#dawn comes back from the dead to complain about something only to disappear again

[dawntheduckrb]

Me to Nissan

[transcendragon]

Here, in the daylight of high noon as we sit across from each other at a cafe, it’s safe to admit. He can only come out when the sun begins to set and will disappear when the sun finishes rising again. 

She stares at me blankly. “Okay, I think I get sneaking off in the middle of the night then, but why does being haunted make you hate pumpkins?” 

It’s an unfortunate time of year to have an intense reaction to pumpkins. October has started and every supermarket has a full display of the orange fruit outside: plump, ripe, and impossible to miss. My girlfriend had watched me destroy an entire display recently, using my full body weight to kick through the thick outer layers of the things. It was actually pretty hard, and I hadn’t gotten very far before a store employee caught me and made me pay for far more than the amount of pumpkins I’d actually destroyed in exchange for not calling the cops. 

My girlfriend had the same bewildered expression watching me then as she does now. I look down at my feet. 

“You remember that old neighbor who used to live across the hall from our apartment?” 

“Sure,” she says. “He’d be hard to forget, complaining about us all the time and pretending it wasn’t because we’re lesbians. Every single time we put up any decorations- wait.” 

“Yeah.” I can see the dawning look of understanding on her face. “He’s dead, but he’s not, well, gone. It turns out he had a heart attack reading that letter I taped to his door about how he needs to leave us alone and, well…” 

“He’s linked to you,” my girlfriend finishes. She has a small business on the same strip mall as a psychic who she often grabs lunch with, so she knows about this stuff. “Why not go to Madame Alanna?” 

Alanna is that very same psychic friend she so often gets lunch with. The psychic could probably solve my problems immediately, except… 

“He’s been paying me off,” I admit. “He’s buried a ton of silver caches around different parks nearby, and every time I do something ridiculous just to entertain him he tells me where one is. It seems like he didn’t tell anyone else. I’m not sure he had anyone else to tell, to be honest. He seems kind of lonely.” 

“You are not feeling sorry for this homophobic ghost.” She shakes her head. “Come on.” 

I give her an apologetic smile and she sighs. I can see the fondness under her frustrated words, the way a smile keeps pulling at her lips. She knows I’m ridiculous, but she loves me. 

“He’s probably going to run out of silver caches at some point!” I say. “Then we can go to Madam Alanna.” 

She pauses. “How much silver have you gotten from him so far?” 

“A thousand dollars worth,” I say. “I pawned it yesterday. But he didn’t want me to tell anyone, he’s here, so when he comes back at sunset you’ll have to pretend you don’t know about him.” 

She looks up at the sky, a long-suffering expression on her face. If she insists I go to Alanna right now, then I will for her peace of mind. But I hope she doesn’t. Rent is high and running a small business is hard, we need the cash. 

She knows that as well as I do. She finally sighs and gives in. 

“Okay, I’ll play along with your pumpkin-hating, homophobic ghost,” she says, “but you are going to buy me extra Halloween decorations. And go to that haunted house with me that you always chicken out on.” 

“But I’m already haunted,” I say. “I have a ghost, why do we need to see more fake ghosts?” 

“Because the fake ghosts aren’t bigots,” she replies. “Anyway, you’re already haunted! You’ll fit right in.” 

She gives me a wicked grin and I sigh. Between her and the ghost, this will be one October to remember. 

"Will you just tell me what your fucking problem is? You're acting crazy, you know that, but you think you can still pretend everything is fine? Spit it out!"

"I'm— I'm being haunted."

[onesunofagun]

I shall now yell about Ingo, please stand by:

Ingo’s transformation from the underappreciated backbone of the ranch to an absolute ruff-wearing cantaloupe of a man is also pretty interesting (if you’re the kind of person who absorbs the Zelda series through your skin like a frog to live).

I’ve bolded the key points for skimmers.

Granted, the manga has it that Ingo just gets brainwashed by Twinrova into being a staunch follower of Ganondorf. That’s not canon, but it’s not informing any of this thinking, either way. 

In the beginning of OoT we meet Talon by waking him up from a nap, and we learn pretty quickly that he’s lazy and often yelled at by his daughter for slacking off like this. Ingo at the ranch confirms again that Talon doesn’t pull his weight around there, and since Malon’s still a child, it’s pretty obvious that Ingo’s settled with the bulk of the work.

Ingo is grumpy, he’s resentful, and he complains a lot. But he does do the work, and you can find him (presumably) in the process of mucking out the stables. 

Let’s examine what he does at the ranch:

Epona really liked that song... Only I could tame that horse... Even Mr. Ingo had a hard time...

Now, Epona is established in game to be a real winner of a horse. She’s fast, she’s smart, she’s got a lovely sorrel coat and white mane that seems to be quite rare or highly prized coloring. The catch is, she is notoriously wild. The only people she tolerates are Malon and Link, due in large part to being soothed by the song Malon’s mother taught her.

Ingo had to really try to crack this horse, which Malon’s observation suggests is unusual. 

Epona is very young when we first see her, so it’s never really revealed if she was caught wild, or bred at the ranch with a very headstrong temperament.

Ingo’s clearly the guy that’s breaking them in, though. The most Talon is doing is... sleeping in with the cuccos. We never see any organisation of the cuccos, in terms of egg collection or poultry farming, but nevertheless, Talon has the much less physical jobs even if he was doing them. His focus seems to be cuccos, deliveries to the castle and book keeping between naps (and to be fair it’s probably a little depression related, given the dead wife).

Malon gives us a cow later on, and she’s got the egg for the crowing cucco that wakes up Talon, so I’d like to assume for simplicity’s sake that even as a kid, Malon was up at dawn most days helping Ingo with the cows and milking them. It’s never really implied that she has amazing skill in dealing with horses, just that Epona has a special connection with her specifically. Other than that, Malon is simply kind and respectful of her animals (though I’ve got no idea how she got that cow to Link’s treehouse and that’s worth investigating). 

Later on, Ingo is also shown to be a competent rider. Enough that he has absolutely no qualms in challenging Link to races for wagers, and was quite confident of his ability to win.

The takeaway is, Ingo is usually VERY GOOD with both caring for and training horses, if not breeding them for the ranch.

That kind of lends to his grumbling, when he is referring to himself as ‘the Great Ingo’ and comparing himself to Talon, who is a ‘bum’. His claim to greatness may not be undeserved, at least in horse circles, and especially if he’s not getting particular credit for it, his bitterness and frustration (alongside envy, exhaustion, and dreams of recognition) would be quite deeply run.

So it seems that his friend and employer is clearly taking some advantage of him, especially after the death of Malon’s mother.

So now, let’s examine his feelings, and how he changes.

The feelings Ingo has about that are pretty textbook for the sort of thing ‘evil takes hold of and twists’, in the Zeldaverse.

Focussing on the game itself, Malon says this as an adult:

Since Ganondorf came, people in the Castle Town have gone, places have been ruined, and monsters are wandering everywhere. Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... Everyone seems to be turning evil...

We do see other characters in Hyrule become influenced by the ‘darkness in their hearts’ as byproduct of Ganondorf’s reign. 

A prominent example of a character who was visibly dissatisfied with their lot, and then notably changes (while praising Ganondorf for what he’d done), is the Castle Guard who is heavily implied to have become the Poe Dealer. Even if by some slim means it’s not the same person, the Poe Dealer does still express that they could not do the work they do without Ganon as King, and that they now benefit from him being in that position and are grateful to him.

The Kakariko Carpenters seem to have given into their fantasies about living among the Gerudo women, and gone out to the Valley and gotten themselves taken prisoner. Following work near the fortress, the team chooses to act on their selfish desires and go for broke, chasing their dreams. They weren’t previously prepared to act upon these fantasies when Link was young, admittedly much milder in their still very prominent obsession, but seven years later, they’re quite happy to risk it all and piss away the stability of their careers (and nearly their lives) at the first opportunity.

Anyway, the trend is, those across Hyrule who are unhappy with their lot before Ganondorf’s coup tend to be ‘corrupted’ by seven years later, and appear to have given in to a twisted version of whatever they most wanted. 

This is noteworthy especially because the language in the game revolves around the Sacred Realm being opened and corrupted, too, by Ganondorf’s unbalanced heart and selfish goals. It is unable to be ‘sealed’ again while Link has the Master Sword. In aLttP, we know there is a mirror like effect to do with the sacred turned dark realm, in which it reflects the hearts of men. 

So it is very reasonable to say, that for OoT in particular, much of this evil influence plaguing the land and preying on the darkness an people’s hearts is a result of the corruption of the Sacred Realm. It is an indirect byproduct of Ganondorf’s acquiring of the Triforce, but not necessarily something he himself does to people on purpose, unlike the brainwashing of Nabooru.

Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... But Dad... He was kicked out of the ranch by Mr. Ingo... If I disobey Mr. Ingo, he will treat the horses so badly...

This explains a lot of the more callous and greedy behaviour that Ingo shows later on, and why it seems to disappear when he is truly humbled by Link. 

Link’s win serves as a reminder of Ingo’s stagnating skill with horses, the very thing that made him feel so deserving of praise and recognition in the first place, in that for everything he now has control of at the ranch, he still cannot control that horse. He has become as much of a bum as Talon ever was, relegating Malon to do all the hard work while Ingo struts around uselessly. He’s even lost his touch with the Horses so much, in his arrogance, that now he has taken up mistreating them and using harsh and abusive methods (according to Malon’s concerns).

The humiliation and shame takes hold, his pride shattering with the loss of Epona-- not only as a valuable asset, but also as the horse he could never truly tame.

The dark feelings he was holding onto are let go of, as he regains a sense of humility, and the corruptive influence upon him dissipates. He even seeks out Talon to bury the hatchet and invite him back to the ranch.

Oh, I have to tell you about Mr. Ingo... He was afraid that the Evil King might find out that Epona had been taken away... It really upset him! But one day, all of a sudden, he went back to being a normal, nice person! Now my dad is coming back...I can't believe it, but peace is returning to this ranch!

But what about his obsession with Ganondorf in particular?

When the coup happened, Ingo watched the King of the Gerudo unwittingly play out a sort of grand parallel to what Ingo felt should happen on the ranch. To Ingo’s perception, I think Ganondorf was representing an ideal version of Ingo himself. 

A man of the desert, where hard work and grit are as second nature to survive the harsh conditions. A man frustrated with the King of Hyrule’s shit, and forced to swear fealty to him despite being a King himself. A man resplendent with wealth, with fine and flashy clothes and plentiful jewelry.

And perhaps the most important note of all, the Gerudo in OoT? 

They’re horse people. 

They love horses. Ganondorf’s horse is reputed to be a purebred Black Gerudo Stallion, which is obviously a specialty breed, that is fully armoured and as flashy as he is. When the Gerudo cut the bridge leading to the valley, the only way in and out is to have a skilled horse jump the gap. 

They also have a huge horseback archery range, and prowess in the sport is an incredible source of respect amongst the Gerudo, and many of the guards possess bladed polearms suitable for mounted use. From this, it can be assumed that during the recent civil war, Gerudo weapons, war tack and military tactics were probably built around mounted cavalry archers foremost, with a lesser focus on light and heavy cavalry aside (iron knuckle armour springs to mind).

Anyway, Horses are very important to the Gerudo in the era of Ocarina of Time.

So Ganondorf is also unique in the sense that he is the King of a people who value what it is that Ingo does very highly. He, of all people, stands to immediately recognise the knowledge and skill that Ingo possesses in rearing horses.

So this is a man who successfully stages a coup of Hyrule, who clearly inspires Ingo to do much the same of the ranch, and who Ingo also feels is very likely to take his side should he appeal the matter.

And Ganondorf does.

And if that’s not a great compliment to Ingo’s actual skill, I don’t know what is, because Ganondorf is not a man that suffers fools. He’s got a limited patience when it comes to shit that is beneath his notice. Clearly, he recognises that Ingo is indeed the backbone of that ranch-- and the main reason for the quality of its Horses-- and rewards this accordingly.

And for Ingo, being on decent terms with the big scary goth King is a very, very good place to be. But it’s more than that!

What a guy! Not only did he deliver on Ingo’s long due validation, he gave Ingo everything he’d ever dreamed of having to his name, and the authority to kick Talon to the curb. He gets it! Ganondorf, this great eight foot beacon of freshly sought divine power and topaz-encrusted glory, this absolute unit of a man, this great underdog horse-lover after Ingo’s own heart; he really understands how great Ingo is. Ganondorf is paving the way for people like them! Oh, to rub shoulders wiht such greatness when the rest of Hyrule is scorned. 

Ingo feels seen. The Great Ganondorf made all that thankless time spent shovelling horse shit while Talon slept mean something. The Gerudo appreciate Ingo’s talents.

And all Ingo has to do is keep turning out really good horses, and promise to present the King with his finest.

So Ingo knows he’s in deep shit when he gets cocky and loses Epona to a wager, who at this point, he’s prepared pretty well and sunk a lot of money into on the idea that she’s going to Ganondorf. 

Who he’s probably bragged to about how fast she is.

He lost her to some jerk in tights who’d barely ridden before, too. And then when Ingo tried to cheat him out of the win, the kid jumped the damned fence an in ass-bustingly cool move that really just drove home how excellent and rare Epona was.

One does not promise the King of the Gerudo a fast horse and then fail to deliver, let alone for such a stupid reason.

Honestly, by the end, the man’s just happy to be alive.

Also I’d like to think he and Talon had a much fairer delegation of work and forgave each other, each really learning to appreciate what they have and what’s really important.

how the fuck did the Kokiri leave the forest for this scene anyway, they don’t even have their faries???

[fanmoose12]

Sorry if angsty prompt hehe

Levi's last letter to Hange after death?

🙏🙏🙏

"I've heard... that it helps people, you know, makes it easier to deal with the loss," Onyankopon shifts his weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable with the topic at hand, but at the same earnestly trying to help him.

Levi appreaciates it, Levi appreciates Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco, even if he shows it only on rare occasions. But it was always a fault of his, a fault that only person didn't care about, person who is now... gone.

Levi doesn't believe that something as trivial as writing a letter would help him get over Hange's death. He doesn't believe that anything in the world would help him to move on from this loss. And how can he move on? When Hange was the one who took his heart.

