Striding to the door, she opens it ready to swing.) Henry: (Steps over the threshold and immediately puts his hands up:) “Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, it’s me! I woke up this morning and the house was empty. So I came looking for you.” Regina: “Sorry. (Walking back to the bar:) Never can be too careful.” Henry: “Geez. What’s got you all revved up?” Regina: (Sighs:) “Where do I start?”

Henry: (Takes a seat at the bar. To Maria:) “Hey, cutie.” Regina: “I’ve thought about all the possible ways of going back in time to find Emma. The Apprentice's door, making my own spell, a curse.” Henry: “A curse?” Regina: (Continues:) “But they’re all too risky. All I can do is have faith that Emma will find her way back.” Henry: “Well let me say on behalf of the town how relieved we are you chose not to cast another curse.” Regina: “Yeah, well, now I can’t even go to Granny’s because Ruby will be there to try an ambush me with some sort of group counseling session. And Snow’s hired some new reporter who you just know is going to be sniffing around for an interview.” Henry: “So naturally you’re hiding out here.” Regina: “I don’t like being powerless, Henry. It doesn’t sit well with me at all.” Ella: (Enters:) “Regina. I am so glad you're here.” Regina: “Hey, uh, what's up?” Ella: “It's, um it's been a big night. Tiana and I, uh, we sort of bought a food truck.” Regina: “Well, that's great!” Ella: “It needs a lot of work, and don’t have any tools. Do you have any?” Regina: “Hm, lucky for you, when I owned this place it was always falling apart, so... (Starts looking under the bar and pulls out a large red toolbox:) I should have all the tools you'll need.” Ella: (Taking it:) “You are a lifesaver.” (Goes to leave.) Henry: (Speaking up:) “Well, hey. Um, If you need some help, I'm pretty good around engines, you know, for a writer.” Ella: “No, I'm fine.” (She leaves.) Regina: “What was that? Are you two still having problems?” Henry: “Hey, not all issues are so easily swept under the rug you know.” Regina: “Ella accused me of murdering her mother.” Henry: “Exactly. Some things are more complicated than others.” Regina: (Sceptically:) “Uh huh.”

Camelot. Council Chamber. (The council is gathered around a weeping woman.) Guinevere: “What’s happened to her?” Agravaine: “Her village was attacked.” Guinevere: “By who?” Agravaine: “Not entirely clear, Your Majesty.” (Guinevere approaches the weeping woman.) Guinevere: “What’s your name?” Drea: “Drea.” (Guinevere steps closer and the girl tenses. Guinevere puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and speaks softly.) Guinevere: “Drea. (She uncertainly makes eye contact:) I’m Guinevere. Don’t be frightened. Tell me what happened.” Drea: “My mother, my father, my litter sister, they’re…” (She starts weeping again.) Guinevere: “It’s all right. It’s all right. (Drea nods:) Someone attacked them. (She nods again:) Who?” Drea: “There was no one. Just…shapes.” Guinevere: “You didn’t see their faces?” Drea: “They had no faces. (Guinevere looks uncertainly at a few councilmen. Lancelot turns at the sound of something behind him:) I– I keep telling you. They were there, but…they weren’t there. They moved so quickly. It was as if they weren’t real, but…they must’ve been. I could hear the people screaming. And then…silence. They were all…dead.” (Drea breaks down and Guinevere comforts her.) Guinevere: “Hey. Thank you. (To those gathered:) Where is this village?” Xena: (Arriving alongside Gabrielle:) “Not far. (Everyone turns to them:) It’s to the east of the White Mountains, no more than half a day’s hard ride.” Gabrielle: “We’ve just come from there.” Guinevere: (To Lancelot:) “Ready the men.”

Enchanted Forest. Past. (After reuniting with Tiger Lily, Emma and Mulan discuss plans to return home.) Tiger Lily: "Tink's still a novice fairy at this point. It'll take time to train her fully, but I'm fairly confident she can get us home." Emma: "That's great news. (Relieved:) I was worried I'd have to contact Rumplestiltskin again and I already did that the last time I went back in time." Mulan: "Haven't we gone back further in time than your last visit? If we did have to ask him for help, technically it would be for the first time." Emma: "Yeah, I suppose so, but anytime you ask the Dark One for help, it always comes with a price." Tiger Lily: "You know, the Darkness was around for hundreds of years. It really makes you appreciate living in a time where it no longer exists." Emma: "Well, you're welcome, but I know Marian won't appreciate me being late for work, so I better get going. (Catching Mulan's smirk:) What? It's all right for you, you get to be part of Robin Hood's gang." Mulan: "You think I like being back in the Merry Men? Once was bad enough, but now it's like half of them have never even held a sword, much less fought with one." Tiger Lily: "I thought Robin said he wasn't in that line of work anymore?" Mulan: "That was him being cautious. After watching me deal with the drunks at the tavern, Robin thought my skills would be put to better use training his men." Emma: "Well have fun kicking butt while I get mine groped all day in the tavern!" (Emma hurries back to the tavern to find Marian behind the bar waiting for her.) Marian: "You're late." Emma: (Removing her cloak:) "Yeah, sorry I was-" Marian: "How can you be late for work when you live upstairs? (Emma tries to explain but Marian talks over her:) You have a customer waiting." Emma: "I- really?" Marian: "Yes. They've been asking for you. (Places two flagons of mead on the bar:) Table six. Go on." (Emma takes the flagons and heads over towards the table. Negotiating carefully through the crowded room, she manages to place the flagons on the table without spilling a drop.) Emma: "There you are. Thank you for waiting." Regina: (Smiling up at her:) "Not a problem." Emma: (Surprised to see her:) "Regina?" Regina: "What are the odds, huh?" Emma: (Smiling:) "Of all the taverns in all the towns in all the world, you walk into mine." Regina: "Join me?" Emma: (Glances back at Marian, who is now busy:) "Sure, I could use a break."

