#A Truck Does Nothing To An Airplane AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wardenparker · 3 years ago

Text

Necessary Arrangements: ch 1

Will Miller x female Reader A Princess Diaries inspired Triple Frontier AU Co-written with @steeevienicks

Upon returning from Colombia with one fewer member of his former special forces team, Will Miller is met with the revelation that his absent father is dying and Will is expected to take over the family business. Which would be fine, if the family business weren’t the running of an entire small nation. This is Will’s chance to start over and do some good in the world - but how will he cope with his new life and the woman he is supposed to spend it with?

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: Cursing, family death, but no other real content warnings for this chapter. It’s early days yet. Summary: A woman from a country Will has never visited shows up on his doorstep with the news that his father is dying and his entire life is about to change. (Please note, reader does NOT appear in this chapter!) Notes: You guys, Holly and I are LOVING how excited everyone has been to start this journey and here it finally is! The Freidlyn Fun Fact Ask Game is still going on and you can drop into my asks any time to chat about that the country Will is headed to or anything about the story at all! Just remember that we love questions because they help us world-build, but this is something that we’re doing purely for fun. Please leave your real-world politics at the door and embrace the fiction. 💖

There is no such thing as relaxing when one is forced to spend twelve straight hours traveling, regardless of how luxurious the airplane or car may be. Food never tastes right at forty-thousand feet and there is inevitably no chance to get truly comfortable. In Mademoiselle Minna Thorn's case, there had also been far too much work to do. Endless paperwork and communications, files to read and faces with which to familiarize herself. From the plane then to a hired car - a large and imposing thing with blackened windows and no sound inside such that the frame seemed to ride on an armored cloud. The two men with her, silent and formidable in their own rights, never spoke except to confirm the occasional detail in only as many words as necessary. Their tailored, black suits cut out any appearance of individuality in precisely the opposite way that Mlle Thorn's own black suit was very intentionally full of individuality.

The house on Gordon Street, in the small American town of Clinton, North Carolina, is nothing terribly remarkable. There is a lot of land here. Land to be built on and cared for. And a charming little house all made up in caramel wood tones and neat, white trim. It is modest and unassuming. A far cry from the palace she departed late last night to come here. Climbing three steps to the porch, Mlle Thorn smooths one hand down her skirt and takes a very deep, emboldening breath before pressing the doorbell. The truck in the driveway says the man she has come for is at home. Hopefully this will go much more smoothly than she fears. But probably not.

After a few moments, the door has still been unanswered. She tries once, twice more before a mumbled shout of "I'm coming!” is heard from beyond the front door. A tall, handsome, blonde man answers in nothing but a pair of plaid boxer shorts, a thin shirt and a scowl. “Can I help you?” He spits out harshly. It was too early for company, especially when he was expecting no one. The woman that had rung his doorbell looked shocked, to say the least, and he had no idea what she could have been trying to sell so early in the morning.

"Mr. Miller?" Mlle Thorn nearly hiccups, not expecting such an unruly greeting. "Monsieur William Anselm Miller?" He is exactly like his picture except for the goatee, which she has to admit becomes him nicely. Although the scowl it adorns is less than pleasing.

He’s confused by the formal greeting, but this poor woman did not deserve the rude introduction he gave as soon as he opened his door. “Uh, yeah…that’s me. I just go by Miller though. What can I do for you?”

"My name is Minna Thorn." Straightening even to her full height brings her nowhere near his, but the men flanking her on either side meet his bulk head-on. "This conversation is better had in private, sir. If you would be so kind as to invite us inside, my colleagues and I will be glad to explain to you the reason we have interrupted your morning." And the rest of your life, as well.

Suddenly panic-stricken at how serious she sounds and the memories of Colombia at the forefront of his mind, Will steps aside to let all three of them into his modest home. “Shit." His voice cracks. "Yeah, I can make more coffee and should probably put some pants on but come in. Did I…do something? Am I being arrested or questioned about something?"

"Very much the opposite, Monsieur Anselm." Though in America his name is legally Miller, that is not at all the name on his birth certificate. Inside the living room of his house, she takes her briefcase from one of the security personnel that has been standing just behind her and extracts a thick file folder. "You will, no doubt, recognize the name Klaus Anselm." If he does not, she will have a much longer conversation on her hands.

“Sure yeah, not a name I’ve heard in a while though.” He says as he quickly disappears into the tiny laundry room adjacent to the hallway and returns a moment later with a pair of gym shorts and Delta hoodie fresh from the wash. He has no idea who these people are, or why this woman has such an intimidating briefcase and more intimidating set of security guards behind her. “I’m sorry, but what’s going on?”

"Your father was involved in an automobile accident yesterday afternoon, at 16:00 local time." Mlle Thorn hesitates, swallowing a bit of bile at the words she has to say. It is...unthinkable. The measure of the tragedy that she has had to relate to multiple people since it occurred. She has barely had time to process it herself. "Also involved was your half-brother Frederick. Frederick..." Her voice waivers and she has to close her eyes momentarily to steel herself, but goes on. "Died on impact. But your father remains in hospital under close observation. Though you may guess, from our sudden appearance here, that the outlook is not a positive one."

Will chuckles, whether it’s from shock, confusion, or disbelief he isn’t sure. It takes a moment for him to gather his thoughts, “That is…not how I was expecting this morning to start, but I appreciate you coming to tell me.” He chews on his lip in thought before continuing, “but I didn’t have a relationship with either of them, and if I’m being totally honest, I didn’t even know Frederick existed. Mom never mentioned him and rarely talked about my dad. I’m confused.”

"In short?" Mlle Minna Thorn, all 1.6 meters of her in heels, looks up into the face of this very confused, very tired looking man and sighs gently. She feels that weariness down to her bones but for a very different reason. "Your father's physicians expect that he will pass out of this life before the end of today. So we have come to bring you home to Freidlyn. To your rightful place."