"If it doesn't help," Onyankopon continues, putting writing utensils on the desk before him. "Maybe, it can ease the pain a little. Some people say that writing to their lost loved ones makes them feel like they're actually alive."

That's what convinces Levi to do it. He knows Hange is dead, knows that dead can't come back, but he's an old, grieving man. If writing some letter can make him feel like Hange is actually there with him, he'll write a thousand letters, until his fingers go numb.

Besides, it's not like he has anything better to do, right?

"I'll do it," he tells Onyankopon and rolls closer to the desk, taking a quill in his hand. Writing using his left hand is not as easy, his handwriting is not as neat, but for Hange, he'll do his best.

He waits until Onyankopon leaves the room, before writing the first words.

Dear Hange,

Instantly, he crosses it out. It's too formal, too impersonal, too... normal for the two of them. He crumbles that paper and takes another one. There he writes,

Shitty four-eyes,

There, so much better.

He stops after that, not knowing what to write next. What should he write about? About his everyday life? A lot has happened after Hange died. But all of these events don't seem all that significant to him. Will Hange be of the same opinion?

Hange is dead, he reminds himself. Dead can't have opinions.

Then what should the letter be about? Should he write how much he misses Hange? How most of the nights he wakes up in cold sweat, reliving that fateful day over and over?

Dead don't have feelings, but still, Levi doesn't want to write about that. Even if he knows that Hange won't be able to read his letter, he doesn't want to write about his troubles, about his grief and pain.

What is left then? If he can't write about his feelings and can't write about his routine, then...

Oh. It finally dawns on him.

He can always complain. Hange liked listening to it, after all.

Levi grips the quill tighter and aims the point of it on the paper.

You probably wouldn't believe it, but I'm stuck with children again. I don't know if you remember Gabi, but Falco says he remembers you. They're loud, these brats. And they're in love with each other and watching the two of them awkwardly dance around each other is excruciating. Perhaps, that's my punishment for all the things I've done - I have to be around hormonal teenagers until the day I die. Not the worst fate I've imagined for myself.

But even with two brats that visit my apartment at all times of day, the house is still so fucking quiet. The kids don't yell random curses, they don't sing in the mornings, don't hum while cooking, don't laugh like they've lost their minds, don't pester me with annoying "Levi, Levi, look what I've found", don't taunt me until I snap.

They're nice, these kids. I suppose. But they can't replace you.

The first tear rolls down his nose and onto the paper, staining it, but Levi doesn't stop. He doesn't even notice that he's crying, too focused on the letter and the thoughts in his head.

You would laugh at me, four-eyes, you always liked doing that, but sometimes I forget that you're not with me. I can't understand the reason for it - perhaps, I'm already going crazy, or, perhaps, you've been annoying me for so long that now I simply can't get you out of my head, but there are times when Gabi says something stupid and idealistic, I turn my head to the right, a joke already on my lips. And sometimes, when Falco does something ridiculous, I subconsciously search for your eyes, so I could exchange an amused look with you. I realize what I'm doing only a moment later.

It's annoying, you know? I can't get away from you even after your death. You're not here anymore, but I guess... I guess you're still in my heart.

I don't know when you will leave it, honestly, I don't think you ever will.

But that's exactly what I meant, didn't I? When I told you to devote your heart. You devoted your heart to the bright future, to the survival of humatiny. And I devoted my heart to you.

You're dead, but my heart is still beating, although sometimes it feels like every heartbeat brings me only more pain. I wonder when will this pain end? Will it end at all? Will it end when I see you again? When our hearts reunite and start beating in unison once again?

If so, I hope you're waiting for me, Hange. Personally, I can't wait to see you again.

His letters came out uneven, the paper was wet with tears, and the deep longing inside, the constant heartache don't disappear, but... Levi feels lighter. Levi feels like... he has talked with a friend, like he has talked with Hange.

Onyankopon was right, it seems. Perhaps, he should thank him.

Levi puts the quill down, setting it neatly aside. He wants to leave the desk, but as his eye swipes over the letter, it feels incomplete.

He grabs the quill again and writes down a few more words. He looks over the letter again, squinting as he rereads it. Now, it is finished. Now, he is satisfied.

Say hi to everyone for me.

Forever yours,

Short clean freak.

[ulanulanulan]

you offer almond tofu to xiao!! and you solve a case together like cool detectives~ part 2

i'm not even going to explain how long this had turned into.. it just did

utc so much plot and talking. fluff and a little bit of angst bc this is xiao we're talking abt

part 1

wangshu inn - kitchen

you weren't sure why xiao had brought you in the kitchen. was he that hungry? you asked yourself, still holding the plate of almond tofu. perhaps adepti need nourishment before protecting their lands, or doing anything at all.

you wanted to ask him about it, but stopped yourself. you didn't want to make him angry again, not when he could just disappear in a poof and never to be seen. you needed his cooperation, however difficult he could be.

xiao was looking for something, you guessed, as he walked around the kitchen. thankfully, smiley yanxiao wasn't around to see you there or else he might do more than point a knife at you. you didn't want the adeptus to see that.

"there you are," said xiao, talking to someone.

when you turned your head, there was no one.

he bent on one knee, seemingly speaking to someone invisible at child's height. what was even more surprising was that his voice was gentle, unlike the grudging tone he used to you.

"have you seen anybody suspicious near the rooms earlier?" he asked.

had he gone mad, you wondered, as xiao nodded and gestured to the invisible figure in front of him. had almond tofu been a crucial element in keeping an adeptus' sanity?

you began to look around, wondering if you could use the kitchen to make another dish when you heard the adeptus said:

"they joined the crowd afterwards," he said, placing a hand under his chin. "i see."

xiao's voice was so low that you felt like you were prying into a secret. this was must he have meant about having uncomfortable methods and somehow, you couldn't look away. he interviewed the air with steady precision that it was actually quite impressive, if it wasn't... air.

when he finished, he stood up and started to walk away. you followed him quickly, curiously looking back at the kitchen.

---

wangshu inn - third floor balcony

the two of you were back in the balcony. the sky had gone dimmer as time went by, and looking down, a bunch of millelith were guarding the meteorite that had fallen earlier.

the incident caused more victims because another line of stretchers started to arrive, carrying more unconscious people. you recognized the scholar complaining earlier, his sleeping body now being carried by two volunteers.

you could sense that a storm was coming.

"your thief was one of your pesky treasure hoarders, it seems. the rooms were entered at dawn, during the hours when everyone went outside to watch the meteor shower.

"as expected, he took advantage of the situation, entering unlocked rooms to steal valuables. when he was finished, he hid himself with your volunteers, pretending to be of aid."

you were starting to remember that. you had been part of the crowd that hurried to the balcony to watch the sudden arrival of meteors in teyvat.

nobody knew it would turn into an onslaught. the sight-seeing marvel quickly turned into a nightmare as shards from miles away began to fall from the sky as well. those who were hit lost their unconsciousness. others who touched the shards just fell to the ground without much of a sound. everybody thought people were suddenly dropping dead, and it caused a lot of panic.

it seemed like the end of the world then.

you had helped with carrying the sleeping victims to a safe place all morning. it didn't cross your mind to go back to your room to check your locks. a couple of guests had helped as well, likely to have forgotten about their unlocked rooms during the confusion.

you looked at xiao, questions at the back of your throat.

he stared at you. "you can speak, mortal. i didn't say that you're not allowed to use your voice. i only requested the bare minimum," he said. "there are things that you must confirm for me, or else this investigation will be futile."

you nodded. "the thief must have hidden the stolen items somewhere inside the inn," you muttered. "he stole quite a number of valuables, i believe, and if he were to pretend helping out as a volunteer, he couldn't have possibly kept them with him. he would have been caught red-handed immediately."

xiao nodded, gesturing for you to continue.

you gave him a question. "what makes you sure he was a treasure hoarder?"

"my witness says that she caught a glimpse of a suspicious man near the rooms. he was wearing a treasure hoarder insignia with a drawing of a glazed lily as a tattoo on his ankle," he replied.

you nodded. “that's incredibly helpful information but," you said, frowning. "it would be quite difficult to check people who have a tattoo of a treasure hoarder insignia and a lily on their skin. he would have hidden it if he wanted to blend in with a crowd."

more so, you couldn't just go around lifting people's pants to check.

xiao crossed his arm. "it is unfortunate that my witness did not get a good look on his face, which would have been very helpful. she had been busy trying to calm down the cat and so.." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"it does not matter. this human's face remains to be seen. she had only seen him leaving the rooms in a hurry."

"he wasn't carrying anything when he went out?"

"no, it appears he had not, atleast, my witness thinks so. "

"does your.. witness know which room he went last?" you asked.

"no," he said. "she did not pay any attention to those details."

you looked at xiao, fixing him with a serious gaze. "is it possible i can speak to your witness?" you asked, trying to not sound like he was insane. you did not want to offend him again.

"your soul is blind to the spirits, human. not an ounce of you can detect misaligned forces, so i'm afraid you will not be able to contact her no matter what you do."

"i see," not seeing at all.

"you try to pretend this does not bother you, but i can see the questions in your eyes the moment i spoke in that kitchen. what you did not see is a spirit, mortal. one of a child's if you desire to pry further," he explained, in a tone that said that he didn't want you prying any further.

you were good at that, not minding people's secrets. so, you merely nodded and asked nothing else.

"i understand. thank you very much, xiao," you said, genuinely happy for his help. "perhaps one day, my offering would be good enough for you. you really helped me a lot." you looked him in the eye, smiling.

he only looked dowm, staring at your hand. he seemed to be in deep contemplation for a moment, before taking your plate.

"ah, wait," you said, but before you could stop him, he had eaten a slice of your dish already.

it crunched under his teeth. almond tofu wasn't suppose to do that.

you watched as he chewed carefully, then he swallowed.

"mortal," he said, after a long beat. his eyes were closed so you couldn't really read his reaction.

"was it good?" you asked, your heart beating so fast. has adepti perished people who served them burnt offerings of their favorite dish?

weren't offerings always served burnt? you wondered.

will he accept that as a reason to not throw you off the balcony?

"this is actual tofu," he said, opening his eyes.

you blinked. "oh."

oh.

---

wangshu inn - front desk

"you think a guest was the thief?" exclaimed huai'an. "and he's still inside the inn?"

his wife only nodded. "that makes sense. with the meteorite disaster, it would be difficult for him leave the premises after his crime," she said, fingers under her chin. "the place is surrounded by millelith and they have received a list of my guests' missing things."

verr goldet looked terribly exhausted. small lines had formed on her forehead and her best customer service smile had transformed into a grimace. it rather scared the cat, which has decided to lounge on top of your head for the meantime.

"can i have a copy of this list?"

verr goldet handed you a piece of paper, missing valuables scrawled hastily. there were seven in total, including yours.

"this is.." you started, scanning the page.

"completely inexpensive objects," said verr goldet, as if she had accounted their values already.

your dagger was quite expensive but you didn't tell her that. and your vision was invaluable.

"most of them are toys and trinkets," she said. "yours were the only weapon stolen."

"well, it's a rather nice-looking dagger," you said, though you were beginning to forget what it looked like too. was it somehow connected to how you got your vision?

"we should search the rooms," you said. "it's likely we'll find the missing items inside one of the guests' room."

huai'an said, "actually, we asked the guests if we could investigate their rooms, in case the thief accidentally left something that could help us move forward. but they won't let us.

"people are becoming extra cautious too, now that something like this had happened. some even threatened to send a message to their lawyers if we persisted!" he grumbled. "they don't even own the rooms, for archon's sake."

"anyhow, i don't want to cause even more disarray to the situation. it's bad enough that a new meteorite just fell from the sky. everybody's in distress." said verr goldet, slumping her shoulers.

"i haven't really got the time to ask all the guests proper questions. some of them had fallen into a coma, and most of the rooms are now used as relief stations. some of the guests wanted to leave, but the millelith won't allow it for their safety.

"i want this to be handled quietly as much as possible. as you could see, too much is happening at the same time and i'm nearly at my wit's end trying to keep the peace," said verr goldet, running a hand through her hair. her husband rubbed her back.

"perhaps you can handle this for me, adventurer? i promise to compensate you generously. ask questions, see what you can find. do it as silently as possible. no big scenes, i have enough of those."

you nodded. "yes, boss." mora was mora and you needed to see through the end of this yourself.

verr goldet pressed her hands on the table. the conversation was over. for now.

as you pried the cat off your head, she turned an eye on you and said, "are you planning to work with xiao for the next few days?"

"well, i may need his help, i believe. i hope he could accompany me to visit some, uh, people tomorrow. he said he wouldn't, but i think i'll try asking him again later."

a stunned expression crossed to the lady's face. "you asked him that?"

"well, i think he's curious about the entire ordeal. he just doesn't want to admit it. and i need all the help that i can. he has, um, a way with ghosts."

huai'an bellowed. verr goldet stared at you as if you just turned into a slime.

you glared at them, unamused by their strange reactions. meanwhile, the cat settled itself on your shoulder like a rag.

"what?" you asked.

"xiao is just.." verr goldet started.

"difficult?" you continued.

"in a sense. he can be intense but adepti always have that kind of presence, even the meeker ones."

"i think i'm getting used to him," you said, stroking the cat. the worst thing that he did was to disappear on you, which was acceptable, since you just turned his favorite meal into a sacrilege.

"i'm happy you think that way. he may not show it, but he appreciates conversations, even if it's in the most mundane or technical sense. it's not always he gets to talk with anybody, despite already living for millennia," said verr goldet, smiling warmly.

she was genuinely fond of the adeptus, you could see it in the way her eyes twinkled when talking about him.

then her expression turned grave. "still, i want you to be careful, y/n. an adeptus' strength cannot be possibly matched by a human."

"i'm not going to challenge him to a duel or anything," you said, scoffing.

"no. you won't," replied verr goldet sternly. "but as i said earlier, i don't want big scenes. xiao is often the center of such.

"if you do find yourself in a middle of a battle with xiao on one side,

"run."

---

wangshu inn - third floor balcony

xiao told himself that human affairs should be of no interest to him. the best he could do for mortals was to leave them alone. he was too dangerous and unstable, and humans are too weak and fragile.

and yet, here you were, almond tofu on one hand, and the wangshu cat, wei, on the other. you could not be possibly offering the inn's cat to him, or were you?

