#I literally just found this earlier this week and I had forgotten I wrote it

[lady-phasma]

Battered and broken

Frank Castle x fem!reader

a/n: This is out of left field but I found this and had forgotten I had written it after a Punisher rewatch in Nov 2023. So I’m putting it out in the world because why not.

Warnings: actually no smut (I know, right?!), hurt/comfort, description of injuries.

Summary: You’re an ex-Navy corpsman (yes, they call women that too in case you weren’t sure) and Frank comes to you for help and some comfort. Takes place after season 2 finale. 3.3k words

The knock on your door is faint, you could have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to it. You close your book and place it on the coffee table as you stand up from the couch. You unconsciously tuck a stand of hair behind your ear as you reach the door. You take a deep breath before looking through the peephole.

No one looking back at you. Only the top of a man’s head, a ball cap, his face toward the floor of the hall. You can tell by the slump of his shoulders he is exhausted. You slide the chain back.

“Come in,” you say as you open the door. Frank steps in sideways, glancing up at you. You let out a gruff sigh. This particular beating looks worse than any you’ve seen yet.

“Hey,” he grunts at you. He tosses his cap onto the kitchen table and pulls a chair out. The feet scrape on the floor. He nearly collapses into it. His body looks so heavy, like gravity has gotten stronger, pulls harder on him than anyone. He runs his hand over his hair and leans forward, nearly puts his face in his hands but thinks better of it when his busted cheek brushes against his palm. He rests his elbows on his thighs and lets his head hang. You quietly close the door and slide the chain back into place.

Your bare feet are quiet on the tile floor but are the only sound in the silent apartment. He doesn’t look up as you approach him. You stand at his side and sigh lightly. You touch the back of his head, gingerly, run your fingertips down his neck. So far, the back of his neck is the only part of Frank not covered in blood. There’s some there too though. You make another pass, equally gentle, but with your entire hand from the top of his head to his neck and let your palm rest against him.

You’re standing close enough to him that he leans slightly against you, shoulder to thigh. You wish you could take the weight off his shoulders but you’ll happily accept any that he’s willing to offer, even if it is only to prop him up. It lasts only for a beat. He can’t share the load. It’s not pride or ego. It’s a mix of fear and compassion. When he straightens up you slide down to squat next to him. You keep your hand on him the whole time, some small comfort for both of you.

“Hi there,” you nearly whisper. You dip your head as you speak, finding his face, assessing the damage. “Hey.” You reach up and gently put a fingertip under his chin. He lifts his head, barely, and meets your eyes.

“Hey,” he replies. He is beyond exhausted and, this time, beyond beaten. You suck in air between your teeth and drop your hand from his chin to his knee. But you smile up at him sweetly, a closed-lip smile that spreads up to your eyes. He almost smiles back at you but winces.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” you tell him as you stand up. You hear him let out a deep breath. You straighten your pj shorts as you pad through the apartment gathering supplies. Occasionally you glance over your shoulder to make sure Frank is still upright. You run through the list in your head and as you circle back through the kitchen you snag a beer from the fridge.

You lean over the table and let some of the items fall from your arms as you use a foot to slide a chair out. You sit down while pulling your chair closer to Frank, face to face if he sits up straight. He hasn’t yet. So you line up your supplies and then crack open the beer.

“Here. Drink this.” You hold the open beer bottle in front of him. He finally looks up and slowly lifts his head. It looks like it takes all of his remaining strength to rase his arm to take the beer from your hand. He takes a swig of it and sets it and his arm on the table. He leans back just a little in the chair.

You turn back to the table and your supplies, grab a washcloth and the bottle of isopropyl alcohol. You want him to lean back if it’s comfortable so you stand and step between his legs. He takes another drink of beer and rests his arm on the table again. Then he looks up at you. You have the cloth in one hand, alcohol in the other, and a tightness in your chest from those deep, dark, haunted eyes. That particular expression always makes you ache to comfort him, relieve even the smallest amount of his agony.

“I don’t have to warn you, you already know how this hurts. I’m guessing this is the least pain you’ve felt today.” You smile down at him and push some of his hair back from his forehead with the back of your hand.

Frank’s eyes soften slightly as he looks up at you. You feel his left hand move from his leg to yours as he slips his fingers behind your knee, up the bare skin of the back of your thigh. He’s not going any further, only wants the contact with you, but your skin still breaks out into gooseflesh. His touch is gentle for such large, rough hands. You let out the breath you had been holding and dab the cloth against the mouth of the alcohol bottle. You start at his forehead and move your way slowly down his busted and bruised face until there’s no more white on the cloth.

He only winces a few times and never much more than a reflex and never opens his eyes. Only once did he involuntarily pull away, but his cheek is split wide open, even he couldn’t override his body’s response to the alcohol in the open wound. You hold the cloth away for a beat as his fingers reflexively grip your leg. Then you go back to your job. It hurts him but it has to be done.

“Thank you,” Frank mumbles as you step back to sit down again, his fingers trailing off your skin as you move out of their reach. You toss the cloth on the far side of the table and start to set up the first aid kit and a small bowl you fill with alcohol. You close the bottle and look at him while you unpack suture supplies, bandages, ointment.

“Did you finish it? Is Amy going to be safe?”

He nods. Just barely. Even nodding hurts.

“Do you know where she’ll go?” You doubt it. He doesn’t want to be a liability to the people he cares about. Not knowing is safer, easier.

“Nah,” he answers as he looks down at his clothes, examines his hands, turning them over to look at the palms. He takes a drink of his beer. “Nah, I gave her some cash and got her on a bus.” Another swallow. “Maybe she’ll make something out of her life. Good kid.”

“Yeah, she was,” you nod. “Just misguided. Happens to most of us.” You stand up again and slide some things on the table closer to Frank, gently taking his beer from his hand and setting it out of your way. You step back into your position between his legs and before you can begin he reaches up and holds your hips in each hand. He leans forward and rests the top of his head against your stomach. You run you hands over his shoulders, one up the back of his neck. You make soothing sounds but you never shush him. The last thing you want is to make him feel like he can’t say whatever he needs to. These sounds aren’t words as much as gentle humming sounds mixed with it’s-okay-s. The tender moment doesn’t last long. Frank raises his head and slides his hands down your legs. He’s not holding your legs, only resting his hands against them as his forearms rest on his thighs.

You both know this normally sucks but it’s going to be so much worse without a topical anesthetic. Not that this is unusual for Frank, but this split cheek is awful. You decide to do it first. You choose the smallest needle and thread from your medical kit, the best choice you have for facial sutures but still bigger than you want.

You look down at him, soft smile on your face, and find him watching you. A touch of adoration mixed in with the exhaustion.

“This is going to hurt like a motherfucker babe,” you warn him unnecessarily.

“Don’t drag it out,” he tries to grin in that cheeky way but it hurts too much. “Get on with it.”

So you do. Occasionally, you feel his fingers tighten on your legs but Frank’s overall reaction to these stitches is a narrowing of his eyes, small twitches in his lower eyelids, and muscles flexing in his clenched jaw. The apartment is so quiet that you can hear, as well as feel, the sutures as you stitch him up. Frank’s breathing has a rasping quality that you don’t like in the least. Your corpsman’s instincts run through the list of possibilities and, combined with the shallowness of each breath, you’re pretty sure he has some rib damage and maybe a few hits to the throat.

As you tie off and cut the thread you assess the other wound on his chin. That could use a few stitches as well. You go about cleaning your needle, threading it, and try not to be distracted by Frank’s fingers grazing a path up and down the outsides of your legs. He’s started to relax. The endorphins from the pain of cleaning and stitching are washing over his brain. His breathing has begun to deepen and slow.

You look back at him and tilt his face up to yours by running your fingertip up the line of his jaw to his chin. You work silently, this area less damaged but requiring a bit more concentration. After finishing these sutures you drop the needle in the bowl of alcohol. You assess the smaller cuts and splits on his face and deem butterfly bandages appropriate. You unwrap a few and start closing the wounds on his forehead, his other cheek, above the bridge of his nose. When you finish you lean down and kiss the top of his head and cradle the back of his head in your hands.

Frank’s hands slide up the backs of your thighs, over your shorts, to the small of your back. His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top to rest against your bare skin. Unexpectedly, he leans his head forward and you straighten with a little surprise but you don’t stiffen. You let him rest his forehead between your breasts. Through the thin fabric of your tank, his breath is warm against your skin. You gently pet the back of his head and then rest your hands just above his shoulders. His shoulders are shaking a bit, trembling actually. You don’t think he is crying but he’s processing a lot of emotions after a day like this.

You both stay that way for a moment, not too long, and he sighs loudly. You move your hands from his shoulders. When he looks up at you, his eyes are red rimmed but a little less exhausted.

“Alright big man, come ‘ere.” You take a step back and gesture for him to stand up. You smile broadly at him, encouraging him that he can do it, that there is enough energy left in him. Frank groans as he stands but grins at you sheepishly once standing. He rolls his eyes at your mock clapping, praising his effort.

You step closer to him again and the smile falls from your face. You dread seeing how much worse shape his body is in if his face was that bad. It can’t be avoided.

“I’m fine,” he grunts as you move your hands to the hem of his shirt. “I’ll be fine.” But Frank looks away from you and clenches his jaw, chewing the inside of his lip. He doesn’t have much fight left in him.

You continue on your quest and gasp “ouch” when you see his bruised torso. It would be a miracle if he doesn’t have a cracked rib, but it’s probably more like two or even three. You pull his shirt up to his chest and he acquiesces, raising his arms up to help you. He jerks the shirt over his head and his arms out of the sleeves and flings the shirt on the floor. Even his arms are covered in dark purple bruises. You want to soothe him, run your fingers over his injuries, but you only allow your hands to hover above him without touching.

Frank’s face is a mix of embarrassment, frustration, and anger. And it infurates you that the anger isn’t at who did this to him but at himself for being a “burden” on you. You put a mental pin in that discussion, saving it for a better time. He won’t even look at you at the moment so there’s no need to try. Your compassion builds from your stomach and spreads a warmth across your chest as you realize he is actually embarrassed. Does he think that you see these injuries as anything other than his sacrifice? They certainly are not evidence of inaptitude or failure. Surely he doesn’t think that. That conversation will happen sooner rather than later but not tonight.

“Hey,” you prod gently. “Hey?” You wait and Frank eventually turns to look at you.

“Hi there, Mister,” you say as his eyes meet yours. “There he is.” You gently touch his face in the one spot not cut open. “Stay here with me, would ya?”

He tries to return your smile but can barely manage it. He looks down but presses his face into your open hand. He is so epically tired. You glance down at his chest again and know there is nothing you can do with your limited first aid supplies to help him. Maybe wrap his ribs after he cleans up.

“You wanna just do what I tell you for a bit? No argument?”

Frank nods against your hand then straightens up and clears his throat.

“Yeah, sure, whatcha got in mind, doll?” His lips twitch into a lopsided smirk and you would have hit him playfully if there were anywhere to hit him that wouldn’t hurt. You smile at him before squatting in front of him to unlace his boots. No easy feat given how long the blood-soaked laces have had to dry. When you have them loose enough you stand up so he can toe them off.

You casually slide a finger into one of his belt loops and give it a light tug. “Come on big boy.” You flash him a quick smile before leading him to the bathroom.

You can feel him watching you as you walk. You always can. He is hypervigilant about everything but he seems to study your movements, your muscles, any time you move. He’s seen you in less clothing but you like the way your skimpy pjs leave some things to his imagination. Your brain shuts off those thoughts the moment you enter the bathroom.

Frank stops in the doorway and leans against the jamb. You work on readying the shower, getting the right water temp, clean towels. You nod your head in the direction of his pants. “Those. Off.” He groans as he straightens up but you hear his belt, then zipper, as he complies.

The two of you haven’t done this exact dance before but so many variations on it that he know you have to do this for him. He can object, occasionally you let him fall into bed untended to as long as you get his bloody clothes off first. But just as he trusted his corpsman when he was deployed, he trusts you. Marines’ habit of following corpsman's’ instructions is beneficial, especially these days.

You turn toward Frank and quickly survey the damage to his legs. Not as bad as you expected but not great. The bruise on his shin is worrisome but the rest look reasonable, given the circumstances. Your eyes travel back up his battered body to his face as you walk the short distance to him.

“You gonna leave your shorts on while you shower?” you tease. You smile only slightly to indicate that you’re teasing because you aren’t sure if he wants this tonight. Not sure if he wants to be alone, vulnerable and alone, instead of vulnerable with you. You slip a finger under the elastic of his boxer briefs and wait. Wait for him to signal his decision.

Frank raises a hand and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He focuses intently on you ear, then your cheek, then your lips, and finally your eyes. His hand lingers near your neck and shoulder, fingertips barely touching you. His eyes flit back and forth between yours, reading your face, thinking, deciding. You wait. Always will.

“Nah, easier to shower without them.” He is nearly expressionless as he says this, a hit of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Before you can get started “helping” him remove his shorts, he leans forward and presses his lips against yours. Not quite a kiss, yet. He’s tired. You press forward into his mouth with yours and he kisses back. His lips are slow, tender, and cautious, and not because of the cut on his lower lip. He always starts off that way. As if he were unsure if he will break you, if he will break, or if you will finally rebuff him. You’ve never sure. You slowly, gently encourage him by running the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip while you kiss him back. That does the trick.

Frank snakes his hand from your neck to the back of your head and entwines his fingers in your hair while pulling your mouth harder against his. It’s passionate but not urgent. Nothing tonight is urgent. But this feels amazing, as if he hadn’t kissed you ages or would never get to kiss you again. You feel lightheaded when he pulls back. His hand stays behind your head, thumb rubbing small circles on your neck.

You remembered your objective and start to get him out of his shorts but he stops you and slides them down, steps out of them, and walks to the shower. He almost grabs your hand as he passes but lets his fingers graze your palm.

“I’m here, Frank. I’ll be in the other room,” you announce as you walk out of the bathroom, “but I’m here.”

You busy yourself with cleaning up, putting everything back, anything that doesn’t go into the bathroom. You want him to have some privacy, safe privacy to breathe. You take a drink from his open beer and pick up his shirt and boots. So much blood. You can sort that tomorrow. He’s still showering as you put the chairs back in place under the table. You plop down on the couch, sitting curled up on your feet, and rub your brow. You take a few deep breaths and then another sip of the beer. As you set it on the coffee table you hear the bathroom water turn off. You pick up your phone from the table, check for missed notifications, then silence it. Frank walks out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, as you are placing your phone back on the coffee table.

“Feel better?”

He grunts affirmatively and smiles. He walks over to you and takes a drink from the beer. Before you really know what is happening, Frank lays down on the couch, barely fitting because he lay with his head in your lap.

(May be continued…)

[eir-trixa]

Okay I have one final thought about wottg. I think I forgot one crucial factor about these books: Its in Percy’s pov. Percy is an incredibly unreliable narrator when it comes to himself.

I think were experiencing a whiplash because last we saw of him was from different perspectives in HoO.

Alright, more under the cut. Might have spoilers for WOTTG ❗️

Okay first of all, this is not a retraction of my earlier critiques. I stand by all of them. Just check my prev post(s) about it, I wrote a lot because I was frustrated a lot by the dumb!Percy perception. Anyway. This is me, trying to find a possible reason why Im so pissed.

The difference between HoO and the new books is visible, largely because of the change of POV. Were back in Percy’s pov and yes, Rick probably forgot how to write him without including his girlfriend after every other thought. But also, were back to oblivious!Percy’s narration.

Like I said Percy’s incredibly perceptive and empathic to every other people and beings that is not himself. This guy still does not get why Annabeth likes him, he thinks everyone thinks he’s dumb, it takes a while for him to notice if someone is interested in him, he doesnt think he’s powerful at all, he thinks he’s a loser in all fronts, hell he thinks he deserves to die sometimes. Thats just how he is, he’s self deprecating even in the og PJO.

Which is a stark, stARK contrast to EVERYONE ELSE’S perspective of him in Heroes of Olympus:

Exhibit A: His entrance in Camp Jupiter wherein Hazel actually thought he’s a god in disguise. Then he created whirlpools that destroyed the gorgons and terrified the everloving shit from the Romans. Then he just proceeds to be this regular, lost, anguished guy in his own perspective while Hazel and Frank are literally so moved and an awe of him. Reyna and Kinzie both found him attractive at some point. He made PRAETOR in a week, most of it he wasnt even at CJ. Thats highly indicative of how people see him.

Exhibit B: Annabeth’s description of seeing him again in MoA. Im gonna get back to this later but do recall that he became taller and had put on muscle according to Annabeth herself. Strange of Rick to contradict himself SIKE

Piper called him unimpressive, which is interestingly the only instance he got called that but then again Piper was also under Hera’s heavy enchantments to have feelings for Jason so Im not gonna blame her at all.

We have more Im sure but were gonna stop there lest I never get to the point. So we basically see Percy in all other angles in HoO, and everyone respected him Until the end of BoO: When Rick had him say “lets fight stuff” in contrast to Jason’s war cry; When Reyna made that paperbag comment which I still havent forgotten nor forgiven. There was essentially no question of Percy’s importance or power until the end of Blood of Olympus.

Then. We get to the new books where Percy is once again in charge of the narration. He cant help but see himself as dumb, especially when he’s struggling to finish his senior year when his girlfriend is a shoe in to graduate. He’s insecure. He’s cut off from his new friends, that I think, is something so sad because what he, Hazel and Frank had was so special. He probably hasnt been to camp at all since the quest ended because of all the paperwork he had to do to get into a new school and start catching up so he can graduate on time. On top of that- those recommendation letters that still do not make sense at all.

Add all of that to the trauma and all the schoolworks he’s doing just to catch up, his self esteem took a hard dive and this affects the narration.

I think we got used to seeing Percy from an outside POV that we got a hard time adjusting when we got back to his little self deprecating self.

I’ll be clear: This doesnt absolve Rick’s writing from liability. How Wottg was writen was still a choice- but it leaves me this shallow hope that it can still be resolved better in the next instalment(s). I want this addressed because why does every other character get to have peace except Percy? But I digress. Thats a post for later.

So we can look at the new books and not take the descriptions of himself not too hard, because this kid is truly struggling with seeing worth in himself. We can also blame Rick, because while Im trying to defend this Im also pissed at Percy’s situation. Some characters do not add up at all.

As a final note, here Im gonna address Percy and Grover describing Percy as scrawny in wottg. Which directly contradicts everyone else’s description of him in HoO. Three ways to look in this scenario:

1. Tartarus had affected his physical well being badly.

2. This is Percy being an unreliable narrator again and Grover being a little shit at the wrong time

3. And the one Im subscribing to the most- this was influenced by Walker and Aryan’s dynamic. Again, I will die on the hill that the pjotv main trio was perfectly cast and they can do no wrong. But that dialogue was probably more appropriate coming from Aryan, not Grover. I did notice that Walker and Aryan both kind of look up to the actors they see as “ripped” (theres that one hilarious interview that they were gushing on Charlie being “jacked”- their words, while Leah was weirded out). So Grover’s comments about Percy’s physique was probably Rick trying to fit Walker and Aryan’s dynamic into their characters. Which, in my opinion, is unnecessary. Because those actors embody their characters already so well, theres no need for adjustments, no need to incorporate what Walker and Aryan are like irl into the books because they already do their jobs so well. Whatever dynamic Grover and Percy will have to portray in any future books, I have no doubt that these two can and will deliver an incredible performance so why need to incorporate in their irl personalities between Grover and Percy? Idk, Rick may be doing this subconsciously, maybe intentionally but eh, I just think theres no need. Let Grover and Percy stand as they are and Walker and Aryan (and Leah) stand as they are. The merging just makes Rick contradict himself. Percy is literally on the swim team so it doesnt quite track?

So dont take it too hard, its probably just Grover messing with him and Percy taking it harder because of his poor mental state.

Lmao its been days and Im still at the restaurant. Anyway, feel free to discuss.

[fanfic-lover-girl]

Poor Kreacher

‘Kreacher will do whatever Master wants,’ said Kreacher, sinking so low that his lips almost touched his gnarled toes, ‘because Kreacher has no choice, but Kreacher is ashamed to have such a Master, yes –’

‘Master thinks of everything and Kreacher must obey him even though Kreacher would much rather be the servant of the Malfoy boy, oh yes …’

‘Well … they’ve been following Malfoy for me,’ he said. ‘Night and day,’ croaked Kreacher. ‘Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter!’ said Dobby proudly, swaying where he stood. ‘You haven’t slept, Dobby? But surely, Harry, you didn’t tell him not to –’ ‘No, of course I didn’t,’ said Harry quickly. ‘Dobby, you can sleep, all right? But has either of you found out anything?’ he hastened to ask, before Hermione could intervene again.

I swear after every book, I hate Harry Potter (the book and character) more and more. There has hardly been a fictional world I despise more.

I wrote a post earlier about how Harry is not the rightful Black heir, no that title belongs to Narcissa and Draco.

How is the Kreacher/Harry (or Kreacher/Sirius) dynamic different from the Dobby/Malfoy dynamic? Both elves are stuck serving people they hate. So why should Dobby evoke sympathy but not Kreacher? The same Dobby who got Harry in trouble with the Dursleys and almost killed him (and watched Harry sleep like a creep). And as much as Dobby claims to be a free elf, Dobby is basically a willing slave (ie bootlicker) for Harry and Dumbledore. It's almost disgusting to see. Let's face it: Dobby does not hate being a slave, he just hated being a slave to the Malfoys. There's a difference.