“My rightful place? Freidlyn? That tiny European country? Did the old man leave me a house there or something?” The more she speaks the more stress he feels. “Look, miss, I’m not trying to be disrespectful but what the hell is going on?”

"That tiny European country is without its crowned prince and within hours will be without its king." Mademoiselle Thorn does not have patience for beating around the bush if he is going to be rude, regardless of the apology. She can be straight to the point when the need arises. And it clearly does. "Like it or not, Monsieur Anselm, the job is yours." From the file she has placed on the counter, she extracts a piece of paper written in formal English, clearly detailing the line of succession and signed by the still-living King Klaus V. It was put into her hands just before she boarded the plane to fly to America, and she spent the better part of two hours simply staring at it after take off. "I have been in the service of your father the King for ten years and can tell you that this decision was made with sound mind, however ludicrous it may sound to you in this moment."

Will sighs. She’s joking. This is a prank. Pope and Catfish are behind this I’m sure. He smirks as he thinks about past pranks between his group of friends. He lifts his gaze to her eyes - stone cold, serious and piercing his soul. “Please tell me this is a joke. Me? An heir to a throne? Isn’t there like a cousin or something that can take the job? Ma’am I don’t know what you know about me, but I’m a vet that lives in North Carolina and works as a personal trainer. There is nothing about me that would make a good king. I don’t know shit about being a royal. I just found out I had a half-brother five minutes ago and now you’re telling me I’m supposed to be a king? Of an entire country.”

"If this were a prank, Your Highness, it would be in very poor taste." With a slight huff, the woman begins extracting and arranging a series of photographs from the file folder showing the royal family at different events, a photograph of a very young Prince (at the time) Klaus with his American college sweetheart, the same couple's wedding photograph, and another of that same young couple with their blue-eyed baby boy on the day he was born. William Felix Rainier Auguste Anselm. b. 24 July 1986. Hôpital Royal du Matin, Estligers, Freidlyn. the caption reads. "And since you asked, the next in line to the throne is your twelve-year-old cousin who only recently experienced his voice breaking for the first time."

If he didn’t know for a fact that he threw his alarm clock so hard this morning that the face cracked, he would have been convinced he was dreaming “Well, fuck,” he glances at all the photos - some of himself that he recognized from his mother’s mantle, others were completely new and intimidating to him. “What do I do? Do I just sign a dotted line and pack my stuff? Does Ma know this is happening? I have so many questions, and I’m still not fully awake, and I’m sorry if I was being a dick but you have to understand how weird and not normal this is for Americans. No one just knocks on someone’s door and says ‘hey you’re a king now!’”. He rambles, clearly overwhelmed. “First voice crack though, huh? Sucks for the little guy.”

"Your mother has been contacted. She is being offered the chance to return to Freidlyn temporarily if she chooses. To say goodbye to your father and to attend your brother's funeral." Grateful to see his exterior crack, Mlle Thorn slips a sheet of paper to the side of the landslide of photographs and pulls a pen from her briefcase to set on top of it. "Signing this paper will signify that you understand what I have told you today, and that you will be returning to Freidlyn to learn what is expected of you. Nothing more. God willing, we will arrive in the capital before His Majesty's passing and you will be able to speak with him yourself."

Will picks up the pen hesitantly before taking a deep breath and signing his name. “What the hell, let’s do it.” He laughs to himself, feeling nervous and unsure. “The guys are never gonna fuckin’ believe this.” He gently hands the expensive looking pen back to Miss Thorn. “There it is. I guess I pack my stuff now? Let Ma know we’re doing this and call out of work…forever.” He looks around the room for his cell phone, spotting it laying on the counter. A king. When Will was a child and was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he never imagined himself as a king - astronaut, stunt man, president? Sure. King? Never in his wildest dreams…but now his absolute reality. “Will I be getting some formal king training or something?”

"So to speak. There are historical and civic publications on the jet for you to familiarize yourself with some of your own history before we land, and of course I will answer any and all questions to the best of my knowledge and ability." Mlle Thorn signs her own name with a flourish underneath before handing the pen to one of the men still flanking her, who will sign as a witness to the first two signatures. Everything has many, many signatures. "Does your Highness own a black suit?" The question is hesitant, considering the incredibly casual clothing he is wearing, but she needs to know what she is working with here. "All black is required for the royal family during a period of mourning." It should be a relief to hear him accept the situation so easily, but she can tell the reality of the thing has not settled on him yet. After all, how could it? He had no idea... "With your permission, I can help you pack what is necessary for now, and embassy personnel will be given that same permission to pack the rest of your belongings in due time. From here on out, you will have as many helping hands as are required."

The idea of unlimited help intrigues him. “Cool, so you won’t just expect me to rule without having any formal training. Good to know, good to know.” Will is at a loss for words. Is he doing the right thing? What does he really have to lose? He already had so many missed opportunities, a failed relationship, among other disappointments he did not even want to consider - did they know about these? Did they know everything? Maybe this would be his chance to make up for the things he felt he couldn’t possibly amend for at one point or another in his life. “But, to answer your question about the suit - I, uh, no. I don’t. I have blue slacks and a few different button ups. I’ve never been a fancy type of guy, you know? This,” he gestures to himself, “is a typical look for me. The truck in the driveway has to come though. That’s my baby.”

"Arrangements will be made, your Highness." With the news given and that part of things out of the way, she can breathe slightly easier. The sleek cell phone from her pocket is instantly in her hand and her thumbs tap away gently. "I can have appropriate attire waiting on the jet and at the palace if you can provide me with your measurements. Please. The sooner we have you in the air, the smoother this will hopefully go." Hopefully. Hopefully.