"i'm sorry about earlier," you said, calling out to the night. he watched you place the plate on the ledge.

"the chef did this for you. the proper almond tofu," you said, a small blush on your face. he found himself staring at it, at the redness on your cheeks. "i'd like to thank you again for your help earlier. and for saving me too when i fell."

he glanced at the hole on your clothes, the wound on your waist bright red. you still haven't healed yourself up. foolishness.

"uh, if it's okay with you, i'd like to ask for your help again tomorrow," you said, hugging the cat close to you. it slipped away and began climbing your face.

"ow," you said, as a drop of blood slid to the side of your head. the cat had scratched you, and a part of you had turned red once more. it reminded him of the silk flowers scattered around the inn.

xiao had always been curious about how humans bled, how easy it was for them to get hurt, how red blood could be unlike the shadows he hunted in the night, all dark and, at times, colorless. life eaten away by impurity, their colors lost.

you were so alive, he thought, somewhat mesmerized by this mundane, common fact. you were human.

"let's work together," you said, your expression stern. "let's find the things people have lost."

and then you left. and wei the cat stayed.

when he appeared from the shadows, the cat jumped next to him and began to purr. he rubbed the soft skin under its neck and he eas rewarded with a happy meow.

as he ate the dish you had brought, he wondered, for a brief moment, if it was possible for him to still find the things that he had lost,

then quickly shook the thought,

for he deserved none of it at all,

not a tiny bit.

---

wangshu inn - sleeping quarters

when you woke up, it was already the middle of the day.

you glanced at your pocket watch, wondering if it was broken. even when you were dead tired, you always woke up early. it was part of your body clock for adventurers always need to catch the daylight.

strange.

you remembered sleeping restlessly, of your vision shining bright and the cold it brought with it. you hated the cold, but you also longed for it, because warmth often came next, like an embrace after the tears.

you remembered a song, warmth, and a smile, how it made your heart beat uncontrollably fast.

you remembered love, your eyes widening at the memory. you pressed your palms harder against your heart, as if you could catch the feeling with your hands.

you didn't want to lose it again. you hope you did not have to forget it again.

you had been inlove, you thought, and it made you inexplicably, wonderfully, and terribly happy.

part 3 is up here

[shurisneakers]

shut in [8]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, death, implied ptsd, injuries, guns, anxiety

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: oh my god oh my god sam stans how are we feeling djkghdfjkhgdf. no thoughts only sam wilson in ep1 of tfatws <333

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Hey, I’m just going to step out for today.” You looked up from the doodle you were making on the corner of the paper. “Catch you later? Just find me if you need anything.”

“You okay?” You automatically sat up straighter, blanket creasing under you. Something was amiss in his body language.

“Yeah, just-” He seemed like he was struggling for words. “-Brooklyn.”

You didn’t get what he was making a reference to until it suddenly dawned on you.

It was the codeword he had suggested right at the beginning of your time in the house. If he was in danger you were sure he’d tell you, at least an inkling of information.

But no, this was for some time alone, further confirmed by the distant look in his eyes.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here if you need.”

He gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, turning around and leaving the room.

You were left staring after him, the drawing you were making of the house layout discarded on the bed. You were working on strategies, vantage points- anything that could help in case something went wrong.

Was it because of the dumb ‘moment’ you had shared two days ago? It didn’t seem like it because he hadn’t brought it up at all and God knows you would never. Was it something else that had happened, something you did?

Stop overthinking. He probably just needs a day to himself.

You had spent almost a month in each other’s company and he had never once complained. He had a tendency to be petty about minor inconveniences, like you trying to watch a movie when his favourite segment on the local news channel was going on. He liked the cooking show they hosted.

He had never made it a point to specifically tell you that he needed some time to himself, much less use the word.  

“Get yourself together,” you whispered to yourself, shaking off the nagging feeling you had.

If he had an issue, he would have voiced it. He never shied away from doing that before and you knew he wouldn’t start now.

You forced yourself to think about something else, grabbing the copy of American Gods you had already gone over once before but were subjecting to a reread. Opening the page you had last left it at, you were determined to distract yourself.

Nearly twenty minutes later and exactly zero pages since you had started, you realised that no matter how much you forced yourself to get into it, you went over the same line over and over again, not a single word registering in your head.

“Motherfucker,” you groaned, letting the book fall on your face. You took a long look outside the window, mind drifting.

It was a nice day out. Maybe some sun would help.

You lifted your legs off the bed, taking your book with you to the kitchen. You could get a nice sandwich-- the same as the last three fuckin’ weeks but you digressed-- a glass of water, and you could sit outside for a while. A mini picnic.

You opened a new packet of sliced bread, taking two out before stopping. You pondered over whether you should make him a sandwich for when he returned, knowing that he didn’t eat lunch before he left.

You thought about it for a good minute before rolling your eyes, pulling out two additional slices to make him one as well. It was just a sandwich. It wasn’t a big deal.

Tucking your book under your arm, you carried your lunch and a glass of water to the patio around the back.

The wind rustled the leaves and the sun wasn’t harsh. The low buzz of insects was the only sound that kept you company.

The air was crisp and you instantly felt better than you had all day in the room.

Setting your stuff down on the bench, you sat down, inhaling deeply.

The book suddenly didn’t seem so impossible to complete as you tried once more, slipping into the pages easily. Even after you finished your food, you continued to lounge about there, too engrossed and content to move.

You didn’t notice the afternoon go by, evening coming and going just as swiftly. You swatted at the occasional fly but nothing else bothered you.

It felt like summer break. At least what you thought it would feel like. You never had one, being homeschooled about things from various people in the organization. There wasn’t a singular, long break. You were just forced to adapt.

You didn't know how to deal with the suffocating realisation of knowing there were so many things you missed out on. It grew the longer you spent time away. You just shoved it away, forcing yourself to deal with it another day.

He comes back when the sky is slipping into shades of orange, a backpack on his shoulder. There was a patch of sweat around his neck and his head was hung low as he walked.

“Hey,” you hoped it didn't look like you were waiting for him. It could easily be taken as you camping out there, waiting for your husband to return from a hard day in the fields.

Sam looked up at your greeting. You noted that the bruise on his nose was starting to change colour but the swelling had reduced from how bad it used to be.

“Left you a sandwich on the counter if you’re hungry,” you added. He nodded in acknowledgement, making his way up the stairs and into the house without another word.

You let out an exhale, feeling a little better knowing that he was at least back in one piece. No reason to believe otherwise other than the anxiety you had developed over imagining the worst case scenarios.

You picked up your book again, intending to finish off the last bit before you went back inside for the day.

About half an hour later Sam re-emerged from the house, your attention snapping to him as the door opened and shut. He had changed into a new pair of clothes, looking a little cleaner like he was fresh outta the shower. He had a sandwich in his hand that he had already taken a few bites out of. You wondered if it was the one you left for him.

You didn’t expect him to take a seat next to you on the bench. He didn’t look at you or open his mouth to talk so you followed suit. You continued reading, or at least tried to, as he just sat there, finishing his sandwich without any kind of other interaction.

There was a strange tension he wasn’t addressing. He instead leaned back, arms crossed behind his neck to support his neck and closed his eyes. His foot tapped against the wooden floor and rather than getting annoyed, you found solace in the repetition.

“They recruited me on this day,” Sam said to no one in particular. His eyes were still closed and his feet still tapped against the ground. “Parents died when I was a kid, I got shifted around orphanages and homes a lot. Finally Ransone had someone pick me up.”

You closed your book softly, setting it down beside you. That’s what was bothering him.

Secret adoption is what they called it officially in the business, but around the organization it was just known as the recruitment process. Every record of Sam being alive would have been destroyed to maintain anonymity.

To the world he just… disappeared.

It was a day that clearly brought with it so much pain. You were too young to remember when you joined, and no one had kept track either. You supposed it was for the good.

It was supposed to be a happy day, one filled with new beginnings. Maybe that’s what he would have thought when he got picked. It’s what you did.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not having anything else to offer. You relieved your memories everyday in your head. Having a morbid anniversary of sorts would no doubt drain the life out of you; remembering one singular day that would trigger the rest of the decisions you made in your life.

He didn’t say anything in return. You turned your attention to the sky, finding it easier to look at that than the disturbed look on his face.

“Do you regret this?” he asked out of the blue.

“All of it,” you replied, without skipping a beat.

“Every single one, huh?” Sam’s one eye opened to peer at you.

“It wasn’t up to me to take someone’s life away.” You were just a child. You knew nothing other than what you were taught; so then why was it so fucking hard to forgive your past self for straying into this. “Even once I realised that I couldn’t leave.”

You didn’t form any relationships while you worked with Ransone. Whoever you did allow yourself to care for ended up dead or worse, sometimes as a cruel lesson to not make friends in the organization you worked in because all they served as were distractions and liabilities. Others were plain scum; people who you knew were using you but you didn’t care. The loneliness hurt worse.

“What about you?”

“I’d give anything to go back and change things,” he admitted. He didn’t have a say either. It didn’t make things easier.

“You regret all of ‘em too?”

“Mostly,” he said. “One of them I don’t.”

“That one must have deserved it then,” you deduced. It was the only logical explanation you could think of; the worst of the worst.

“Nah. I let him go.”

It took a while to register what he said.

“What?” You twisted your body to look at him.

“First mission I ever did.”

His hands were shaking lightly, barely holding on to the gun. This wasn’t what he was taught. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

He had already managed to get his way into the house through the back. His partner had taken care of most of it and Sam only had to knock people out. He hadn’t had to kill anyone yet.

But now his partner was injured outside the door. Quick shot to the leg, a punch in the face and he was out cold. Sam was already in the master bedroom by the time it happened. He had no idea about where his partner was, only the crippling fear of being left alone and the nerves from the threat posed to him if this didn’t go right.

He knew he didn’t have enough time. He had only a few minutes to kill him and get out of there before his family returned.

The man itself was sitting at the study table, his back towards Sam. Just pull the trigger and get out of here. It was deadly silent.

“I know you’re here to kill me,” the man said suddenly. Sam nearly jumped but instead tightened the grip on the gun.

“Stay where you are.” He sounded confident.

“I’m not planning on going anywhere.” His chair swiveled around, letting him face Sam. His hair was white with a beard that matched. He was dressed down in his pajamas, a robe covering him. He didn’t look nervous.

“Stop talking.”

“You’re younger than what I expected,” the man observed, not paying heed to what Sam was in. He was a considerable distance away. “You’re not even legal yet, are you? I got kids, I would know.”

Sam didn’t say a word, only lifted his gun up to align with his forehead. “I said, stop talking.”

“I’ve made mistakes. Several, actually,” he mused, “It’s why your boss sent you here. I’ve accepted my fate.”

“Then it should be easy.”

“Oh, it never is,” the man chuckled. “It doesn’t get lighter. You learn to ignore it but it’ll weigh on you for the rest of your life.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. It would get easier. It had to.

“I doubt that’s what you heard, however,” he continued. “Ransone’s a bit… unstable. It’s in his blood, but you- you don’t look like you could live with it.”

Ransone’s history was well known enough that rival gang leaders knew it too, apparently. The man would have been delighted at his infamous reputation.

Just shoot him. Just shoot him and end this.

“What’s your name?” the man asked, taking a sip from the tumbler he had in his hand. “You’re going to be the last person I talk to. It’d be nice to have a name.”

“Sam,” he whispered, inwardly cursing himself.

“Sam. That’s a strong name,” the man said, clicking the roof of his mouth with his tongue. “Are you sure this is what you want to do, Sam?”

It wasn’t.

“I don’t have a choice.” He hated how defeated he sounded. It was a weakness.

“They want you to believe that. It takes away your freedom. I would know, I’ve used it.” The man smiled, setting down his glass. “I’ll tell you this though, Sam. You always have a choice.”

“Stop talking, man.” Sam pulled the safety off.

“Once you go down this way, there’s no way you can escape. Someone will always have to die; either him or you.”

“That’s not true.” He could leave at any time. He just needed-

“You’ll see for yourself.” The man leaned back on his chair, resigned. “But for now, go ahead. I’ll make it easy for you.”

He simply closed his eyes and sat back.

You waited for Sam to continue.

“Couldn’t do it,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “Son of a bitch got in my head and I knew what he was doing too. Told him to get the fuck out before my partner shot him in the face.”

“Does Ransone know?” You were still reeling from the incident he recounted. You didn't know what else to say.

“Holds it over me every damn day,” he scoffed. “Some fucked up way of saying that I owe him one.”

To be frank, you were surprised Sam was still alive to tell you. Everyone knew that Ransone forgiven the first mistake someone made, but this was huge. If it were anyone else, he would have had someone try out a hundred different ways to push Sam to the brink of death and back; having him begging for the release that death would bring.

“He hasn’t ever cashed in that favour?”

“He did. Had me take out the leader of the Ten Rings after that.”

“So then why did you still continue?”

“I did something extremely dangerous a couple of years ago that he found out about recently. Used that to get me to come for this mission.”

He didn’t elaborate what he meant and you didn’t ask him to. You supposed it was a story for another day. This was heavy enough.

“He wants to get rid of me as much as I want to get away from him, trust me. We’re the weird, toxic relationship those self-help Instagram pages warned you about.” Trust Sam to make a dumb joke during a conversation like this. “Probably the only time someone from the gang let their target go and not died.”

That wasn’t as true as he thought he was but you didn’t want to seem like you were one-upping him. You didn’t want him to think you were making this about you.

“You remember the big break you were talking about?” you tread carefully, gauging his reaction before you continued. “The one that pushed me up the ranks or whatever.”

He gave a small hum of acknowledgement, bringing his hands from behind his head to fold across his chest.

“Similar story, ‘cept Ransone doesn’t know.”

“What?” His eyes shot open. “How?”

“I was so tired of him treating me like a child. Everyone around who joined after me was out there doinghardcore missions and I was stuck with petty shit.” You didn’t know any better. You wished you had. “So he told me if I made it through this one, he’d send me on more.”

This wasn’t your first mission. You had handled hits before, mostly in the shadows, from a distance.

This was different. It was broad daylight, waiting behind a wall near the gated entrance of the house for a car to pull up.

A challenge, Ransone had posed, with strict instructions to do it in broad daylight. If you got out of this undetected, he’d consider sending you on more sophisticated missions.