Storybrooke. Present. Main Street. (Henry and Regina walk down the street, carrying Maria between them.) Henry: "You okay, Mom? You've been quiet since we left the bar." Regina: (Nods:) "Yeah, just thinking about Emma." Henry: "Of course." Regina: "You know, I told your mother just recently about how I've never been as happy as am with her? I mean, aside from the years you and I-" Henry: (Smiles:) "Mom, relax, I get it. The connection you and Emma have, you won't find between mother and son. Although all three of us have shared True Love's Kiss, so... I'm not quite sure what my point was going to be." Regina: (Chuckles:) "No, me neither." Henry: (Smiles:) "Well, what I meant to say is that we both know what Emma is capable of. She'll come back to us as soon as she's able." Regina: "Yeah." Henry: "And until then, you still have Maria and me." Regina: "Hm. About that... (Gently taking Maria's carrier from him:) We'll go solo. Your afternoon is already full.” Henry: “Is it?” Regina: “Mmhmm. (They turn a corner and see Ella working on the second food truck a short distance away:) I would do anything to have your mother back with us right now. But since I can’t do anything about that, I’m concentrating on what I can do, which is putting you and Ella back together. Go ask her out.” Henry: (Takes a deep breath:) “Sometimes I guess you just got to accept when Mom knows best.” Regina: “Now, be charming, and don't slouch.” Henry: (Nods:) “Wish me luck.”

Granny’s Diner. (Will Scarlett sits alone at a booth in the diner. Looking around, he pulls a flask out of his jacket and adds the contents to his coffee. When returning the flask to his pocket, a hand stretches out and pulls the coffee cup away.) Will: “Hands off. That's me lunch and dinner.” Robin: “Sorry, friend, but I need to pick your brain. And I need you sober as Friar Tuck on a Sunday when I do it.” Will: “I'm not sure Sunday's ever made any difference for that man. What's happening?” Robin: “I need to understand more about Robin Hood. The Robin Hood all these people seem to know and admire.” Will: “Funny. I often forget you’re not the man I betrayed way back when.” Robin: “No, but I’m sure the weight of your guilt will work in my favour.” Will: “Ah, well, that sounds more like the Robin I knew. So, what's so important about learning about the other version of yourself?” Robin: “I feel as though I’m living a lie. I’m in a relationship with the woman who tricked the other Robin into sleeping with her and bore his child. I regularly visit with Little John and Roland and continue to confuse the boy more and more.” Will: “Hm. A sticky situation indeed. I might just have an idea.” Robin: “Excellent.” Will: “But I'm gonna need me lunch and dinner back. (Robin sighs and passes the cup back:) See, you ain't been in this town as long as I have. There wasn't always magic, but when it came, it started at one place... The clock tower. See, for twenty eight years, them hands didn't move. Time stood still. Then one day, tick-tock, it bloody did.” Robin: “I'm afraid you've lost me, Will.” Will: “Do you know what's under that magical clock tower?” Robin: “No.” Will: “A library.” Under The Food Truck. (Ella is working when she hears music playing. Rolling out from under the truck, Ella sees Henry standing there with a boombox over his head.) Ella: “What's that?” Henry: (Lowers his arms:) “Uh, The English Beat. ‘Save it for Later.’” Ella: “I know what it is. (Sits up:) Why are you playing it?” Henry: “Oh, I always just liked the '80s. You know, John Hughes movies. New Wave music. A little New Order, a little Adam Ant. You know, I always used to make these amazing mix tapes, and I was-”