Your Highness. That would take some getting used to. “Great," he smiles. "Well, here’s to the future king of Freidlyn, then.” he said, raising an empty coffee cup to toast.

"Long live Prince William." The words taste dry in her mouth, no matter how she should be proud to say them. Prince Frederick was an affable young man and the king is a well-intentioned, fatherly sort when the situation calls for it. To be of their same blood, this man surely cannot be so far off, but wishing long life on one brother when the other is not yet buried feels suffocating. Nevertheless, "Long live Prince William!" is echoed heartily by her two escorts, and she forces herself to smile briefly. "Your measurements, sire?"

******

By some unlikely miracle, when the helicopter touches down on the roof of Hôpital Royal du Matin and the final leg of their journey is completed, the king is still drawing breath. "This way." The petite Mlle Thorn leads the way through a mass of security personnel to the roof entrance of the hospital, knowing the route to the king's bedside will be lined by more armed men in black suits than even when she last left here. "Stay close to me or we may be separated." And lord what a disaster that would be.

If Will was overwhelmed before, this did not even compare. He had spent a majority of the flight learning the history of his family, his country, and what he should strive to be as a king, but nothing could prepare him for the frenzy of security detail and personnel as soon as he stepped off the helicopter. Before stepping inside the hospital Will paused and laid a tentative hand on Mlle Thorn’s arm. “What do I even say to him?” He’s nervous, knowing he doesn’t have much time, but wanting to know so much about who his father is on a personal level. He had asked his mother about him when he was a boy, but her avoidance had stifled his curiosity as he grew older and he just assumed it was not a civil separation. But now, after his extensive reading and the sights before him, he felt a sense of guilt for assuming the worst. His father was clearly loved and admired and now his time was rapidly dwindling. How could he possibly make up for thirty-five years of not having his father in the minimal time left?

Stopping in her tracks, she looks up at him with a soft near-sadness and sets her lips in a line that is neither a frown nor a smile. "I cannot tell you that." She admits quietly. "But...if he is able, please listen to what he has to say."

“Miss Thorn, I know we started off on the wrong foot, but thank you for this. That plane ride made me realize how much was kept from me, and now I can’t really blame my mom for keeping it a secret. I mean, knowing me I’d have told everyone and acted like even more of a dumbass.” He brushes his hands off on his thighs - not used to the new clothing. “I guess this is it.” He says as he stares at the daunting hospital suite door before quietly going inside.

"Will!" Sandra Miller has been sitting in this hospital room for hours now, wondering if this moment was finally going to happen. None of this was ever supposed to happen this way, of course, and the handkerchief in her hand is soaked through with guilty, regretful tears, but there's nothing she can do about that now as she stands to wrap her arms around her oldest son. "You...you made it."

“Mom, hey…” He says as hugs her. “What a day, huh?” She looks so small in this room, smaller than she normally does compared to his broad frame. “Look, I don’t want to talk about what conversations we did or didn’t have when I was growing up. That’s not important right now. Everything is changing and my head is about ready to explode with everything that’s happened over the last twelve hours.”

"We can talk about it later." She agrees, too tired from her own grief, guilt, and disbelief to argue the point with him right now. "Just...do you want me to leave so you can talk to your father?" The father he hasn't seen in thirty years and likely doesn't even remember. She hadn't even realized how much Will is the spitting image of Klaus until just now, in the moment she turns to look back at the man lying in the hospital bed whose hand she has been holding for the last four hours.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, looking at his mom with a sad, confused expression. He had truly never considered facing this moment in his entire life. At one point he had just convinced himself that his absent father had died already, but now here he was in the same room preparing to say hello and goodbye to the man he never knew. “Could you maybe wait outside? I don’t really know what to say, or how to even address him. I guess I just need a minute.” He says as he grabs the chair closest to his father’s bed.

He sits down slowly and stares at his shoes - shiny and new and elegant - three things he would not use to describe himself at all before looking at his poor father while he waits for his mom to leave the room. “Hi dad…it’s Will…”

"William..." The older man's accent is thick, having lost its crispness and sophistication over the last day and a half. His hand, attached by wires to one of the many beeping machines beside his bed, meekly reaches out but does not make it far. That he is losing his strength quickly now should be abundantly obvious to anyone who walks into this room - thankfully that number is limited. For now, all he can do is look at his elder son, his remaining son, with regret and sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry, William."

“You don’t need to apologize. I spent my life not knowing you and I should have been more persistent with asking,” Will’s chest feels tight and he can feel the tears welling in his eyes. He’s never felt this sense of longing and sadness before. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for giving up and cursing who I thought you were. I will do right by you and do my best to live up to everything you’ve done here. Miss Thorn is great, by the way. I can see why you chose her to work for you. She…definitely knows her shit, and is going to keep me in line. I’ll make you proud.”

Klaus half-chuckles, making himself cough in the process. "Minna is a treasure," he admits readily. "But you - my son - you should not be sorry." Shaking his head, he adjusts slightly in the hospital bed and reaches for his son's hand, this time finding it more easily. "This was never to be your burden. Though it seems a destiny you could not avoid."

“I will not disappoint you, Dad. I will carry on your legacy with honor,” Will says as he squeezes his father’s frail hand. “I wish we had more time. There’s so much I want to tell you and so much I want to ask.”

"Tell me whatever you wish." Klaus squeezes back but barely, with what little strength he has left. Hours ago - hours and hours ago - from this very hospital bed, his staff helped him record words of advice and protocols in video recordings for William's use. He dictated memos and drafted declarations. He left things in as good a working order as he possibly could for the son he should have taken better care of. "But let me tell you first...that you do not have to do this alone."