“Highly stealthy. They’re dangerous,” you were warned. “You won’t know what hit you if you’re caught off your game.”

The low rumble of the car outside the gate alerted you of your target’s arrival. The gates weren’t going to open, the guards were dead.

The car stopped, waiting for the path to open up. When it didn’t the car’s engine slowed to a stop. The man in the driver’s seat got out to open the gate, giving you a clear shot.

You took a deep breath, clenching your eyes shut for a second before taking aim.

The body hit the gravel and you quickly made your way to the car. You could see the woman in the backseat gaping at where the man was standing a few seconds ago. She was struggling against the door, trying to escape.

She finally succeeded, the door opening suddenly as she stumbled over herself trying to get out.

“Stay there,” you commanded. She slowly looked up at you, face white as a sheet.

“Please,” she croaked. “Don’t hurt us.”

“I’m sorry.” You truly were.

Her face changed, dropping the facade immediately. She just looked on in acceptance, not making an effort to move. Manipulative. She almost had you convinced

You held the gun over her, pulling the trigger. A single shot. Her body slumped over.

You stared at her in silence, expressionless. You let out an exhale, tucking the gun back into the waist of your pants, stepping over her body to leave.

A small, staggering breath made you stop in your tracks. It was so slight you barely heard it. You took a step back, trying to trace where it came from.

You ducked your head to peer into the car, your heart stopping. Your hand instinctively reached for your weapon.

“What the-” you muttered, facing a boy who looked only a few years younger than you. He was staring straight ahead, muscles in his jaw tight.

The son wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be abroad, according to the case file. Unless there were two of them you didn’t know about, this boy wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Listen,” you began, but he didn’t look at you. Just stared straight ahead, body trembling. He was scared. He didn’t show it.

“Show no mercy,” Ransone’s voice rang in your head.

“He’s a child,” you murmured to yourself. Your gun felt heavy in your hand.

Show no mercy.

You could only imagine what would be in store for you if you returned to Ransone with some tale of sympathy. This boy was only a few years younger than you. He didn’t have anything to do with this.

Show no mercy.

“Kid,” you called out. He slowly turned his head. “Go on. Get out of here.”

“What?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Leave. You can’t be seen if someone comes back,” you urged. “I won’t be able to help you.”

“You killed my mom,” he jeered, unmoving.

“I’m sorry. I had to.” Your voice was quiet. Your hand clutched at the hood of the car to keep your balance. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Go.”

When he didn’t shift, you slammed the hood of the car, scaring him enough to pull at the door and stagger out of the car.

You turned your back to him, not waiting to see where he was going. The more deniability you had, the better.

“Did he make it?”

“He did,” you divulged the information you had found out a while ago. It was a messy confrontation to say the least but you got out unscathed.

“And Ransone doesn’t know.”

“There’s no record of this kid. He thinks he was at boarding school.” You shrugged. “Wasn’t going to correct him either.”

“If he did find out-” Sam trailed off.

“I’d be dead,” you concluded. “Being his favourite wouldn’t matter.”

“Why was it such a big deal, this mission?”

“She was a part of a major gang that Ransone was losing to.”

Sam just nodded knowingly, looking ahead again. You knew he’d done missions like this as well. Things like this were common so it didn’t need further elaboration.

“This job sucks,” he let out.

You gave a short laugh. That was an understatement.

“I want out. Can’t keep doin’ this for much longer,” he continued, however, to your surprise. “Don’t wanna keep doin’ this.”

You bit your lip, eyebrows knitted in concern. “You will.”

“How?” You hadn’t seen him like this before, this hint of desperation in his tone that left as quickly as it came. “I’ve tried, everything just comes up short.”

“I’ll help you.” You wanted to, God you did.

“You gonna kill him for me?” He looked at you. “‘Cause that’s really the only way out of this.”

If you were pushed to the limit, if he was on his knees in front of you and there was a gun in your hand pointed at him; would you be able to pull the trigger? Would you be able to kill the only constant you’d had for more than half your life?

“I can’t,” you muttered, dejection making its way into your thoughts.

“I know,” Sam said softly, “I wouldn’t ask you to either.”

You took a moment to observe him. The sun did him good. There was a soft glow to his skin, the colours of the sunset dancing in his dark eyes. Laugh lines were becoming more prominent around them, only adding to its charm.

He was a good man. He deserved better.

“I’ll find a way,” you sounded determined, “I promise.”

You didn’t say that very often. Your word didn’t mean a lot to people in the business, but it seemed to, to him.

“Thank you.” He appeared taken aback but didn’t show it in his words.

You simply sent him a smile, a reassurance. You knew what you had to do, just weren’t sure how.

He was right. There wasn’t a way out of it other than the one he proposed, but it wasn’t an option. You had to find another.

You would. You’d figure it out.

“It’s Cinnamon, by the way,” he said without any context.

You looked at him in question.

“My embarrassing nickname.” This was not where you saw the conversation heading but you were delighted all of a sudden. “My ma used to call me that all the damn time. Mortifying.”

“Cinnamon and Buttercup.” You didn’t bother hiding the grin that spread across your face. “World’s best assassins.”

“If that name ever leaves this conversation, I’ll know who to murder.”

“You couldn’t even if you tried,” you said playfully, nudging his shoulder.

He shrugged, face relaxed. “T’was worth a shot.”

An unintentional pun you snickered at. You didn’t tease him any further, just filed the name away as a memory. Maybe you’d use it later.

“Have you ever let anyone go after that?” You didn’t want to keep coming back to this conversation but you liked having someone to relate to.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “Didn’t want to test my luck.”

“Me too.” One had been enough. You lived in fear for so long, waiting for someone to pull the plug and tell him what you’d done. That fear only grew everyday, finding a place at the deepest corner of your mind to fester.

“It’s what I meant when I said Serpentine had a motive to want me dead,” Sam said, piquing your interest once more.

“Huh?”

“The man I was supposed to kill- he was their old head. He disappeared after that and no one heard from him but it pissed off everyone, right from Ransone to their stupid gang’s janitor,” he explained, your eyes going wide with every word. “So the irony is, if we’re right, I might have led us into this situation. They’re looking for revenge.”

“Holy shit,” you uttered under your breath.

“I just assumed he died of old age if someone didn’t get to him first. He looked like he was one birthday away from the grave anyway.”

“How are you still alive, Sam?” you asked in wonder.

“I’d do it again.” He laughed, a deep one from his stomach.

He was reckless, clearly. Happily and unashamedly so. And if you continued to hang out with him after this was over, he’d probably get you killed in some stunt or two.

But maybe you’d deal with that if the time came. 

He leaned back again, this time no creases on his forehead from stress. He looked at peace.

You sat together in silence. You occasionally stole glances at him as the sun set in front of you, a small smile on your face.

You leaned your head on his shoulder tentatively. You could feel him tilt his head to look at you and you prepared to have him ask you to move.

It never came. Instead, he scooted closer to you, letting you rest against him more comfortably. Your heart skipped a beat; barely but surely. 

A realisation quickly hit you, suddenly before consuming you. Your stomach sank.  

“Fuck.”

Next part

[saltpepperbeard]

Ravenous ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Well hello hello again lol! A bit weird, huh? I don’t know why exactly I had a sudden surge of motivation, but quite honestly, I’m not mad at it. While the shot I wrote a few days back was a more original idea of sorts, this one was an “anonymous” suggestion. A rather EYEBROW RAISING SUGGESTION™ if you know what I’m saying ha! But for whatever reason, dialogue and ideas started flowing, and here we are! Just couldn’t help but explore Katniss desiring to Spice Things Up a bit. With that being said shjdkhskdls-

Disclaimer: This fic contains NC-17 related material, but y’all been knew. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO LMAO.

And without further adoooooo...

Ravenous

It’s happening again. Our bedroom seems to rival that of the setting sun, the two dancing and paralleling. Just as the clouds and sky melt into orange, I too, find myself at its mercy. Just as the sun plunges beneath the horizon, so too, do our pelvises atop each other’s. Just as it sets fire to the grasses and trees as it plummets from sight, so too, do our roaming mouths and hands against each other’s bodies.

And just as the sunset is habitual, expected, so is the explosion within. It’s like clockwork. It’s like the mighty star’s journey across the sky. A soft, inviting, and consistent brightness is maintained throughout the day, before utterly exploding into color and passion as ebony surges forth.

The newness and its subsequent excitement must be why it’s so incredibly enticing, so normal in our schedule. To think, I used to be one with the dawn. The coldness, the solitude, and the call for survival...all were my essence. Now though, do I dance and take pleasure in the dusk, flooding with fiery color before all runs dark.

Not that I’m complaining in the slightest. No, I’m a medley of breathy giggles, mewled moans, and messy kisses. The usual, the expected, and the blissful.

So a subsequent shift in the cycle, in the ecstatic repetition, does indeed throw me when it presents.

Losing myself in Peeta each and every night allows my hunger to break free, spilling forth after being locked up for so long. It gnaws, it feasts, and it satisfies, before settling back to a hush, properly quenched. His initial touches, caresses, and kisses do marvels at igniting the starting flames. His following motions and salacious actions work wonders at surging the fire to a roar. And then his sweetness dampens the blaze into finality, into exhausted ashes.

But tonight...Tonight, it’s different. It feels...wrongfully intense.

I am not hungry- I am ravenous. It roars within me as if it’s never been satiated at all. It howls, screams, gnashing for a deeper satisfaction. The area between my legs aches almost painfully so, and the heat surging through my core snarls that it won’t be bested so easily.

Such a sensation almost feels instinctual, animalistic even. And with that notion crossing my mind, an odd picture presents itself within my subconscious. A symbolic representation? Or is it a solution, a suggestion that the deeper confines of my hankering body has pulled up? Either way, it’s bizarre, and subsequently earns a deep blush to my cheeks.

The image of a stag mounting a doe.

It’s something I’ve seen on rare occasion while hunting, a deeply intimate and almost sacred moment birthed from nature’s way. But translating such an intrusive image into our bedroom, into the current situation, and connecting the dots between the symbolism and the craving...

...Oh.

Oh.

My cheeks flush impossibly more so.

What an oddity. Peeta more than satisfies me. He gives me something no one else could possibly come close to offering. He takes me to realms unthinkable, and charts depths once-unexplored. And yet, does my body yearn.

What a foreign desire. I never could have pictured myself in such a position- or...intensely aching for one, rather. With carnal intimacy being so new to me, to the both of us, I never expected my body to erect anything of the sort. But I suppose, the deeper and deeper we traverse in one another, the more and more we’ll unlock. I guess there are still things to be discovered about each other, and complex layers of intimacy waiting to be unlocked...

“...Katniss?”

As if my cheeks couldn’t grow any more fiery.

I must have been quite disconnected, lost in thought and libidinous imagination. My grey eyes rapidly blink to break from the haze, but the desire still careens within. Venturing out from the fog reveals Peeta once more though, his beautiful, bare, handsome form hovering atop me. He too, is flushed, small beads of sweat glistening atop his scarred skin to compliment the fiery sheen within his darkened eyes.

But where there would be normally be a crooked smile, or an agape expression of pleasure, there instead exists confusion, concern.

When our eyes finally meet with clarity, he reaches to softly cup my cheek.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice still husky, breathy, “You alright?”

I cannot help but swallow hard. How the hell am I supposed to vocalize such a thing? Is it too taboo to ask for? The idea of...Peeta...taking me from behind?

I’m a mess, shutting my eyes and turning my face into his hand, as if to hide myself away.

“Hey...” His voice sounds more concerned, and a bit warmer. Some of the huskiness has disappeared too. And subsequently, a spark of desperation alights within me; perhaps because the hunger screeches at me to maintain heat.

“Sweetheart-”

Softening sentiments are cut off by a carnal kiss, my body piloting me to fight the dip. I lace my hands around the back of his head and pull his stunned form closer, breathily moaning through the connection. When I feel his lips begin to part though, when I practically taste the confused question forming on his tongue...

I know I have no choice. I know it’s now or never. And if I could stare the hunger dead on, if I could address its call and dive into vulnerabilities with Peeta before...

Surely I can do this too. Hopefully.

“Peeta?” I quickly interject.

I expect him to remain close, but just as ferocious desire pilots me, so too does compassionate concern steer him. He leans as far back as he can with my hands laced through his hair, staring with those inquisitive, stunning blues.

“...Katniss?”

“I...I...”

Just as the first time we delighted in one another, my throat threatens to lock up from anxiety, from fear of the unknown. Just as before, I find it horribly difficult to vocalize my wants. But in knowing that soft and concerned stare, in understanding the eyes that expectantly wait, and in feeling far fierier than previous times, I find the strength I need to produce a voice.

“...Can we...try something different?”

Nerves drive me to bite my swollen lip, as if Peeta’s going to react poorly or something equivalent. But as truly expected, he blinks the concern away before the tension visibly melts above me.

“Oh! Yeah, uh...sure,” he murmurs, beginning to smile despite lingering bits of confusion still present in his brows, “Is that why you...?”

“Yes...”

“Oh,” he breathes, chuckling softly before leaning back in for another kiss. He nestles close once more, our bare forms pressing and creating small hints of tantalizing friction. Be it the throbbing within, or the very present feeling of his erection between us, I break the kiss with quickened pants.

Unbothered now, and in a better understanding towards my desperation, he moves to kiss and bite at my neck. My hips and eyes both roll, the intense lust leaving me less bothered by the various noises sounding from my throat.

Peeta too, must be quickly getting tugged back; I feel him twitch before he softly grunts into the tender skin of my collar.

“What would you like?” he huskily whispers, topping off the question by tracing my bone with his tongue.

Between nerves and the sensations he’s dizzying me with, I briskly shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it...” I wheeze.

I feel his mouth turn upwards against my skin, and he chuckles before drawing forth artistry, painting his way up my neck and cheeks with brushing lips.

“Alright...” he says thickly, and I think I can feel him quivering slightly, “Show me then?”

I tense, but catching his stare grounds me. Beyond the drippings of ebony lust and fiery coals, I can see that beautiful understanding, that adoration with zero judgement. It’s what drove me to explore initially, and thus, does it fuel me once more.

My hands come to rest upon his muscular chest, quivering ever so slightly as I give a gesturing push. He follows my direction without hesitation, moving until we’re both sitting up on the bed. Another bout of hesitance grips me, but upon seeing the sight of him, heavily engorged and nearly flush against his stomach, I break through once again.