Ella: (Stands:) “You are making less sense than normal, Henry Swan-Mills.” Henry: “Yeah, right. Uh... (Clears throat and puts down the boombox:) Last time I was single, mix tapes always worked when I wanted to ask a girl out, so-” Ella: “You're asking me on a date now? You sure it's me you want to ask out?” Henry: “Yes! Yes! Because the thing with Drizella, that was a mistake. I mean, it wasn't, like, a mistake mistake, - because nothing happened, but -” Ella: “Sorry. I get it. It was a little odd hearing about it from Drizella rather than you but, I guess that’s what sisters are for. I get it. You don't have to explain.” Henry: “But I do! I do because I find myself wanting to explain all kinds of things to you, like like, I don't know, like why pancakes are appropriate for dessert, why the English Beat is so culturally relevant, why I can't stop thinking about you.” Ella: “Wow. You sure have seen a lot of John Hughes movies. (They both laugh:) What if I explained to you that I have a new small business and very little time?” Henry: “Well, then I'd say, I'm a cab driver and a failed writer with nothing but time. So, whenever you have some, I'd, uh I'd love to take you on a date. See if you could learn to like me again?” Ella: “Okay. What about now?” Henry: “Now? Like... Like, here?” Ella: “Well, you said you're good with cars, right? And yeah, mix tapes always work.” (Ella turns around to fetch something which allows Henry to celebrate like Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club. Catching a glimpse of Henry’s antics, Ella smiles and hands him a socket wrench.) Henry: “Yeah, thanks.” (Awkwardly, Henry kneels beneath the truck.) Ella: “Um, I'm just gonna...” (Ella turns up the volume of the boombox and then joins Henry under the truck.) Henry: “All right. Let's see what we got going on.” Ella: “Okay. I'm going to test you now.” Henry: “Oh, yeah. There's the problem. (Ella chuckles:) - I see it already.” Enchanted Forest. Past. Tavern. (With very few patrons remaining, the volume of conversation inside the tavern has decreased significantly. Which is perfect for the two women currently talking at a small table by the window, where they have been most of the evening.) Emma: "I still can't believe you snuck out to see me dressed like that." Regina: "What, this? This is one of my father's old hunting jackets." Emma: (Laughs:) "Did he ever catch anything while wearing it?" Regina: "Only a cold. (Smiles:) But it seems to be working much better for me." Emma: "Oh that was very smooth, Your Majesty." Regina: "Stop." Emma: "What?" Regina: "I'm sorry. Just... please don't call me that. I don't... I never wanted..." Emma: "I understand. Sometimes it's nice to forget all of your responsibilities." Regina: "Nice is an understatement." Emma: (Smiles, unable to stop herself:) "Do you ever think about what your life would have been like if-" Regina: "If the King hadn't chosen me? If my mother hadn't killed my fiance?" Emma: (Winces:) "Sorry, forget I asked." Regina: "No, it's perfectly fine for you to ask. (Sighs:) The truth is I don't know why I agreed to marry the King. With my mother banished to another land I could have easily walked away from it all. I guess in the end, I just felt like there was nothing left out there for me." Emma: "You will find love again, Regina. I promise you." Regina: "I'm starting to think that way too." (Regina slowly reaches out, taking Emma's hand and interlaces their fingers. Emma is about to reply when the tavern door swings open. Two stern looking palace guards enter and stand either side of the door.) Snow White: (Entering behind the men lowering her hood, looks around and spots the two women:) "Regina! There you are, I was so worried about you!" (Regina quickly withdraws her hand and stands to greet Snow White as Emma turns to stare at the young girl destined to become her mother.)

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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hailene · 4 years

Text

Perfect Imperfection (3)

Perfect Imperfection| part three (final)

Characters: Jaemin x female lead, Chenle x female lead (the girl will go by the name of Aeri)

Genre: fluff, angst, writer!au, highschool!au

Word count: 5.9 K

Summary: Aeri is a the teenager who writes. Finding inspiration in anything surrounds her, her ideas go wild once she meets the perfect character, Na Jaemin. As a writer becomes obsessive with their favourite character, Aeri grows a weird passion for the bright boy. However, she's so focused on painting Jaemin as perfectly as possible, that she ignores the furry of fiery hair that takes her to night walks and shows her secret places around the town. Despite knowing everything, she forgets that playing with fire means getting burnt. And that sometimes, when we remember to stop, it's too late.

part one 》part two 》part three

There is one thing I might never understand about Zhong Chenle: how even though I am used to analyzing people in silence and figuring out by myself which type of character they are in this big story called life, I haven't figured out who he really is, despite the fact that I've known him for a while now.

And this confusion sticks with me even as he leads me back in the coffee shop we left a few minutes ago.

"Why are we here again?" I ask as he gestures me to sit at the same table, near the window.

I do so, moving quite slowly and trying to figure out why he's doing this.

"I'm sorry." He says but his face didn't look as sorrowful as his words.

"Maybe." I wave him off, slightly annoyed at the memory of his words.

"But," he continues "as the lucky soul who got to peek through your notebook, I must let you know stuff."

I look at him, my eyebrows furrowed in both annoyance and confusion.

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that you're being obvious and the only reason why the others haven't figured out you have something for Jaemin is because they're close to both of you. It's easy for me though." He shrugs.

"No, the only reason why you know that is because you read it." I snap but he looks unfazed.

He blinks a few times as if I was shooting bullets at him but he was melting them all.

"Why Jaemin?" He asks and I look at him for quite a few seconds before saying:

"You're unbelievable... thought you've figured out I never let anybody ever get in my business when it comes to writing."

He shrugs again.

"I have," he says "but I think I might help you."

"I don't need your help, Chenle." I say but my voice comes out softer than I wanted it to.

"Maybe." He smiles. "But if you're only ever going to write Jaemin's portrayal, you won't ever get a story done... stories need action, right?"