“I haven’t been the best person. There are probably files about what I’ve done, people that I’ve hurt, and I regret all of the mistakes I’ve made. I’ve caused pain of horrific amounts for my own gain, but I won’t do that here. I just…want you to know that I’m going to try. And I’ll make sure mom and Miss Thorn whoop my ass if I mess up.” He chuckles through his tears, trying to lighten the mood.

"William, if you think kings are pure men, you are about to be rudely awakened." Klaus shakes his head slightly. "Yesterday is a lesson that teaches you what not to do tomorrow. What matters is that we try, each day, to be better. But–” When he coughs again he reaches for the small cup of water beside his bed. "Do not waste time. It is far too precious."

Will helps his father sit up a little and assists with holding his cup. “That makes me feel better, Dad. Thanks.” While Klaus gets comfortable, Will takes a long look at his father - at the man he wished he knew, and the man he would make proud, even after death. He sees the resemblance clearly, wondering what else he had inherited from him.

Dad. It almost breaks his heart a little to hear that one small word. Such an American title and one he entirely missed out on. Though he does not blame Sandy for being overwhelmed with royal life, he does wish he had been able to share more of it with his older son than simply sending gifts twice a year. "Surround yourself with people smarter than you, and listen to them." It was the best advice his own father had given him and he lived by it. By his own estimation - it was that philosophy that helped him find William's mother so many years ago. "I have left you as much as I can to...to help you."

The idea of being left a dying man’s advice tears at him, and Will pinches his eyes shut. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t want you to go. I just got here.” He openly cries now, a few tears escaping as he no longer sees the need to hide how he feels on top of everything else that has happened since he crawled out of bed this morning. “I think…I think I need mom to come back in if that’s okay,” he swipes at the tears in his eyes. “I think we need to be together right now…as a family.” He gently places his father’s hand down before carefully getting up and moving to the door. He peeks his head out to see his mom standing still against a wall, waiting. “Mom…I need you.” He cries softly, opening the door wide enough for her to come back in.

"Will, honey..." Sandy knows well enough that he can't be seen crying in a hospital or it will tip someone off as to what's happening, and she doesn't want reports of Klaus's death leaking prematurely. Nudging her son back inside the room, though, she realizes they would not be premature at all. The machines previously monitoring the weak readings of the Freidlych king's life have gone silent in the space of just a few seconds.

A rush of movement overtakes the room as a small handful of doctors and nurses flood the space and Minna Thorn is at the back of the group, shutting and locking the door behind her with a look of despondent sadness drawn over her features. A demonstrated effort to save the king's life must be made. It is not just a show or a tradition, but the law. Doctors and nurses - four professionals who know that what they are doing is hopeless - set to work trying to revive the man who has been slowly dying of sustained injuries for the last thirty-six hours.

When time of death is declared, Minna Thorn's slight frame shakes a little, but her voice is the only left in the room: "Long live King William."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld

NA: @absurdthirst @peachtreemoonshine @xoxabs88xox @luminescentlily @babypink224221

My Masterlist!

#Charlie Hunnam #Charlie Hunnam character fanfiction #Charlie Hunnam fanfic #Will Miller #will miller x reader #Will Miller x you #Will Miller x female reader #William Ironhead Miller #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fanfic #Triple Frontier au #Princess Diaries AU #Freidlych For Life #Freidlyn #tw parent death

151 notes · View notes

sequoiann · 7 years ago

Text

one door down

pairing; joshua hong x reader genre; total fluff + neighbor!joshua + neighbors to lovers!au ? is tht a thing? if it’s not then i shall make it a thing bc yes ahaha word count; 5.4k words

synopsis; you moved in to your new place, and you and joshua first meet when he helps you out with the boxes bc you were taking forever to do it yourself. his room window was kinda directly opposite yours, so cue random paper airplanes flying into your room and you hearing him play the guitar in the mornings. and every other good shit you can think about when it comes to neighbor!josh (happy birthday shua!)

“Here we are, Miss,” the taxi driver spoke gruffly from his seat as the car slowed to a stop. It wasn’t in any sort of annoyed tone, it seemed that his voice was just deep as it is.

You glanced out of the taxi window and a pretty regular, 2-story house was in view. You quickly pulled out a few dollar bills from your wallet, passing it over to the driver first before you got lost in examining the exterior of your new residence.

Thanking the driver and getting out of the car, you hastily grabbed your single luggage from the bunk before slamming the cover back down. You looked up at the house that was somewhat towering over you, it’s V-shaped roof casting a shadow. The roofline didn’t peak in the center as was the fashion in the previous decade, but instead sloped a little to the left. It looked new — not too new, but newer than you had expected. It looked as if it had been rolled off a production line, but they had forgotten to apply the mandatory layer of color to it. The windows were huge and glassy, with a pretty, soft blue tint to it. You walked closer to it and could see the intricate patterns of wood on the walls of the house, although it was a clean white and grey.

You dug for the keys that your mother had entrusted you in your backpack. It was buried somewhere deep in the front pocket, and after a period of rummaging, you finally felt the jump ring, pulling it out along with all the other keys attached to it. You unlocked the main door with a tinge of excitement bubbling in your heart, pushing the door open to meet the place you’d be staying it for a big part of the rest of your life.

Entering the house, you closed the door behind you and lifted your bulky luggage — not wanting the wheels to stain the wood flooring — and shuffled to a corner of the living room, placing it down. Surfaces of white, glossy plastic iced over the kitchen that was situated to the left of the room, granite enforcing the walls in their straight, uninspired monotony. There was a wallpaper of some sort covering the walls of the other parts of the house, providing warmth in some way. The stairs leading up to the second floor was right at the back wall of the first floor, but wasn’t hidden. Every line was clean and straight, the color scheme being cream, white, and grey. With browns.

Your phone started ringing then, and you picked up immediately. It was your mother.