My stare manages to break to a necessity then, gazing upon his amputated leg with another bite of my lip.

“Your prosthetic...”

I can see his breath catch, watching his chest heave as I momentarily avoid his stare.

“...I need it?” he whispers.

I can only nod, and he thankfully doesn’t press, scurrying off to retrieve and reattach it. I’m piloted once more; my body seizes the opportunity to get into position while he’s not looking. Though my heart pounds something terrible, though trembles alight in my limbs, I roll onto my hands and knees, poised and ready for what I crave.

Peeta’s to my backside now, so I cannot see his reaction to what I’m offering. I can certainly hear it though, as well as almost feel it, the room seemingly spiking in temperature the moment he notices.

“O-oh...”

I tremble in both deep anticipation and tension, still unable to look at him. There’s a bit of pause though, and right when I think I’ve made a mistake, I feel the bed shift with the re-introduction of his weight. My thighs clench something terrible at his presence behind me, and I feel my entire lower half quivering.

Made even worse when Peeta groans my name.

“Katniss...”

The amount of lust is incredible. I could almost rocket myself backwards upon him. It’s wild, and hard to imagine how I wound up in such a position. But through the salaciousness, through the smoke clouding my brain, nerves still manage to peek.

“Is...this okay?” I shakily whisper.

“Yeah...” he breathes, and I nearly run woozy at the sensation of his hands ghosting my curves, “Is this...?”

I almost move beyond my own control, thrusting my hips backward and placing myself into his grasp. It’s his turn to tremble, and he groans yet again.

“God...Katniss...”

I’m his craft once more. His hands grasp me, knead me, squeezing my voluptuous backside as he would when he prepares dough. And just as the touch readies dough for heat, it too, sets me utterly ablaze.

Unbridled moans and mewls sound from my throat at his massage, my legs spreading wider and my back arching further. There’s barely a connection between anxiety and my ravenous core anymore, hunger almost entirely at the helm.

“God...” Peeta moans again, and such a noise pushes me into raw desperation.

“Peeta...” I whimper in a tone so unlike my own, “Peeta...”

We’re on the same plane. He understands immediately. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just as hungry as I am, made raw by the sight before him.

So he quickly rectifies the situation. I feel the bed shift, before he brings a shaky hand to grasp one of my hips. I’m barely breathing, barely able to process with such deep anticipation. His following words almost don’t reach me, what with the beautifully torturous feeling of his head just barely brushing betwixt my folds.

“Okay...I love you, Katniss...”

I somehow wheeze, somehow manage, those words landing when nothing else can.

“I love you too- AH!”

I’m no stranger to the feeling of Peeta sheathing himself deep within me, to holding him snuggly and tightly in a space reserved just for him. We’ve danced in it and dazzled in each other so much lately that it’s, in fact, almost become something of a second nature.

So it’s definitely strange that just a mere change can have electrifying, incredible effects.

The cry from his entrance was utterly unavoidable; he feels deeper and heavier than ever before. I’m stunned at how different it feels, at the intensity behind it. He’s within familiar grounds, and yet it feels entirely new.

I’m dazed, but my hunger is utterly elated. It sings at the feeling, rejoices, driving me to slide myself backwards against him, swallowing him impossibly deeper.

His groan intersects beautifully with mine, the both of us likely relishing in the sensations. When I dare to ease my hips forward again, I feel Peeta’s other hand reach to grasp. With his hold complete, he pulls me back as he thrusts deeply.

And I already find that I’m quickly losing control, everything working to utterly unravel me.

The strokes, so deep and reaching, quickly earn a stream of incoherence from my hanging mouth. I moan and whimper and grunt a plenty, weaving a tapestry of pleasured nothings.

“Mmm...Oh, God...Peeta...”

There’s also something about this that strangely seems to amplify, something that makes it the most different from our previous sessions: I cannot see him. I cannot see the beautiful, wrenched effort on his visage, nor can I steal the moans from his lips. I cannot latch myself to his tender neck, nor can I run my fingers through his ashy locks.

It’s just the sensation of him within me. Nothing more but his powerful drives and our precious connection.

No wonder it’s so raw, so animalistic indeed.

But perhaps, not mutual.

Where I would expect Peeta to take off, to drive with reckless abandon, he instead remains...oddly consistent with his glides. They’re heavenly, and reaching, but unamplified. In fact, instead of speeding up as expected, he seemingly slows within me.

Such a turn, a difference in the usual chain of events, is enough to whip my head around. It’s my turn to furrow with confusion and concern, squinting through the intense mindfog to finally lay eyes upon him.

Which ends up being a blessing and a curse; the sight of him in such a position is almost enough to send me reeling further. Seeing him kneeling, grasping my hips, panting with reddened cheeks, and disappearing deep within...

A shiver runs up the length of my spine, exiting through my mouth as my voice just barely manages to quiver his name.

“...P-Peeta?”

“I...Um...”

It’s like we’ve switched places, what with him being apprehensive and me existing in a realm of thirst and confusion. Just as before, a cock of the brow and a building question is what spurs the opposite party into explanation.

“I’m...It’s going to sound...cheesy, okay? But I uh...It’s...Different I guess, not being able to...look at your face. Or kiss you. Or...”

He shifts himself a bit as he reaches for my face with a hand, effectively sending himself inward at a deep, torturous angle. It drives me strangely mad, my eyes rolling and my throat resonating with a squeak. It feels so foreign, to be reduced to this. And in my state, in my heightened desperation, I find myself blurting without much control.

“-Keep going.”

He freezes then, inside and out, looking upon me with widened blues. Such an expression mildly grounds me, offering a pang of guilt and a subsequent apology to follow.

“Sorry...” I wheeze, “I...I didn’t mean...If...you’re not...”

I’m a mess with my attempts to breathily stammer. But just as further guilt begins to bud, just as I fear I’ve forced him into an uncomfortable place, he gives such an unexpected and strong jerk of his hips that I yelp into the tense space.

When the shock leaves my system, when the static clears my brain, I’m able to see him beginning to smile once more, a bit more lecherous than before.

“Hmm...You know, different...might not be so bad then...”

“But-”

Again, he tortuously cuts me off, giving another strong jerk and sending me careening.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, looking at him with widened eyes, trembling legs, and a stunned soul.

“Because...” he grunts, softly squeezing and kneading my hips, “You like this, don’t you?”

He shifts then, focusing on slowly feeding himself into my depths, effectively earning a low grunt from his throat. A noise that’s quickly overpowered by my own, an open-mouthed moan as I squirm against the mattress, against his lovely torment.

“Peeta...”

“Yeah? You like it? Hmm, love?” 

My eyes flash at his darkened vocals, followed by a bite of my lip to hush the rolling whimper. Something is most definitely in the air tonight. The sun surely exploded in its descent. We’ve never really been so...raw with each other, so driven and demanding.

But it seems neither of us have any qualms. Even my worry towards pressuring Peeta into an unfavorable session seems to back away, what with his ebony murmurs and expressions so evident. We seem to be re-aligning, re-joining each other on the same plane of passion.

Thus, do I desperately nod, at his complete disposal. I slide myself backwards then, easing until I’m practically touching his pelvis, panting and gritting at the extent of penetration.

“I’ve forever to kiss you..." he whispers.

Please...Please please.

I’m hardly with it enough to question the strangeness behind the newfound begging, simply squirming and existing entirely within the desperate space.

“...But not long enough to pleasure you so...”

Thus, miraculously, do any last bits of wall come tumbling down.

And I’m no longer in our bedroom. I’m within droves of ardent fire. I’m traversing the very surface of our sun. I’m in a place so foreign, a state so delightfully insane, where none have ever brought me before.

All from the sudden, strong, and intense reaches of him deep within.

Oh, how I fall apart. How I deliciously unravel. Being so pent up, so oddly starving, the hunger gorges and instantly sets me alight. Just as it screamed before, I too, find myself vocalizing with such strength.

It’s a medley, an absolutely chaotic medley of passion. Beyond my cries and his grunts, I can hear his pelvis slapping against my back side again and again. Beyond the flashes and shivers in my vision, I can see our bed hammering from the force he’s inflicting. Beyond the heat and pounding stream of blood, I can feel him hitting places so new and intense.

And it’s everything. I love him. I adore him. And I cherish the connection we have, the way we can send each other directly into the heavens. I never could have imagined. Even mere months ago, I never could have imagined.

“Gggh...Katniss!”

His deep grunt coupled with the groan of my name is enough to break me from my overwhelmed thoughts; the dig of his fingers into my hips is enough to ground me completely. I cannot escape the ungodly pleasure now. I am present, and at its full mercy.

And when a thrust hits just so, when a piece of my glass cracks and threatens to shatter, it’s no wonder that my arms fall instantly gelatinous. I cry and toss my head back, sending a rolling ebony wave before my front half descends. I desperately grip the blankets, knotting the fabric with begging grunts and whines.

But it only continues to build, and build, and build, impossibly faster and impossibly deeper. Our souls are tangled, so very tangled, dancing and intertwining and refusing to let go. Naturally, I start to ascend, faster than I ever have before. The fire licks its way up my belly, caressing my jiggling breasts and-

...No, that’s his hand, reaching beneath to knead and massage, emboldened and salacious. My eyes roll something terrible, my hips even more so, more and more of the glass chipping away. He’s snarling, almost yelling; I know he’s so close too. But somehow, just as he always has, Peeta dashes through the chaos and holds me above all.

His wandering hand suddenly juts backwards, racing down my body before fingers find their prized destination. There’s a subsequent bolt of electricity at my core, followed by a heave of tension as cracks spiderweb throughout. I’m on the cliff, on the edge, writhing and seeing it shatter before me...

“Peet-”

The final note of his name shifts into that of a divine keen, elongated and reaching as my wings outstretch. I feel like I’ve never flown so high before. It feels as if though I breach the very reaches of our atmosphere, everything whited out and flashing with a dazzling array of color.

Surely I’m screaming. Surely I’m crying out with such forceful contractions wracking my system. But I can barely breathe, barely process. There’s nothing but this. Nothing but him.

Him- somewhere below, I can hear his desperate groans. He too, yelps like he’s attempting to hold on to the Earth, to stop such a rapid ascent into space. But with a distant, cracking yell, and with another push that drives me even higher, I welcome him into my flying embrace.

I hold onto him so tightly. I fly and dance and marvel in the closeness, in the connection we share. I soar hand in hand, his softness rivaling that of the cloud we pass. Before eventually, inevitability, we must return to a realm more frequented.

I land hard. My form essentially evaporates upon impact. The moment Peeta breaks our connection, the moment he releases my hips, I fall into a heap atop the blankets. It’s no surprise that I’m shivering, nor that I’m weeping, overwhelmed to the warmest, highest degree. I remain on my stomach, limbs sprawled every which way, continuing to pant and ride through the occasional aftershocks.

When the sound of my pounding heart departs from my ears, when I become more aware of my surroundings, I can hear Peeta on the bed behind me, heavily panting all the while. Surely he’s sitting back, likely riding the same lingering effects as I. 

But I need him. After almost selfishly delighting in such pleasures, I miss him. So I turn my head against the blankets, attempting to look in his direction as I reach with a hand.

“P-Peeta?”

Unsurprisingly, he understands. In mere seconds, he heaves himself beside me, flopping down atop the mattress. Though I’m utterly exhausted, and akin to jelly, I hoist myself onto my side and into his arms, our bodies as close as possible without the added element of fire.

And there, I snuggle, I caress, I kiss. I make up for the missed touches. He of course, reciprocates, the both of us tiredly offering all the affection we can muster between our shaking breaths. Soon enough, falling back into our usual patterns, we begin to smile. Then breathlessly giggle. Then speak and whisper sweet nothings through our exhausted exchanges.

“Oh...my God...Oh God...” I wheeze into one of our many kisses.

Peeta snickers a bit then, his hands beginning to softly rub circles against my bare back.

“I don’t...I don’t know what happened...what came over me...” I whisper, shying away to nestle my cheek against his.

He laughs more then, somehow managing to tug me even closer.

“Hooo, well...Whatever it was...I’m glad...I’m glad it did...”

I feel myself blushing, somewhat...shocked by the intensity of my actions. And in considering my behavior, in considering how ferocious the hunger was, it unsurprisingly reminds me of the likely sacrifice Peeta had to make in order to appease. I flush even harder, moving to hide my face against his perspiring shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” I murmur against his sweet skin.

“Hun?”

“I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t...”

I of course, struggle through my words, through my explanation. I’ve never been good at saying something. But my love patiently waits, expectantly waits, continuing to softly rub me through the silence. As usual, his understanding anchors me, and I whimper the truth rather sheepishly.

“It just felt so good, Peeta...”

To my relief, he gives a hard, handsome laugh, rattling our tangled forms.

“That’s all I could ever hope for, sweetheart...” he replies with lingering chuckles, pressing his gentle lips to my dampened hair.

I sigh at the tender contact, but continue to push myself.

“Really though...I’m sorry...I didn’t...want to make you uncomfortable...”

“You didn’t.”

When I huff against his shoulder, he softly tugs me backwards, allowing our stares to connect once more.

“You didn’t, love. Clearly.” He chuckles a bit more, before falling back into his earnest tone. “Like I said, it was just...different, that’s all. I marvel in your beauty, you know.” 

When I scowl at him, at the compliment, he grins even wider.

“And yes, I’m used to seeing your face in this. But thankfully, every inch of you happens to be stunning.”

“Peeta...” I groan, feeling my cheeks flush something terrible beneath his onslaught of tender eloquence. Once more, he laughs, before leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

“I just got to address the less...frequented places,” he continues with a smirk, “Which after tonight, won’t stay that way for long, I’m sure.”

I huff, which again, earns another snicker coupled with a kiss. When we break away however, I find myself staring into those sparkling, warm blues. His expression shifts into something more gentle, more awed, surely catching the earnestness behind my stare. My hands reach up to cup his face, stroking my thumbs against his scarred yet softened skin.

“I did miss this, you know...” I whisper, topping my words off with a kiss to his nose.

“Well, I did say we have forever,” he replies with a growing, crooked grin.

“That’s not long enough for this either...”