I don't say anything, too annoyed at his control over the situation to come up with any kind of witty remark.

"He needs to make you feel in some certain way for you to be able to write about him... those shivers that you feel whenever he smiles at you are far from enough, honey."

I frown at the last word but as I let my brain process the information, I realize that deep down, he's right. All I have been doing has been writing about Jaemin and creating fake scenarios in my head that never seemed to actually be good enough to be written.

"So what do you suggest?" I ask trying to sound uninterested.

He smiles and I realize I didn't sound enough uninterested.

"Well, we can start with his dark-like-night coffee," he says "so you can get in the mood, you know?"

***

Weeks and months pass like this, my encounters with Chenle being more and more frequent, to the point Hyuck asked me if there was something going on between us. There wasn't. Little did everybody know how big of a help Chenle was to me in writing about the story of Jaemin's character. He was telling me stuff that the older boy was saying at the basketball trainments and little gestures of his, but he was also discretely pinching me whenever my starring was too obvious while we hung out together. The other day, we exchanged notes during class and I was trying so hard to contain my laughter as I was really close to getting detention. He's also made a habit out of sending me memes at ungodly hours, ruining my sleeping schedule, but they were so funny that I couldn't regret it.

Walking out of school, I bump into somebody taller than me, making me slightly stumble backwards.

"I'm so sor-... Jaemin?" I say as I look at the hazelnut-haired boy who looked just as surprised as I was.

We haven't had the chance to see each other in a while and I was genuinely happy to see him now, my heart jumping in my chest, like a bird in a cage. We end up going for coffee as it was almost weekend and none of us had too many assignments to do. We order the usual, hot chocolate for me and iced americano with 2.5 extra shots of espresso for Jaemin- drink which, by the way, tasted even more bitter than it looked like.

We chat for a while, more like making conversation than actually talking about important things, maybe that was also because I was too aware of his presence and of the way the warm lights in the coffee shop made his eyes sparkle.

"Aeri, there's something I wanted to ask you." He says at some point. "I've been thinking about this and I think you're the perfect person to ask for help from... that, of course, if you want to."

"Go ahead." I say, gesturing him to say whatever he has to say.

He shifts a bit in his seat, something a bit unusual for Jaemin, but I let it slide.

"My mom is having this fancy relatives and close friends reunion at our house next weekend and she asked me to bring a friend... she meant to bring my girlfriend, but since I don't have one..."

"So you want me to be your fake girlfriend for a day?" I ask, a bit taken aback by his idea.

He gives me one of his charming smiles and I mentally curse at him for being so annoyingly attractive and for making my heart flutter this much.

"Uh... yeah." He says. "But it's completely fine if you don't want to, it's a stupid idea anyway, I should've-..."

"I'll do it." I say, avoiding my gaze. His mouth goes slightly agape but he slightly shakes his head, in order to get back to his senses.

"Have you just said you...?"

I chuckle my anxiety away.

"Yeah, it's not big deal anyway." I smile.

It is, actually. A huge deal.

"That's... that's great!" He smiles, his face lighting up once again. "I can't thank you enough, Aeri."

"Nah, that's alright." I smile. "So, how fancy should I dress?"

***

A fun fair was the last place I expected we'd go to when Chenle texted me he'd pick me up in 10 minutes. Yet here we were, my notebook stuffed in my bag alongside some pens and a bottle of water. I didn't really like this kind of places but I didn't want to let Chenle know it, he seemed too excited and for once, I didn't want to ruin that.

After a few rides on Chenle's favourite machines, he gets us a double sized cotton candy, both of us deciding it was time to simply sit on a bench and catch our breath. I open my notebook and write down a few words about how fascinated the roller coaster rides made me feel but how I regret screaming the whole time because now my throat was sore. It wasn't that bad. However, I was far from enjoying this whole thing as much as Chenle. The sparks in his eyes seemed to shine even brighter than the colourful neon lights in the amusement park and that was such a pretty sight to see.

"So," he begins, stuffing a piece of pink cotton candy in his mouth "how do you feel?"

I shrug as I write some words in my notebook.

"I don't really know, I think the last ride has brainwashed me." I say and he laughs, some people walking by turning their heads towards the fiery-haired boy.

Because even his laugh was brighter than the whole park.

"Such a shame." He shakes his head. "Did you like it though?"

"Enough much to make me write some pretty cool stuff in here." I say pointing towards my notebook.

He smiles fondly and I feel sparkles of happiness fluttering in my chest at the sight of his bright smile. I should've grown used to it by now, I get to see it every time he takes me places, it's like he's my personal guide (even though the furthest we've been was some opening in the close proximity of our town) and he enjoys his job so much. But I can't seem to get used to how happy these trips make me feel. I note down some words, slowly drifting away from the reality surrounding me. However, Chenle's words make their way to me, making me flinch slightly.

"Have you decided on his name?" He asks and I smile.

"Yeah," I answer "Jem... it's pretty much short from Jaemin but you can also take it as 'gem' which makes me think of bright lights and sparkles and... basically Jaemin..."

A small smile makes its way up to my lifs as I lower my head, as if trying to hide from Chenle, but there was nothing to hide anymore.