“Yes, Mom, I’ve arrived,” you told her, wrapping your fingers around the handle of your luggage again and walking towards the stairs with some difficulty from the weight.

“Oh, good! How’s the place? Have you explored?” she asked, sounding way more excited than you were.

You grunted softly as you climbed up the stairs, thuds erupting with every heavy step you took. “Kind of.”

You finally reached the second floor and saw 3 rooms in the short hallway. You entered the first one, before letting your luggage down. You huffed, now focusing on the phone call.

“Why’d you get such a big place?” you asked, trying to make it sound not so much of a complaint. You weren’t complaining. “It’s just me in this entire house, Mom. And it’s gonna be so empty.”

Your mother laughed. “Your Uncle Bob is the landlord, I could get some nice discounts from him,” she stated smugly. “Besides, if any of us visits, we could stay over or something. Or maybe your friends would want to. Who knows?”

You chuckled, relenting. “Okay then.”

“Oh, by the way,” your mother started again. “Go greet your neighbors, I heard there’s someone living next door. I’ve packed some of my homemade muffins in your luggage bag.” You could practically hear how proud she was on the phone. She must’ve been talking about the house on the left side of yours that you saw previously. It looked almost like yours, except it was whiter, its roof colored black. You caught a glimpse of warm, orangey lights inside.

“Mom, no!” you protested. You didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but that just came out as it did. You heard her hum sullenly on the other side of the line, making you rephrase your words. “I mean,” you muttered, quickly thinking of an excuse. “Your muffins are great, Mom, but it’s 11am in the morning, what if they’re still asleep?”

“Who sleeps till 11?” she frowned.

You rolled your eyes. “I know I do.”

“That’s just you.”

“Mom!” you exclaimed. “It’ll be weird to pop by so suddenly. They aren’t even expecting me. I’ll just live a quiet life here.”

“Y/N, they’d be glad! Just go, knock on the door, say hi, pass them the food, and you’re done!” your mother urged.

You sighed. “I’d like to believe I have social anxiety, Mom,” you mumbled softly, crossing your arms as you sat down on the floor beside your luggage, pulling it down so that it was lying down in front of you before unzipping it with one hand, using your feet to hold it down when it moved. It definitely wasn’t a ladylike sight, but you didn’t really care. Luckily, the luggage didn’t move much due to its weight, so unzipping and opening it with just one hand wasn’t too much of a chore.

“Where did you put it?” you asked your mother, scanning through the overstuffed luggage. You were grateful nothing came spilling out, thanks to the seatbelt-looking things that formed an X over everything, holding them down.

You could visualize your mother’s expression lighting up. “The corner, I think!”

Your hands immediately fly to all four corners of the luggage, and you saw the mason jar of cookies and muffins.

“Found it,” you told your mother, scrutinizing the glass for any cracks, and at the same time peering into it to check if the food were still… well, intact. They fortunately were.

“Great! Now get going, before the moving truck gets there. You’re gonna be busy once it does.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ideas were forming in your head, all seeming quite possibly done.

“I’ll be checking the next time I go over, don’t eat it yourself and don’t hide it either!”

“Yes, Mom, I got it,” you droned. Your cover’s blown.

The call ends there after you two say your goodbyes, and you sighed, looking at the mason jar in your hands. A cute, yellow ribbon was tied on top, and you could tell your mother had put in quite a lot of effort to make it look nice.

Not wanting to let her handiwork go to waste, you stood up, leaving your opened luggage on the floor and going back downstairs. Your hand casually goes to your pocket, making sure your keys were in there before leaving the house and heading over to your neighbor’s.

You couldn’t help but stare when you saw the lights coming from deep inside of the house; somewhat at the back of the living room, if you guessed right. The warm lights contrasted really well with the white exterior and interior, and the design of the house was really simple but futuristic and sleek. Its lines seemed even cleaner than yours, if that was possible.

Tugging on your denim jacket, you walked up to the doorstep, the dark door seeming more intimidating than a regular door should look like. You gulped, your eyes scanning the door as if the spot you picked to knock on would make a huge difference in the person answering it. You took a breath and recited the lines you had to say a few times in your head, before knocking on the wooden door, your knuckles making a sharp, not-too-loud thudding sound. There was silence as you stood there for a while. Your ears perked up to try to pick up any sounds of someone walking towards the door, but there was none.

You internally whooped — the owners were probably out. But if so, then why would the lights be on?

You brushed it off and was about to walk back home when you heard someone call from inside, “Coming!”

The voice was a little rough and obviously belonged to a man. You heard footsteps hastily making its way down the stairs, and you suddenly had the urge to run. Run? Why run?

Before you could even think any further, the door swings open, and a guy stands in front of you. He looked slightly haggard, wrinkles lining his forehead and the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t seem too old. Just the dad-age.

Your practiced lines of introducing yourself came out as a jumble of words, which led to you shutting up and simply handing the jar of food to him. He frowns slightly.

“May I help you?” he asked, and you quickly snapped out of it.

“Oh! Um, I’m so sorry,” you rambled. “I’ve just moved in next door, and my mother wanted me to give you those,” you told him, gesturing over to your house. He leans out a bit to look over to your place, his eyes widening slightly in realization.

“I see,” he said, his voice monotone, a subtle smile on his lips. “Welcome to the neighborhood then.”

You smile. “Thank you, sir.” You looked past his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the inside; it looked as good as you had presumed.

The man lifted the mason jar. “And thank you for these, sweetheart. Help me thank your mother too.”

You nodded, not removing the smile on your face and feeling yourself lighten up at the endearing term he used. “Will do.”

You briskly walked back into the warmth of your house after that, feeling relieved that it wasn’t a grumpy old shag that was living next door. Even thinking about it seemed horrible. You took off your jacket and hung it on the wooden coat rack standing beside the main door, locking the door before going back upstairs.