If Harry can free Dobby (who wasn't even his elf), why won't he free the elf he hates and who hates him? Kreacher clearly prefers to be Draco's elf.

Also, curious how Hermione (the self-appointed elf activist) is quiet about Harry being an elf owner. She got all hot and livid when she found out Hogwarts had house elves but now it's A-ok for Harry to have one?? Not that Harry gives a single crap about what Hermione has to say anyway. Notice how she only expresses concern for Dobby's sleep and not Kreacher's.

But you might say: Kreacher probably knows the Order's secrets. He can't leave!

Solution: There's something called magic! It's a forgotten concept in HP, unfortunately (several descriptions of wizards carrying heavy luggage prove that. What was the first spell they learnt again?? That's right - wingardium leviosa). Make Kreacher take an Unbreakable Vow in exchange for his freedom or Obliviate him. Problem solved! Let Kreacher run free to Malfoy Manor in the sunset!

I just find Kreacher very funny and I prefer him over Dobby. Dobby is just another brainless Harry Potter worshipper. Plus I think Kreacher and Draco would get along like a house on fire. I can imagine Kreacher waxing poetic about how wonderful Draco is and Draco just smirking in amusement and laughing his head off. Haha!

[mariska]

had a horrible sickness & chronic autoimmune disease symptom flareup combo hit me really hard last night at a time thats a few hours earlier than when my hyperactive brain is used to taking my nighttime meds and getting ready to try and sleep but one of my moms found me literally like rotting away in physical distress on my recliner in the living room and made me some rly good tomato soup and grilled cheese and encouraged me to take my sleepy meds early and go try to get some rest and i am very glad that she did cuz even though my brain/body was still definitely restless and i didnt sleep entirely through the night, i managed to get a decent amount of rest from like 9 pm to 7 am (i had apparently forgotten to set my alarm too so thank fuck my body just Woke Up then and not like. 2:30 pm like it usually does when i mess up with my alarm clock lmfao 😭) so!! that felt like a promising start to the day at least and i've been in desperate need of having a day that feels hopeful at all in any regard after waking up so i will take that little victory gladly 🥺✌️if im able to gather up the physical & mental energy for it i wanna try to do some dungeons & dragons related art/design for stuff having to do with my character Sludge i play as in the group im a part of since our next session gathering is a week from today and we all leveled up at the end of the last session. Sludge has been evolving in very fun and cool ways as a character too btw she is for sure a new All Time Fav oc of mine amongst the ranks of Lifelong Self-Insert OC Paige Bond™️ at this point bfshhhshssgsbf <3 i wrote down this whole backstory skeleton in my phone notes of general concepts and ideas about where she grew up and what her pre-dnd campaign life was like that resulted in me making a whole new note page of characters and concepts and plots for the actual location she's from which has been such a blast to imagine and slowly piece things together like a big ol puzzle so i would love to turn all of that into actual short stories with illustrations and stuff sometime soon too.....ANYWAYS!! to quote 90's jeff goldblum life uhhhh........finds a way

[marvellousstawler]

So, months ago, I found my old writing, wrote a post after getting inspired, forgot that I had saved the draft of that post, found the same old writing again (having forgotten that I had found it earlier in the year), got inspired by it again, went to write a new post about it, and found the draft of the old post. Thanks amnesia!

Thus, instead of posting a journal this week because I haven't written it yet and don't really want to do it this evening on account of being inspired, you're getting this draft I made from literally several months ago that I never actually posted. Enjoy?

Oh wait no. Holy crap, I just reread this post before posting it and realised it was a completely different draft from months ago, after getting inspired by my old writing, that I never actually posted. So maybe you'll get that one next week or maybe you'll get it another time anyway who cares read my drivel.

---

So. I found my old writing!

I say “old.” It’s probably from about three or four years ago, I definitely remember showing it to some people at Uni. And I say “found,” I opened my backup folder on my Google Drive. But! The improvement in my understanding of writing and story construction (as well as my capacity to set achievable goals) is so noticeable, that it *feels* old.

As such I spent most of my workday yesterday checking out my old writing on company time. Most people who do this go off about how their writing is “cringe,” but my writing isn’t yet old enough to have achieved cringe. (And the stuff that would be old enough was all lost in the iPad Pages Purge Of ‘16, RIP). But no, in my case, the worst thing I can say about my writing was that it was boring and uninspired. Most of it was more telling than showing because I had SO much to cover, because I started with way too much on my plate.

But beneath the boring stuff there were some genuinely inspiring concepts buried in there, which is good, because the work I’m currently doing is built on the corpse’s corpse’s corpse of a story that started when I was 12. Nisa, my current antagonist, is an explicitly Mary-Sue villain built from my unwittingly Mary-Sue protagonist from back in the day. Typically the compelling stuff is not about Nisa, in fact most of the stuff from the backup folder that could feasibly called cringe is about her. I still wasn’t fully comfortable being gay, so nearly every chapter is someone else talking about how great Nisa is, while still having this half-hearted “but she’s like, still really clumsy and stupid ok” air about it.

But!! It was the chapters who weren’t about Nisa at all who had the interesting concepts in them. Most notably, I had a prequel for a pair of “reformed villains” (they were just heroes the whole time because I don’t know how to not make everyone a protagonist), and in this prequel, Sorrel (who you will recognise as a protagonist for the current prologue when TDD actually gets posted) has been dead for nine years before coming back to life because of primordial god shenanigans. She died a martyr, having left a set of instructions for how to build a government for her murderer to follow and ratify out of guilt (i don’t have time to explain the context and it was never concrete, but it did make a modicum of sense at the time). When she revives, the country she left behind HAS been rebuilt, but clearly her brutish murderer fudged the instructions. And is also nowhere to be found, which is important because she was supposed to be running the place.

And that’s a cool concept! Showing up and realising that while you’ve been gone the political and social structure of the world you left behind is BONKERS. And the good news is, I have an organic way to introduce it into TDD. Nisa and She-Bear spend like 20 years being trapped in a moon and holding the moon together respectively, meaning that when the pressure builds and the moon explodes (they’ll be fine) they’ll be yeeted onto a planet they used to lead which now has like, shopping malls and toll roads.

I accidentally typed “shopping mauls” initially and that is an idea that people are welcome to take further.

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Something about last summer sucked. 

Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous. 

There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.

You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them. 

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:

Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more. 

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”

“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”

“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi. 

“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”

Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook. 

Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together. 

The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more. 

Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat. 

“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body. 

You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception. 

He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m in love with you.”

The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true. 

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”

It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault. 

“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish. 

“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone. 

“What are we supposed to do?” He asks. 

You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.

He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else. 

The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

“Me too.”

Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.

The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed. 

The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you. 

Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it. 

Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is. 

You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away. 

“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick. 

“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.

“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.

“I guess that would be me.”

You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all. 

“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer. 

The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.  

If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well. 

“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written. 

Some things never change, you suppose. 

“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.

“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow. 

You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life. 

There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer. 

But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.

“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”

“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”

“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face. 

His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation. 

“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes. 

You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”

“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me. 

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?

“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?

“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”

Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give. 

“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him. 

Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two. 

Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?” 

And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer. 

You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin. 

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done. 

“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”

The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire. 

Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t. 

The fact is that it has always started and ended here. 

When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving. 

You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old. 

Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit. 

You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him. 

The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin. 

“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while. 

“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies. 

“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now. 

Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly. 

“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”

“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it. 

Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died. 

“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”

“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you. 

“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks. 

“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!” 

The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more. 

You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.

There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here. 

The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.

But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible. 

“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room. 

“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience. 

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things. 

Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.” 

He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh. 

Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine. 

“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t. 

Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”

Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.

“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other. 

The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors. 

“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”

“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion. 

“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval. 

“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”

“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s. 

“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”

“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters. 

“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”

“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”

“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”

“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair. 

Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice. 

“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”

“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable. 

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose. 

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”

You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink. 

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”

And the two of you must have both known that was a lie. 

You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better. 

After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door. 

“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent. 

“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”

You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie. 

“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”

Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that. 

“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had. 

“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”

“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night. 

You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet. 

You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.

Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that. 

You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back. 

You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.

If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back. 

But you can’t.

The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up. 

Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes. 

This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived. 

You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall. 

“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.

“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside. 

“Is this your first year at camp?”

“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face. 

“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.  

“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on. 

“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”

“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent. 

“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself. 

The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”

When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other. 

Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials. 

Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him. 

Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing. 

“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable. 

“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you. 

You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands. 

As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all. 

It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair. 

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”

“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. 

You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame. 

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks. 

You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.

Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here. 

“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible. 

“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features. 

“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”

“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable. 

“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”

“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you. 

“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”

“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation. 

“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”

“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.

“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin. 

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back. 

You want to be honest?

Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart. 

The only solution, it seems, is to smother them. 

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid. 

You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope. 

It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you. 

Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will. 

As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.

Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will. 

Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.

Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless. 

If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy. 

The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete. 

Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell. 

Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you. 

You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off. 

“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb. 

“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously. 

You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?

Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”

“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight. 

“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi. 

“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute. 

“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply. 

“Try what?”

You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon. 

“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them. 

“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks. 

“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears. 

“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing. 

Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction. 

Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go. 

“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin. 

“I think so,” you heave out in response. 

“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough. 

“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”

“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way. 

“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different. 

“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline. 

You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter. 

“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks. 

“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”

One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun. 

He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others. 

Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent. 

Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials. 

The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain. 

A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember. 

Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you. 

You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder. 

There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be. 

When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.

Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves. 

You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted. 

As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider. 

Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too. 

Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers. 

The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken. 

You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.

“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces. 

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her. 

Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”

“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts. 

“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”

“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up. 

“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes. 

You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea. 

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded. 

It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—

God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting. 

“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”

But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?

You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.

Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him. 

Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables. 

Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance. 

Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you. 

Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time. 

“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands. 

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”

It’s no secret to the both of you why. 

“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him. 

“Alright,” Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”

“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”

“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”

“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests. 

Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know? 

“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.

You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question. 

“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one? 

You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.

You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on. 

“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”

You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”

And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks. 

“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year. 

“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”

And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.

“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.” 

The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway. 

“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”

A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.

“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get. 

“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.

“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”

Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow. 

“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken. 

It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.

You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile. 

Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter. 

It’s getting easier. 

No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors. 

And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier. 

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other. 

Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again. 

“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop. 

You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.

“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”

Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name. 

“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you. 

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting. 

“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly. 

“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”

“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”

Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back. 

“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”

“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place. 

“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”

Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record. 

There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers. 

Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed. 

“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.

“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.

“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.

Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.

Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”

He means that part, too.

The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability. 

This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them. 

Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.

Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.

Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance. 

Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children. 

And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now. 

All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud. 

“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages. 

“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge. 

“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”

You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you. 

“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”

“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard. 

“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”

“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again. 

“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”

Shit. 

Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms. 

You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows. 

And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be. 

Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright. 

Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative. 

“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”

“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.

“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”

“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it. 

“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you. 

“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”

“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”

“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”

You do? That is news to you. 

“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”

“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read. 

“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”

Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more. 

Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much. 

“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”

“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims. 

“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back. 

It can’t be. 

You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear. 

You swear.

“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”

“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”

Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”

“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more. 

What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality. 

“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room. 

Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”

“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it. 

Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him. 

“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together. 

“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.

Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches. 

“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more. 

“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.

“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left. 

“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”

And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him. 

This place will never not remind you of him. 

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”

“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”

“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take. 

You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”

Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob. 

You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room. 

“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”

“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”

“Think we should wait it out?” He asks. 

“Whatever you want to do.”

Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”

You nod. “Five minutes.”

Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain. 

You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky. 

And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking. 

You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you. 

(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else. 

He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries. 

“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”

“Needed for what?”

He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe. 

“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands. 

“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath. 

“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front. 

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it. 

“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”

“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”

With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face. 

“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious. 

“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room. 

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal. 

Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place. 

Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance. 

At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event. 

Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier. 

Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet. 

“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe. 

Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”

“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”

“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies. 

You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet. 

But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.

What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying. 

It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams. 

It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different. 

“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs. 

“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease. 

And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt. 

“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness. 

“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”

The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do. 

They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding. 

God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm. 

“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable. 

“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—

“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”

A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely. 

“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room. 

“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse. 

“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer. 

“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that. 

You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it. 

Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp. 

On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation. 

“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off. 

“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see. 

When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore. 

The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin. 

You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else. 

But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want. 

The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects. 

So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something. 

“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”

You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water. 

“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder. 

“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”

You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need. 

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[javier-pena]

take

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Word Count: 3k

Rating: Explicit (that means 18+/no minors!!)

Summary: Javi and you are enjoying breakfast on his yacht until things take an unexpected turn.

Warnings: mentions of food | thigh riding | dirty talk | orgasm delay/denial | public sex (I’m sure what they’re doing is actually illegal) | daddy kink | implied sugar daddy Javi Gutierrez | Javi is a Tease (capital T to show how serious his crimes are) | Javi in that orange shirt

Notes: I saw a picture of Javi and all I could think was, “I wanna feed him berries”. So that’s the reason I wrote this fic. That’s the only excuse I have. Oh and also that I want Javi to call me a bad girl but whatever, we don’t need to talk about that. Anyway, as always, I owe most of this to Dani @javierpcna​, literally everything I write should come with Dani’s name listed as co-author, her support knows no bounds, she literally drops everything when I send her a fic to proofread, and this was no different. And she also lets me use her brilliant lines from time to time, for which I can never repay her.

Notes II: I have neither seen the movie nor have I read the script, so if there are any spoilers in there (I doubt it) I didn’t put them in intentionally.

Notes III: Artwork by @honestly-shite​ | Moodboard by @frankiemorales​

***

One.

He lets you feed him one berry, but only after you tell him how good they taste, how they melt on your tongue, how they fill your mouth with a soft sweetness. He raises an eyebrow at that, and you know what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he takes the small blueberry from your outstretched fingers, leaning on the laden breakfast table to make it easier for you to reach him. The berry is so small it’s impossible for him to pull it in between his lips without the tip of your finger vanishing, too. You shudder at the sensation, shudder despite the heat, despite the hotness of his tongue brushing against your sensitive skin.

Javi hates breakfast. He hates dedicating time during his busy day, during the mornings when he feels most productive, to eating when it can be done en passant. You keep telling him it’s not healthy to eat while he’s distracted, and you’ve been trying to convince him to have breakfast with you for a few weeks now.

Why, babe? You said distraction is bad for me when I eat.

He still doesn’t eat during the mornings, only drinks his heavy, smoky, black coffee, but he keeps you company now whenever he can. He reads to you from the morning paper, he tells you about his plans for the day, or he listens to you talking about a dream you had last night or about things you would like to do with him one day. And today … today he even made time to take you out on his yacht, to anchor it in a secluded bay where there’s no noise except the lapping of the waves against the bright white hull of the ship and the cries of the seagulls circling above, hoping to snatch a crumb of the croissant on your plate. Today, he’s made time to be with you.

Two.

You try it again, another berry, another taste of sweetness, another burst of flavor and color and sugary juices. This time it becomes clear he’s chasing something else, craving something else, as he sucks on your finger, just for a brief moment, just under the pretense of getting the sticky juice off your skin, but he also isn’t shy about it, he also doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. Your skin prickles when he releases the digit, and you pull your hand back across the table too quickly, too hastily. He notices and leans back on his expensive outdoor couch with a satisfied sigh.

You dry your finger against the hot skin of your leg, already burning up with the heat of the approaching day, even though you keep to the shadows. Only your feet rest on an empty chair in direct sunlight, while you keep the rest of your body safe under a wide canopy. Javi is doing the complete opposite. He’s lounging in direct sunlight, and you’ll never understand how he can stand it. Your skin always starts to tickle and itch from the heat, while he looks like he was made to live in a Mediterranean country and spend his days in the sun.

The bright, orange shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned to expose half his chest. His bronze skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, and you cannot tear your eyes away from it, imagining what it would feel like to run your fingers over it, how hot it would feel under your hands, how he would sigh and relax into your touch. His chest is your favorite place in the entire world. You feel safe when you rest your hand on it, when he softly runs his fingers along your arm, tells you how beautiful you look, how he will always take care of you, no matter what, how you’ll never need to worry about anything ever again because you’re his and he’s yours. And you feel oh so secure when you’re trapped under it, when you feel its weight pressing down on you, when your sharp nails leave angry, red scratches on his soft skin as he whispers into your ear – encouraging, soothing, filthy.

Three.

You want to see it move, see the muscles flex and strain as he leans forward again to accept a third berry from you. And this time he’s not shy about it anymore. This time, he does suck your finger in between his lips, the berry forgotten, and you see his eyes widen behind his dark sunglasses. You suck in a sharp breath at the sight. He releases your finger with a wet pop and suddenly this isn’t enough. Suddenly you need more, more of him, but you lower your gaze to your plate instead to hide your shining eyes. There is a time and place for these things and the deck of his yacht in broad daylight isn’t it.

But you cannot deny what your body wants, even though your mind tells the aching between your legs to shut up. You push yourself out of your chair fast and within a few steps you’re leaning against the railing, hoping to catch a breeze to soothe your flushed face. But there is none, only unbearable heat.

When you turn around again, you feel a different kind of heat; Javi’s gaze is on you as he takes you in. You know he loves to do this, especially when you’re wearing something he bought you, like you’re doing this morning – an expensive black bikini that leaves little to the imagination, one you found on your bed one morning with a small note that made you shudder, so you decided to save it for a special occasion. And you were right to do so because he’s unable to tear his eyes away from you.

You walk back to the table as slowly as possible, determined to finish breakfast, but something pulls you toward him, like an invisible rope slung around your waist, like his gaze is enough to make you lose all sense of control. And before you know it, you’re straddling his thigh, while he pulls you into a kiss, one that lasts forever yet not long enough, one that sets you on fire more than the sun on your back yet makes you want to expose more skin so more of you will get burned.  

The second his teeth release your lip his hands fly up to rest against your hips, his grip firm but easy to get out of if you wanted to. “Is there something you wanted, baby?” he asks you, innocence written all over his face, as if he truly is completely unaware of the effect he has on you, of the things he makes you want to do when his eyes follow you around like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You bite your lip, bite the spot that still feels raw from where he sucked on it moments earlier, and then you start rolling your hips, start chasing the friction to relieve some of the hot, searing pressure that’s been building between your legs since he sucked your finger into his mouth. You see his eyes lower dangerously when he realizes what it is you want from him, and everything shifts, shifts as if the yacht is hit by a strong wave. You’re all too familiar with this change and you know exactly what it means, and what it entails.

One of your hands lands on the collar of his shirt out of its own free will, your fingers clawing at the material in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. The palm of your other hand presses against his warm, sun-kissed chest, your nails eager to leave marks on his skin. But instead of pressing into your touch, he leans back and watches you with mild interest.

This is all the permission you need. You grind your hips with a sense of purpose now, and when you feel the muscles of his leg tense between yours, a small whimper escapes your lips.

He smirks at you, and you know his eyes are sparkling, even though you can’t really see them. “Come on,” he urges you, pressing up into you, “make yourself feel good.”

With a desperate moan, your head falls onto his shoulder, your forehead scraping against his shirt, and you bite your lip because it’s the only thing stopping you from biting the exposed skin of his neck. You know he’d like that, he likes it when you are rough with him, but it also unleashes something in him you want to keep locked away today. You know it’s selfish and greedy, but all you want to do this morning is take, and not think about him.

He makes that resolve very difficult to keep.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asks you, a hand at the back of your neck, trying to get you to lift your head.

You don’t answer him, you can’t, but you indulge him and lift your head again. You pick up the pace, determined to show him how much you like it, how good it makes you feel, but he only smirks at you again, like he doesn’t need an answer anyway, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

And suddenly, suddenly that selfish streak is gone, and you want him closer to you, all over you, inside of you. You don’t care that you have to give up the last bit of control you cling to, and give yourself over completely to him, you don’t care that it’s broad daylight and that another boat could sail into your tiny bay any second now, you don’t care about being discovered or about this being, strictly speaking, illegal. You just care about him fucking you like he does when he has you to himself, sprawled out under him, trapping you with his broad chest and toned arms, forcing you to take whatever he gives you.

But before you can tell him any of that, the hand at the back of your neck is gone and he lifts up his sunglasses and tosses them aside, so you can look right into his eyes, so you can see that you’re not the only one who’s affected by all of this. His gaze roams all over you, from your eyes shining with hazy lust to your legs squeezing around his thigh and your hips rolling with an urgency, pushing you steadily closer to finding the release you’re chasing. But this isn’t enough, you both know that; it’s enough to keep the fire going, but not enough to push you over the edge.

His free hand brushes against the exposed skin of your belly, his fingers run along the seam of your bikini top, and you push yourself forward, willing him to cup your breasts, pinch your nipples, anything, anything to relieve the ache and burning, the feverish craving you feel for his touch, his lips, his words that leave no doubt about who is in control. But he doesn’t give you any of that. Instead, his hand moves to your back to steady you, to hold you in place, and all he does is toy with the strap of your top holding everything in place at the back of your neck.

You don’t know what makes you look down to where your bodies are connected, but you do, and he follows your gaze. You both watch as a dark patch forms on the light fabric of his slacks, as it spreads more and more with each thrust of your hips.

“You’re making a mess,” Javi breathes quietly, so quietly you almost don’t catch it over the sound of the water against the yacht’s hull. His gaze is transfixed, his attention is on the evidence of your arousal as he watches with great interest. You feel heat spread from your chest along your arms and up your neck to your face, but you don’t stop.