"That's a nice idea." I hear him saying. "I guess it can work."

I nod.

"Thanks... you know, you're really helping me a lot in all of this."

It's his turn to nod, with a sweet smile plastered on his lips.

"Yeah," he whispers after I no longer pay attention to him "I guess I am."

***

"You did what?"

"I know you've heard it from the first time and I would sincerely appreciate if you guys stopped acting like deaf grandpas." I say folding my arms over my chest. "Plus it's not such a big deal."

"Yeah, it's only for a day." Yeji adds from the other corner of the room.

"Wait, you knew?" Jeno asks turning to her but she simply shrugs.

"You're still coming to the study night, right?" Chenle asks and I cam literally feel myself mentally face palming in that moment.

"N-no, Chenle, I'm so so sorry! It's at the same night with Jaemin's..."

"That's okay." He says simply and for a while, the thought that he's not mad soothes me.

Chenle is never mad.

"You guys are acting all shocked when the poor girl is meeting Nana's family and she has nothing to wear." Yeji rolls her eyes and I chuckle, despair clearly written across Jeno's face.

"Please don't tell me-"

"Hell yeah, we're going shopping." Yeji smiles devilishly and I can basically see Jeno's soul leaving his body like in the cartoons.

"And you guys are coming." I add, looking at Jeno, Chenle and Renjun, all of them looking devastated by the flash news that we're going to the mall.

"Actually... I can't, I have something else to do for the rest of the day... " Chenle says.

"Oh no, Zhong, you're not running away." Yeji says standing up but he smiles and for a second, I see a dash of exhaustion on his face.

But Chenle is never exhausted.

"It's not like that, Yeji. I'm sorry, I'll see you guys, later."

And with that, he leaves the gym, silence floating in the air for a few seconds, maybe because none of us has ever seen Chenle being so serious. So unlike his usual self.

And then it clicks to me. Chenle is never mad. He is silent. And when Zhong Chenle is silent, the end of the world might as well be close.

***

The fancy party was far from being what I had expected, the atmosphere was far from being as dense as I'd thought it would be. Jaemin's mom was a sweetheart and her eyes sparkled with happiness when she saw me, almost the same way as Jaemin's eyes light up when he's excited about something. The other guests were actually really nice and so unlike the gossip-lover kind of old people that I had imagined.

One of mrs. Na's friends excused herself in order to answer a call while we were talking about the career as a novelist (fun fact: she was miss Kang's aunt and she seemed to share the passion for writing with her niece) and Jaemin suddenly showed up near me, making me slightly flinch.

"Everything alright?" He asks and I nod with a genuine smile on my face.

"To be honest I didn't really expect to enjoy this evening so much." I say.

He smiles and looks at me with his warm glimmering eyes and for a second time seems to stop and the background music, the chatter and the laughter seem to fade away.

"Aw look at them, they're so cute together!" I hear the lady I was talking to earlier saying.

Another woman which I recognize as being Jaemin's grandmother stares at us in awe and I feel my cheeks heating up. I smile awkwardly as I feel Jaemin's hand sneaking up over my shoulders and pulling me closer to him, breath hitching in my throat.

"Yeah, she's the cutest." He says smiling and I slowly lift my head to look at him, searching for any kind of humour on his face.

Did he really say that? Or was I dreaming?

He looks down at my face and the closeness of our faces makes my eyes slightly widen. Maybe he figures it out, because a sweet grin makes its way up to his lips and I feel my cheeks getting hot once again.

"Excuse us for a second..." Jaemin says without taking his eyes off me and pulls me by my left wrist towards the backyard of his house.

We leave the ladies chuckling and giving each other suggestive looks and honestly, I wasn't so sure how I was feeling about that. Once we arrive in the backyard, he lets go of my wrist and looks at me with the same sweet smile that made my knees turn to jelly a few minutes ago. However, I decide to gather up my courage and stand tall because my walls couldn't be broken down so easy, so fast. I needed my cover to be able to write about him. I needed to keep myself in the position of the observer. I couldn't step in the action or things could've gone bad.

"What was that about?" I ask crossing my arms over my chest.

His smile widens as he steps closer to me.

"What did you want it to be?" He asks in a lower tone and my eyes slightly widen again.

This is not Jem. Jem would never act like this.

He chuckles at the sight of my face.

"Nothing, don't worry, Aeri." He says smiling. "There's somebody I don't wanna hurt."

"Whom?" I ask confused.

His smile fades slightly, a glint of surprise crossing his face.

"Somebody who cares deeply about you." He smiles.

I shake my head after my brain proceeds his words.

"No way, Jem, Jeno is my best friend-..."

"I wasn't talking about him." He still smiles, despite the seriousness of the conversation and I can't help but mentally curse at him for making me feel so torn.

Who could possibly care about me so deeply that me and Jaemin being a thing could hurt them?

"Why did you bring me here?" His smile widens once again and he looks at the ground for a second, before looking into my eyes once again.

"To thank you. Like really thank you, if you weren't here, I would probably be sitting in the living room and listening to my uncle's stories about his first car."

I laugh.