Unpacking whatever you had in your luggage took everything off your mind soon enough. You had put your music on shuffle, playing it just loud enough for you to hear it. You didn’t want to blast it too loud — it definitely wasn’t a good idea to disturb your neighbors on your first day here. The house was pretty well-furnished, and you had cabinets and closets already built in. Once you unbuckled the X-shaped belt in your luggage, whatever clothes you had packed inside started toppling out, which means you had to refold everything, except for the jackets and coats that you were going to hang up. You sighed and began folding and stacking them up before moving them into your closet.

Lunch was a quick bite of cup noodles which you had brought along, and the moving truck arrived right after you were done with your meal. You left the empty cup (which was a quarter filled with water and seasoning) on a corner of the countertop, hurriedly washing your hands before rushing out of the house.

The driver from the moving truck hopped down from his seat, raising a hand as a greeting when he saw you before starting to pull your boxes of stuff out of the back of the vehicle.

You jogged over, hugging a box of unexpectedly heavy stuff that he passed to you. You muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ before making your way back, kicking your main door open and lowering your stance before dropping the box on the ground beside the coat rack. It was only the first box and your hands already felt like they were burning. You had like, eleven boxes left.

Giving yourself a mental note of encouragement, you headed back out to see the driver unloading the boxes and stacking them up on the sidewalk. You internally wanted to beg him to help you bring some to your doorstep, but you didn’t dare to. Therefore, you had to bring every of the remaining eleven, weighty, burdensome boxes into your house by yourself. You felt tired just thinking about it.

“Sorry I can’t help now,” the driver suddenly spoke apologetically just as you were about to walk back with the second box in your arms. “I’ve got another house to get to after yours.”

Oh.

You nodded in understanding before he climbed back onto his truck and drove off. Sighing in defeat, you stacked the box you were holding on top of another box, attempting to carry both at once to shorten the time needed to get the job done. The second box was blocking your line of sight entirely, so you relied on looking on the ground to find your way to your door.

The box on top suddenly wobbled slightly due to your shaking hands, and you panicked, causing it to waver even more.

“Shoot!” you exclaimed aloud as it lost its balance and fell off to the side.

However, it was caught by someone else who was apparently beside you right when the box fell.

“Woah there,” the man muttered, the box falling perfectly into his arms. You felt yourself breathe again after he caught it. You looked up at him. The man was donning a pair of sweatpants with a dark blue checkered flannel over a white tee, and had hair of a light caramel color, the straps of a black backpack slung over both of his shoulders. His eyes weren’t extraordinarily large, but the brown orbs seemed so gentle that you wanted to stare at them forever.

“T-thanks,” you stammered, unsure of what to do.

“You’re the new neighbor?” he asked, and you nodded, slightly puzzled.

“Yeah,” you said, glancing over at your house. “I just moved in today. I mean, I’m moving in. Kinda. I’m trying to.” You let out a tired sigh as your eyes traveled to the pile of boxes.

Joshua chuckled lightly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Joshua, I live right next door.” He nodded towards the sophisticated white house you had visited earlier, and you blinked.

“You are?” you quipped. “I went over just now, and someone else opened the door… A man.”

Joshua nodded. “Must’ve been my dad. He doesn’t stay with me, but he comes over sometimes.”

Your lips formed an ‘o’. “I’m Y/N. Hi.”

Joshua stifled his laughter at your awkwardness. “Hi,” he responded. “You seem like you need help with the boxes.”

“Oh, right, the boxes,” you said, remembering your task as you looked at the scattered boxes on the sidewalk. “I mean, I don’t want to bother you, but…”

Joshua smiles, his eyes forming little crescents as he walked towards your house with the box he had in his arms without saying anything. You walked alongside him, entering your house first and placing the box down beside the first one.

“Just leave them here for now,” you told him, and Joshua nods, placing his box on top of another.

“Give me a sec,” he told you suddenly. “I’ll be back in a few.”

You were confused, but didn’t question him as he ran back to his house. You walked back out and picked up another box, and Joshua came running back out a few seconds later. You realized his backpack was gone now.

“That was fast,” you commented as Joshua carried 2 boxes at once. He merely smiled.

So it went on like that, the both of you going back and forth and bringing the boxes in. You two talked quite a bit for a first meeting, from telling each other your ages to discussing your hobbies. He was just a year older than you, you found out.

“That’s all of the boxes, right?” Joshua asked as he placed the last box down in your house, and you nodded.

“Yep,” you confirmed as you glanced outside one last time to make sure nothing was left on the sidewalk. You looked back at Joshua, smiling gratefully. “Thanks a lot. I would’ve taken forever if not for you.”

Joshua chuckled. “No problem,” he said, adding, “You probably would’ve broken some stuff too.”

You laughed, humming in acknowledgment.

��Mhmm. You should go back before your dad starts questioning why you’re here for so long,” you said, and Joshua laughs.

“Sure,” he said, stepping out of your house. “I’ll see you around, right?”

The corners of your lips couldn’t help but turn up, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink which wasn’t very noticeable. “For sure.”

You brought up some of the boxes into your room, those that contained the stuff that belonged in your private space.

When you walked past your room window, the outside caught your eye. You realized that there was a window from the house next door facing yours, and it was so close it seemed like you could just jump over.

What was even more surprising was that in the room, on the wide bed that was situated in the center of it, was Joshua, still in the same clothes you saw him in, his legs crossed on the bed. A guitar was on his lap, one of his arm resting over it as the other hand pressed down on the strings. He started strumming lazily as if he wasn’t really sure of what he was playing, but the melody still made out something.

He suddenly stopped strumming before looking up, his eyes meeting yours. You felt your heart stop.