“Look at you, princess,” he goes on, his left hand gripping your side tighter to slow you down until you drag yourself along his leg painfully slowly. “Look at how you’re getting daddy’s trousers all wet, they’re probably ruined now.” He pauses at your sharp intake of breath. There’s a dark glint in his eyes when he speaks next. “You’re a bad girl.”

You’re pretty sure the sound you make isn’t human. He lets go of your side and rests his hand on your thigh, letting you set the pace again.

“Please,” you whine, and you don’t quite know why you say it, what you want him to do, you just know he needs to do something, or you’ll go crazy. “Please, Javi,” you repeat. “Please, just … touch me,” you finish, and it’s stupid, he is touching you, just not in the way you mean, but you cannot come up with anything else to say.

“You’re always so greedy,” he observes, not making any move to fulfil your request. “I’m already giving you what you want and still you want more. Don’t you want to be daddy’s good girl?”

You don’t know the answer to that question. You wouldn’t know your own name if he asked you right now. Not because of the things he’s saying but because he raises his leg ever so slightly to push up against your clit and every coherent thought you might have had is drowned out by incoherent sounds leaving your mouth. You press down against him, grinding down with so much force he’s bound to lower his leg. Only … he doesn’t.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that,” he says, a picture of calmness and poise. “Can you repeat that for me?”

You absolutely cannot because you can’t remember what you said in the first place, but you give it another try. “Javi, please, give me something,” you swallow, “anything. Touch me, please.”

“No,” he says, but his voice sounds strained now, like uttering that two-letter word takes a lot of effort. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please,” you say again, knowing it won’t be enough. “Please, I can’t …”

“Why not?” he wants to know.

“It’s not enough, I ...,” you swallow again, your throat completely dry, “why are you doing this to me?”

“Oh, baby, you’re not even trying to get yourself off,” Javi chuckles. “I know you can do better than that.”

“I am trying,” you tell him, but it’s nothing more than a desperate whine.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asks you.

And he’s right, it is, it was ten minutes ago when you thought all you had to do was look pretty and he’d fuck you, but now that he’s seen right through you, now that he has decided he doesn’t want to give you anything more than he has to, it isn’t anymore. You want so much more than this, and you know there’s just one way to get it.

With a small movement you change your position slightly until you roll your hips against where he’s straining against the fabric of his slacks, and a low hiss is your reward, followed by a sharp slap to your ass that makes your hips stutter, and you lose your steady rhythm. Both his hands are on your hips again and he pushes you down hard against the firm muscles of his thigh.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he tells you. “I’m gonna give you what you came here for, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Javi,” you groan.

His hands move your hips, his arms straining with the effort of keeping you in place, and you let him, even though all you can think about is his hard cock only inches away from you. You think about him pushing into you, about the filthy, wet sounds it would make, about how he’s the only one who can reach so deep inside of you he makes you see stars with every thrust.

“All right,” Javi says. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “You can have it.”

You’re sure you misheard. You’re sure he didn’t just say that. After all he’s put you through, he won’t give in that easily. But you clench around nothing nevertheless, clench around thin air at the thought of him inside of you.

“Later,” he adds, and your heart almost stops. “I’m gonna fill your pretty mouth, but only if you’re good for me.”

You want to, you’re trying to, but you cannot do this anymore. If he’s not going to touch you, if he won’t fuck you, you have to do it yourself.

One of your hands leaves his strong shoulders and you frantically push the fabric of your swimsuit aside, pressing a finger against your aching clit. You moan in relief, but it only lasts a moment, because his left hand closes tightly around your wrist without any warning, and he twists your arm until he has it in a firm grip pressed against your back. The ring he wears on his little finger digs painfully into your soft skin.

“You were doing so well,” he says with a disappointed sigh.

“It’s not –,” you start, but you’re not allowed to finish the sentence.

“No, it is enough,” he tells you firmly, his eyes boring into yours.

But he does reach up, he does pull the string of your top until it comes loose and your tits spill out. He lets go of your arm but before you can decide what to do with your newfound freedom, his fingers close around your throat at the same time as his mouth closes around one of your nipples.

That’s all it takes.

You arch your back with a scream and come right there on his thigh in broad daylight, while he holds you in place with hands and mouth. It goes on forever, or at least it feels like that, and he’s unrelenting, first sucking one nipple into his mouth, then biting down hard on the other. When it becomes clear he’s not planning on stopping, you grab a fistful of his soft curls and pull him away from your chest with a sharp tug.

“Had enough?” he asks, his lips shiny and slightly swollen.

You nod slowly because you don’t trust your voice right now.

“Well, I haven’t,” he growls. “And I will tell you when you’ve had enough.”

taglist: @badbatches​, @darksber​, @doin-stuff​, @filthybookworm​, @for-my-satisfaction​, @frannyzooey​, @javigutierrez​, @karkii​, @pann-malii​, @raspberrymama​, @silksaddle​, @skeletonstwins​, @skyshipper​, @sunnydunnydays​

[im-juggling-fandoms]

She never learns, does she?

A Resident Evil fanfic of reader who is a former lover of Albert Wesker but is now on the run from him when she discovered his involvement in the Raccoon City incident. She is terrified of him and what he’s capable of and at the same time angry with herself for not being capable to suppress her feelings towards the man. She’s also determined that he is obsessed with her, it doesn’t matter where she hides, he always finds her and he just won’t stop. So far, reader has been lucky to get away just in time before his arrival. This time, she’s taken by surprise.

Rated mature. 18+ for language, deaths and sexual content.

Long time no see, dear heart..

It has been three years, four months and seven days since the last time Y/N felt herself at home. Now, the closest thing she got to feel like home was the people she surrendered herself with. The people who gave up their own lives to make sure of your safety. What would you have done without their sacrifices? You didn’t need much time to think over the possibilities. You knew you would’ve been dead.

You were a loose end that knew too damn much and Albert wouldn’t stop until he silenced you for good.

After all these years, it still hurt you. The two of you once shared everything together. Or so, you thought. One day you had stumbled upon his underground laboratory that had been hidden from your view for two years behind a massive mahogany bookcase. You found his research, you found an entire life he had been living in a city called Raccoon City not far from where you had built up your life. You found everything. It terrified you how gullible you had been about everything. You believed him when he said he was working at the bank downtown, why wouldn’t you?

It was all a lie. He had been creating horrific viruses and killing people to the left and right before he came home to your bed and ravished your body with his.

It made you sick.

But it made you hurt even more.

You kind of liked the little bed and breakfast you had been calling home for three days now who had an incredible view of the Swiss mountains from your room. It was peaceful and the landscape alone made you hope for a brighter future. Maybe you could finally settle down? It surely would help your mental state to have some peace and quiet. Well, it had been quiet for you and your friends for several weeks now and they told you over and over again not to let your guard down but you just couldn’t help yourself as you peeked over to your sleeping friends before you turned back to the window you where standing in front of. The sun made its way up over the mountains and it cast such a mesmerizing view over the little village. You knew you should be careful but you really wanted to go outside by yourself, if only for a few minutes.

You put your coat over your red nightgown and the silk was so smooth to your skin it almost felt like you were naked underneath.

Before you exited, you made sure to at least pack a gun into your hip holster. You hurried out, careful not to make any sound when closing the door behind you. There was a small hallway with a few rooms and a long stairwell leading down to the lobby. You walked with your hands in your pockets as you exited the B&B and felt the cool spring wind kiss your face. This, this was exactly what you had been needing, some peace and quiet.

You took a stroll around the village that began to wake up. You took in every smell, every sound.. it almost felt as you were vibrating.

Wait

You put your hand in your pocket and retrieved your phone who was buzzing like crazy.

Jeez.. you thought, you hadn’t been out more than maybe a little over ten minutes and Jessica was already buzzing up your phone.

Where the hell are you? Come back right now! You know we don’t go anywhere alone! She wrote.

Jesus Christ, Y/N! What are you thinking?! Jared wrote you.

You couldn’t help but feel ashamed and guilty. What where you thinking? These people had offered everything to go underground with you and yet, you jeopardize everything by taking a goddamned stroll..

You sighed loudly and turned your little stroll back to the B&B. As you walked hurriedly, you went over in your head the best way to explain to your friends why you went out but every outcome was the same. It made you sound stuck up and ungrateful. You decided it was for the best to just apologize and own your mistake. You told yourself that you would promise them to never do anything like this ever again and you meant it.

The lady at the front desk was sitting with her back towards you as you entered the lobby. You wondered if you should bid her good morning but she seemed devoured in that book of hers so you decided to just leave her be. You walked past her but something in the corner of your eye made you stop in your tracks immediately.

You turned your head slowly in her direction and what you feared the most, became reality.

She wasn’t devoured in a book as it first had seemed. She was lying with her face into the open book. The pages that once must’ve been white was colored red and she was as still as a statue.

You grabbed your gun from your holster and called out for your friends to come downstairs as you walked towards the dead woman.

It was as quiet as a graveyard.

Nothing.

A not in your stomach began to build and you abandoned the dead woman and bolted up the stairs as fast as you possibly could and kicked the door to your room open, only to reveal it abandoned.

You began to panic. Where the hell where your friends? It couldn’t have been more than five minutes ago they blew up your phone.

Maybe they got so worried that they decided to go out and look for you? Maybe they had found the woman at the front desk and was at the police station? You had to find them.

You walked down the stairs once again, this time the peace you earlier felt was long gone. When you rounded the crook of the stairwell you completely froze. This time, you literally could feel the ice slithering up your spine.

Albert sat down in one of the armchairs that faced the stairwell, his face were stoic and calm and he had one of his legs over the other which made him look like he was waiting for someone.

He’s waiting for you.

You knew that your gun couldn’t do him any harm. Jared had fired multiple shots at him three years ago during our time in Japan but Albert had dodged every single bullet like he was some kind of a super human. You where lucky you got out of there alive. That was the last time he got this close as he was now.

Your insides were in raging, burning agony. You were so terrified that you trembled but at the same time, your heart hurt with the memories of your love years ago.

“Long time, no see, dear heart.” He spoke and you had forgotten about what a velvety voice that man possessed. Every word rolled of his tongue with absolute expertise. You wouldn’t let him fog up your brain anymore so you stood tall, the gun in your hand pointed directly at his beautiful face even though you knew it was useless, you wouldn’t let him think you would give up so easily.

“Where are my friends, Albert?” You asked. Your hand which held the gun were shaking and you tried to steady it the best you could but to no avail. You were so scared and it was displayed openly for him to see.

Before you could even register that it had happened, Albert had got up from the armchair and made his way over to you. You have no idea how he did it but he had managed to do it in shorter than a second. Now, he stood towering before you, mere inches between the two of you. He was so close that you could inhale his scent. The scent that you had forgot made its way up your nostrils and an raging battle began taking form inside of you. A part of you wanted to run, as far away as you could from this monster of a man or whatever the hell he was and the other part wanted to forget everything that has happened over the years and pull him in for one of those kisses that made your mind all foggy.

You looked up at him hesitantly, his sunglasses was covering his eyes, covering those magical light greys you so well remembered. The eyes you spend so many nights gazing into while you were making sweet love to each other. You didn’t need to see them to have all of those memories pool into your mind immediately, his presence did it all.

He grabbed your wrist of the hand that held the gun and you tried to make him let go of you but he was so strong that it barely even phased him. Without any trouble on his behalf, he took the gun out of your trembling hand and tossed it carelessly to the side.

“Where are my friends?” You tried again, this time your voice broke mid-sentence and you could feel the tears burning behind your eyes, threatening to break free and make you look even smaller than you already did.

“Three years, Y/N.” He began without any hint of emotions in his velvety voice, “You had me turning upside down on half the world for three years.” He finally stated.

“Just let them go, Albert, it’s me you want, isn’t it? They-“ you began sobbing, “They don’t know anything, I swear!” You exclaimed.

He pushed you up against the wall of the stairwell with his hands firmly on yours above your head. He leaned in closer to your tear filled face, so close that you felt his breath ghost over your skin ever so lightly.

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.”

“I’m not lying, they don’t know anything about-“ you began hysterically but was cut off as he pushed you deeper into the wall and it made your backside ache profusely.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” He pronounced every word with spitting venom. Now, you could feel how angry he was with you. The stoicism from before was a good act, you thought.

“Please, don’t hurt them.” You begged. “Do whatever you want with me but please, just let them go. They won’t tell anyone anything, I am sure of it. I can make them promise to not say anything to anyone! Please!” You were desperate. Every passing minute could mean that your friends lives were closer to an end and you had to do everything you could to help them. Just as they had helped you.

He chuckled.

You looked up at him in confusion under your wet eyelashes, the tears blurring your vision ever so slightly.

“I am not interested in making conversation about your little friends.” He spoke up sternly before he lightened the hold he had on you. You were still pushed up against the wall but it hurt less than it did before.

“I just need to know they’re okay.” Your voice were merely above an whisper.

“They are, for now.” Albert confirmed. Jesus Christ, he was too damn close to you. You could see every little pore in his skin, his scent filled you up like a balloon that was going to pop any second. You knew that he was going to kill you and you felt nowhere near being ready to die but his mere presence awoke something inside of you. The thing that you had been trying to bury deep, deep within. The undeniably eternal love you felt for him with the strength of a thousand elephants. It was blind and it was more forgiving than it was wise. It was so intense it made your skin burn and your insides too, you felt like a hot burning mess. It almost felt unnatural. Mainly because of what it did to you. You had never felt this with anyone else, not ever. It felt like you belonged together. You still knew better, though. Hence why you left and had been on the run for years.

You felt weak and tired. All of this, all of these years had made you so tired. You just wanted it to stop. You were done. There was no use to try and fight him, he was way too strong now. It’ll only make you end up dying in more pain than necessary and you felt obligated to save yourself from that.

“Just get it over with. For old time’s sake, make it quick.” You said, your voice was on the verge of a new wave of tears but you managed to keep them at bay.

His hands let go off yours and you felt his body leave yours, the warmth disappearing by the second. You closed your eyes, ready for the fatal strike.

It never came.

You held your eyes closed for what felt like minutes but nothing happened.

You battle with yourself if you would dare to open them and see what was going on and after a while, you decided that you had to.

He was just standing there, a feet or so from you, with his back against you. His gloved hands were clasped neatly behind his straight back and it appeared as if he was in deep thought. You could tell that, even with his back to you. It was your bond that told you.

Should you try to run?

No.

You wouldn’t get far and you were so tired of this cat and mouse bullshit.

You just wanted it to end.

“Albert, please..” you softly spoke, almost begging him to put you out of your misery.

“You never learn, do you?” He said as he turned to you.

Your confused expression spoke for you and he smirked hastily.

“If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing here after all this time.”

You felt weak, confused and at the same time irritated. It felt as if you were back at square one. You had been running for your life only because you sincerely thought that he wanted to end it. All of the ruckus he had been making hadn’t exactly told you otherwise but it was true now when you actually thought about it, you had never once been harmed under these 3 years. All of your friends had been but never you.

“What do you want, Albert?”

“Isn’t it perfectly clear what I want, Y/N?”

You gave him a sour look. It really wasn’t. With all the information you now had on him, you had come to learn that he wasn’t that quiet but passionate lover you once thought you were dealing with. You’ve come to know that he was a sociopath and was capable to do about anything to preserve his goal which seemed to be collecting viruses from around the globe. You didn’t want to know what he was planning to do with them.

“Dear heart,” he began, that smirk upon his face for a few seconds before he continued, “I want what’s mine. I want you.”

If you thought you were confused before, it was nothing compared to what was going on inside your head right now.

“But you, you almost-You sent fucking mercenaries after us! You bombed one of the houses we were inside of, we just barely got out in time!” You fumed, your hand gesturing angrily with every word.

“You left without a word, Y/N, it made me very angry.”

“Oh, it made you angry?” You spat at him, every fear and tremble as blown away. “It made me angry when I found out you were a fucking liar! And not to mention a full blown psychopath!”

He briskly walked over to you and grabbed you by the shoulders roughly.

“You watch that tongue with me, Y/N, before I change my mind.”

“I’m done with these games, Albert! I’m done! Just get it over with, I can’t bear another second with this.” You said, refusing to face him. His face made you want to jump him right here right now. Your hormones were going crazy and you were equally angry as you were a hot, horny mess. The last time you orgasmed by another hand than yours was with Albert. You still remember it as if it was yesterday..

You had been slow cooking some fancy meat on the stove and had some baked potatoes filled with cheese and paprika in the oven. You were working on a side salad when he entered the kitchen freshly showered in nothing but a towel around his waist. He began kissing your neck and one thing led to another and before you knew it, you were sprawled out on one of the counters with his head between your legs, his tongue skillfully massaging your little bundle of nerves while two of his fingers were massaging the inside of your pussy and it didn’t take long before you clenched down on his fingers with a loud moan.

You needed to get your head straight. You couldn’t be thinking about things like that right now. You could literally feel the wetness pouring out of you.

“Hmm...” he hummed with a smirk. You couldn’t see his eyes but you felt how intense they were ravaging you right now.

“I can smell you.” He said, that damn smirk still plastered on his beautiful features. “You are aching for me Y/N, aren’t you?”

“No,” you said hastily, “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Albert took one of his gloved hands to his face and removed the glove with his pearly white teeth. His naked hand snaked between your exposed legs and traveled up to your clothed pussy. You should slap him right across the face for taking such freedom to touch you like this and yet, you couldn’t do anything. You just stood there, looking up into his face, as if to get some reassuring that this wasn’t as wrong as it actually was.

He didn’t waste any time, he ripped the cloth from your skin with a growl. It probably would’ve stung your sensitive skin if it wasn’t for your arousal. You were dripping and you were desperately longing for the man that you deep down knew was the love of your life.

You grabbed his face with your soft hands and you tried to pull him into a kiss but he wouldn’t succumb to your wishes. He simply undid his belt, opened his trousers and pulled them down to his knees to reveal that he was already hard. You mouth watered and your pussy ached painfully at the sight of his cock. The same exact cock that you had been fantasizing about every time you pleased yourself nowadays.

Albert pushed you once again against the wall of the stairwell but this time he lifted you up as well with his hands at your hips. He didn’t leave you any time to comprehend a single thing, he buried himself to the hilt into your tight, wet cave with a deep, deep groan. It sounded as he had been holding that inside of him for a very long time. You, on the other hand moaned out loudly for everyone to hear as the two of you finally were connected as one.

You had almost forgotten about how good he actually was in bed but all of that came right back to you as he demonstrated his skills by pounding into you evenly, he squeezed your soft hips with every movement.

You clawed desperately at the fabric on his chest as he pounded roughly into you. You didn’t mind him being a little rough, it were a long time since you last made love and if he was anywhere close to as desperate and aroused as you were, he probably couldn’t contain himself.

“Oh, Albert..” you moaned as a wave of pure pleasure washed over you, “I’ve missed you so much.” You confessed openly.

He didn’t answer.

Sure, he was a man of few words but he would always praise you and shower you with affection while making love, now he was all quiet except a grunt here and there.

It was extremely hard for you to get anything from his eyes since those sunglasses covered them and left you to look at your own reflection instead. You had no idea what he felt right now and it made you wary.

You reached for his glasses and removed them as best as you could while he was pounding into you tirelessly. What met you behind those glasses was nothing you were prepared for.

His light grey eyes were a distant memory and now replaced with the eyes of a demon. Red swam around tight slits and you almost didn’t believe what you were seeing. This wasn’t the Albert you remembered.

He was angry. So, so angry. You could feel it vibrating from his furious eyes.

You should be frightened, you should’ve ran away from him but something inside of you made you remain in place with nothing but shame for what you had done to the man you loved.

You had hurt him. You had most likely broken his heart by leaving him without so much as a letter. You had done this to him, you thought.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” You said, tears forming in your eyes as you leaned your forehead against his.

“You are mine.” He growled back,

“Yes.” You nodded in agreement.

“You will never betray me ever again.” Behind his anger you could detect the pain, the pain that you were responsible for.

“Never, baby, never. I’ve been so foolish.”

He slowed down his ministrations and captured your lips with his, the kiss became desperate very quickly, both of your tongues massaging each other in your mouths. You tugged at the locks at the back of his neck as you moaned into the kiss, giving yourself over to him completely.

You were still kissing passionately as he fucked you, and you knew that if he kept moving his hips like that together with his hot, wet mouth, you weren’t going to last very long.

You knew that he also knew.

Your legs began to shake from the intense, burning pleasure between your legs, your nails found his neck where you scratched helplessly as moan after moan escaped your lips.

Albert kissed your face and then went over to your neck affectionely, humming while doing so. Never breaking the rhythm in his thrusts.

“I’m-, I’m so close..” your voice were raspy and low, “Oh god, Albert..”

“That’s it, my sweet” he huskily whispered in your ear before he kissed the curve of your ear, “Come for me..”

You did so, your legs shaking with the same intensity as your screams that left your lips as you rode out the exquisite orgasm eagerly. Every fiber of your body felt as if it was on fire and you couldn’t do anything besides moaning and holding him tightly to you, afraid that he might disappear if you didn’t.

The orgasm left you weak to the bones but Albert didn’t let you rest. He withdrew himself from inside you and lead you upstairs, into the first room that was in sight.

Albert undressed the rest of your clothing and laid you down on the bed softly and positioned himself between your legs, this time with his face.

The first contact with his lips and tongue to your pussy made you moan out with eyes closed, your fingers finding their way down your stomach and onto his blonde locks.

This was one of the best things you know and you’ve been longing for it for three years, it didn’t matter that you had just had an orgasm minutes ago, because when he began using his fingers on you and sucking your clit between his delicate lips, you came undone for the second time today.