"That's alright, I'll always be here if you need anything." I smile.

He shakes his head.

"You shouldn't." He says with a tint of bitterness in his voice.

"Why is that?" I ask.

He looks at me for a few seconds, giving me enough time to admire his perfect features.

"Children, we're serving the cake now!" Jaemin's mom says from behind us and I flinch in surprise.

"We're coming!" Jaemin gestures her and I look at him, disappointed that I might never get my answer.

Sensing that, he simply smiles again.

"Take care of yourself, Aeri."

He says before we get in the house once again.

***

"It was insane. Honestly. I didn't know he would be so similar to the way I created Jem. It was ethereal, the way he looked screamed prince, I swear..." I say as I lay tiredly in my bed, a long sigh leaving my mouth. "And his mom was a total sweetheart, her cooking skills were incredible, for real. I wonder if Jaemin is as good at cooking as his mother. That would certainly be a huge plus to his character to be honest."

The boy sitting on my desk chair doesn't say anything and I roll in my bed to look at him.

"Don't you think so?" I ask as I hug one of my pillows.

The fiery-haired boy looks at me, his eyes lacking the usual glint of happiness that they always seemed to hold. Maybe he was tired after a day of school, as I was too.

"I guess." He sighs. "If it was good enough to make you write, that's nice."

"Yeah, it was... but like, it was more than enough," I say. "I didn't feel like I was playing a role, I felt like I belonged there."

"Don't lose yourself in the story, Aeri." He says on a concerned tone and I sit in my bed, legs crossed, still holding my pillow.

"I won't, but this..." I begin "this is no longer a story, Chenle, this is my reality, Jaemin might-..."

"No, Jem might, Aeri... not Jaemin." He says while standing up. "You have been so obsessed with writing about Jaemin that you forgot which version is real."

"I... didn't forget, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you should probably stop thinking about Jaemin as your superhero, because he's not Jem." He sighs.

"But-..."

"There is nothing dramatic about Jaemin for you to romanticize, okay?" He says, with a glint of exhaustion in his eyes.

"I'm not romanticizing anything, just because I like Jaemin, it doesn't mean I-..." I stop in midsentence when I realize what I've just said.

Despite the fact that I should be comfortable around Chenle, somehow this topic seems sensitive and definitely not a good choice to talk about now.

"You're not in love with Jaemin, Aeri." He says with bitterness. "You're in love with a lie."

I frown and stand up, crossing arms over my chest.

"And you're saying this because you know so much about how love works." I snap back and he simply shrugs, picking up his back-pack.

"Not your problem." He mutters.

"Hey... hey, I thought you'd at least understand if I told you I had feelings for Jaemin!" I say, feeling rage taking over me at the sudden change in his behavior.

Chenle never rises his voice. Chenle is never grumpy. Chenle is never exhausted. When he is mad, he is silent. Or ignorant. He stops in his tracks and for a second I feel like I might've said the wrong thing, which has never happened to me before around him.

"You thought wrong." He says. "I don't understand you at all."

"Do you really think-..." But before I can finish my question, Chenle leaves my room with big steps, without paying attention to my words.

"Chenle, wait-..." I run after him but before I can catch up, I hear the entrance door slamming and I know he's already gone.

I scream in frustration, as if it could bring him back. He won't come back, I know that for some reason. However, I can't help but be bothered by what has just happened between us because it felt unfair to me. He was unfair to me. He was supposed to support me in this, not tell me what I feel and what I don't.

And maybe there was something more than frustration, something that I didn't want to admit to myself, because I simply didn't want to feel like a bitch, something that made me fall on my knees and cry after my throat went dry from so much screaming. It felt like I'd lost Chenle. But it felt like I had lost a part of myself as well.

***

A few weeks have passed and to be honest, the one I've spent my time the most with has been Donghyuck. Jeno was busy with Yeji since they were (finally) officially dating, Renjun was traveling somewhere in Europe for a school exchange and there was no way I could talk to Chenle. I simply couldn't. Jaemin's mom invited me over for dinner tonight and I felt terrible that I had to decline. It wasn't that I didn't want to go, it was just that I couldn't bring myself to do it, I was feeling guilty for some reason.

That's why I asked Jaemin to meet me after classes today.

"I'm so sorry." I say, looking at the steaming hot chocolate in front of me.

"Don't worry about it." Jaemin smiles. "Mom will understand, that's literally the last thing you should be thinking about now."

I sigh and take a sip from my hot chocolate, hissing when it burns my tongue.

"Are you okay?" I hear Jaemin asking and I wave it off.

"It's just a burn, not even that bad." I mutter.

He chuckles with a spark of bitterness, only making my feeling of guilt grow.

"I wasn't talking about that." He smiles. "I was talking about how you feel."

I look at him, trying to ignore the pang in my chest and the constant feeling that I'm suffocating. I should be alright, I should be happy that I get to hang out with Jaemin. So why am I not?

"Jaemin, why... why did you say that I shouldn't be there for you?" I ask and his smile doesn't even fade.

"Because -..." He pauses and sighs, thinking.

"I... like you." I say out of the blue and I avoid my gaze, without necessarily waiting for a response. "Or at least, that's what... I think..."