“S-sorry!” you shouted across although he would probably be able to hear you even if you spoke in your normal volume. You felt heat crawl up your neck. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

You were preparing yourself for him to be angry or show any signs of negative feelings, but none came. Instead, surprise washed over his features, before a smile appeared as he placed his guitar down on the soft mattress, walking over to the window.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, obviously surprised. “That’s your room?”

“Kinda…?” you droned, looking around. “There are 3 rooms in this house and I’m the only one living here, so…”

“Oh,” he muttered in realization. “Cool! We can talk like this.”

You laughed. It definitely was cool.

Like a Romeo and Juliet thing.

Your friendship with Joshua blossomed a lot over the next few months, and you honestly owed your thanks to the fact that you two were literally living side-by-side. One push of the windows and you two could talk about anything and everything like there was no tomorrow. You two could chatter about the smallest of matters to having deep conversations late into the night, when you would sit down on the elevated marble platform that was built right at your window, your back leaning onto the wall and your legs stretched out. You’d open the windows entirely regardless of the fact that you were at the risk of just falling over, but you knew it wouldn’t happen as long as you didn’t fool around. Joshua would pull a chair over to his window, elbow propped on the silver frame, his chin rested on his fist as he listened to you speak.

You never noticed it yourself but Joshua looks at you like you placed the sun, moon and all the stars in the sky.

Paper airplane conversations became a thing, too. You were the one who started it, actually, and you didn’t really expect him to play along. Your desk was right beside the window, so in the middle of doing some stuff, you grabbed some used papers that you didn’t need, writing a short ‘yo’ on it with a fat, black marker before folding the said paper into an airplane. You then threw it towards Joshua’s window, the airplane easily gliding gracefully through the air and into his room.

He was so confused at first at the arrival of the inanimate object, but he saw you at your window, smiling cheekily. He laughed softly, shaking his head and picking up the airplane. You gestured for him to unfold it and he did, before chuckling to himself again. Joshua took a sheet of paper from his desk, scribbling something on it and flying it over to you. You unfolded that and it read ‘you’re such a child’.

“Excuse me?” you spoke, and Joshua laughed.

“You’re excused,” he joked.

That led to the both of you constantly flying paper planes into each other’s room at random times of the day, whether the other party was in or not. There was once when Joshua wasn’t home, you folded tons and tons of paper planes, flying them all into his room and covering his entire bed and floor. You couldn’t see Joshua’s expression when he entered the room due to the limited view of his room that you could see from yours, but you could visualize how surprised he was from his exclamation of “oh God, oh wow!”. You nearly fainted laughing at the mix of shock, surprise, and mock anger in Joshua’s expression when he saw you at your window, giggling to yourself.

He got his revenge on you soon enough, though. He did the exact same, except that he revealed that he wrote something in one of them. You couldn’t stand the suspense, so you spent an hour unfolding every plane, and in the end, it was just a ‘hola muchacho’ that was written in one of them.

You literally marched to Joshua’s doorstep and tackled him to the ground.

But there was this really sweet side to him too, which sometimes made you question how someone could be this balanced in nature.

You would wake up every day to Joshua playing his brown, ordinary guitar at about 10am in the morning, its soft, acoustic tunes lulling you awake, and sometimes even helping you to fall asleep at night when you can’t. You’ve never slept so well before, you’d dare say. His mellow, soothing voice that rarely accompanied his guitar-playing was indisputably music to your ears. You loved how he stayed so lowkey about it. Once you woke up, sitting up on your bed with your messy, disheveled hair and half-open eyes, you’d, more often than not, hear Joshua chuckle at your unkempt appearance, then greet you with a gentle “Good morning, sleepyhead”.

But of course, there were times when you’d just drop back onto your bed and close your eyes, and that would be when Joshua would start strumming his guitar noisily, one of the only times when you’d say that the guitar playing sounded horrible.

“C’mon, wake up! We’re supposed to go out today!” you’d hear him say, resulting in a tired groan for you because you’re just that lazy.

“Can we postpone it?” you asked hoarsely, your morning voice still apparent.

“Nope.”

“Hmm.” You were already drifting back to dreamland.

When Joshua becomes helpless, he’d make the effort to go downstairs, walk over to your house, unlock your door since he has the spare key, come upstairs into your room, and then sit by your bed, annoying you in the most gentle way possible (it doesn’t even seem possible but Joshua does it) until you get up.

But there was this once when you overslept into the afternoon. You got confused when you woke up and the clock on your desk showed 12:13pm, and after coming to your senses you stood up, going to your window and looking over at Joshua’s. To your surprise, his windows were closed and his curtains were drawn.

“Hey, Joshua!” you whisper-shouted, sleep still lining your voice. No replies.

You started getting worried. His window hadn’t been open since yesterday night, and you had merely thought that he was staying out with his friends till late, but he wasn’t one to sleep in until the afternoon.

The uneasy feeling in you was eating you up. You quickly washed up and changed out of your pajamas, before going downstairs and hurriedly walking over to his house. You noticed newspapers from the past 2 days peeking out from his mailbox and grabbed those. After getting no response from knocking on his door a couple of times, you unlocked it with the key you had, before placing the newspapers on his countertop and rushing upstairs, your heart beating slightly faster than it should.

You pushed down the handle of his room door, carefully pushing the door open. His room was dim, almost dark, minimal sunlight peeking in through the tiny gaps of the maroon-colored curtains. Joshua was lying on the bed, on his side, his blankets pulled up to his waist. You couldn’t help but stare. His features were much softer when he was asleep, the lines that usually creased the corner of his eyes and eyebrows replaced by a youthful, dove-like appearance. His chest slowly rose and fell in sync with his shallow breaths, serenity plastering itself across his face.

You closed the door behind you and soundlessly walked over to him, gently placing your palm on his forehead. Nope, he wasn’t having a fever. Your eyes caught sight of a few prescribed pills on his nightstand, and you realized that he was having a cold.