He kissed your thighs feathery light and traveled up your now naked body. He kissed and licked every inch of skin on your torso, your breasts he sucked and licked softly, which earned him a moan from you.

He crawled on top of you and spread your legs a little wider for the comfort of both of you. You wasn’t satisfied just yet, though.

“Please, remove your clothes.” You said, looking deeply into his red swirls. “I want to feel you on my skin. I’ve longed so for you, my love.”

He hesitated for a moment but complied to your request and removed his clothes in a blur, it didn’t take more than a few seconds before he was in between your legs again, now in his full naked glory.

You trailed your hands down his hard chest and down his hard washboard abs. You sighed deeply in fulfillment when he entered you once again.

He held you possessively by the neck as he was thrusting into you, his face mere inches from yours as your eyes were locked in each other’s gazes. You had your arms around his back, because you wanted to get as close to him as you possibly could.

You shared a few kisses as the love making grew hotter and closer to the edge for the both of you. It gave you such immense pleasure to see his own pleasure in those eyes of his. You wanted him to feel good, to unwrap himself completely inside of you.

The connection the two of you shared only made the sex even better, more intense than any sex you’ve ever had with anyone else. You didn’t only shared each other’s bodies but each other’s minds and souls as well. He didn’t need to tell you that he loved you, you could feel it with every kiss, every thrust, every single touch he laid upon you. It was magical and brought you straight over the edge for the third time, you were a moaning mess and you chanted over and over again how much you loved him. It didn’t take long after your release for him to find his own. With a deep grunt he filled you up right to the hilt but he remained inside of you just for a little longer.

You shared each other’s lips, and you caressed each other’s faces softly, lovingly.

“If you ever do something like this again, I’m going to have to kill you, Y/N.” He spoke softly but gravely.

“I know.” You responded as you kissed him on his forehead.

You knew that he wouldn’t forgive you a second time. You still had some questions you wanted answers to but you had already decided to stop fighting him. You loved each other, deeply and eternally. That’s all that matters to you. At least for now.

[butgilinsky]

there are answers in your silence // mb

warning; language, asshole (kinda toxic ngl) barzy, a sprinkle of asshole tito too, toxic relationship, mentions of cheating, angst- the whole thing is angst, carter hart 

summary; where you and mat are falling apart faster than you can try to fix it. 

word count; 8.3k+

a/n: hi guys! this is a rewrite/continuation of this blurb i wrote. the main pairing is mat x reader but there are a lot of carter x reader themes throughout. there won’t be a part two seeing as i don’t normally write for carter, and i like where it left off. if you have any questions i’d be happy to answer any(: enjoy!

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

You loved your job, truly. You loved photography, and you loved the opportunities you’d been given by joining the islanders organization, but you managed to make things messy for yourself. It wasn’t written into your contract that you couldn’t date the players, but it was assumed that you would distance yourself from them. 

Mathew Barzal, however, threw caution to the wind when it came to that unspoken rule. 

You were knee deep in it by the time you realized it was a bad idea. Most days were fine, the two of you were professional in the walls of the rink and you knew how to keep it under control. On any other day, you were capable of keeping it all under control just fine, but going to the rink and smiling at Mat from across the halls was not the same as coming to the rink when the two of you were neck deep in an argument. An argument that had been oncoming for a long time now. 

You couldn’t focus on anything when you were arguing with Mat. You had fallen behind on editing this entire week, and now you were tiptoeing around the rink that you worked at because Mat was everywhere you turned, it seemed. 

You kept your post at the glass throughout the entirety of the game against the Devils, trying to get yourself out of your head when Mat was in your camera’s line of sight. You took pictures of the whole team, you had to, it was your job, but it was hard to do that when Mat was smiling like an idiot after Tito scored, and you had to take a picture of their shared celly. 

Even when he turned towards you and you sent him a gentle smile, the sight of his falling from his lips was heartbreaking. You knew he was mad at you, but the ache in your chest wasn’t able to recognize the fact that the two of you weren’t on the best terms. 

Truth be told, this was anything but out of the blue. Mat had been on edge for a while now, and while you knew it had everything to do with hockey and how he was playing, it wasn’t easy to accept everything he had been continuously throwing at you. You had a lot going on, just like he did, and you didn’t have the time nor energy to exude on this week-long argument. A week long argument that had eventually shifted into radio silence from your boyfriend. 

The next few days proved to be harder than you initially expected, no conclusion being found between the two of you. It was getting out of hand, if you were being honest, and now you had to fly to Philadelphia with the team for two games. You didn’t think all that much about the ride over to Philly until you were faced with your boyfriend happily sitting beside his best friend, not a seat for you in sight. 

You sat at the front of the plane, shoulder bumping against Marty’s while you kept your head low and hopefully out of sight. 

“What’s up with you and Barzy?” you huffed, shrugging gently and telling Matt that he could tell you as soon as he figured it out because at this point, you weren’t entirely sure what the two of you were arguing about either. All you knew was that Mat was mad at you and had been ignoring your calls and texts for the past three days. 

It was confusing to most, given that when you and Mat were on good terms, it was impossible to not see the two of you together. You were both all smiles and giggles when you were around each other, but not recently. You were worried that your spark had died out, that whatever you had built over the last year was fading away with every passing moment, and you were out of solutions. 

You had been lost in the Wells Fargo Center for upwards of thirty minutes when you ran into a boy who seemed like he could be your saving grace. He had a granola bar hanging out of his mouth and his eyes were glued to his phone screen while he walked down the hall in your direction. You weren’t sure who he was, but the Flyers shirt on his torso paired with the backwards hat on led you to believe he was a player and would therefore know the layout of the rink quite well. 

“Hey!” you called out, just loud enough to have him looking up from his phone and over to you. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I have no idea where i’m going.”

He laughed gently and slid his phone into his back pocket, not overlooking the Islanders logo on your shirt or your name tag that hung around your neck. His eyes were soft and his smile was endearing in a time where you barely had anyone else look at you over the last few days. 

“No worries, though i’m not sure i should be helping the enemy.” you laughed gently, about to make a remark about the Flyers not being your favorite team either, but he spoke again before you had the chance. “Where do you need to be?”

Some time later after you learned that the boy’s name was Carter and he was the Flyers’ goalie, he showed you everywhere you’d need to be over the next few hours. He pointed out different rooms and halls that would be of great use to you and now the two of you were sitting in the middle of the empty seats, looking down on the empty ice. 

“It’s weird, seeing it like this.” Carter whispered softly, more to himself than to you, but it caught your ear nonetheless. 

“Not used to seeing it completely empty?” he shook his head, telling you that there’s usually always someone down there. Whether they’re cleaning or moving things around, there’s almost always somebody down there. 

“Why are you here all alone, by the way?” you hummed softly, letting out a deep sigh with a smile that Carter was easily able to identify as forced. “Don’t you have a hot shot boyfriend that could show you around?”

“And how would you know that?” your voice was light, playful, and it showed in your smile that Carter easily matched. 

“I’m not sure there’s a single person that doesn’t know what Mathew Barzal’s girlfriend looks like.” he tore his eyes away from the rink, looking over at you with a look that had your stomach turning, a lump starting to form in the pit of your throat. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” your voice was soft but the silence across the rest of the rink was enough to lift your words up to his ears, the far corner of his mouth twitching up ever so slightly as he registered them. 

“Y/n!” you jumped, startled by the outburst from the top of the section, craning your neck around to lock eyes with your boyfriend. “Where have you been?” 

You groaned, one that resided in the back of your throat and was only heard by Carter due to his close proximity. He sensed the agitation in your body language and the way your eyes fluttered shut while you took a deep breath to compose yourself. 

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” you yelled back, muttering a small ‘jesus’ under your breath before pushing yourself onto your feet. “Well, Mr. Hart, thank you for showing me around. I’d be lost without you, literally.” 

He laughed at your joke, though corny he thought it was cute. He shook your hand playfully and watched you climb the stairs to your boyfriend who was glaring at Carter even from his place all the way at the top of the section. 

“What are you doing down here?” 

“So you’re talking to me now?” His jaw clenched, muscles tensing as he soaked in your question. He had almost forgotten the two of you were arguing currently, too focused on getting you away from Carter to assess the situation properly. 

“What am i supposed to do? Watch you cozy up beside the goalie I'm about to score a hatty on?” in any other scenario, you’d be laughing, chirping him for claiming that he was going to score a hatty tonight, but you couldn’t do that right now. All you could do was laugh bitterly, focused on the fact that the only reason he was speaking to you for the first time in three days was rooted in jealousy. 

“I wasn't cozying up next to anybody, Mat. I was lost and he had time to spare so he showed me around the rink. That’s all-”

"That’s not exactly how it looked to me just now.” you rolled your eyes and walked past him, ducking around his shoulder and walking in the direction of the room Carter pointed out for you a few minutes earlier. “Y/n! We’re talking!” 

“I’m busy! We’ll talk later!” 

It felt like you were running across the arena during the game, opting to tie your hair back halfway through the first period when you realized you wouldn’t have your own post like you normally would. You were doing your best to get the best shots you could possibly get, but that unfortunately had you breathing heavily and worn out by the time the second intermission rolled around. 

Mat hadn’t scored once yet, and you could tell he was getting aggravated. He was playing rougher than he normally would, and you could see chirps being thrown around the ice, almost always directed towards your boyfriend. He took them in stride most times, only opting for a clenched jaw or maybe a hard hit against the boards. 

When the second intermission began, you were given the okay to take a breather from your job while your boss flipped through the photos on your camera, laughing when you opted to lean back in one of the stadium seats with your limbs spread out around you haphazardly. 

When you were switching sides for the nth time of the night, you ran into Carter again, decked out in his gear void of his helmet, the same charming smile shining in your direction once he saw you. 

“To what do I owe the honor?” he joked, earning a few questioning glances from the few teammates gathered around him, all turning towards you with soft smirks and knowing eyes. They knew who you were, a lot of guys in the league knew who you were. 

Everyone knew who Mathew Barzal was, and his need to show you off to the entire world once the two of you began dating was loud and in everyone’s face. Everyone who followed Mat on instagram or opened up a gossip article every now and again knew your face, knew how you looked tucked under Mat’s arm. It also didn’t help that the boys surrounding Carter had heard about his adventure with you around the rink earlier today. 

“Well if it isn’t Mrs. Barzal.” You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the insult tickling the tip of your tongue and deciding to focus on Carter nudging him in the ribs. 

“Ignore him, he’s not even sure what the word filter means.” One of the taller ones, hair down to his shoulders and bright blue eyes sending you a gentle look, tried to assure you that his friend was anything but thoughtful in moments like these. 

“I guess that’s why they call him the team rat, huh?” Travis, who had no idea you even knew who he was, narrowed his eyes at you just before a small smile stretched across his lips. 

“How’s the game?” Carter’s smile practically hung off of his lips, confidence bursting at the seams as he silently referred to the fact that Mat had threatened him with a hatty not too long ago, and the Islanders had only scored once all night long, and it wasn’t even Mat’s. 

Going into the third period, the Flyers were up 4-1. 

“I plead the fifth.” you said gently, hearing a few laughs erupt all around you. 

“Looks like your hubby’s not getting his hatty tonight.” One of the boys who you didn’t know the name of sent you a gentle elbow into your arm, offering up a smile with his chirp. 

“Looks like he’s not getting a lot of things tonight.” your eyes found Carter, who was already looking at you with a wide smile. You took a deep breath, prying your eyes away from the boy and looking around the small circle that formed in the hall. “Well, boys, if you’ll excuse me-”

“Y/n!” you sighed then, unable to suppress a physical reaction to having your name yelled across the hall for the second time today. You were annoyed, given that this was only the second time Mat was speaking to you today and it had all of the same intentions as his last attempt. 

“Yes?” you turned over your shoulder to see not only Mat but Tito as well, both looking at you as if you’d grown two extra heads. Tito looked to Mat, expecting him to answer your questioning eyes, but he never did. He just stared at you, lips parted but never speaking. 

Truth be told, you needed him to say something. You needed him to say something because he was the one that had left you in the dark this week. He was the one that was going through a time so tough he took it out on you. You did your part, but Mat had yet to do his part, and it was killing you on the inside. 

“I have to go.” you took off in the direction you were originally walking, searching for your next post in the stands. 

You tried to distract yourself, but it didn’t seem to be working. Your hands were shaky while you tried to snap shots as much as you could, and when Mat had a breakdown on the ice, it all went even further downhill. 

Carter didn’t take the brute of it, which surprised you in all honesty, but you weren’t all that surprised when your number 13 was going hit for hit with their 11. Gloves were dropped in the last three minutes of the game, both of them walking away with sore knuckles and five minute majors. 

You weren’t even sure what started it, seeing as you were trying to snap a picture of Tito taking a shot on goal, the other two dropping their gloves on a different part of the ice and out of your view. You couldn’t watch it, instead dug your chin into your chest and tugged on the roots of your hair in frustration. You knew that the Flyers were going to win, given their four goal lead and the Islanders’ inability to get their shit together it seemed. You knew Mat was going to hit a rough practice tomorrow, and it somehow made you more excited to have a hotel room to yourself and the morning off. 

You didn’t see Mat until you got back to your room, shoulders slumped and exhaustion raking through your body. You pushed the door to your room open and jumped a foot in the air at the sight of your boyfriend sitting at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together in his lap and head hung low. He was anxious, you could tell by his posture and the fact that he wouldn’t meet your eyes. 

A sick feeling resided in your stomach when a minute passed and neither of you spoke up, both waiting for the other to take the leap. Mat tried to collect his thoughts, despite having plenty of time to do so while he waited for you. He wasn’t even sure how he made it back before you, if he was honest. 

“Where have you been?” it was a bad lead in retrospect, given that he showed no real care as to where you were at any other point in the week. That on top of the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place made for a bad start to a hard conversation. 

“Working, Mat. I do more than snap pictures of the team at games and run back home.” he knew that. He knew because he’d been the one that woke up in the middle of the night to you relentlessly editing things and piecing things together for a deadline. He was the one that woke up to an empty bed, finding you posted up at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee beside you and your head burning from the strain on your eyes. 

You didn’t, however, tell him exactly what you were doing. You were working, yes, but you kept specifics to yourself. He didn’t deserve specifics when he was acting like this. You deserved an apology, an explanation, quite literally anything more than you currently had before you had to give out your whereabouts. 

“I’m sorry this week’s been the way it has. I just- there’s a lot going on right now and I can’t get it all under control.” you sighed, setting your camera bag down on the desk before standing in front of Mat

 “It’s fine if you don’t have things under control all the time.” you set your hands on his shoulders and waited for him to look up at you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite map out. “It’s not fine that you take things out on me when I didn’t cause you this distress.” 

“I know.” he spoke softly, understanding that he was doing something wrong but not entirely providing a solution for it, nor figuring out a way to fix it. “I’m going to figure it out. I’m sorry.” 

You nodded, accepting the soft kiss he silently asked for. You let him stay the night, though you couldn’t fall asleep. You leaned back into his chest, held his arm that was wrapped around you close to your chest, but you couldn’t sleep. You didn’t sleep for more than an hour or two before Mat’s alarm went off and he left for practice. 

You were able to sleep after Mat left, only logging about three hours before your own alarm went off and you had to make it to the rink. The day seemed to be uneventful for a while, but when you finished all of the things you had to do for the day and found a seemingly decent restaurant to stop in on your way back to the hotel, you were met with four smiling faces that you recognized easily. 

“Y/n!” Carter’s voice caught your ear easily, making you spin around in line, seeing the smiling boy give you a gentle wave from the table he was sitting at with the others, all who offered you a similar expression. 

You held up one of your fingers, seeing four boys nod at you in response as they waited for you to order your food. By the time you ordered and paid, grabbing the number that the cashier slid across the counter to you and spinning around, there was a chair at the end of the table that Travis was sitting in, leaving the spot in the booth beside Carter vacant. All four of the boys were pointing at the seat, ushering you into it with wide smiles. 

“Well this is a pleasant surprise.” you smiled warmly at the boys as you approached their table, sliding into the seat they vacated for you. 

“You’re telling us.” Carter offered, his smile cutting through you just like it did every other time it was given to you. 

Carter was cute, that much you could admit to. You hadn’t spent much time with him other than the other day when showed you around the rink, but you’d talked to him more than your own boyfriend in the past week so that was saying something. You were grateful for his hospitality, and even if you knew there was something else brewing beneath the surface, it wasn’t anything you were going to acknowledge and you certainly weren’t going to act on it. 

The rest of the boys were nice. Travis was a bit of a pest, but Nolan was able to keep him under control most of the time. They balanced each other out and you were aware of that from the very beginning. Joel was a nice kid, not the loudest in the room but certainly not the quietest either. Overall you had a good time sitting with and talking to them, appreciating the good company in a time where you had felt pretty isolated. 

They showed you a few places around Philly, sticking things within walking distance of the restaurant the five of you came from. It was fun, being able to forget about the chaos going on in your life for once. They even walked you back to your hotel, leaving you with each of their phone numbers to assist you in the rest of your time in Philly, and warm smiles. 

Just as they were leaving, Carter hung back for a bit to offer you a softer smile than the one he was giving you throughout the day, his eyes telling you that there was something brewing in his mind, something he had been holding back about all day. 

“I just wanted to say that you’re doing great. I don’t know what’s going on in your life, that much is obvious, but you deserve better.” he gave you one last smile and told you to call him if you needed anything at all before turning to catch up with his teammates. 

Carter’s words hung in your mind longer than you would’ve expected. They made you rethink everything that had occurred in your life over the last few months, every up and down, every bridge you built both by yourself and with others. You wondered if you were where you were supposed to be, if this is where you were meant to be in life and how long you were meant to be there. 

You loved Mat. You loved him completely, but there were things missing. You weren’t sure what it was, and part of you wanted to believe that you were just in the middle of a rough patch, but a greater part of you knew better. You knew that Mat was going through the thick of it, and your mind couldn’t help but wander over the chance that the time for you and Mat had run its course. 

You went another night without sleep, the stress from overthinking yourself into oblivion making it impossible to get any consistent sleep throughout the night. It showed in the way that your bags were deeper, darker than normal and the way you yawned every few minutes. However, instead of dozing off in your seat or complaining about your lack of sleep, you grabbed a coffee with two extra shots of espresso on your way to the rink and threw yourself into your work. 

You were neck deep in assignments, legs tucked under you and headphones stuck in your ears when a flash of blue entered your sight, prying your eyes away from your laptop and casting them up to the blue eyed boy from Quebec. He was looking at you like you’d done something wrong, like the world was on fire around you and you were holding a match. 

You and Tito were good friends, especially after you started dating Mat. with the two of them being inseparable and Mat making a special place for you in his life, you and Tito naturally spent a lot of time together. You were good friends, honestly, but there was never a time when Tito took your side over Mat’s. Sometimes he passed judgment without hearing every side of every story, but you understood. You knew that Mat needed people to lean on when the two of you were in the thick of it, you just wished it didn’t morph Tito’s opinion on you. 

“What can I do for you, Beau?” he hummed, a noise of disapproval that you had heard from him too many times to count. He sat beside you, not surprised to see you shut your laptop and turn your attention towards him. 

“The two of you need to figure this out soon. You need to figure out what’s wrong and how to fix it, and by god you need to get him out of his head.” You could tell his intentions were genuine, that he just wanted his friends to be happy, but he wanted the two of you to be happy together, and you weren’t sure there was any more room for that. 

“I’ve tried, Beau-”

“No, you haven’t. You haven’t tried, because when the two of you try, things get resolved.”

“You’re right. When the two of us try, we fix things. When the two of us work through things together, we come out of it alive. But you’re missing the big picture, Tito. the two of us aren’t trying. I’m trying. I’ve been trying. I try so hard, and he gives me absolutely nothing. He ignores me for days, only speaks to me when we fly out to a different city and he sees me interacting with somebody who isn’t him. It’s not my fault, Tito, and I know that’s hard for you to see because you’re so far up his ass that you can’t see the bigger picture but here I am. I’m here telling you how to see things for once and I’m begging you that you just hear me out.”

He was speechless, but nodded. He didn’t know what to say to you, but he wanted to hear you out because the crack in your voice and the exhaustion that was bringing tears to our eyes was breaking his heart right in front of you. 

“I’m trying, whole heartedly. I ask what’s wrong and I offer solutions, and he takes none of it. He comes into my hotel room with a key, that I'm not even sure how he got, and he tells me he’s sorry but then nothing changes. He stopped coming over after practices, and gets annoyed when I have deadlines I can’t miss. I try and he doesn’t, and if that makes us fall apart then so be it, Tito, because I can’t fucking do it anymore.” your eyes burned, filled to the brim with tears you tried to suppress as Tito looked at you like you were fragile. He looked at you like you were the broken one, like if he even touched you on the shoulder you’d break into a million pieces. 

“Y/n-”

“I have to go.” you stood up, grabbing your things that sat around your seat and took off in any direction that looked safe enough for you to escape the headspace you were slipping into. 

You’d made it down one hall and around a few corners before you ran into somebody, the impact shaking you enough to have you distracted from the intrusive thoughts you were having. You looked up, met with soft eyes and a look of concern that had your heart sinking further into your stomach than it already had been. His hands reached out, brushing hair out of your face and holding your head back long enough for him to try to piece together what could be wrong. 

“What happened?” your lip wobbled then, enough for your chin to twitch and have you bite down roughly on your bottom lip. 