I hear him sighing and I look at him once again.

"My mom used to tell me" he begins "that she fell in love with dad because he made her feel alive." He smiles and averts his gaze, looking out of the window of the café for a few seconds.

Then, he looks at me again.

"That's the definition that I've had about love my whole life... and I've started to believe in it more and more lately. But Aeri..."

He gives me one of his sweet smiles, but this time, it is filled with concern.

"...I don't think I'm the one who makes you feel alive."

And that was when I realized that truly, he was not. Because I wasn't sad that I'd been turned down.

I was thankful.

***

Today was the first day of judging for the writing contest and I was disappointed to see that none of the works that I've been given to judge was even close to my expectations. Renjun had warned me that none of the contestants would come close to my talent, but I laughed it off, asking him to stop with the sweet talk. My expectations weren't high, they were decent, but nothing seemed to get me interested. Nothing seemed to make me want to read further and so the whole time felt dull to me.

"I'm seriously going to hit you with a basketball if you keep zoning out any longer." I hear Hyuck saying and I sigh.

"Sorry, I was just... thinking." I say.

"Yeah, I know, the same way you have been doing for the past 16 days, 12 hours and... almost 37 minutes." He says checking his smartwatch.

I roll my eyes and sigh once again.

"I have to finish marking the essays for the writing contest by Thursday and I'm so not in the mood for that." I mutter closing my eyes in exhaustion.

I have been unable to write anything worth reading ever since I fought with Chenle and somehow, everything I've been doing ever since then feels wrong and incomplete. All I can do is focus on judging for the writing contest, even though I couldn't find a real motivation for that anymore either.

"Aeri?" I turn my head to my right and see miss Kang looking at me with her warm smile.

She was wearing a blue silk dress, her dark hair falling nicely in waves on her shoulders. Miss Kang was one of the nicest people I'd ever met and one of the only people ever who could understand my passion for writing. That was one of the reasons why I loved her.

"Oh, hello, miss!" I say standing up from my desk, slightly stumbling on my feet.

"Careful there." She chuckles. "Okay so I believe you're close to finishing your marking these days, but I wanted to show you this essay that came in my set. I'm not pressuring you or anything, I just you to mark this one too. I guess you'll figure out why I'm asking you to do this too. Is that alright with you?" She asks handing me a paper, probably a copy of the essay she has mentioned.

"Of course." I nod, taking the paper.

"That's great." She says smiling widely. "I'll see you later!"

She leaves the class as smoothly as she has entered and as soon as she does that, Donghyuck tries to snatch the paper from my hands.

"No way, nobody is reading these outside the judges, sweetie." I tell him and he rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Fine, dumbass, as you say..."

The curiosity makes me unable to wait until I get home so after my English class, I take the paper from my backpack and unfold it, taking in the amount of words scribbled on the paper, with a handwriting that felt awfully familiar to me.

"If we run fast enough, maybe time won't be able to catch up with us..."

I lose myself in the words of the essay, being weirdly intrigued by every single line, unlike anything that I had read before while judging.

"...there are so many ways we can see the world and we don't even need to choose one, everyday is a new chance to rewrite it all from a new point of view. We can be whatever we want to be..."

It was speaking to me, weirdly, it felt like it was written for me, I could feel it on a different level and that was scaring me more than anything. Every word, every line, every feeling put on this paper, it all felt familiar. As if I've experienced it too.

"...but after all, we're just going on roller coaster rides, where lights blend and everything shines, where problems fade and we almost lose ourselves. That's alright- because even though the thrill will wash away her memory of me, her eyes will still sparkle. And that's enough, because like that, even time would stop to admire her beauty."

I stare at the piece of paper in my shaking hands, trying to run away from the realization that was becoming clearer and clearer in my head. The handwriting, the lines, the way all the words seemed to be made to be put together like that. It was perfect. But the essay was talking about so much imperfections that lives, our lives had in common. It was a twisted combination of feelings and memories and wild nights spent in funfairs and aquariums, in cafes and libraries, nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

I stand up, taking my back-pack and heading home. I had to finish marking essays and I had to do that now.

***

"Miss, I am sorry, but I can't grade this essay." I say showing miss Kang the paper she gave me a few days ago.

She smiles and not even the cold lights from the empty classroom we were in could take her warmth away.

"I won't ask why. I was actually more curious about your opinion on it, compared to the rest of the essays."

I look at her in exasperation, then at the damned piece of paper.

"It's good.... Actually, no, it's..." I sigh "It's more than good, it's amazing, it speaks so fluently and it shows so many feelings that the reader might even feel like part of it all, it takes you in, casting a spell on your mind and when you finish it, it spits you back to the reality and it just... breaks your heart..." I say, my voice cracking at the end, but miss Kang chooses to ignore it, nodding in agreement instead.

"I asked you to read this because the other judges and I have been thinking to give this essay the first place." She explains. "So what do you think?"

I feel tears stinging my eyes. Experiences that I have felt, things I have been through, put on paper, are getting the first place.

"I-I guess that's the best choice..."

"Aeri?"