Joshua suddenly stirred in his sleep, his eyes fluttering open. There was blankness in his eyes for a moment as he slowly took in his surroundings and the fact that you were in his room. He hummed softly, his voice sounding scratchy, and he slowly sits up.

“Y/N?” he slurred. His hair was standing up in all directions, making you chuckle and attempt to flatten them. “Why’re you here?”

“Because you have some explaining to do,” you said in mock annoyance, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

Joshua smiled, although he still didn’t seem fully awake. “It’s just a cold.”

He had zero idea that you had overslept because he didn’t play his guitar.

“That’s still being sick.”

Joshua hummed again, nodding in resignation. “Yes, yes, you grandma.”

You brazenly cupped Joshua’s face with your hands, scrutinizing him. “You look dreadful.”

“Do I?” he murmured, looking around for a mirror.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter because you’re too good looking when you aren’t sick,” you pointed out, snickering.

Joshua chuckled, his eyes forming the mini crescents that you loved. “Why, thank you.”

You chuckled too.

“Have you taken your meds?” you asked, and Joshua nods, a little unsurely.

“Yeah, just. I think.”

“Good. Now go back to sleep,” you said, your hands intuitively and gently pressing down Joshua’s messy hair. “This is the only time I won’t be disturbing you,” you told him impudently.

Joshua smiled, lying back down, but his hand was holding onto your wrist. “Are you going back?”

You shrugged. “I’ll probably keep you awake if I stay,” you said, chuckling. “You know how noisy I can be.”

Joshua shook his head. “That’s fine. You keep me awake all the time anyway.”

You laughed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think about you a lot.”

Your eyes widened in surprise at the unanticipated answer that you received as you looked away from him, heat blossoming in your cheeks. “I think your medicine has some weird side-effects.”

Joshua chuckled. “No, it doesn’t. I’m telling you the truth.”

You were so embarrassed you wanted to bury your face in something, anything.

“I like you, Y/N. I really do. I’ve liked you ever since you started flying your little airplanes into my room. I love your laughter, how your head kinda hangs back when you laugh really hard. You’re just so…” Joshua trailed off, and his gaze softened, his eyes practically twinkling, his thumb rubbing small circles into your skin. “So beautiful.”

You tried to bite in the wide smile that was forming on your lips, burying your face in your hands, your back facing him. “Joshua, you know I can’t handle these kinds of things,” you mumbled. His laughter rings in your ears.

Your heart was palpitating so fast against your chest, you could literally feel the thumps on your ribcage. You liked him too, you liked him so much you would space out and think about him at random times, and then start smiling to yourself. You loved how he was so playful but so kind at heart. Even your mother liked his personality --- she herself had been trying to push you to him everytime she comes over.

“That’s fine. I’ll make it easier,” he said. “Do you like me back? You just have to say yes or no.”

“You ass,” you said, your cheeks sore from smiling. “I can’t not like you even if I wanted to.”

Joshua beamed in content, before pulling you lightly towards him. You ended up lying right beside him, his face intimately close to yours. Even being this near to him, you couldn’t seem to find any flaw in his features. His eyes practically held the galaxy in them, his lips pinkish and slightly chapped, his skin having the tiniest of bumps on the corners of his nose. Even that seemed cute. Joshua chuckles softly after noticing how your eyes weren’t looking at his.

“You’re adorable.”

He lightly presses his lips to yours, the lips you’ve been dreaming about. It was as soft as you have expected it to be. A rosy hue played on both of your cheeks after he pulled away.

“You’re sick, Joshua,” your reminded — but not that you really cared about that anyway.

“Oh. Right. My bad,” he muttered, his thumb caressing your lips gently. “I think I’m better already anyway.”

The both of you started going over to each other’s houses more often than you should, so much so that it was almost possible to just sell the house you had and live with Joshua.

Joshua started cooking quite a lot for you, even though he wasn’t the best chef. You always laughed to yourself when you saw him in the kitchen with an apron, commenting on how motherly he looked. He would proceed to strike a few poses sometimes, and when you whip your phone out of your pocket, he’d immediately return to the stove and act aloof. He mentioned about spotting the empty cup of noodles the first time he came into your house (aka when he helped you with the boxes), and nagged about how unhealthy it was for your body. He was so caring; he’d always check on you over the smallest matters, like if you got to work safely when he can’t send you himself, and even making sure you don’t give in to your cravings and feed yourself ice-cold drinks when you’re on your period because he knew you’d have horrible cramps if you do.

“Just a sip, Joshua!” you argued, reaching for the can of cola as he tiptoed, raising it up and away from you, shaking his head persistently.

“You’re gonna be rolling in bed and sobbing at night, so no,” Joshua said, putting the can to his mouth and drinking it himself. You pouted, and he couldn’t help but titter, abruptly placing his lips on top of yours for a moment. You could taste the negligible amount of the drink from his lips, the slight fizziness bubbling on your tongue.

“There,” he teased after pulling away. “That’s a sip for you.”

You tried cooking breakfast for him once too, and he actually woke up because of the smell that wafted through the air in the house. You didn’t even hear him coming downstairs, so you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt his hands snake around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as you felt his breath on your neck.

“You’re not supposed to be up so early!” you exclaimed, and he chuckled.

“Sorry,” he apologized, placing a quick peck on your cheek before peeling himself away from you.

“Try not to burn anything, babe,” he joked.

“It’s just eggs, Shua,” you told him pointedly, pretending to be offended. He laughed.

“I know. But thanks. Love you.”

You snickered. “Well that was random, but love you too.”

✄— more fics

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen joshua #joshua scenarios #joshua #joshua hong #hong jisoo #사랑하는_슈아야_생일축하해 #princejoshuaday

285 notes · View notes