Carter grabbed your hand, the one that wasn’t gripping onto your laptop, and pulled you into a room not too far from your place in the hall. It was a small room, only met for equipment that had no other home, but it was enough to get you out of the wide open hallway where anyone would be able to see the breakdown you were about to endure. 

He pried the items out of your arms, set them on the shelf beside you so your mind would be at ease with their safety, and wrapped his arms around you. He didn’t know you very well, but he saw the way you reacted to physical touch. He saw the way you leaned into hugs or shook people’s hands for a second longer than most. He made a judgment call within seconds, but he knew he did the right things when you pressed your face into his chest and let out sobs that you’d been holding back for weeks. 

He didn’t pester you nor rush you, just held you in the room that could be classified as a closet and let you get everything out. You clung to him, and he held you softly, hands running up and down your back in a soothing manner while he waited for you to catch your breath. 

When you did, he pulled back, soft smile still as heavy as it always had been. He waited for your cue, something to tell him it was okay to pry. He didn’t want to overstep your boundaries, and he had no idea where the lines were drawn so it was a dangerous game. 

“It’s too much.” you whispered softly, closing your eyes gently while Carter hummed, not entirely understanding your words. 

“What’s too much?”

“Everything. Everyone’s expectations, everyone’s thoughts and opinions. The fact that i’m trying to fix a relationship all on my own and still getting the heat for it not working out. Having a full time job where I can’t run away from problems in my personal life. I wish I was still in college, wish I wasn’t surrounded by these people who are staring at me like I’ve burned down the entire planet when I’m the only one that’s trying to save it.” 

He listened the whole way through, not interrupting nor giving his unwarranted thoughts and while it was just a common courtesy, it was groundbreaking for you. To be able to pour out everything you’re feeling and thinking without someone trying to pick your brain on the subject was refreshing. You couldn’t remember the last time you put everything out on the table like that without seeing it knocked off right after. 

“Hey” you looked up at him, sniffling softly and watching his lips turn up in a smile at the sound. “You’re okay. It’ll all be okay. If you feel invalidated or uncomfortable in the situation you’re in, there’s always an out. Even if it feels like there’s not, even if it feels impossible to claw your way to the exit, there’s always a way out. And if you need help getting there, I know a guy or two who’d be willing to help.” 

Carter had a way of knocking you off of your feet with a simple sentence. His words cut through you like a song you’d never heard before, like lyrics that dig so deep you feel like it was written just for you. Carter was picking your brain in the gentlest way possible, and you were eating up every single second of it. 

You thanked him for his comfort, for his ear and his wisdom. You were sure that there were things you would have to do in the coming days that would be harder than you could’ve ever imagined, but you were sure that they were necessary in order to better your life for yourself. 

You were going to get through this.

All was said and one until the door swung open and you stepped out of the equipment room, locking eyes with the one person on the Flyers bench that didn’t know the meaning of the word silence. Travis meant well most of the time, truly, but that didn’t mean you’d spill all of your secrets to him. 

But he smiled at you softly, noticing your red rimmed eyes and tear tracks on your cheek. He saw the look that Carter gave him from behind you and so he simply put his fingers up to his lips as if locking them shut and tossed the key over his shoulder. It was simple, but effective, and he truly had every intention of keeping the knowledge to himself, until he was standing on the ice face to face with the centerman that dropped his gloves opposite him the other night and well, Tk found an opening. 

You weren’t sure what was said, nor who started it, but you were sure that in the middle of the second period with a tied game, tensions were not high enough for there to be multiple scrums on the ice. 

No other fight mattered until your eyes locked in on Mat saying something, neck vein popping out and spit flying. Whatever he said must have struck a chord with Travis because in an instant, you saw Travis’s lips moving and Mat’s fist flying. It was his second fight in two games and it was highly unlike him to fight this often, but it seemed that he was on edge. 

The tension didn’t boil down for the rest of the game, chirps only growing more intense and penalties being called more often than not. It was a head banger, a nail biter, and you were almost distracted from your work to watch it. 

Mat was enraged by the time you got to him. His body picked up a couple more cuts and bruises, one that landed on his right cheek bone from a high stick in the beginning of the third. His knuckles were bruised from punching Tk and his eyes were darker than the bright blue color you adored. 

You knew it had everything to do with you when the rest of the team sent you careful looks, both of disapproval and warning. You knew something was wrong, something had happened and you were unintentionally standing in the middle of it. When Tito passed you, a scoff dropping from his lips and his shoulder knocking yours gently, you knew it was bad. 

“Beau?”

“Oh I'm not helping you out of this one.” he said softly, a careful look thrown over his shoulder at Mat who was glaring at you from his place against the wall. “You have to go fix that one by yourself.” 

You wanted to shove him away from you, wanted to tell him that he was being ridiculous and unfair, but you didn’t. Instead, you let him grab his back and walk out towards the bus that would take you all to the airport. 

“Mat-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” his voice was low and dark, an animosity dripping from his tongue that you’d never heard him use before. He walked past you, leaving the rest of the guys to let out low whistles and shoot you apologetic looks because in retrospect, they witnessed what happened on the ice. You still had no idea. 

“It’s bad, y/n.” You looked over at Marty who stood a few feet away from you, throwing his bag over his shoulder and shooting you a careful look. “I’ve never seen him so mad.” 

You sighed and thanked him, giving him one more thanks when he said he’d save you a seat on the plane and took off after Mat. he wasn’t too far ahead, but his angry strides took him far enough to send you into a jog through the facility. 

“Mat, wait! Mat! Jesus, Mat just talk to me!” he paused in stride, turned on the balls of his feet and glared into you from his place across the hall. 

“Frankly, I don’t want to hear it, y/n. I don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t want to be round you. I want you to leave me the fuck alone.” he went to turn again, hoping that that was good enough to get you off of his back for now. 

“So we’re just going to ignore it until it blows over? That’s not going to fix anything Mathew!” he dropped his bag, loud and harsh against the tile beneath his feet. He spun around and strode up to, face to face with mere inches between you. 

“There’s nothing to fix. You made your point, you chose your side, and you chose to throw me out to the wolves like I never meant anything to you. So yes, we’re going to ignore it for now but no, it won’t blow over. If you wanted to fix things you shouldn’t be shacking up with goalies in closets.” 

“I wasn’t shacking up with anybody in a closet you douche. I was crying in that closet because you’re too stubborn to talk to me. I’m trying so hard, and you’re giving me absolutely nothing to work with. You send Beau to convince me to fix things but you’re not even trying, Mat! You’re the one ignoring me and I’m supposed to fix things?”

“You’re not supposed to cheat on me!” you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress the emotions bubbling over currently. You were trying to get through this conversation but it was defeating, and having him yell at you in front of his entire team was not helping. 

“I didn’t ch-”

“That’s bullshit! You expect me to believe you were just hanging out in there for fun?”

“She was crying, dude.” Mat looked over your shoulder at the same time you let out a string of profanities under your breath. Why he was here right now, you had no idea, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to help any. 

“You’ve got some nerve to be here right now.” Carter shrugged, showing no intimidation towards Mat at all. He wasn’t scared, wasn’t backing down, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and watch Mat scream at you for something you didn’t even do. 

“You’ve got some nerve to scream at her like that.” When Mat moved you pressed both of your hands into his chest, steady and hard enough to keep him in his place, not even taking a step towards Carter. 

A silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable like polluted air that clogged your lungs. Everyone could feel it but nobody made a move. Nobody stood up or down, not weighing in to the conversation with a viewpoint on either side. Everyone simply watched, waiting for you or Mat to say something to the other one, or maybe for you to say something to Carter. 

Mat looked down at you, eyes still dark as they were earlier, jaw clenched and breathing fairly regular. He looked angry, angrier than he ever was off the ice. You wanted him to know you didn’t do anything with Carter, nothing more than crying into his chest about problems like the one you were currently stuck in. But then he spoke, he spoke and you felt everything around you wither away. 

“Get on the bus right now, or we’re through.” he picked up his bag and gave both you and Carter one final glance before taking a few steps backwards. He was waiting for you to move, waiting for you to choose your side right here, right now. 

“Y/n.” Carter’s voice was much more gentle than Mat’s, giving you a break from the screaming and crying. It broke his heart when you glanced over your shoulder and showcased red rimmed eyes and wet cheks just like you had earlier. He knew you were hurting, knew you were in a sticky situation that you couldn’t find your way out of, and all he wanted to do was help. 

“Now, y/n.” you looked back at Mat, who had stopped walking by now and was raising his eyebrows in your direction. 

It was harder than it should’ve been. You’d known Carter for just over 48 hours and while you appreciated everything he had done for you in the short amount of time, Mat was your boyfriend. Mat was there in times you thought you’d never make it out of. He knew you, knew how you operated. He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself, and he held a piece of your heart in his hands, even if he didn’t protect it the way he used to. 

You couldn’t walk away from Mat, but there was a hesitation in your movements. Your slow movements as you wiped your cheeks and walked towards him, head hung low and accepting the arm that was thrown around your shoulders. 

You didn’t turn to see Carter’s face, didn’t even look up to see Mat’s. You didn’t want to see either of them, didn’t want to talk to them or hear what they had to say. All you wanted right now was to crawl into your bed at home and cast out the world around you. 

“You made the right choice, baby.” The kiss that dug into the side of your head was anything but comforting, if anything it was degrading. It was his way of showing you that choosing him was the easier path, that he would’ve flipped the world completely upside down if you had turned on your heels moments ago. 

You and Mat didn’t come to a conclusion that night. You didn’t resolve anything nor did you truly talk about anything. Instead, you let him into your bed and you let him drive away the pain that he caused over the course of the last few weeks. You let him convince you he’d be better, that he loved you and he’d do anything to be there for you. You let him convince you that he was the one for you, that nobody could make you feel the things that he did and while you believe all of this at one point, you weren’t sure you still did. 

You added another night to the count of sleepless ones, basking in your thoughts and the ache in your chest after Mat dozed off. Having him just behind you was oddly comforting despite the fact that thoughts in your head were too loud for sleep. 

Another week went by before anyone said anything, despite the few Flyers that were blowing your phone up with messages to check if you were okay and ask why you went with Mat when he clearly didn’t deserve an ounce of your attention. You explained that you loved him, that he was your boyfriend and you owed him a clean break if that’s what ended up happening. You also worked with the Islanders, and you couldn’t just stay in Philly with no way to get back home and hours away from work. 

Carter had been receptive and understanding, though you weren’t sure you expected much else from him. He didn’t expect you to stay, didn’t even expect you to choose him over Mat, but he expected you to do better for yourself. He expected you to be strong for yourself, to offer yourself a better future than the one you were seemingly drawing up for yourself. 

It wasn’t until you got a peculiar phone call that you were even thrown out of the routine of clawing your way through the night and chasing it down with a large coffee and one too many espresso shots. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Y/l/n?” 

“This is she.” 

“Hi Ms. Y/l/n, this is Chuck Fletcher with the Philadelphia Flyers. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.” 

You did a 180 after that phone call, pressed with another decision to make and seemingly no time to make it. You didn’t have many people to turn to about the decision, seeing as most all of your friends were biased in their decision making. Your friends loved Mat. They loved Mat and they loved going to Islanders games. 

You called Carter after you hung up the phone, anger bubbling over to the point of tears by the time he answered the phone just to let you rip into him. You accused him of getting you the job as the Flyers’ photographer just to have you closer to him, just to pry you away from Mat and New York as a whole. You accused him of not even knowing your skill level, just using this as a ploy to ask you on a date if you showed up. 

He listened the whole time, waited for a break in your words to ask if you were serious, to tell you that he’d seen your portfolio because his GM brought it over when he noticed Carter had spoken to you. He told you that he had no say in you getting this job offer other than him telling his GM about the sincere interactions he’d had with you. He put in a good word for your personality, but he never made a comment about your skill level. 

Now, you had a decision to make. A decision that would lead to many other decisions, so you thought. You thought you’d have to make a yes or no decision that would snowball into so many decisions you’d be left to suffocate in unanswered questions. Little did you know that by making one decision, the rest were made for you. 

“You’re doing what?” you sighed, trying to find the point in this conversation where you’d be left with a new job and a happy relationship, but it seemed as though that wasn’t in the cards for you. 

“I’m moving to Philly-”

“It’s because of him isn’t it?” you shook your head gently, feeling the weight of the world trying to shove you beneath the surface. It was weighing you down, pushing you further and further until you reached the core of it all. 

“It’s because it’s a better job for me, Mat.”

“How in the hell is a better job for you?” he didn’t believe you. Not after everything that happened. He didn’t think there were possibly any other explanations for your move. 

“It pays more, the cost of living is cheaper in Philadelphia, I get more benefits with the Flyers and I get-”

“A new boyfriend.” you paused, took a deep breath. You tried to breathe through the panic coursing through your body, tried to assure yourself that you must have heard him wrong.

“A what?”

“If you move to Philly, you get a new boyfriend. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You don’t want me anymore, you want him. So he gets you a big new fancy job and you get to leave New York, right? Because you didn’t want to live in New York your whole life so this is the time to get out. This is the time for you to leave your life behind, to start fresh and meet new people. It’s time for you to start looking for studios, right? For you to start booking freelance shit.” 

He comes to the realization too late, when he’s already said enough things to hurt you for a lifetime. He realizes that you moving makes more sense than he wants it to. You never wanted to stay in New York for your whole life. Sure, if things with Mat ended up better than they did, you would’ve stayed for him in a heartbeat. You would’ve gone wherever his career took him because yours can truly be done anywhere, but he knew New York wasn’t your preferred state to live in. 

The Mat you fell in love with, the one that took you on dates to your favorite restaurants and brought you home flowers just because, was finally coming back to the surface. The one that offered you his heart on a platter without asking for it, and treated yours with the gentlest touch. You were seeing him again, for the first time in a long time. You wanted to hold onto him, to open up your heart and make room for him again but the truth was there was no more room. You’d vacated a space for him a long time ago and he threw it away. It was too late for that Mat to come back.

“It’s giving you room to grow right? But the growth is different this time. The growth is away from me, apart from me. The growth is individual now, all on your own, but that’s good. That’s good because you need to grow and I- I’m not right for you anymore.” he started shaking his head, letting the dam of tears that he had kept in for so long finally burst. 

You were there to catch him, to hold him tightly and kiss his damp cheeks. You were there to assure him that he deserves the world, that you tried to give that to him but truthfully, maybe you just weren’t trying the right things. You assured him that he wasn’t a bad person, that he wasn’t good for you but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be good for somebody else. 

You were there to catch Mat when he fell, and you helped him stand back up again. 

Now you were walking away, your head held high and a smile finally living on your lips as you assured him that this was good for both of you in more ways than one. You were going to be okay, and you were sure that Mat was going to be okay too. 

So you moved to Philly. You moved into an apartment not too far from the rink, one with a cheese steak place right around the corner. You started working with the Flyers and seemingly fell right into place with them. You made friends and found your footing, feeling like everything leading up to now was exactly for this. All of the pain and hardships you endured was for this, for you to feel like you had finally done the right thing for yourself rather than for everyone else. 

You made the right decision. 

-

italics mean it wouldn’t let me tag you!

barzy taglist; @extratragic @babytkachuks @heybarzy @teenagekook @stfukie @smit41 @kiedhara @sidscrosbyy @golfergirl810 @baby-cat-nol-pat @c-hartsy @storiesbymads @aasimarr​ @bucky-ish​

and the himbos, as always; @barzysthighs​ @damndunner​ @anxietyandtacos​ @dmonchld​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @bricksatlandyswindow​ 

[hyetomi]

local florist! jungwon

pairings: gn! reader x jungwon

genre: fluff ! just fluff ! acquaintances to friends / lovers ? idk but it's hinted that their relationship will change in the future

warnings: none

word count: 960 words

notes: i got sidetracked ... so here's a jungwon as a florist au !! inspired by his vlive with cactuses and a prompt i started on twt ! im sorry for any mistakes i wrote this in like 30 mins

"So… what's wrong with my Spider Plant?" you asked, fidgeting with your sweater's sleeves as a nervous habit of yours.

"Alright so," the florist in front of you said, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with your plant. He lifted his head after examining it and continued, "I don't know." 

He looked at you, staring into your eyes. You stared at him back blankly. It was silent for several seconds as you tried to comprehend what the boy said. Only when his words fully registered in your mind did you start to freak out.

"What do you mean 'I don't know'? Aren't you a florist?" you shouted in panic.

"I'm new! And I was left in charge by the owner because he has some family matters to attend to!” he retorted. “I literally just started working on the day you came and got your plant! That was like…”

He stared into the ceiling as he tried to recall the day he saw you buy your beloved Spider Plant. You stared and frowned at the boy 一 Jungwon, as seen on his nametag 一 as he tried very hard to remember. Honestly, it seemed as if he had already forgotten about your problem. For a person who was supposed to be helping others with plants, he was terrible at it.

“2 weeks ago! Speaking of, how did you manage to kill your plant within 2 weeks?” he asked with a grin, his adorable dimples showing, only for it to falter when he saw your expression. “Did I get the time wrong?”

“Listen, Jungwon-” you started, but was cut off.

“How did you know my name?” Jungwon questioned, looking at you suspiciously.

“You’re wearing a name tag.”

“Oh.”

“Alright. Listen, Jungwon.” you tried again. “I just want my poor Hank to be healthy again. If you don’t know anything, I’d be better off searching on Google. And, by the way, you have no room to speak about my incapabilities to take care of Hank. I see you tripping over air while trying to reach your canteen table, although that's not too relevant with the topic.”

“How did you know that?” Jungwon asked you, looking at you suspiciously once again.

“We go to the same school. We’re in the same grade, you fool.” you answered him with a flat face, not amused with his words.

“Oh.” Jungwon mumbled, trying to recall whether he had seen you in school or not.

“I’ll give you time to process this information while I search for ways to revive my Hank.” you said, trying not to snicker at his expression.

Meanwhile, Jungwon was trying exceptionally hard to recall whether he had seen you in school. He blames it on his friends. Maybe if it weren’t for them being so hard to control, he would have remembered you. Especially since you were in his grade. How embarrassing of him. 

Honestly, he has never really shown any interest in anyone at school, so he has never bothered to remember the people around him. Except for his friends (he’s not so interested in them either) and his friend’s (namely Sunghoon) childhood friend. What’s their name again? They were very interesting. Actually, to think about it, they looked exactly like you! What if-

“Oh my god. You’re Sunghoon hyung’s childhood friend.” he blurted out.

You laughed. You laughed loudly. 

Jungwon was very embarrassed. How did he not remember you? He slowly sank onto his stool and hid his face between his hands, brown hair flopping onto the table. He knows his face and ears were as red as Rudolph’s nose, it could’ve brought a red rose to shame.

“You don’t have to hide, I can understand why you don’t remember me!” you reassured the poor boy in front of you and tried to stop your laugh, which you failed to do. “Earlier, I didn’t remember your name either, you know.”

“But still… it’s embarrassing!” he wailed, his words muffled by his hands. You laughed harder, making the boy shrink further into his seat.

“Well, you can make it up by helping me heal Hank. I just found out what’s wrong with it. I’ve been making it face direct sunlight.” you explained. “But apparently, Spider Plants aren’t supposed to have the sunlight directly on them.”

“Didn’t Mr. Yoon tell you exclusively to not do that?” he inquired, lifting his head to face you.

You were silent for a few seconds as the boy snorted at your guilty expression.

“Anyways, we need to soak it for a while.” you told him, pretending like you didn’t hear his previous statement.

“I’ll do it, give me Hank and I’ll soak it.” he offered as he lifted the pot off the table.

Jungwon took large strides towards the back of the shop as you watched him carry your cherished plant and tried to revive it.

“My name is Y/N, by the way!” you shouted after him. You walked over to the stool where Jungwon was previously seated and sat on it while you waited for the boy to finish.

“Well, Y/N, let’s get ice cream after this while we let Hank soak! I’m closing in around 20 minutes.” he suggested as he walked back to the front desk.

You thought about it for a while, before agreeing.

“That’s my seat, by the way.” he teased, earning an eye roll in return.

"I'll let you get your stool back. Only because you're cute." you said nonchalantly, smiling when you saw his cheeks bloom and how he tried to hide it by face-planting on the desk.

Let's just say that the flower shop did not get any new customers because a loud, high-pitched scream scared them away.

(And you had an amazing date hangout afterward.)

[smutandfluffohmy]

His Sweater #3

From: Smutandfluffohmy Pairings: George Weasley X Slytherin!reader A/N: I shared my story on TikTok and thank you so much for all the support and love for this story 🥺 It really means the world to me 💕 I was going to cut this up to two different parts because its so longggg but I thought I should post it as one since it was supposed to be posted over the weekend.

Read it from the beginning Part 1 Here  

Looking for part 2? Look no further

I had snow in my shoe, a hexed Gryffindor robe and George Weasleys sweater if all but the snow I would count this as a successful day. Walking to the Slytherin common room felt ages away and by far something I wasn’t looking forward to.

“Draco can you please stop crying.” I huffed looking around the common room at a bunch of Slytherins angrily pointing at their hexed robes they haven’t bothered to change back, I suppose it fueled their anger and made them forget their terrible Quiddith match or maybe they were just enjoying mocking Gryffindor students.

“I’m not crying I’m just angry.You should’ve seen Potters smug face wh-” Draco was yelling and probably shaking a finger at me just like my nan, but today has been far too long for me to stick around for yet another of his Potter rants.