I look at her and she smiles sadly.

"Do you know the other reason why I asked you to read this?" She asks softly and I shake my head. "It's because... I saw a small part of you in it, a tint of your writing style in it, a spark of your aura. Something... something that made me believe you'd connect with this better than anybody."

I turn my head away in order to wipe my tears away. The pain in my chest was almost suffocating and all I wanted to do was run home and cry my eyes dry under a blanket.

"I think I was right." She says and I sniff slightly, trying to ignore the effect that the essay has had over me.

And it wasn't just the essay. It was its owner as well.

I find myself walking towards the basketball pitch, hoping that I could find whoever I was looking for. If I was in love with Jaemin, my heart wouldn't hurt this much right now. If I had feelings for anybody else, I wouldn't feel like somebody ripped my chest open. How could I be wrong, how could I possibly be wrong, when I am so used to analyzing everybody around me and foresee all the possible cases? How could I lie to myself like this?

A basket ball rolls down to my feet and I pick it up, looking in front of me, only to be met with the sight of a mess of a fiery hair, staring back at me. I feel tears stinging my eyes and I step towards him, leaving only two steps between him and I. After inhaling deeply, I throw him the ball and he catches it perfectly, with his incontestable basketball skills. He dribbles it a few times and I could've sworn my heart was beating almost as loud as the thumps of the ball.

"Why did you write that?" I ask silently, trying to look into his eyes.

He wasn't confused. He knew all too well what I was talking about and that only made more tears gather behind my eyes. I knew I couldn't be wrong. Not this time. Not regarding this.

"I felt like it." He answers, shrugging and I feel like screaming, frustrated at the fact that he can control his emotions so well, unlike me.

"You felt like it? You f-felt like it, Chenle?" I let out a small whimper. "You wrote about all of that just because you felt like it?"

He shrugs and I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I was the wrong one and still I was the one asking for explanation from him when it should be the other way.

"I... Miss Kang asked me to read your essay because she thought it's the best one out of the whole competition. She asked me to grade it. I... I couldn't." I sigh. "Maybe I'm selfish to find myself in it so much but... I do? All the late night walks and evenings spent in fun fairs or reading comics on the floor of the library... we d-did that, didn't we? We did all of those, hell we did much more... w-why couldn't I understand earlier..."

"You confessed to Jaemin." He speaks and my eyes widen.

Of course Jaemin told him.

"There was... nothing to confess." I say softly. "I thought I had feelings for him, but... I guess you were right. It has never been him."

He looks at me and sighs, before diverting his gaze.

"Look, Aeri, it's really not my business, I shouldn't have said those things,but..." He sighs, shaking his head. "Thank you for reading my essay-..."

"Chenle!"

He looks at me, a little bit startled by my loud voice.

"A-All this time..." I start "it has been you." I sniff. "Not Jaemin, not Jem, not any other imaginary prince charming, not anybody else. It has always been just you. You... make me feel so happy and... and alive... I have always taken you for granted and realized how important you were to me just after you left... B-Because I'm freaking stupid a-and... all I know is to create scenarios in my head and drown in them until I can no longer tell what's fantasy and what's real."

He looks at me but I can't figure out his expression because of the amount of tears in my eyes.

"I am s-so sorry, Chenle." I try to say but my voice comes out as a whisper. “You have all t-the rights to hate m-me...”

"I wrote that because you inspire me to always do better and never give up on my dreams, you... you work so hard for yours and you..." he lets out a heavy breath. "You make me feel. Everything. I think... that's how I could write that essay, I was thinking about you the whole time. All the feelings that I put in it... you made me feel them. Aeri..."

I look at him, quickly wiping the tears that were rolling on my cheeks already.

"I'm in love with you."

I feel myself taking a deep breath and letting out the sobs that I have swallowed for so long. I feel two arms engulfing me into a warm hug and the familiar scent of soap and mint taking over my senses. I bury my head in Chenle's chest as he caresses my back gently as if I was a frightened cat. I wasn't far from being one though.

"Is it that bad?" He asks gently and I chuckle but it comes out more as a chocked sob and Chenle laughs.

Loud, bright, genuinely. Exactly how I love him.

"Okay gross, you're ruining his T-shirt, crybaby." I hear Hyuck saying behind me and my friends' laughter following after.

"You're next, fucker!" I say in a dry voice and Chenle laughs once again.

He was not perfect. He was far from being perfect. But somehow all the imperfections that were part of him made him be perfect in my eyes. He was more than what I deserved to get and I was more than thankful to the heavens for dragging him into my life. I had always tried to be perfect, to write, to act, to speak perfectly. But he has showed me that there's beauty in imperfection. There is perfection in imperfection.

And he is the living proof for that.

~The End~

A/N: It’s been SO long, I am so sorry! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this lil story. Thank you so much for reading it, it really means a lot to me!♥ I would like to write short stories like this one in the future as well, what would you guys want to read about?

hailene x

#nct fanfic #NCT #nctdream #nct angst #jaemin #chenle #Jeno #renjun #JISUNG #kpop #highschool #haechan #donghyuck #fanfiction #angst #writer #au

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