I pull him into perhaps the softest, tenderest kiss of the night, one more fitting for the day than the dusk. It’s one I pour all my adoration into, of course having to verbally proclaim it all the same.

“I love you so much...” I murmur against his lips.

Once more, the connection breaks from the strength of his smile, delightfully warming body and soul before the sentiments are returned.

“And I love you...”

There we remain for numerous comfortable beats, continuing to lazily kiss and caress until the last of the sunlight disappears from the night sky. I find myself contemplating what lead to such an explosion, what lead to my desire firing off to such an extreme degree. Of course Peeta would be on the same wavelength, though the grinning question that breaks the silence gets me laughing and shoving his chest.

“You don’t...happen to have further tricks up your sleeve, do you?”

[sailorshadzter]

in morning light.

"I love you," are the words which he breathes against her skin, warm and true, soft but strong. His hands follow close behind, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they caress even the soft, ivory skin of her thighs, of her hips, of her breasts. Jon's hands spread across her, leaving fire in the wake of his touch, rendering her breathless, speechless. "I'll love you forever...." his whisper is at her ear, in her hair, all while his hands trail the length of her spine. His touch fuels her in a way in which she's never felt before, in a way she never wants to let go of again. "Sansa..." Even just the way he says her name is enough to make her heart flutter, the warmth that fills her up threatening to overflow.

For a moment, she must pause, hands to his cheeks, his little bit of beard rough against her palms. His eyes are bright in the light of the hearth, the glow casting him into a golden haze. "This is real?" She has to ask, just to be certain, fearful for a single moment that she might wake to find this has been just a dream. A wonderful dream, but a dream all the same.

"Aye... It's real," he says with a grin, his own hands sliding into place over hers. "I've dreamed of this night while I've been away," he goes on to admit, sobering slightly, those Stark gray eyes serious once more. "It was the only thing that kept me going." He thinks back to all those long, sleepless night away from her, the one thing pushing him on being her. Each time he thought he might give in and give up, he would think of her and know he must go on. He had gone to war for her once and surely, he would do it again- in truth, Jon can't think of a single thing he wouldn't do for her. That was the power she held over him, a power he's certain she's not even aware of. "I've missed you," he says for the second time that day, but this time his words are accompanied by a kiss.

Her only response is to kiss him back.

[ x x x ]

Later, as Sansa sleeps peacefully beside him, Jon can't help but to marvel at her beauty.

Her features, long since committed to his memory, are still yet striking. Perhaps even more so in a moment such as this. The long, red hair he's admired since childhood is far more beautiful by the moonlight that spills in through the parted curtains; ivory skin is soft and he was surprised to find the freckles that dotted her cheeks also adorned her shoulders. Tenderly he reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as she sleeps, knowing that if given the chance he would willingly wake up beside her every single morning. But he can't, he knows that, and so he slips from beneath the furs and dresses in the dark. A moment before he goes, Jon returns back to her bed and leans over, just so he might press a kiss to her temple.

Out in the hall, as he steps out from her chamber, he finds himself face to face with Sansa's ever loyal lady knight, Brienne of Tarth. For a moment, they merely stare at one another, until Brienne gives a quick nod, perhaps of understanding, before she slips around him and disappears behind the door he's only just come out from.

It's only a few doors down from Sansa's rooms that he finds his own, dark and cold without a fire burning in the hearth. But it matters not, he's already as warm as he ever could be. Knowing the morning call was not far from sounding, he fumbles until he finds his cloak, draped over the back of a chair, and swings it arounds his shoulders. These furs he's worn since that morning she had presented them to him many months ago, even before their retaking of Winterfell, mean more to him than perhaps any other thing he has ever had before.

And so he smiles, as he always does when he thinks of her.

[ x x x ]

When she wakes, she's alone.

Of course she must be, but it stings despite that knowledge, and she sighs as she pushes back the furs she lays beneath. "My lady," Brienne greets only a moment later, coming into the room with every intention of waking her, as she's slept through the morning call. For a moment, she must stop to take in the sight of her young mistress, with her tousled red hair and wild eyes, wearing a look she's never before worn. "I thought you might sleep all day," she says as Sansa swings her legs over the bed and rises up. Brienne is there in an instant, offering her the robe in which she had earlier that morning draped over the chair nearest the fire, warming it.

Sansa blushes a shade of crimson that could rival even her hair and pushes past her sworn shield, choosing to instead sit herself at her mirror, picking up her brush so she might begin to brush out her hair. Brienne shakes her head, but chuckles as she reaches down to pick up the long since discarded nightgown on the floor beside the bed. "Do you not find it to be wrong?" Sansa's voice breaks into her thoughts and Brienne turns back, only to find the young woman as set aside both brush and blush, blue eyes focused in earnest on the only other person she trusts in this world besides Jon. "Do you not..." She cannot finish the words, instead she turns away, suddenly unable to face Brienne. "Do you not find it shameful...?"

The only sound that comes is the heavy footsteps of Brienne crossing the room, all so she might sink to the floor and level herself to the girl she's pledged her life to. "Lady Sansa, there is nothing you could do that I would find shameful," Brienne speaks softly, urgently, her tone forcing Sansa to turn back to face her. Their eyes meet and as always, they understand one another, and Sansa can't help but to smile. "So long as you are safe and you're happy, then so am I."

It takes only a moment before Sansa has thrown her arms around her knight's neck, embracing her in a way she's never done before. Now, it is Brienne's turn to blush, her lips curving with a smile of her own as she returns the embrace.

When she's alone a short while later, dressed and hair twisted in braids, Sansa can only wonder as to how she's become so very lucky.

[ x x x ]

"In the crypts... You'll be safest down there."

His voice is a whisp of smoke, so soft that she thinks for a moment she must have only imagined his words. But then his hands are gripping hers, his Stark colored eyes wild and frantic as he speaks her name, bringing her back. "I have to go," he says, leaning in so he might tilt his forehead against hers, their hands clasped between them. "I love you, Sansa," he whispers and she closes her eyes, a single tear streaking the curve of her cheek. "When I come back..." He doesn't get to finish, for they both hear the sounds of approaching footsteps, and it's just as he finally lets her go that the door to her chamber swings open without ceremony.

It's Arya, who stops for only a moment to glance from older brother to sister, noticing at once the energy that fills the room. "They're waiting for you," she says slowly, focusing her own gray eyes closely upon the pair, noting Sansa's teary eyes and Jon's twitching hands. "Brienne will be here soon to escort you to the crypts," Arya says, rather than what she wants to say, and steps forward to press a small blade into her sister's hand. When Sansa opens her mouth to voice her concern, Arya shakes her head and smiles. "Stick 'em with the pointy end," she repeats the words that Jon had spoken to her so very long ago. Jon smiles. "Well let's go." Arya raises a hand and gestures for Jon to follow behind her.

She turns just as the door falls closed, only to see Jon holding onto Sansa as if she were the one thing anchoring him to the earth. And so she chuckles, hoping that when the run rises next, Jon and Sansa might finally get their chance at happiness.

[ x x x ]

When the door to the crypts opens and the glimmer of dawn spills in, she knows it's over.

The hush of death greets them as they tip toe up the cracked, stone steps, leaving behind as much destruction as they find above. A shudder runs the length of her spine as she takes in the horror all around her; the dead and dying litter the grounds, the man nearest to her crying quietly as he whispers the name of the wife he's to leave behind. Something cold twists in her belly and she closes her eyes, as if this is enough, as if this single gesture will make everything else go away.

She opens her eyes and finds it has not worked, for the landscape is still that of a battlefield, ravaged and bloodstained.

But all is not lost, for a moment later she spots not only Arya, but Brienne, traipsing back up the way from the godswood, Arya pushing Bran who from a single glance looks unharmed. Her heart skips a beat and she's rushing forward, throwing her arms around the little sister she's almost lost far too many times. While Arya strains to free herself, complaining of her wounds, Sansa's eyes have already fallen upon another, coming up from beneath the canopy of trees. It's Jon coming now, bruised and battered, but very much alive. "Go..." It's Bran and she turns to look at the younger brother she loves, but barely knows. "Go to him." He urges and something about the way he looks tells her that he knows everything will turn out alright in the end.

And so, before she can stop herself, she's running for him.

She's running like she did that first day back in Castle Black, towards the only sense of hope she's ever felt. When he takes her into his arms, he swings her around, uncaring of all the eyes upon them. Somewhere in the distance, violet eyes watch the scene, but Daenerys' heart is far too wounded to feel the sting. When her feet are back on the ground, Sansa buries her face into the crook of his neck, the feel of his arms around her waist unlike anything she's ever felt before. Someday she would realize that it was love she felt, pure, unyielding love.

He holds her at arm's length now, staring into her smiling face, knowing she shines so brightly because her family still yet lives. That they have won. But Jon must wonder... At what cost? He thinks about how soon, he will have to break her heart with news of Theon, but for now, he can only pull her back into his arms, thankful that he was there to do so, thankful that she was safe. In the distance, the sun continues it's slow ascent over the horizon, casting the snowy world into a quiet, pink haze of morning light.

They had finally made it to morning.

[sketchguk]

lover to lean on; pjm

➳ pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

➳ genre: neighbor AU, flower shop AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 20k

➳ synopsis: for months, you can hear your no face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. you’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course you’re bitterly single. but one day, the apartment is radio silent. and one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. so on valentine’s day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other. 

➳ warnings: explicit language, pining, unrequited love 🤔, accidental voyeurism, unhealthy eating/sleeping habits, praise kink, body worship, nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, penetration, fluffy sex

➳ a/n: oops, I uploaded this later than I expected because the word count really got me. anyways, this fic is inspired by the song call me by keshi x rainlord. go give it a listen! 

Wake up and smell the roses.

That would be a great philosophy for life if you didn’t have to wake up to the sound of sex at 2 in the goddamn morning. 

Perhaps it’s your fault for not checking on the thickness of the drywall prior to moving in, but it wasn’t exactly the first concern that came to mind when touring the flat. Now, it’s more of a personal problem than anything: you being bitter about not having sex while your neighbor and his girlfriend are going at it like rabbits 5 feet away from you. It’s not a very valid complaint to bring up to your landlord. He’d probably tell you to suck it up and get laid. 

And he’s right. 

Besides, it’s not so bad most days. You hardly even notice the sound of running water through the rusty pipelines every morning or the whizzing of the ancient radiator on cold nights. In fact, you welcome it. It’s become part of the rustic building’s old-school, pre-historic charm. 

That, you can get behind. 

But one thing is for sure. You’re never going to learn to appreciate the strangled garble of a morning blowjob in the steamy showers or the banging of the bedpost against the paper thin walls when you’re in desperate need of some beauty sleep, well deep in a state of REM. 

It’s anything but charming. 

The 3 inch thick divider between you and your not-so-considerate neighbor does absolutely nothing to drown out the soft moans and hard grunts. You can hear them loud and clear through the dead of night as if they’re right beside you. 

“My god,” you sigh, rolling around your bed restlessly. Your hand blindly palms at the sheets in search of the pillow that rests beside you, placing it over your face and sandwiching yourself between the cushions. If you can’t kill your neighbor, you might as well suffocate yourself first to avoid incrimination, shamefully persecuted for third degree murder. 

A frustrated groan falls from your lips, but it’s stifled against the buffer. The banging stops almost immediately. 

“Shit,” you hear from the other side. 

Did he come? Is it over? 

You pray, hold your breath, and lie still as if you’re the one caught red-handed. But you’re not a voyeur. At least not on purpose. 

It isn’t your fault for being a light sleeper because the only thing to blame is the flimsy partition your landlord dare considers a wall. If you could have it any other way, you would. This is far from ideal granted that you didn’t even ask for any of this, but it’s far too late to get a refund. 

Lately, you’ve been spending your nights muting out vulgar dirty talk, the occasional squelches, and the obscene skin slapping on skin. Over time, you’ve come to know your neighbor on a much more intimate level than you would have liked despite never seeing him around. Like the fact that he thrives off of edge play and praise kinks. Yeah, it’s probably for the best that his identity is kept a secret otherwise you wouldn’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again with the knowledge that you have stowed away in the crevasses of your brainー knowledge you would prefer to forget. You don’t even know his name, but you’re long past the point of being acquainted with one another, so it would pretty be awkward to ask for it now. All you know is that he’s stuck in his own bubble, too blinded by love and lust to even consider his poor neighbor. 

Most nights, you even make the effort to stumble through your cluttered, moonlit studio apartment in search of your cheap headphones that usually dangle precariously over the edge of your desk. You’ve made a mental note to invest in some earplugs and a more effective set of headphones too. 

Truly, you’re not the type to invade one’s privacy. You have nothing to be sorry about because you respect your neighbor, his girlfriend, and their sexy time. If anything, they should be the ones apologizing for keeping you awake for three consecutive nights. No less on a Tuesday. 

But perhaps the act is already done and you can let bygones be bygones. Maybe he’s already come, and as unfortunate as that may be for his girlfriend, the chances are he's low on stamina tonight. The vivace metronomic thuds against your shared wall would suggest he was going pretty hard at it too. Not that it’s any of your business. You’re happy that your neighbor is so in love, and that he can have sex all day, all night and fall into the comfort of his lover’s arms, unlike you. You’re not bitter. 

Not at all. 

You don’t mean to get invested in his relationship, but it’s just that tonight, he finished rather early as opposed to the hour it usually takes him to climaxー foreplay and edge play and all. You don’t keep track of the time per se. That’d be a little creepy, but it’s hard not to do so when you’re losing out on a precious hour of sleep each night. Especially when you’re stuck in your own overactive imagination, wondering how good his stroke game is and what type of lingerie he’s intoー

“Sorry!”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Then the realization hits you momentarily. 

He’s talking to you. 

They must have heard you groaning through the stupid, thin walls, and therefore, you’re responsible for this very awkward exchange. 

Your grip on the pillow loosens as you lift it over your head. 

“It’s okay!” Your voice cracks with a heightened tone, “Just make sure you use protection!” The cringe settles into the pit of your stomach as soon as you respond. You squeeze your eyes shut and mentally facepalm yourself. You should have left it alone, but your cursed mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. 

The couple whispers to one another, but it’s hushed and hurried. Faint and hard to decipher. Angry, even. The wall must be really selective on what it chooses to mute out which is absolutely perfect when you actually want to know what’s happening on the other side. 