Changing out of my unforgiving cold clothes I put on blue pajamas. Now these were sneaking around the castle at 3am appropriate, not that I intended to get up that early again but it was nice feeling that this time I had at least prepared. Georges sweater sat on the edge of my bed, it looked so lonely sitting there, the room wasn’t cold but I think I lied to myself that it was just enough to justify wearing his sweater to bed. I smelt like George Weasley, it smells exactly like the amorentia I brewed earlier today. I wonder what George smells? And if I could buy a perfume that smells like that, perhaps I could trick him into liking me that way.

But those are horrible thoughts to be having of a day-old friend.

My morning was uneventful and I was grateful for the much needed peace and quiet from a hectic year. The library was as quiet as always, books silently whizzing over my head rearranging themselves with a silent thump here and there.

Fred sat down loudly on the chair next to me, the box in his hand clanging loudly against the wooden desk making me jump. “That sweater really brings out your eyes. Where’d you get it?” Fred laughed bumping his shoulder to mine making me nudge George’s shoulder.

My face went red at the sudden contact as if I wasn't wearing his sweater. “Piss off Fred.” Fred Weasley didn’t know how to whisper nor how to act around people he just met these two things I knew for sure.

“So we wanted to run this idea by you” George said reaching over me to get the box Fred had placed on the table.

Fred leaned on the table leaning against his arms to look over at his brother. “George beings a boring bellend. Talk some sense into him will ya.” George leaned over just like Fred, the 8 chair table seemed too small and it turns out Fred isn't the only that had issues with personal space.

Fred proceeded to tell me about the plan and George swore that Fred and Fred alone thought this all up. Which Fred answered that George was a fool that was loosing his sense of humor due to his old age. Ten minutes, 3 head flicking fights and one terrible plan later had me wondering how they had gotten as far as they did without seriously injuring someone.

I was afraid going against them would mean the end of our friendship but they want to put bertlys barfs and boils on the dinners feast but I for one did not want to wash off a third years barf from my robes.

I breathed in looking over at George to see if he was just as excited as Fred was, brown eyes met mine and for a flash I forgot what I was looking for. “That’s literally poisoning people.” I told Fred who's face fell at my shocking answer but George beamed from behind me, reaching over and draped his arm over me smiling at his brother.

Fred looked from George to me and then around the library looking around for someone that would agree to making an entire school sick to their stomach was anything but a horrible ideas. Unlucky for us he found it in the form of a ghost hiding frogs behind a set of books “Peeves what do you think?” Fred called out waving him over like an old friend.

Peeves stopped what he was doing walking over to us.His hat framing the sides of his face, his shoes gave off a slight jingle with every steep and his face lighting up at seeing us “I think it’s brilliant! While you’re at it I suggest putting some on the old professors food. Make it a party!” He said stepping on top of the table kicking some of the papers I was working on around, some of the scrolls rolling across the wooden floor.

Fred clapped his hands on the table smiling up at Peeves “Finally someone that understands!” and with that Peeves stepped off the table further kicking my potions assignment further around the library surely to be tossed or lost forever. 

Sighing I looked over at Fred who's face never wavered “Can’t just have it change peoples hair color? You know not unknowingly make them violently ill.” I said looking back at George for some support something he was already giving me with a loopy smile as if he just drank 4 pints of Firewhisky.

Scrunching my eyebrows at him he seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was in. Nodding his head making his hair move in all sort of directions, I wonder if it was as soft as it looked. “I kinda don’t want to see boils popping on the French toast.” George said shrugging his shoulders at his brother, I was still blissfully over aware that his arm was slung over my shoulders

Throwing his head back slumping down on his chair with an overly dramatic sigh he closed his eyes “Fine fine we’ll think it over.” Fred said waving us away, to where he wanted us to disappear I don’t know and frankly I didn't care enough to ask.

As it turned out there was no prank that year. The laughter we had anticipated was pushed to the side with George and Fred gathering money for the new joke shop they talked so fondly about. The laughter was later completely forgotten at the news of Cediric Diggorys untimely passing.Our secret joke meetings got replaced with hospital wing visits looking after Harry and Ron who had picked fights with what seemed like all of Hogwarts. Hermione Granger was always there with us and sometimes their other friends stopped by with plants or books or snacks they thought they might enjoy during their stay. 

We didn't know what was worse you-know-whos reappearance or the fact that people thought Harry killed Cedric himself for a stupid trophy in a stupid game that Dumbledore wasn’t bright enough to not let a 15 year old Harry participate in. The year ended and while I was sad to not see George nor Fred for a while, I was glad we no longer had to pull apart fights and mend bruises.

The summer consisted of writing letters to Fred and George, well mostly George. It was not just because I liked him but also because Fred had awful hand writing, that at times it made me question if I even knew how to read at all. I occasionally asked them how Ron was doing, if Harry was doing any better and if Hermione still looked at Ron fondly. I still wore Georges sweater around the house that I was not permitted to leave from and more often than not I got teased on my crush on the Weasley boy from my mother, father, brother and sister-in-law who seemed to have no other entertainment besides teasing me.

The days were long and our boredom filled the house. I was more than glad when the school year began once again. Sitting in the train cart with Draco and his friends who my family asked me to keep a close eye on as they feared they might stray somewhere horrible. I didn't have the heart to tell them I suspected they already had, so I was stuck with Draco and his never ending Harry Potter rant.

“You know Draco I think the only person that talks about Harry as much as you do is Ginny.” I said, which caused him to turn an awful shade of red. The remainder of the trip was left in silence which I was thankful for. Stepping into the grand hall I looked around for Fred and George who to no-ones surprised were whispering between the two of them.

Pushing past other students I was finally in front of the boys I spent all summer writing to. They seemed to have gotten taller and their hair had gotten shorter. “Fred! George I missed you!”I said grabbing them down into a hug which they returned just as quickly as they broke it off.

“Sorry gotta run.” Fred said smiling down at me ruffling my hair. Embarrassed I tried to flatten it down in an effort for it to regain it’s original place.

“Places to be.” George said following his brother, I reached over yanking him back. Perhaps they had things to do, what things could be done in the first day back I don’t know but I was hurt they were leaving me behind without as much as a hello tossed my way.

“Wait your sweater!” Was all I could say as I pushed his neatly folded sweater that said ‘I thought about the way the sleeves are folded because I like you but I didn’t think enough about it for you to worry’ towards him. Hesitantly he reached over placing his hand on top and bottom of the sweater, his fingers grazing mine, being awfully gentle like it could fall apart right then in there in the great hall.

He smiled at him making my heart jump “Oh thanks I was looking for it all break.” he said rather confidently for a lie, I wrote him every week asking if I should send it over but every week it seemed to be too hot or too rainy or too blue out for a sweater to be delivered via owl.  “Here can you hold this for a bit.Thanks you’re a life saver.” He said tugging off the sweater he already had on and tugging it over my head. I was left with frizzy hair, alone and with George Weasleys sweater once again.

The year was going awful and I wondered if it was all just one big nightmare caused by a faulty potion in Professor Snape's class. Unfortunately it was not and we were in fact left with a highly dressed up and highly pink toad of a woman being our professor. 

“Eyes up front children. There will be no speaking out of turn in my classroom.” Professor Umbridge said as she continued on with her lesson in the defense against the dark arts, a field that while highly skilled she refused to prove it. A sentiment that had the gracious opportunity to fill my ear when I was helping Professor Snape grade papers earlier that day. 

The days seemed somehow longer than they did over the summer, perhaps it was the ridiculous amount of reading or perhaps it was because Fred and George had agreed amongst themselves that I no longer existed.

A head of red hair passed by and at that moment I swore it was my favorite color “Ron!” I called out running to catch up with him, he tensed up his shoulders before turning to look at who had called me.

“Bloody hell woman you almost killed me.” He said clutching his robes just over the place his heart was, well at least would be if it was not in fact on the other side. Perhaps I was a bit too thrilled to had finally made at least one of the Weasley stay long enough to speak to me.

“Oh hello Hermione I haven't seen you in a while!” That was in fact a lie I haven't seen her at all but it seemed like a polite thing to say at the time “Ron If you see your brothers ca-”

“Y/n why don’t you just try acquainting yourself with decent people? Not of the likes of Weasleys and mudbloods.” Draco said from behind me, Ron turned red much like he did when he was about to fight and Hermione scrunched her nose balling her fist as if she was about to take a swing and Draco.

I felt awfully silly picking a fight with a boy that I passed charms notes to earlier that day.But I could not help but feel the dread that washed over Hermione Granger when he called her a mudblood, a girl who's potions paper I gave a perfect mark to minutes earlier. “Oh like who? You? Push over little daddies boy?” I said standing tall looking at him.The way he said Weasley filled me with more anger than the way he called Hermione Granger a mudblood a sentiment I felt awful for feeling.

Dracos face twisted in an awful expression that made me wish I drank whatever liquid courage they fed Gryffindors. “Watch who you’re talking to!” 

“No you watch it Draco.”I said taking a stride closer towards him, our shoes nearly touching and my legs slightly shaking. “Does your mum approve of the things you do?” I said to him only loud enough for him to hear it.

His face dropped before getting a scowl once more “Don’t talk about my mother.” he said with a sneer.

“Don’t give me a reason to.Now get out of here before I make you regret it.” I warned, an empty threat, as empty as they come but Draco did not know enough about me to call my bluff. With a sneer and a swish of a cape he walked away and I was glad I could finally wipe the sweat off my palms on my robe.

The shoes stepping towards me made me tense as I suddenly became aware that I had in fact almost fought a child in front of two other children. A gentle hand was placed on my stiff shoulder instantly making them drop.“Are you alright?” Hermione asked which a nod was all I could answer her with.

I didn’t answer her, afraid my voice would shake and give Draco the satisfaction he got done over on me “Holy shit I feel like I’m going to throw up.” I said once he was out of sight, I joked with being placed in Gryffindor before but for the first time I realized something the sorting hat knew all along. I was in fact empty of courage.

“That was amazing I’ve never seen someone stand up to that git Malfoy like that.” Ron mused smiling as he threw a finger at Dracos back, his smile soften when he saw the awful color mine was.  “A-and I’ll make sure to tell George and Fred to stop being such idiots.”

The rest of the day passed without much anything of note, except every slam and quick movement filled me with dread thinking that Malfoy came back for another squabbling match. When the two chairs besides me got pulled out I was worried I was in for a beating and started wondering were a bunch of children would take the piss out of me. Instead George and Fred sat besides me, the rest of the study table giving them odd looks as they all concluded the Weasleys and I were no longer in speaking terms.

“You’re talking to me now?” I said turning back to my herebology book that was rather bland and focused on an smear on the page to fain interest in.

George leaned over placing his head down on the table in an effort to get me to pay attention, but all he did was look like a git. A git that made my heart swell but most importantly a git over anything. “Look we’re sorry a lot of things have been happening and well we’re just part of something.” He said placing his hand over the pages of the book.

“Top secret something.” Fred said leaning into me.

“Dumbledores army? I’ve heard” I whispered to them in an actual proper whisper something they had no knowledge in.

“Ye- how’d you know?” George said closing the textbook infant of me, looking from me to his brother to the other people in the table that had absolutely no interest into what they could be planning now.

I shrugged “Freds shit at whispering.”

“Perfect then you're caught up on everything. So we made this extendable ear and we wanted to run it by you.” Fred said digging out a torn up ear from his pocket and acting like I didn't just say that I knew about a top secret after school club.

“Hold up I never said I forgave you twats”

“You want me to get on my knees? I’ll get on my knees.”

“No George that-” I started to say shaking my head.

“Please come back to us ,our sad little hearts have a y/n shaped holes.” George said getting on his knees, in front of me with people looking at us as if we lit a garbage on fire. 

My face turned red as I tried to drag him up to his feet to no avail “Get up.” I said between tugs as Fred laughed on and I can’t tell if that made it better or worse.

“I’m on my knees begging for you to take me back.” George said a bit more loudly with every word, in any other context I would be flattered over the moon in fact. But the snickers and Snape walking towards us made me reevaluate the flattery and George Weasley as a whole.

“Fine I forgive you now get up people are staring.” I said and with that George got up, not because he was embarrassed or because Snape came with a text book up in arms to hit us over the head with but because he just wanted to hear that I forgave him.

Everything seemed to be looking up, there was no sign of you-know-who, Ginny punched the Ravenclaws that were giving Luna Lovegood a hard time in the face, there had been less rain than expected and George, Fred and I were now friends once more. Perhaps all was not good Umbridge was still there in her twisted demented Elle Woods impersonation and Filch could not stop being tragically in love with Umbridge, at times I wonder if I was the Filch in George and I’s situation.

The D.A.D.A class came to an end, a time I thought had forgotten about us. I was packing up my bags, grabbing the text books a manicured handed stopped me.

“Can you come with me to my office?” Umbridge said in more of a demand than a request, nodding my head I followed her to her office. Perhaps I expected a lair or to see Oswald Mosley and Jack the ripper having a cup of tea over the fire but all I got was what looked like the inside of my nan’s house.

“Lovely room. I have a cat myself.”  I said, a shiver going down my spine as at least a hundred cats meowed and purred down on me from their strategically placed spots. I loved my cat but I wondered if I could ever love this as much as this, perhaps it was not love at all.

Clapping her hands together she smiled at me “I knew I liked you from the moment I saw you” Umbridge said with a tight smile and while she stood in all her glory in bright pink I don't think it was meant as a compliment. “I called you here because I’ve heard from some of your housemates you’ve fallen in with the wrong crowd with those Weasel bo-”

“Weasley.” I said too confidently for someone that was sitting on a chair that had a picture of a kitten on it.

“I beg your pardon” She stopped smiling her tight lipped smile.

“It’s Weasley not weasel ma’am.” I suspected that she knew that but wasn’t particularly interested in it. She gave out a laugh that sounded like it had been squeezed out of her which by the look in her face I suspect it had.

“Oh did I say that? A slip of the tongue I suppose. As I was saying we’re all worried about you my dear, I suspect doing a few lines will help us clear this up.” She said tapping the piece of parchment paper that sat alone in the desk. “Write “I must not stray’ to help you remember where you truly belong.” A bit on the nose and tacky but I wasn't the one that drank tea out of cups laced with cat fur ,perhaps it had all gone to her head or maybe all adults were this pretentious.

“I’m afraid I didn't bring my quill.” I said over the sea of meows, when I said this she smiled a genuine smile this time.

“No need to worry I have it all set up for you.” She said placing a quill in front of me ever so delicately.

“Thank you Ma’am. How many lines am I to write?”

“I suspect till you feel it sink in dear.” She said once agains laughing, her hands place neatly and delicately in front of her. She smiled with teeth that was some how more intimidating than her tight lipped smile. I did not know how to tell her she had pink lipstick on her teeth.Picking up the quill I noticed there was no ink and I silently saluted the Wizarding world for discovering the amazing muggle creation that are pens.

I should’ve known that these old gits didn’t update to pens, I should’ve known when she smiled at me, I should’ve known when she stood besides me watching me write lines. A lot of should’ves weren't going to erase the burning wound that was not on my arm for an undisclosed amount of time.

‘I must not stray’ I couldn’t see it but I could feel it burn against the sweater, the robes, the air itself seemed to be conspiring on making the cut ache. Having my arm at a certain angle made it 

“I brought you a hot chocolate.” George said appearing out of no where, it was almost comical and a bit concerning how no matter where I was George and Fred could always find me.

“What for?” Looking down at the cup in his hands I wondered besides hot chocolate what else would be in it.

George smiled “What I can't be a good friend? Bring you a hot drink on a cold night like this?” He said scooting a bit closer to me, I was suddenly overly aware of where my arm was placed.

Fred sat down besides me with a blue box on his lap “And we wanted to see if you could try some of our new skydiving snacks boxes.”

“And what if I die?” 

“Well then we’ll miss you terribly.” Fred said placing a sad hand on my shoulder.

“I won’t let you die.Now open up.” George smiled beckoning me to open up which I did, if I were to trust anyone to hand fed me it would be against my better judgment George Weasley. His face dropped a bit and the gag snack never reached my mouth “What’s wrong with your arm?”

My face drained of color as I looked at him “Nothing. I thought you wanted me to try your parachute snacks.”

“Skydiving. Come on we’re your best mates show us.” Fred said, in a tone that was unlike his own not a hint of sarcasm and only of pure worry. A tone I’ve only heard after a particularly nasty fall Ron had while playing quidditch.

They made a fuss. Well it was mostly George that seemed a bit unhinged by the scar and Fred shifted between asking me if it hurt and telling George to calm down. It took hours, countless ‘I’m alright’s’ and a few ‘she can’t get to me that easily’s’ to calm George down enough to even begin to talk about what they had also came looking for me for.

“So here’s the plan.” Fred started, while George began wrapping my arm up with bandages he carried for this occasion however I doubted he thought he would be bandaging me up. Fred continued talking between George’s ‘are you okay?’ and ‘Are you sure it doesn't hurt?’. Even when I was all bandaged up George still held on to my arm.

“Hmmm.” I hummed once Fred finished telling me the plan.

He knew well enough to trust me with the pranks but something about me Fred thought funny to test me “Hmm?” he imitated me.

“Can you make something eat her?” I said waving my hand over the propped notebook he had in his hands.

“Like a troll?” Fred thought about it but not before looking at me with equal parts respect and as if I had completely off the rails. Nodding “Yea but made of fireworks?” I said. ‘Better make it a real one’ George murmured besides me, not only did he have a pout forming, playing around with my fingers but I was also surprised to know that at least one of them knew how to whisper.

Scratching his head Fred looked over the notebook, I wondered if they had a section dedicated to this hell I wonder if anyone but Fred could decipher the utter chicken scratch he had on there. “Blimey I know we’re brilliant but give us some room to breathe” breathing out some air Fred skimmed through the notes  “What about a dragon? I reckon we can do a dragon.” Fred spoke more to himself, I doubt he meant for us to answer and I didn't even had the knowledge to answer it.

“Wait you have to take me with you guys.” I said a bit too forceful, a bit too instant and a bit too excited.

“Don’t be ridiculous you're a bloody good witch, you belong here.” George countered, startling me a he broke his silent grieving, perhaps he was afraid that the plan would back fire and they would be in for a punishment worse than writing lines.

“Screw that let’s go you can sweep around the shop.” Fred laughed ignoring his brother glares that I could feel burning the side of my face.

I wasn’t too fond of agreeing with Fred but having one of them on board was better than none “I’ll invest in your shop. I heard my parents talk about a spot in Diagon Alley, I think we can get a good price” I talked far too quickly and far too excitedly, perhaps to get ahead of them backing up on their half promise.

“An investor? You’re still going to have to clean around the shop, in a maids outfit I reckon you know for ambiance.” Fred laughed poking George shoulder when he mentioned the maids outfit, as much as I would do to make George happy I don't think I could go as far as dressing up as a maid in what I suspect is anything but a propers maid uniform.

George shook his head “We can’t take her with us Fred she can't just drop out of school l-” He said and while they argued all the time this was the first time George had been serious about it, and I finally understood the angry George he told me he said he was. 

“Bite me George I’m coming with you. I wasn’t even supposed to attend this year.” I said my best trying to defuse the situation.

“Yea bite her George she’s coming with us. Wait you weren’t supposed to attend this year? What couldn't resist us?” Fred smiled flexing his arms and running his hand through his hair, an act that I’m sure nobody but himself thought of as sexy.

“My parents heard you-know-who was coming back and insisted I go somewhere else but I know Gryffindors and especially you two gits are just filled with courage and being the biggest sniffling idiots. I just had to make sure you stayed alive long enough for-”

“For?” George said interrupting me, as if the next word out of my mouth was not going to be that very explanation.

“For me to see you two again.” I said playfully bumping their shoulders, careful to mind my arm.

“Yack you’re such a sap.Come on we got things to plan” Fred said taking out parchment paper to make adjustments for their plans, George stared at me as if I had something particularly interesting on my face and for a moment I wondered if I did.

Packing up the last of the fireworks I checked and double checked we in fact were carrying hundreds of working fireworks.Snaps and crackles sounded through the hallways as Fred,George and I dropped and tossed fireworks. I held on the George because I unlike them didn't know how to ride a broom and being far too short on time to be thought how to do so.

Fire works went off below us, crashing into the room were O.W.L.S were being taken confused students and an equally confused Umbridge looked up at disbelief at us. Fireworks twisted and turned and exploded everywhere.

George and Fred highfived each other on passing as the cheers below us began getting drowned out by the deafening noise. I could hardly contain my excitement as a series of fireworks went off, shifting closer to George I looked over his shoulder waiting for the big reveal.A dragon of a hundred glowing fireworks went off as it snapped at Umbridge who was yelling trying to outrun it. 

Umbridge who as I suspect could be spotted from miles away in her pink dress and pink shoes covered in black powder waved and shook her fist at us, grabbing up at the air in efforts to drag us back down.

“Give her hell from us Peeves!” The twins called out and for a moment I could’ve sworn I saw him give them a bow.

Turning my head to look at Peeves for what I suspect to be the last time, I wanted to wave goodbye to him. But I was far too off the ground and far too scared to wave instead I hopped he knew that I would despite him dropping a slug in my drink would in fact miss him very very much.

Hogwarts quickly became smaller and smaller. I see why they were considered great at quidditch I felt like I was flying through time at the probably criminal speed they were going.

“What’s the plan now Weasley?” I said looking up at him. He looked as if his face was being pulled back and I found it ridiculous that I was still in fact smitten by it.

He shrugged his shoulders yelling over the loud wind “Reckon we got to get married now don’t think you’ll get into another school.”

Nodding my head I laughed, I wasn’t sure as to what exactly was the joke or if I had laughed before the punchline but nevertheless I laughed. “I guess you’re right. You think Fred would marry me?”