However, moments after, you can still hear the rustle of sheets and the patter of footstepsー two pairs. Even the harsh close of the door and the soft turning of the deadbolt, a resounding click that could be heard if you were to listen close enough. 

Once again, there’s a shuffle of feet that skid across the hardwoodー one pair. A few creaks echo from the aged floorboards. And then there’s a squeak from the bed slat, a heavy mass pressing on the mattress. 

You sit in silence with eyes wide open as you trap air into your lungs in fear of breathing out. Correction, in fear of your neighbor making comments on your rude interruption. If you could pretend that you’re asleep, maybe the problem will disappear into the night. 

But it doesn’t because it never works that way. 

Moonlight filters through the pane glass windows, right between the cracks of your curtain. It illuminates your face and keeps you awake longer than you need to be. You manage to let out the breath you’ve been holding when something else breaks the silence. 

You can hear it faintly. The soft hum of an unfamiliar tune before the soft outbreak of vocals. The song is bitter, but the voice is sweet.

Your neighbor has gotten into the habit of singing whether it be at dawn or dusk, yet you can never complain given his velvety voice. Sometimes it’s accompanied by the strum of an acoustic guitar or the tap of an electronic keyboard. But one thing that never changes is his love for the same old bubble gum pop music that’s rinsed and repeated on the radio. Nothing but love on the brain. Mushy lyrics that bear no meaning to you, and frankly, to anyone who’s painfully single and/or heartbroken. 

You would have expected nothing less from this man though. His taste in music is a given. Most days, you can physically feel his warmth and kindness based on the dulcet timbre of his voice. Although you’ll never care to admit it to him, it helps you fall asleep on nights when you’re drained from work. They’re comforting songs that warm your heart, especially because he’s singing such sincere lyrics about his girlfriend. 

His love for her is pure, and it’s disgustingly cute. 

No matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you’re happy for the lovely couple while internally cringing during their late night endeavors, you’re wondering if you’re subconsciously longing for a relationship just like theirs. 

But you’d be crazy not to dream about that kind of love story. One in which the guy cooks a meal for you at the end of every night, served alongside a hot cup of peppermint tea to help you sleep better. In which he runs a bath for you, flower petals, candles, soap suds, and the whole shebang, only to hop right in behind you. Someone to keep you company while giving you a back massage, working on the hard-to-reach knots that line your shoulder blade after a hard work day. Of course at his own volition, never having to be asked to do so. 

Perhaps you’re more invested in your neighbor’s picture perfect relationship than you thought, knowing all these little, intimate details no one else should know. But once again, the thin wall is to blame. You’re not an eavesdropper. You’re just a hopelessly hopeless romantic who needs to wake up and smell the damn roses. 

Because apparently, not every relationship is as perfect as it seems. 

“Everything okay?” You don’t know why you open your mouth, but you do, and you can’t take it back. He’s long since stopped singing, but the residual silence is louder than the gentle voice that once filled the space. 

He sighs deeply. The frustration is unmistakable, and you regret ever saying anything. 

“Yeah… Just trouble in paradise.” He chuckles dryly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to it. 

The room is quiet again. You debate with yourself, wondering if you should hash it out with him or go to fucking bed knowing that you have a 7 am shift tomorrow. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The kindness of your heart outweighs all else, but you cross your fingers and secretly hope that his answer is no just so you can finally get some shut-eye. 

“Uhm… I wouldn’t want to bother you.” His voice wavers. He sounds tired, but maybe it’s the exhaustion from navigating the rocky waters of a relationship. You’ve been there before. 

Everyone’s been there before. 

Your eyes are closed, and just when you think you can go back to bed, your mind and heart betray you. 

“I wouldn’t be bothered,” you tell him, “I’m already awake too.” 

His chest rumbles with a true chuckle this time. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m probably gonna invest in some ear plugs tomorrow,” you quip, waving it off. 

“You really don’t have to,” he deadpans. There’s a pregnant pause, and you’re left confused. He continues with a shaky breath, “I’m not sure we’ll be back together after this.” 

Now you’re even more confused. Were they not just ravaging one another moments ago? 

“Valentine's Day is coming up next Friday…” you muse. “You could still win her back, you know?” 

The radiator whirs in the background. It’s silent. 

“Do you love her?” You query, thumbing the pilled edges of your blanket. 

“That’s a loaded question.” 

Now it’s your turn to stay silent. 

“I think I do,” he starts. His voice is rough. “Love her— I mean.” He falters in uncertainty. “Sorry, I’ve never admitted it to myself before.” 

“That’s okay.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but the situation is totally out of your hands. You don’t even know the full picture, yet it somehow feels like you’re on the other side of the breakup even though you’re just sitting in the audience, watching, or rather hearing, the drama unfold. 

Your fingers interlock with one another, resting over your chest as you lie flat on your back. The heavy weight of your heart sinks lower into your stomach. Maybe love isn’t real, or maybe it’s not meant for people like you and him. Or is it just some misconstrued concept jumbled up in your brain? Some romanticized notion you’ve only ever dreamed about or seen in movies and read in fanfiction?

You gulp, pondering over how things could possibly go wrong in their seemingly perfect relationship. Well, there are millions of reasons, but maybe you’ve only ever heard the good times roll. Days when they’re frolicking in a meadow of sunshine and nights when they’re singing and dancing and laughing, head over heels in love, and everything is just peachy perfect. Maybe the bad and the dirty have yet to expose itself to you, still hidden behind an extra layer of stucco drywall and eggshell paint coatings. No matter how many times you bitch about them, the innermost part of you is still rooting for the couple you’ve had the displeasure of listening to have sex every night. But it’s always worth it, or so you think, for the sake of them being in a good place. To be undoubtedly quote unquote in love—

“Have you ever been in love?” It surprises you that he’s the one asking instead of the other way around. 

You stare blankly at the ceiling with a racing heart. Biting your lip, you speculate whether or not you should reveal such intimate details about your life to a total stranger.

“Nope,” you shake your head. He can’t see you, but you hope that your response is convincing enough. 

“Would you want to?” 

You can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, what kind of question is that?” 

“You’re right, it was stupid.” He chuckles. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you warn him, “You don’t have to.” 

“Sorr—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll personally come over and flick you on the forehead,” you say, reprimanding him. 

His laughter is even sweeter than his voice. “Harsh. But nice? I guess?”

That’s the perfect description for someone who works in the service industry, which unfortunately, you do. 

“It’s for your own good,” you suggest, nodding your head in self indulgent pleasure. Kind of like how avoiding love is for your own good.

The silence quickly settles in, as does the existential dread. Your eyes shift around to the empty apartment before you, and you soon realize that you’re painfully alone.

The radiator goes off again and the clock ticks perpetually. The moment escapes you. 

His voice fills up the room. “Can I ask how you’re doing?” 

The corner of your lips curl up in a fond smile. You exhale a deep sigh, one of contemplation. “I’m okay… Just... learning how to deal with unrequited love.” 

“Harsh,” he echoes back.

“Yeah.” You curl up on your side, sighing and reaching for a pillow to spoon. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

You gnaw on your lip. It’s a bad habit to have. “There’s not much to talk about. It’s just some guy who always walks in at work. We make small talk, flirt a little bit, and then he leaves until the next day.” A highlight reel flashes before you, and you tug on your blanket, nuzzling into the warm fabric that offers you some semblance of comfort against the outside world as you dig your nose into the soft linen. 

“How do you know he doesn’t like you?” 

You shrug to yourself. “It’s just a feeling.”

You think the conversation is over at this point. Moments go by until your ears perk up at the faint sound of his voice. “You should ask him out.”

Your neighbor surely seems to enjoy making a fool out of you. It’s a nice thought to have though. To think that you have the confidence to ask a guy out. The guy you’re crushing on, no less. 

You satiate your neighbor anyways just to entertain the idea a little longer and give him a little push towards his own love story. “Only if you make amends with your girlfriend though.” 

“Girlfriend? Oh— no, she’s not my girlfriend,” he says in defense. 

You’re perplexed. “Wh-? She’s not?”

“No... uh, just friends with benefits,” he confesses with a cough. 

Flashbacks start to go off in your head as you try to connect the dots like some mathematical formula. Is love actually an illusion? Maybe love knows no labels, but a small part of you still wants to believe that they’re wholeheartedly in love and on the verge of marriage or something. But that delusion instantaneously bursts into dust and ashes, confirmed by none other. 

“Hey, I’m kind of tired, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I’ll make it right with her so long you talk to the guy.” He lets out a huff. “Don’t let him miss out on a good thing because of the what ifs.” 

Comfort washes over you at the sound of his advice. In a way, he’s right. Maybe it’s time that you put yourself out there in spite of the possibilities. Even if it’s utterly terrifying. 

“Goodnight,” you mumble back, wrapping your arms securely around the pillow. 

He hears you loud and clear, “Goodnight. Thanks for the talk.” 

He knocks out soon after that, but it’s hard for you to sleep when you’ve got nothing but love on the brain. 

Waking up is hell, especially when you’re running on nothing but 0 hours of sleep and a single cup of black coffee. The only thing that makes the fatigue worth it is the peaceful lull at sunrise and the absence of your noisy neighbor’s daily blowjob. It’s as if some higher power read your mind and decided that you’re worth the divine intervention just for that one fleeting moment of jubilation. 

But just like the law of gravity, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and your contract with the universe calls for some cosmic karma. It’s like you’re being punished because you can never seem to catch a break. 

Work is unusually hectic, but with Valentine’s Day around the corner, it’s expected. If Black Friday is the worst nightmare for every retail worker, one can imagine a florist’s week leading up to Single’s Awareness Day, or much less commonly referred to as “A Shallow, Capitalistic Attempt to Buy Affection Day.” 

Despite owning a flower shop, you still stand firmly against Valentine’s Day and all that it represents. Maybe you’re spiteful because you’re pitifully single and surrounded by lovey dovey mush at every single corner. But as of right now, it has more to do with the extra workload that lies at your feet. 

Not only do you have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to open shop and prepare for the deliveries, but you also have to cut and process flowers, organize dozens of overnight orders, and arrange bouquets for the day’s purchases, all before 9am. The to-do list is endless, and not to mention, the number of calls you’ve picked up in the last hour alone has already backed you up on a number of orders. It’s stressful and incredibly time consuming to say the least. 

By 10am, you’re ready to call it quits, but you constantly remind yourself that this job is your only source of income, and therefore, you have to barrel through with a bright and shining customer service smile on your face. 

At this point, you really wish you did smother yourself with your pillow last night. 

But the only thing that keeps your sanity in tact after the morning rush is the chance to make arrangements for the front display. It’s therapeutic to pick and choose foliage, sprucing them into beautiful pieces of art for passersby to enjoy. You’re grateful for the scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath which is remedial to your burgeoning headache. Even the sight of your favorite carnation is enough to ease the pounding pain against your skull. 

However, making arrangements isn’t all sunshine and flowers despite popular belief. The worst part about it is the heavy lifting. It’s labor intensive to pick up large plants like the full sized leatherleaf fern in the back room, which is now carefully lodged into a concoction of gardening soil, compost, mulch, and active charcoal. But if nobody else is going to do it, you’re going to have to do it alone. 

Lifting the hefty plant isn’t difficult to begin with, but it progressively becomes taxing when you have to carry it to the front of the store. As you emerge from the back door, the bell of the entrance chimes, signifying a customer’s presence.  

You can hear him before you can even see him. 

“Good morning!”

You nearly jolt at the sound of his chipper voice. Of course Jimin had to walk in at the peak moment of you struggling, looking like a disheveled mess with soil accumulated in your hair like a burrowed nest. You just hope and pray that it’s not smeared across your forehead like Simba.

Out of pure embarrassment, you hold the pot higher to hide your burning cheeks behind the plant despite your arms giving out. Would all of your problems disappear if you act like you’re not there? Once again, of course not, because he spots you in an instant, and you’re just not fated to have the good things in life. 

He calls out your name before stopping to place his things down at the table and rushing over to you, “Here, let me help you with that.” 

You have an ironclad grip on that ceramic pot, holding on to it as if it’s life or death. “No, it’s okay, I got it,” you say out of pure, frantic determination. 

“Don’t be silly, let me.” He reaches for the bottom of the earthenware. His hand grazes over yours before you can pull away, shifting the responsibility onto him. 

You offer him a grateful smile that extends your eyes, and he sends one back your way. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks. You can’t even get a word in before he turns on his heels and makes space for you through the narrow aisle. 

Leading the way, you show him the spot you’ve marked for the fern to hopefully reside for the next 24 hours. “Here’s good,” you tell him, pointing to the empty tile. 

Jimin bends down and gently places the plant into its new home. Then he reaches into his messenger bag, pulling out a packet of tissues before gravitating towards the spray bottle.

“I’m a big girl, you know? I could do it myself,” you whine with a slight pout. 

He grips on your right shoulder, and you’re locked in place. “I know, but I want to help,” he says with the utmost care, “And you can ask me for help whenever you need it, you know?” Jimin smiles at you, and his eyes lower into crescent moon shapes, the corners slightly creasing. Before you know it, there’s a cool sensation on your forehead. The tissue in his hand is thoroughly saturated and now damp against your skin. You recoil on contact and reach for Jimin’s wrist, ready to yell at him for the lack of warning. 

“Hey!”

“Stay still, you have soil on you,” he alerts with sharp eyes. 

You let go of his wrist and give in to his kind gesture, murmuring out a “fine”. 

While he concentrates on cleaning you up, you can’t help but look up and lock your eyes on his. You swear you could spontaneously combust and astral project from the intensity of his stare. His close proximity makes you heat up, so you’re forced to avert your eyes elsewhere out of pure intimidation. Your line of sight meets his lips, and you’re stuck in place, staring at them. They’re so pink and plush, and his tongue even pokes out a little like a sleepy kitten with slack jaw. Most of all, they’re right there in front of you, and if you could just lean in a little more, you’d be this closeー

“All clean!” He says with cheer, tapping your shoulder.

He turns around in search of the dustbin, and you shake yourself out of your own daydream before he can catch sight of you. 

You laugh it off and offer him a toothy smile, “If you really want to help, you could have gotten me a cup of coffee.”

“You’re making demands now, huh?” He asks.