“Ye- What no.Not Fred he’s a git. You should marry me”  George smiled and said as if where the sanest and most normal thing anyone could say to their friend. My stunned silence made his confident smile flatten a tad as he stumbled trying to back track or perhaps he was thinking of just pushing me off the broom at this rate. “You know for business purposes we already came up with the name and I’d feel awful not including you.” He reasoned with me, if this was his idea of reasonable I was extremely worried about what he thought as unreasonable.

“Merlin Weasley at least take me on a date before you try marrying me.” My words came out shaky and I could feel my heart pounding, I wonder if George could feel it pounding against his back.

“I can do that.” He said turning to briefly face me, perhaps I’ve died and gone to heaven or perhaps I have misunderstood this situation.

“Finally for fucks sake.” Fred scoffed from above us, I knew I was in fact very much alive because Fred would not be in my idea of heaven humming disco songs as he rode his broom.

[hi-hey-haechan]

it's the same anon from earlier, can I request nct 127 reaction to playfully slapping their s/o's butt, and then getting surprised when their s/o whimpers/moans?

It only took like two weeks, and this is the worst thing I’ve ever written on here. It will flop like crazy, too, but this literally took so long to write. Plus, it was so hard to think of a scenario for everyone. At the same time, though, I thought of so many new ideas for stories in the future, hehe...

Oh, and these also vary in length. If one of them is really short, I probably wrote that one first, trying to keep everything condensed. I did Winwin’s and Taeil’s last, and I stopped trying to keep it short...as you can tell.

Taeil

For the record, it was impossible not to clown Taeil following his awkward session with Jeno. You were being so annoying, but you couldn’t stop laughing for the entirety of both videos. You asked Taeil if you had to make sure that Jeno wouldn’t steal him away from you. Time and time again, you pulled the “Oing,” hoping he’d say Aing.”

At first, he was really bashful and giggly about it. He’d enjoyed spending time with Jeno, but it was admittedly pretty awkward, as it was supposed to be. As he reported, “It was awkward, but it was okay.” However, at points throughout the day, you’d bring up an action of Taeil’s during the video that he may have forgotten, or one that he’d wish to forget.

He was patient, but it got to the point where he had to right-out ask, “Y/n, can you stop bringing that up? It’s not as funny as it was earlier.” His voice couldn’t have been sweeter, and you felt pretty guilty.

“Okay, I’ve been really overbearing. I’ll stop, sorry. Oing?” you asked with a “genuine” smile.

What you weren’t expecting was for him to playfully slap your butt. He said “Aing” in a bored tone, but the action was pretty exciting. At the same time, Taeil wasn’t expecting a whimper to pass your lips at the action. He was so caught off-guard, asking you if you’d done that because of him. He didn’t pursue this new discovery at the moment, but he definitely did later on.

Johnny 

Even though you knew that you were no match for Johnny, you ran away, holding the thermos with his coffee in one hand. The trail upon which you were walking opened up into a large green field, where you could frolick, or in this case, sprint, freely. You heard Johnny yelling your name from not-too-far away, and an involuntary fit of giggles overcame you, causing a falter in your step. 

When you looked behind you, Johnny, too, was sprinting towards you. You’d stolen one of the only things he loved more than you, and that was coffee. As a result, he desperately wanted to get his caffeine boost back. You couldn’t have even told him why you stole his coffee -- you just wanted to be annoying, you supposed. It was pretty impulsive.

Eventually, a pair of arms encircled your waist, bracing you from going forwards any further. A squeal left your lips, but you melted back into Johnny’s embrace, allowing him to take back his coffee. Playfully, he lightly spanked you, as if to reprimand you for your behavior. 

The contact in such an intimate place surprised you, but you couldn’t say truthfully that you didn’t enjoy it. When you let out a quiet moan, Johnny raised his eyebrows.”My baby liked that, didn’t you? If you enjoy being spanked so much, I’m gonna put that to use later on.”

Taeyong

You’d gotten so riled up just by watching him perform. The demon that possessed him onstage made him wildly attractive and could also make you wildly needy. When you greeted him offstage, he pulled you into a hug, his bright smile lighting up your entire being. When Yuta came into view, you grinned at him and praised his performance, as well. 

“Hey,” Taeyong said, “You’re my girlfriend, remember?” His tone was light and playful, clear that he was joking. He left the smallest smack to your butt, kind of sealing his statement. When you let out a quiet moan, Taeyong froze. “Did you just...?”

When your face heated up from embarrassment, your boyfriend smirked lightly, surprised by the effect he had on you. “Hey, you know what seeing you onstage does to me,” you said defensively. 

“I guess I might as well help you out with that.”

Yuta

Leave it to Yuta to know exactly how to turn you on, to know where you were most sensitive. He’d make contact with the places that made goosebumps break out across your skin, the action seeming as subtle as possible to anyone watching. However, Yuta knew that you’d struggle to keep a straight face.

Now, this boy was sick and tired of standing around, watching you talk to the other boys as though you were best friends with them. He was horny, and you weren’t even near him. When you walked over to Mark, he decided that he’d had enough. (Then again, was he more jealous of Mark, for talking to you, or you, for talking to Mark...?)

So when he walked over to you and carefully, lightly brought his hand down on your ass, he meant to simply get your attention. He squeezed the flesh, which legitimately coaxed a moan out of you. Yuta’s eyes were wide when he heard the noise, and Mark immediately coughed and excused himself.

When your eyes met Yuta’s, you knew what you were in for. He was smirking, and he repeated his earlier action, attempting to coax the same reaction out of you. He’d definitely use this to his advantage, turning you on just from his hand on your behind.

Doyoung

This boy would lowkey want to try out spanking you in the bedroom in the first place, but your reaction wasn’t what he’d anticipated.

He was reprimanding you for having not eaten lunch, gently telling you that you needed to eat and keep your strength up, especially while working, Doyoung knew that you were probably sick of his scolding, but he did it because he cared so much about you. If you weren’t going to take care of yourself, he at least was going to try to get you to.

You, however, appreciated his worry, and you honestly found it sweet when he scolded you, looking so worried at the same time. Even still, you wanted him to stop repeating the same point he’d made clear already, so you decided to press your lips against his. He gasped against your lips, which allowed you to slip your tongue into his mouth.

Doyoung broke away, and he lightly slapped your ass. While he said, “You did that just so I’d stop talking, didn’t you?” he heard you let out a needy whimper. He froze for a second, staring at you with wide eyes. “Did you...enjoy that?” When you nodded, he said, “You. Me. Bedroom. Now”

Jaehyun

As soon as he’d gotten back, he went to take a nap in your shared bedroom. “Sleep,” you told him, “I’ll have dinner ready for you in a few hours. As a result, he slept, having been awake for about 34 hours straight. The food you were making was cooking in the oven when Jaehyun started to stir.

The first thing he could make sense of was Chungha music playing fairly loudly from the other room. Confused, he got out of bed, not even putting on a shirt, and walked down the hall.The sight he beheld was you dancing to “Play” by Chungha all around the living room. “What a glorious thing to wake up to,” he said as you jumped, scared out of your wits for a moment. “You should be Chungha’s next backup dancer.”

“I will hit you,” you said, walking over to where Jaehyun was standing. You lightly punched his shoulder before burying your face in his bare chest, absolutely mortified. You felt his chest vibrate as he laughed, and his arms encircled you gently. 

What you weren’t expecting was him to playfully slap your butt as he said, “You’re so cute.” A quiet whine passed your lips, as much as you hadn’t wanted it to. He knew you were sensitive there, and his action left you wondering what his motivation was. 

Quickly, you tried to change the subject. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

But the smirk on Jaehyun’s lips wasn’t faltering. Let’s just say your dinner was slightly delayed...

Winwin

“Come here,” he said, holding his arms out, as if he was inviting you into his embrace. You, of course, gladly accepted. Sicheng wasn’t always the cuddly type, but when he was, you could swear that you never felt happier. His soft hair tickled your skin, and his arms around you kept you close.

You, however, weren’t in a cuddling type of mood. You craned your neck forward a bit to kiss him, and your entire body melted into him. Hoping the kiss would catch fire, you brought one hand up to tangle in his hair. Sicheng seemed to have been caught a bit off-guard, but he wasn’t by any means showing resistance.

When you rolled on top of him, your knees straddled his narrow hips, and he looked up at you with a surprised expression. In order for him to give you what you wanted, he had to know what it was that you wanted, first. You kissed him, and it was clear that you really wanted something more than this. You deepened the kiss, groaning against his mouth, when Sicheng kind of turned his head, catching his breath. 

“Woah, what’s gotten into you?” he inquired breathlessly, but his hands moved to grab your waist, a subtle action showing that he appreciated the kissing.

“Um...I missed you?” At your hesitant answer, he still broke out into a smile. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Not at all. C’mere,” he said again, pulling you closer to him. However, when your lips met his, a hand came down against your butt, and it rested there, something that was so unlike him yet not at all unwelcomed. You whined against his mouth, and you then broke away immediately. 

Sicheng didn’t even say a word. He squeezed the flesh of your ass, hearing you gasp. A smirk formed on his lips, which was pretty rare for him, but dang, was it attractive. He pulled you down for another kiss, using this new discovery to his advantage.

Jungwoo

When you were with him, Jungwoo always maintained some sort of physical contact with you. He’d hold your hand, have an arm around your waist, or so much as leave a light touch on your arm if he was engaged in conversation with someone else while you were there.

When you were talking to Doyoung, Jungwoo wanted to get your attention. He was standing next to you, and snaking an arm around your waist didn’t even get you to look his way. As a result, Jungwoo lightly smacked your ass. It wasn’t painful, but it was shocking, and you couldn’t truthfully say that you hated it. You let out the quietest whimper, eyes wide with surprise.

Doyoung excused himself, and Jungwoo looked at you with an equally shocked expression as yours. “I...I didn’t think you’d react like that. Not that I’m complaining, though.”

Mark

After being together for so long, Mark was less timid when it came to affection, and he’d even initiate it at times. Yuta and Haechan were probably getting jealous at how easily he’d show affection around you, but you found it so endearing and sweet. 

So when Mark decided it would be a good idea to slap your ass while you were casually cooking in the kitchen, it seemed slightly forced and hesitant. You weren’t anticipating it, but you, by no means, disliked it one bit. Involuntarily, you let out a small moan, both to yours and Mark’s shock.

You turned your head to look at him, the ramen that was cooking temporarily forgotten. His ears were red; his eyes were wide, and his lips were slightly parted in surprise. “Um. I’m sorry. Was that weird? It was weird, wasn’t it? But why did you moan? Oh, shoot, that was a weird question to ask. I’m sor--”

You shut him up with a kiss to his lips. When you broke away, you told him, “You know, commonly, a person moans if something feels good. Now, what does that tell you about what you just did?”

Haechan

He’d been at practice all day, from 4 AM to 8 PM, so it was safe to say that Haechan was exhausted. You’d promised to meet him at the SM building with food, but all he wanted to do was go home and cuddle with you, to fall asleep in each other’s arms.

What he hadn’t anticipated was for Jungwoo to follow him to the doors of the company building, discussing the choreography they’d just practiced. What was even more surprising was when you showed up and were included into the conversation. You ignored Haechan’s constant clinging to you, hugging you tightly and nuzzling his head into the nape of your neck. 

You moved your hand up to tangle in his soft hair, but you continued your conversation, Haechan, who was tired, frustrated, and clingy, lightly slapped your butt, trying to get your attention. It caught you by surprise, and you let out a little whimper. 

Haechan looked at you, removing his head from your shoulder. His lips curled into a smirk, and he said, “So that’s how I can get your attention. Good to know.” Poor Jungwoo just stood there awkwardly

[meliorist-midoriya]

doki doki todoroki

synopsis: where todoroki’s first love blindsides him and he feels like the whole class is leaving him out of the loop. 

word count: 1.8k

genre: fluff, fluff, and more fluff 

warnings: just todoroki being a clueless baby 

a/n: hello! aaaa this is entirely self-indulgent, but it’s my first post! i saw “doki doki todoroki” float around here somewhere and then this happened hjsdhjdhj. anyway, hope you enjoy!

He brushes it off the first time it happens, wrote it off as adrenaline from today’s sparring.

He brushes it off the second time. It was just a harmless scare after all, no shame in that.

He brushes it off the third time, the odd timing soon forgotten in favor of resuming his studies.

Todoroki doesn’t see the correlation for a while. How it was after seeing your exhilarated smile in the middle of a hard fight, after hearing you laugh once Mina startled him, after watching the triumphant smile on your face grow once he explained the problem to you.

He notices it the fourth, fifth, sixth time. Understandably, he’s confused. No amount of education or training would’ve prepared him for this. Nothing would’ve, other than hard-earned experience that he never got. Looking it up (as he found himself doing a lot these days the more he socialized) only earned him the definition of tachycardia and a grocery list of possible diagnoses ranging from anxiety to heart disease.

So much for the internet.

The ringing of the lunch bell pulled him out of his “research”, and he filed the thought away for later as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Later becomes three weeks.

Todoroki’s lost count at this point of how many times his heart suddenly went haywire, thudding against his ribs and sending blood rushing through his ears. How is world suddenly narrowed to just you whenever you spoke to him, and how he wanted to hear your voice again even though you had just stopped speaking. He finally drew the line once Midoriya pointed out his state of disarray at lunch.

“Todoroki-kun, are you sick? Your face is really red,” Midoriya had his chopsticks halfway to his mouth when he paused at the sight of Todoroki staring listlessly at his soba. Unbeknownst to him, Todoroki was too busy listening to you laugh at whatever Uraraka and Iida were talking about to focus on his soba. Hell, he couldn’t focus on anything lately and he had no idea why.

“Hm? Oh, yes, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” No. He doesn’t voice this, and instead lets his Quirk pull the heat away from his cheeks for him as the air chills around him. Midoriya keeps watching him like he doesn’t believe him, but returns to his own lunch anyway.

“Hey, Todoroki, pfft- you have to listen to this. Iida just-” You don’t wait for his answer. You don’t have to. Todoroki finds himself hanging on to your every word anyway, smiling to himself (oh, the tiniest smile compared to yours. He doesn’t think anything will compare) as you struggle to recount your conversation without dissolving into giggles, Iida admonishing you for your loud laughter with an embarrassed flush.

Whatever this feeling is, he doesn’t mind, but he would like to know. He doesn’t notice Uraraka and Midoriya curiously watching the exchange, food forgotten. Nor does he notice Mina giggling with Hagakure as they nudged each other over the seats, dragging any of the class they could into their little whisper circle. The bell rings, and he already wishes you could’ve continued the story.

Later, you promise. He holds you to that.

Kaminari slings an arm over his shoulders in the locker room as they change into their hero costumes for afternoon classes, with Sero on his other side, and he stumbles from both shock and the added weight on him, his boot half-dangling from his foot.

“So, Todoroki-kun~” Kaminari’s lilting tone floating in from his right immediately sends his guard up, and he stared at him warily.

“How’s spring feeling for ya?” Sero continued from his left.

“…Isn’t it autumn right now?” Why were they talking about spring in the middle of October? Todoroki was too busy staring at Sero like he’d grown a second head to notice the collective silent groan ripple through the locker room.

“Oh my god, he really is clueless,” Kaminari whispers, Sero nodding along with a dumbstruck expression. He side-eyes them as he tugs his boot on the rest of the way, unamused. Clueless about what?

“Will he be okay?” It was Sero who spoke this time, completely ignoring the fact that they were having a conversation right over his head.

“I don’t know, man, he should be, right?”

“I’m literally right here. Did something happen?”

“A-Ah, nothing, nothing, just… checking up on you, you know?” As socially inept as he was, even he could recognize from a mile away that Kaminari was a terrible liar.

“…Why?” Okay, now he was really confused. He looked around the room to see if anyone could give him any hints, to no avail. Kirishima was too busy facepalming to notice his confusion, Ojiro was suddenly very interested in tying off his gi, and both Tokoyami and Bakugou were completely ignoring their antics. In a last attempt to figure out what the hell was even going on, he turned to Midoriya… who was trying to desperately look anywhere else other than at him. Something was up, and if Kaminari was involved, he didn’t have a good feeling about it.

“Y-You know, uh…” Kaminari was floundering for an answer, and sighed in relief once Iida came in to announce that they had five minutes to be ready. The pressure disappeared off his shoulders and Todoroki finished putting on the rest of his costume, the deep sense of unease tugging at the corner of his mind. There was something he wasn’t picking up on, and it felt like everyone but him knew.

He brushed it off to focus on class. Today was sparring day, after all, and Todoroki was partnered up with you. Maybe he’d see that smile again. The thought of it made fire lick at his fingers during the spar much quicker than usual.

He wasn’t disappointed, his heartbeat pounding in his ears even as the adrenaline fizzled out.

Tomorrow morning finds him face-to-face with a grinning Mina and an overexcited Hagakure outside the classroom before class starts, along with the answers to his plight way sooner than he expected. They had called out to him and, before he knew it, he was cornered against the window with their too-wide smiles beaming up at him, hungry for the romance gossip they had been chasing after all year. Or, well, he was pretty sure Hagakure was smiling, at least. Mina, on the other hand, resembled the Cheshire Cat too closely for his liking.

“You like Y/N, don’t you, Todoroki-kun?”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t?” To say he was confused was an understatement, but there’d been a lot of that lately so he just came to accept it. “Y/N is a good person with an impressive Quirk, so-”

“No, not like thaaat!” Mina wailed, and Todoroki blinked owlishly at the two girls as they both lamented the “densest pretty boy of UA”. Their words, not his. Did… did he say something wrong?

“Like what, then?”

“Ro-man-tic-al-ly!”

Todoroki bluescreened.

“Ro…man…?”

“Like, do you always end up looking at her whenever you’re in the same room?” Hagakure was practically vibrating from excitement, “Do you always want to listen to her or be near her? Or does your heart go ‘doki doki’ whenever you’re with her?!”

“Doki…doki?” Todoroki‘s brain, still rebooting from earlier, struggled to process the onslaught of information Hagakure was slamming him with. So far, however, all the answers he came up with were ‘Yes. Yes. A million times, yes’. “I… guess something’s been wrong with my heart lately? I looked it up and it said it was nothing to worry about, so-”

“Something’s not wrong, dummy! It’s love! And Y/N likes you back!” Mina exclaimed, and both her and Hagakure squealed as they celebrated finally having their first taste of high school romance, clasping hands and cheering.

“Doki doki Todoroki!” Hagakure cheered, Mina parroting her as they rode the high of their excitement. Meanwhile, Todoroki stared dumbly at the two girls in front of him, the dots slowly connecting in his mind. Everything was happening way too quick. And you liked him back? Wait, is that-

“Is that why Kaminari and Sero asked me how I was yesterday?”

“Ugh, that Kaminari~! He can’t even be subtle!” Todoroki could hear the pout in Hagakure’s voice, and Mina sighed and nodded in agreement. Well that answers that, at least. Now for the other million and one questions he had...

“So… what am I supposed to do now?”

“Confess!” Came Hagakure’s immediate response.

Well, that makes sense. Now that he has a grasp on what he’s feeling and he knows that you feel the same, it’s only logical that he should make them known.

“Okay, where is she?”

“In the classr-”

“Nuh-uh, hold it,” Mina stopped Todoroki from barging into the classroom, and he stared down at her, confusion mounting. Wasn’t she super excited just two seconds ago? What happened now?

“Minaaaa!” She ignored Hagakure’s impatient wail and poked him in the chest.

“You can’t just go in there and confess in the classroom in front of everybody!”

“…Why not?” He just had to tell you, so better sooner than later, right?

“Oh jeez, okay, um,” Mina pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to think of a way to explain this to easily the densest person she had the pleasure of knowing. And she knew Kaminari, for Christ’s sake, “It isn’t as romantic if you just go in there and blurt it out in front of everybody, and it puts her on the spot too, would you want that?”

No, you hated being put on the spot. He shook his head and Mina sighed in relief.

“Okay, so, what you’re gonna do is…”

“Did you need to talk to me about something, Todoroki?”

Ah, there it was again. Could you hear his heart beating out of his chest from where you stood?

Classes had ended for the day and Mina had instructed him to confess after school at a specific spot (much to Hagakure’s chagrin, but she eventually agreed that it would be more romantic this way. Not like he knew what romantic looked like.) So, here he was, veering off your usual course from the dorms to this spot Mina had pointed out to him. It was where the trees broke just enough so the sunset could peek through the leaves. As inexperienced in, well, everything as he was, Todoroki had to admit Mina knew what she was talking about.

“Todoroki?”

The words he was told to recite sailed out the window the moment the time came, the light of the sunset casting you in a warm glow and God this wasn’t fair-

“…I like you.”

Oh, shit. Did he say that? Okay, yeah, he did. Oops.

He almost regrets it, but then he sees your lips bloom with a smile and the world goes quiet.

“I like you too, Todoroki.”

You crushed him in a hug and Todoroki wrapped his arms around you, smiling as he felt your own heart racing against his. His heart beating a mile a minute didn’t sound too bad anymore.

As long as it beat for you.

[quarantineddreamer]

Self-love can be extremely challenging so to everyone doing self-promo for @zkfanworkweek I see you, I am inspired by you, and I can’t wait to check out all the fanfics. (This to-read list is going to take me awhile!!)

In the past it has been the opposite of self-love that has kept me from writing. I allowed myself to listen to and take to heart the opinions of a few people (one of whom was a teacher I really admired) and it completely destroyed my confidence as a writer. I went from someone writing novels in my free time to someone crippled by self-doubt.

Enter 2020... I found this wonderful fandom and I was inspired to try again after years of only writing for academic purposes. I won’t lie though, this week has been hard in some ways! Seeing all the talent in the fandom on full display can be extremely intimidating -and seeing your own work go unacknowledged can be discouraging. I’m not the person I was though, and I’m going to keep trying to expand my audience and put myself out there!

So, this is super super scary for me (like heart-pounding-what-are-you-doing-scary), but here goes nothing...The growing works of a Quarantineddreamer (aka zukos-calming-tea):

In the Catacombs of Ba Sing Se 

This is the first thing I ever wrote for this fandom and my first time sharing my writing publicly in over a decade. It’s a retelling of the classic crystal catacombs scene we love so much told from the perspectives of Zuko and Katara. 

“He wanted her hand to stay there forever. He felt as long as he could work to deserve her touch, this girl, who was standing there, offering him a second chance he did not think he had yet earned, offering him a goal, something obtainable, despite everything he had done... He had always been chasing the Avatar, an impossible dream, slipping through his fingers. This is what uncle saw. He could be good. He could feel this way… He could give and receive kindness... just as he had before, so long ago he had almost forgotten…“

Of Lanterns and Turtle Ducks 

The fluffiest proposal fic you’ll ever read -literally, baby turtleduck levels of fluff. I’m proud of the imagery in this and I think it’s a fairly unique Zutara proposal! I’ve had precisely two people tell me it’s a comfort read and solely because of that I think it’s my favorite thing I’ve written so far (so thank you so much lovely readers for that encouragement). 

“A small smile tugged at his lips. I think you’d really, really like her Mom. I hope you’re here tonight..I think you are. He could feel her now, as he often did in this spot, an aura that wrapped itself around him like a blanket, whispering comfort, security, encouragement, love.

He opened his eyes and it was as though he were looking at the stars themselves. The lanterns danced in lazy circles as the light breeze propelled them across the still surface of the water. Their reflections rippled and sparkled. Fire and water united performed this most beautiful scene.”

I’ll Save You

A piece for my first ever Zutara week based on the prompt Reunion. I just couldn’t shake this idea...

“I’ll save you from the pirates,” she whispered.

The Element of Change

If you read anything from this list please read this! It’s my first attempt at a long-form fanfic and I have sooo much planned (and already posted) that I really do think makes it a unique and enjoyable read. The process is both challenging, intimidating, and fun all in one and for those of you may have already read it and keep me fueled with comments/kudos -words are really not enough to express my appreciation for you, but thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

Summary: When Katara, Aang, and Sokka leave the Earth Kingdom Military Base they stumble upon a desperate Iroh who is watching Zuko fight for his life. What follows is a canon-divergent adventure... Or Azula’s lightning finds Zuko earlier than Book 3 -and so does the Gaang. 

I’m sorry if this is a really long post, but huge thank you again to @hinaoyamas for creating this amazing platform to collaborate, get inspired, and share Zutara works! I’m so sad the week flew by so fast! 

Thanks to this fandom for bringing writing back to me after all these years and a quick shoutout to any other artists or writers that felt like they might have missed out this year: I appreciate all of you every day and I’d love to collaborate and get to know more people, my inbox is always open (for self-promos too!) <3 

[strugglingsophieee]

What I’ve learned in 2020:

2020 was a year full of lessons, here are few mine:

1.   Mental health is as important as physical health.

This year has been a total mess when it comes to my mental health. I’ve hit a rock bottom I never thought I would. The amount of stress that I had to go through this year because of my exams resulting in completely changing my life and because of covid of course, is truly indescribable for me. My panic attacks became the most daunting thing in my life. It got so bad, that I completely stopped myself from going out, even to get groceries. I thought “well this is what my life has come to- I’ll never be able to get out of my house ever again”. Fortunately, I was wrong. In mid - August I decided to seek professional help from a psychologist. I still go to her and I can proudly and honestly say that she has helped me so much in my anxiety- journey. I still learn how to cope with stress and panic attacks, but I see a huge progress between August and December. There’s still a long way for me to go, but I’m ready to tackle all the obstacles life has for me. 💪🏻

Why did I write this? I did this, because 2020 has shown me that mental health should never EVER be forgotten about. I used to never pay attention to it, I would always brush it off.. and well, me neglecting that part of my life has finally made an appearance this year with a double- strong impact. I feel like this year has been a total roller coaster for all of us. So many people experienced emotions they never thought they would experience. So many people noticed how caught up they are in their everyday life and don’t pay enough attention to their mental wellbeing. Taking care of my physical health was always somewhat important, but this year I realized that taking care of my mental health is just as important as physical activity. Please, if you need any sort of support don’t be afraid or hesitate to seek help from a professionals. 🌿

Here are some ig accounts I follow, which can bring you comfort as well:

https://www.instagram.com/wetheurban/

https://www.instagram.com/sunnybloominspiration/

https://www.instagram.com/myselflovesupply/

 2.  It’s okay to end friendships you don’t feel good in or get rid of people in your life who don’t feel supportive of you.

Let me tell you a little story. In high school (fyi I graduated this year) I used to be friends with these 3 girls, but in fact only one of them I could call my good friend. The rest 2 of them, just got on with us pretty well (well, more with the other girl). We used to be “best friends” since our first year till the very end. However, halfway through our friendship I noticed that I feel very lonely. These 3 girls used to stick with each other in school all the time, while I felt just like an addition to them. They literally have hundreds of photos together from different occasions (including prom!), and each and every one of them is without me. They used to meet during vacations, and write about it on our groupchat. I specifically remember when one of them couldn’t meet one day, and they instantly changed the date of the meeting. Then, when I wrote “hey I can’t meet you guys on this day :((” and I kid you not were like “aww that’s sad”… like.. what? Since you’re not changing the date does that mean I’m not as important to you as the other girl?..

 To this day I don’t know whether they have any contact with each other, but I do feel like they do. Honestly, the number of times when I felt lonely in this “friendship” is insane, and I finally see that. I look at this period of time from a different perspective and honestly this entire “friendship” was just a sh*tshow in my opinion. I felt constantly judged by them, especially by this one girl who I just knew didn’t really like me but still referred to me as “friend” not to make any kind of fight. They would hardly ever support me or listen to me. They would make fun of my anxiety and my panic attacks. I feel like they were also limiting me at some point. What’s kind of funny is that they didn’t remember about my birthday but I did remember theirs. I would always care about them but they would never care about me.

As I said, I feel like they still keep in touch with each other. I limited any kind of contact with them and never spoke to them since like July. Even though we didn’t officially end our “friendship”… I feel like by parting our ways we somewhat did… and it feels so good to finally say that I’m free. Before you ask me “why didn’t I tell them how I feel earlier?”… well, I always felt like I am a burden and make a big deal out of nothing, but now as I look at this relation from a perspective…I should have done this a long time ago.

2020 was a huge year for me when it comes to friendships. I realized that my companion as a friend should be valued more than I thought. I will not waste any more time on people who treat me like that.. who don’t deserve to call me their “friend”. I’ll stand up for myself from now on. I am me, and if that’s not “enough” for you, then that’s your problem. 💋

 3.   It’s all about finding balance.

What I mean by that is that the same amount of effort you put in your work/ uni/ school should be the same amount of effort you put in your free time. After telling my therapist how much I worked throughout the week she told me that by the age of 25 I would be totally burned out from overworking myself. In fact I did experience this in June, when I used to study so hard for my exams, that not only I didn’t give myself any space to relax which resulted in my anxiety rising up but also I lost almost 8 kg due to stress. I don’t want to experience this ever again. It was a very dark time for me, which I’m still recovering from to this very day (see point 1.). Finding a balance between studying / working and giving yourself that “me time” is the key to staying sane for me. For example, I set some rules that I apply in my everyday life, one of them says: After 8 pm. I close my books and I finish studying for the day. I turn on my favorite show, grab snacks and just chill…Small steps like this can lead to a huge progress in the future and may help you stop that process of being overworked.

4.  Self-care is not egoistic.. it’s absolutely normal.

No matter what that is, whether it’s working out, cooking, baking, going on a walk, doing your makeup / skincare routine or anything else.. Do whatever makes you happy and don’t feel guilty for it. We all deserve to have some time just for ourselves, especially in this crazy world we live in. 🧖‍♀️🌍

5.  Don’t take anything for granted.

I feel like it’s self-explanatory at this point. Especially when it comes to health and your family. Life is completely unpredictable. A year ago I would never believe if someone would say “well.. this is what 2020 looks like”… Make sure to hug your family members a bit tighter, reach out to a friend you haven’t talked to in a while to see how they’re doing and most importantly- wear a mask! 😷

6.  It’s okay to fail.

As Abraham Lincoln said "It's not about how many times you fall, but how many times you get back up." It’s okay to don’t feel amazing every day or to fail an exam. It’s all about what kind of lessons you get out of it and what you can learn from this experience. 💫

7.   Don’t beg someone to give you attention.

As the saying goes “If they wanted to, they would”. As I said earlier, if  me being me is not interesting for you.. it’s your loss. I’m not going to beg somebody to text me or send me an Instagram DM.. hell nah. 👸

8.    It’s time to focus on yourself.

I think it’s time for me to finally put all the effort I’d put into making others happy into me. It’s time I keep on grinding with my uni stuff and my workout routine. It’s time to take care of my mental health. It’s time to find new hobbies and stick with them. It’s. Time. For. Me. 👏💖👑

 Well, that’s it. I hope you guys found some of those advices / lessons helpful. Let me know what you’ve learned during this crazy year!

 Stay safe,

Soph xx

[greenninjagal-blog]

15 Anxceit?

Y’all really out here asking for that angst, aren’t you. Do you guys know the last time I wrote Hurt/Comfort? It’s been Eons. I’m rusty. 

Summary: Virgil gets kidnapped. 

Words: 2604

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist || Prompt page

Keep Breathing

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts, but you have to trust me, Okay?” The voice says over the phone. “You hear me, Love? Virgil?”

Virgil can hear him. He can hear him so clearly it hurts worse than the throbbing in the back of his head, or the bruising on his ribs, or the knife wound in his shoulder. Virgil can’t remember the last time words had cut so cleanly through the crackling air like a blade all on their own.

He shouldn’t have been surprised though. Given who was speaking. Dee always did have that way with languages, slipping his tongue around foreign syllables and phrases and lulling Virgil to sleep on restless nights with just his voice, a book, and fingers treading through his hair.

“I’m going to get you out of there,” Dee tells him, in perfect English. “I promise.”

Virgil exhales shakily, just one breath away from sobbing. There so many things he wants to say, but they all get caught up in the lump in his throat.

He wants to scream, but he knows where that will get him, knows what that would do to Dee. He wants to cry and beg and curl up in a ball where nothing can touch him, but the first two haven’t done anything in the past endless hours, and the last one has been made impossible by the way his arms were zip tied behind his back and around the pole. He squeezes his eyes closed and tries to pretend like the voice of Dee over the phone is him really just sitting next to Virgil on the bed talking him out of a panic induced spiral.

“Just breathe for me, Liebing,” Dee says. “Just breathe. I’ll get you out of there.”

Virgil inhales sharply. “I-- I know,” He manages with a wet laugh. “I kn-now you will. And I-- I’ll kill you m-myself for this.” 

He thinks Dee nearly laughs, one of those wet, terrible laughs of his that only came out when he was nearing his breaking point, but the phone is pulled away from his ear at that moment. He strains after it in a panic, but his captor give him a sharp kick  to the side and Virgil falls back against the pole, with his shoulder screaming in pain.

“There,” The criminal says, “Proof of Life, Mr. Ekans. Your lovely fiancee is still breathing, although if you don’t follow my orders exactly, he won’t be for much longer.”

Virgil thinks if he wasn’t so terrified out of his mind, he might have found that funny. Dee? Following someone else’s orders? Ever since Virgil had met him in Third grade Dee had avoided rules like the plague. When he had disappeared after highschool, Virgil had thought that Dee had gone off and died somewhere in a ditch, but he had returned just seven years later, with that same smirk and that spark in his eyes like he knew everything Virgil was thinking in any moment.

They hadn’t been friends, but they had been acquaintances. Once or twice they had been lab partners in Chemistry, and they had nodded to each other in the halls.

It was ridiculous that Virgil hadn’t even noticed how much he missed that normalcy, that routine, that quiet interaction, until the day before Graduation when Dee had invoked a Senior Skip Day and Virgil had ghosted between classes without seeing him at all. It was even more ridiculous that Virgil had turned that sad feeling over in his chest a billion times and realized somewhere north of 3:24 A.M. that he had had a crush on Dante Ethan Ekans for three years based just on nods in the hallways and that one time Dee had offered him part of a sandwich when the school lunch had looked particularly terrible. 

Then Dee hadn’t shown up to Graduation. Or the last day of school.

Virgil had found out the week after from gossip in a friend group that Dee had packed up his bags and gone for a journey to find himself with no returning ETA. 

And again, Virgil hadn’t been friends with him so it hadn’t made sense that he felt angry not to have been told this directly. But the weight of that realization had crushed his tentative heart where it was in his chest. 

There had been other boys, because seven years is a long time and boys were pretty, but they had never worked out. They had asked too much of him, or expected something different, or loved too brashly. At the end of each relationship Virgil had found himself lying on his bed wondering what had happened to the brunette boy with the nearly yellow eyes who once helped him light a Bunsen Burner. 

Virgil had gone to college. He had gotten a BA in Culinary Arts, with an emphasis on Baking and Pastries, which literally no one had seen coming, including himself. He had gotten a lease and opened up a bakery three counties from where he grew up and sent his mother danishes on the weekends when he couldn’t visit. 

Then two months later, Dee had walked right into his bakery like he had never left. Virgil had nearly dropped a pan of muffins at the sight of him. That smile was the same, and those eyes, and habit of picking at his nails when he was nervous. But he had yellow highlights in his hair and a tattoo of a snake on his back and three scars over his knuckles.

“You might not remember me,” Dee had said as if Virgil had ever been able to forget him, “But we went to high school together and I...I’ve traveled all over the world and still think you are the most amazing thing in it.”

And Virgil had remembered why he had fallen for Dee in the first place all over again.

When Dee had asked Virgil to marry him four years later, he hadn’t hesitated to say yes.

Because it had been Dee, and Dee had chosen to stay in that town with Virgil, had chosen to pick up a business job, had chosen to to go on several dates with Virgil, had chosen to stay through every fit and fight and argument, had chosen to get down on one knee and offer Virgil that ring that was on a necklace around his neck right now.

Dee had also casually forgotten to mention that he was freaking loaded until the moment that Virgil had been walking out of his bakery nearly dead on his feet last night and someone had swung a crowbar directly into the back of his head.

“And I’m not sure I need to remind you what will happen if you call the police,” Virgil’s captor says airily, “But I will anyway--”

Without warning the man turns back to Virgil and swings his heel directly into Virgil’s wounded shoulder. Agony rips through Virgil’s entire being, drowning out all of his thoughts until all there was left was a burning, blazing pain and his own screams. Tears streamed down his face, choking him as he wrestled against the bindings in an attempt to curl around the injury. His vision turns white and black like TV static and his sobs echo throughout the empty warehouse like they were mocking him.

Faintly, he thinks he can hear Dee’s voice.

Faintly, he registers the captor over him, is delighting in Virgil’s pain.

Faintly, he recalls the price the man just put on Virgil’s life, and that Dee didn’t hesitate to agree to it.

The criminal over him ends the call with a click of a button, and Virgil whimpers. His shoulder feels like someone was holding an open flame to it, his wrists burn where the zip tie are latched far too tightly to his skin.

“Hmm,” the man says softly, “I can’t say I see what he sees in you.” He reaches down and holds Virgil by the jaw, turning his head from side to side to examine him, as if he’s a piece of meat for sale. Virgil’s skin burns coldly at the touch, like its frostbite threatening to take over his whole body and kill him on the spot.

“Liebing,” His captor says, teasingly. His free hand shifts to his pocket and he brings out that switchblade again-- Virgil tenses to get away from it, even with his shoulder weeping lava. With a shri-ckk the metallic knife slips out, still streaked with crimson where it had been lodged in Virgil’s shoulder earlier when he had talked back too much.

The man uses the blade to lift a piece of Virgil’s sweat matted hair from his face. It’s close, too close, and Virgil’s lungs beg for air he doesn’t dare give them.

“P-please,” He chokes.

“P-please,” The man mimics, with a cruel smile. “Your future husband seemed to be in an awful hurry to get you back. He has twenty hours; I wonder how much fun the two of us can have while we wait.” 

Virgil squeezes his eyes closed, trying not to shake. The knife tip boops his nose and the man laughs releasing him easily. In another moment Virgil hears the sound of tape ripping and feels the sudden force of his mouth being covered.

“Shhhh,” The man says, using his thumb to rub away a stream of Virgil’s tears.

Virgil doesn’t dare open his eyes until he hears those footsteps retreat all the way across the warehouse and the door opens and closes as the man leaves him alone.

Virgil twists his wrists again, but it only succeeds in turning his hands into a sticky sweltering mess and his shoulder whines in pain again. He grunts through the duct tape hanging his head to his chest.

Dee promised him he’d be okay. Dee didn’t make empty promises. He lied sometimes, like he lied when he called in sick to work that time that Virgil took off and they spent the entire day cuddling and watching conspiracy theories on TV, or that time that Virgil’s baby cousin Ed’s hamster died and Dee had told him it had gone on a perilous journey to defeat a dragon that was too dangerous to take Ed with him, or that time that they had gone for dinner at Virgil’s parents and Dee had told his mother that the potatoes were the best that he had ever had while shoveling it into a napkin under the table.

Dee lied, but he did not make empty promises. 

He promised Virgil he wasn’t going to leave again and then he got a job in office building; he promised Virgil to find that one brand of chocolate Virgil liked even though he had to go to eleven different stores to find it; he promised him that they would leave that business dinner party the second that Virgil got uncomfortable, even if that was only twenty three minutes in; he promised him that one day they were gonna get married on a beach with the sea salt dusting their tuxes as they said “I do”.

So if he said that Virgil is going to be okay, Virgil is going to be okay.

Virgil doesn’t know what to do if he doesn’t cling to that pathetic hope.

A flicker of shadow draws Virgil’s attention, and his head snaps up, preparing to...to...protect himself from whatever he could. Instead his breath stutters to a halt.

The shadow is a figure on the roof, someone who is slim but fit and easily opens the glass pane to lower themselves inside. The shadow is a figure who manages to slip from the catwalks to the warehouse floor in barely a minute.

The shadow is a man who kneels beside Virgil and peered at him behind square glasses, “My name is Logan Ackroyd. I’m here to escort you out of this situation, but first I must know where your captor went.” The shadow is a very real person and Virgil can’t tear his eyes from the yellow bold letters F.B.I. on his jacket. 

“Mr. Storm,” Logan says sternly, like Virgil is back in school and one snarky comment away from getting detention again. “Please quietly look in the direction where your captor went.”

Virgil’s eyes flicker to the far door, his breath noticeably short and reckless and violent. With every inhale he feels like he’s getting less and less oxygen in his body. 

“Prince,” The FBI agent says into a comm, “He’s at the North Entrance.” Then he swiftly moves around Virgil to his hands. Virgil can’t help but flinch at the motion, drawing a nauseating screech of pain from himself.

“Apologies,” Logan says, “I am going to cut you loose. Please refrain from moving unnecessarily. There’s a medical team on standby. I can see your shoulder wound, but are there any other locations that will require immediate attention?”

Virgil lets out another sob, a relieved sob as he shakes his head. Or possibly doesn’t. He doesn’t know if its even noticeable from how the rest of his body is vibrating like all his atoms are slowly pulling him apart.

“I’m going to do a breathing exercise, Mr. Storm. Can you please breathe with me while I count?” Logan says calmly again. Virgil’s head spins at how calm he is when there’s nothing calming about this situation. Still the counting is even and steady, flowing over Virgil like the sound of a timer while he’s working in the kitchen. When he closes his eyes, he can even pretend its Dee counting for him, whispering praises when he manages to hold his breath for that endless seven seconds.

“It’s going to be okay.” Logan says, as he cuts through the zip tie and picks his way under Virgil’s uninjured arm. He peels off the duct tap to make it easier to breathe and Virgil falls against him without meaning to.

He’s breathing. Like Dee told him to do. Just keep breathing.

The next thing he knows there are police and FBI all over the place. There’s a several medics that come rushing to them, who help guide Logan and him outside to a standing ambulance. The noise is loud and quiet at the same time: like a screaming match drowned out by the buzzing in Virgil’s head.

He tries to focus on Dee, what Dee said to him, what Dee has said before: all those times he asked Virgil what new language he should try on Duolingo , all those times Dee tried teaching Virgil new phrases over romantic TV dinners and store bought wine, all those times that Dee idly said how much he loved him in the middle of a conversation with no prompting. 

Just keep breathing. Dee had said.

“Virgil!” 

The voice is a strike of lightning in the swirling madness around him. Virgil hiccups a sob and suddenly Dee is right there in front of him, pushing Logan out of the way to get closer to him.

“Virgil,” Dee says again gently taking his face in both his hands. There are tears in his eyes and his mouth spouts out words like a waterfall, “Virgil, Liebing, Love, Angel, Darling, my Sun, my Soul,--”

Virgil lets out a wail and flings himself into Dee’s arms, completely ignoring the medics and the burning of his shoulder, because this was Dee and Dee was...

Dee was safety. He was everything.

“Its okay,” Dee sobs with one hand in Virgil’s hair and the other warped around his waist holding him as close as they can get.

And Virgil believes him.