“It’s more like a suggestion than anything,” you teasingly yell from the back room, grabbing the remaining flowers for the display. Meanwhile, Jimin lingers behind in the main room, admiring the freshly cut flowers laid out on the counter ready to be made into floral arrangements.

You manage to recompose yourself from that one moment of weakness by taking a glance over at the cute doodles of artwork that line your office wall. They’re little bits of happiness that keep you calm and remind you that there’s light in your life, and he’s standing in the other room waiting for you to pop a very important question. 

Upon grabbing the necessary items, you make your way back into the store. You stop immediately in your tracks, nearly colliding into a solid figure at the sharp turn of the doorway. Your heart almost stops, but you shudder away before you could tip yourself over. 

Jimin stands in front of you with his hand extended out, clenching onto a steaming, white paper cup. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of me and coffee now,” he laughs, reaching out once again, “Only one of us bites.” 

“That’s for me?” You ask incredulously. 

He nods his head, “Yeah, of course, silly.” 

You take the drink from his hands, and before you can thank him, he chimes in. “It’s just how you like it. Black and full of caffeine.” 

You press your lips up against the cup, taking a sip and humming in satisfaction at the drops of heaven. “Thanks, but why? And how’d you know my coffee order? Don’t get me wrong, this is really nice, but…” 

“I saw how dead you looked yesterday,” he justifies cutting you off before you can ramble on. Honest, but harsh. 

You put the cup back on the counter and continue with your task at hand, and he trails behind you. 

“Thanks, that’s what every girl wants to hear,” you banter with all the sarcasm you can muster, pulling at the flower stems despite them already being placed exactly where you want them. 

“Girls like it when guys pay attention to the little details, don’t they?” He asks with a gleam in his irises. 

You look up at him briefly before averting his eyes and wiping clean the leaves on a near fiddle leaf tree, spraying food soil at its roots. 

“Love it,” you gulp wryly. 

Jimin takes note of how seemingly busy you are, so he walks around the shop, examining the new inventory of flowers. After making your round through the store, watering all the plants that need to be watered, you return to the disembodied zinnia on the counter, waiting to be arranged. 

The silence is refreshing until it isn’t. 

“Is the coffee good?” He queries. 

“Huh?” You stop what you’re doing to casually glance his way. His back is turned to you, but he seems overly invested in the rose display. 

“The coffee,” he repeats, back still turned.  

You look at the untouched cup at the edge of the table and smile to yourself. You didn’t notice it before, but there’s a red doodle that contrasts against the white paper cup, no doubt customized by Jimin himself. It’s hard to pick out what it is exactly, but you’d recognize the flowers of God any day. The ruffled petals and thin, straight stem are simply unmistakable. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s good,” you answer politely. 

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?” He asks curiously as if he’s playing a game of 21 questions. It’s a question you’ve answered numerous times before, but facts like these can easily slip through someone’s mind. 

“Easy, carnations,” you respond without any hesitation, pointing at the display in the right corner of the store when he turns around to look at you. He makes his way to the stand, eyeing the flowers. 

“They’re pretty,” he comments, pulling out one of the bouquets to examine as if he didn’t already know. 

You hum, and maybe the exhaustion is evident in your voice and your oddly scarce exchange of pleasantries. 

Jimin carries on with the small talk anyways. “You’ve been sleeping okay?” 

You snip away at the hard, green stems, tossing them into the trash beside you. Shrugging, you mindlessly answer. “Yeah, as much as a florist can during Valentine’s week.” You snicker with good spirit. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest well,” he scolds you all in good faith, eyes now scanning the small assortment of cards. You hum in affirmation. 

If anything, he should be telling that to your noisy neighbor who refuses to let you get a wink of sleep. 

A creak rings through the air as Jimin rotates the card stand, thumbing through the variety. “Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day by the way?” 

You can feel your hands clam up as they stop fiddling with the lemon leaves. Your heartbeat picks up, and you’re left winded by the question. You hide behind the hesitation, nervous as to where this may lead. How could you possibly play it cool when your crush asks you whether or not you’re busy on arguably the most romantic holiday of the year? 

Play it cool because remember, you loathe Valentine’s Day. 

Your hands fumble as you pick up the lemon leaves again, snipping at the branches nonchalantly. “Uh, no, not really, you?” you gulp. Your eyes are distracted, too fixed on the greenery. 

But you look up the moment Jimin approaches the counter with flowers in one hand and a card in another. 

“Oh, who are these for?” you feign innocence in your voice as you reach for the brown kraft paper and the roll of red ribbon. 

Jimin scratches the back of his neck, hesitating. “My girlfriend,” he mumbles, but it’s loud and clear, audible enough for you to apprehend like an echo in you ear.

“I don’t have much planned yet, but we’re probably going to grab dinner on Friday,” he shrugs with hands burrowed in his pockets. He shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, eyes focused on the gray specks of the ceramic tiles beneath him. “Something casual. I’m not really huge on the whole Valentine’s Day thing.” 

It seems like every man in your life paints you like a giant fool destined for humiliation. Of course the hopelessly hopeless romantic within you deluded yourself into believing that some Prince Charming would visit your flower shop in anticipation of seeing you. Of course the flowers that he buys everyday has to go somewhere, you just never expected that each and every morning at the crack of dawn, the flowers you carefully hand-pick and wrap with unconditional love would be sent off to his girlfriend. 

Of course you’re a huge idiot who isn’t destined for love. 

It almost hurts to plaster the tight lipped smile on your face when your heart is prickled with thorns like the roses in your hands. 

You lick your lips and painfully gulp the spit down your dry throat before you open your mouth again.

“Jimin?” 

“Yeah?” 

You pause. “You can’t give these to your girlfriend” 

His eyebrows furrow and his hands run through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“They’re white roses.” 

“So? She likes white flowers.” He doesn’t seem to get the point. 

You almost chuckle in his face, and you would have if your heart didn’t hurt so damn much. So you refrain. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that white flowers are meant for funerals?” 

His cheeks are dusted with a pink blush. He shakes his head no. “Uh, what do you suggest I give her then?” 

You sigh, looking at the hopeless man in front of you. “Do you love her?” Not even a second goes by before you ramble, not very eager to hear the answer. “You could uh- give her that fern you helped me carry earlier.” You walk back to the front display, keeping a safe distance to hide your woe, extending your arms out like a game show host revealing what’s hidden behind door #1. (Hint: it’s your heart). 

“Call it your love fern?” you shrug, laughing it off. 

“I think a bouquet is fine.” Jimin staggers behind you, checking out the other flower displays, opting for door #2. “How about the carnations you mentioned?” He pulls out a bouquet of variegated carnations painted with pink and red tips. “These are nice, don’t you think?” He looks at you curiously with doe eyes in await of your approval. 

Your mouth opens to interject, ready to digress into another lesson on the history of variegated carnations, but you bite your tongue back. 

Jimin spots your reluctance, but quickly puts it to rest. “Look, I don’t think she really cares about the meaning behind the flowers. You said these are your favorite, and you’re the expert right?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice. “Mhmm.” Even your hum cracks. “But uh, maybe the deep red ones would be more appropriate?” You cock your head to the side and quirk your eyebrow. 

“It’s fine, I swear” he reassures you, placing the bouquet on the counter before putting the white roses back in its stand. 

Your feet refuse to move as if they’re cemented to the ground, but Jimin stands there in front of you with rosy eyes, awaiting for you to wrap up the object of his affection in a pretty red bow. So how could you refuse?

You walk past the carnation display on the way to the counter, and pick up another bouquet. Pink and red variegated. “Here, these are a little more fresh. The buds are tighter, so in a few days, you’ll see them nice and big.” You smile, closed lipped. “Just in time for Valentine’s Day.” 

Jimin’s jaw loosens and his lips part. He knits his brow in a frown. “Uh, these aren’t actually meant for Valentine’s Day,” he says, running his hand through his perfectly imperfect raven hair. “She’s kind of mad at me right now,” he gives a mirthless chuckle while playing with his hands, “so I’m hoping I can make it up to her with this.” 

Ah, your favorite flowers are reduced to nothing but a gift of pity.

“She’d be crazy not to accept your apology,” you say in a soft voice, gritting your teeth behind your tense jaw, eyes fixated on the little nursling in your hold. With a soft hand, you unravel the kraft paper and delicately wrap it around the bouquet. The very one you picked up this morning and arranged the hour prior, wondering if you’ll be able to send it off to a loving home. 

Now you know for a fact that it’ll be in good hands. 

“Do you think she’d like it?” Jimin chirps in. 

It feels like your heart is on the threshold of bleeding out as he sends another prickle to the soft organ. Your concentration doesn’t even falter as you snip the ribbon. 

“I know she will.”

You tie the fabric into the prettiest bow you can muster and slide the gift of love across the glass counter. Jimin looks down at the beautifully wrapped flowers with an ear to ear smile on his face. “Thank you so much for the help, I really appreciate it.” 

“Just doing my job,” you remind him with a counterfeit smile, scanning the barcode at the back of the card. It’s a really cute card too. Sometimes I wonder how you put up with me then I remember I put up with you. So we’re even ❤️ 

You hate yourself for the fond smile you almost crack, masked behind the pained one you send his way. 

Jimin passes you a $20 bill and grabs his merchandise from the table. 

“She’s really lucky to have you,” you lament honestly with glistening eyes as he walks out the front door. 

He doesn’t catch a word you say, but he manages to shout back a “thank you!” and a “see you tomorrow!” before speeding out, setting off the bell at the top of the door without ever looking back at your dejected figured. 

You’re left alone to finish the rest of the work day, surrounded by none other than the sickly, sweet scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath, all while taking in the putrid sight of variegated carnations. 

They say that you are your worst enemy, and they are 110% correct on the matter. You don’t know why you would think that you’d have a good day on the basis of your neighbor having a crummy one. It’s not like there’s some kind of transfer of energy. It’s been proven to you time and time again that divine intervention and karmic justice just aren’t real, and apparently, neither is science. Otherwise, by that logic, you’d have a superb day. 

You would have slept through last night and woken up to a pretty pink sunrise painted across the sky— nothing but peace. To the chirping of birds in the distance and to the passing of cars on an empty street. You would have had enough time to prepare a proper breakfast— pancakes, eggs, bacon, and maybe even a nice cup of hot chocolate. Not a measly cup of black coffee to keep you awake for the rest of the busy day. You would have had a nice chat with Jimin at the flower shop about the capitalistic corruption of Valentine’s Day while he’d try to convince you otherwise. He’d prove you wrong, and you would have walked home with a blooming garden in your heart. 

But science is bullshit and the transfer of energy is a complete lie— photosynthesis being the only exception. The only thing you got out of today was a huge migraine and a withering blossom in your chest. 

So just when you think that the day could not get any worse, it absolutely does. 

You can probably blame the poor mindset you boxed yourself in— having a cynical outlook on love and life because of the dreaded upcoming holiday. Maybe it was because your crush just stomped all over your garden and plucked the flowers to give to some other girl. Or, you can put the blame on past you, the big freaking idiot who previously stripped off her bed sheets at 6:30 in the morning in hopes of being productive by doing weeks of piled up laundry. At this point, all you want to do is curl up in a warm bed, too exhausted by the trials and tribulations of life, but you can’t even give yourself the satisfaction of that because you thought you were some kind of changed woman who could manage her stupid laundry.

Newsflash, you’re not. 

The naked mattress in the corner of your apartment mocks you, so grudgingly, you take your laundry basket down to the laundry room for your most hated chore. With heavy steps, you trudge through the cold, cement basement. It’s dark and dingy down there. A little scary too, given the flickering lightbulb at the end of the hallway. Nevertheless, you march through the doors and into the rumbling alcove. 

What you find in there is startling, yet you can’t say that you’re surprised seeing that this occurrence is far from rare. You almost consider walking back upstairs and knocking on your floormate’s door, asking him if he’d be willing to do your laundry in exchange for $5 just so you don’t have to sit there, listening to some couple make out in the back corner.

Apparently, everyone in the world is foolishly in love except for you. 

You crank up the volume a little louder so your cheap headphones can drown out the sound of them locking lips with one another, but the poor quality does absolutely nothing for your abused ears. The boisterous public display of affection is deafening over the sound of your “Wallowing in Self Pity” playlist. 

You’re only capable of catching a brief glance in their direction before gagging and veering off. She’s sitting atop of the washing machine as he stands between her parted legs. They’re so lost in their own world that they don’t even notice your presence. 

Out of respect for yourself and the horny couple, you choose to occupy a washing machine at the opposite corner of the laundry room. But perhaps you can save yourself the irritation as well as the $5 in your wallet because you can hear their hushed whispers. They’ve separated themselves long enough for the guy to convince her to move to a more private location. Although she still leeches herself onto his neck, he’s attentive enough to know that they aren’t alone. He picks her up and drags her out of the laundry room with her legs wrapped around his waist, unwilling to part from him as if holding his hand simply isn’t enough. 

You roll your eyes, thankful for the quietude and the money you’ve saved yourself, but as you sit alone in the drafty basement, doing the chore you hate the most, you can’t help but think how much better it would be to do it with someone else at your side. 

Somehow you’re convinced that crossing paths with Jeongguk in the hallway is fated after thinking about him moments prior. Because it’s very uncommon for that boy to leave his apartment, cooping up all day long with his video games, only to catch a breath of fresh air for his nightly gym sessions. When you see him locking up his apartment door, you offer him $5 anyways just out of the kindness of your heart. He could probably use the money more than you anyways. 

Although you didn’t have any intention of doing a good deed today, karma still finds a way to punish you. As always, it’s bullshit. 

Upon entering your empty apartment, the space is already filled with the sonorous sounds of orchestral music. Violins, violas, cellos, flutes, oboes, and harps all performing in perfect harmony. It’s played through the walls, coming from none other than the speakers of your beloved neighbor. You wouldn’t mind the soothing classical melodies to cure your migraine so long it’s accompanied by white noise. But your neighbor’s laughter rings above the music as you can hear him count “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3” in a triple metre. 

You know that he’s not alone because there’s also another voice laughing alongside him. The same one you’ve grown accustomed to over the months. Her high pitched squeals are unmistakable as they greatly resemble other sounds you’ve heard come from her mouth on many unfortunate nights. So you can safely assume that your neighbor and his not-girlfriend made up with one another already—

“Look at me, not at your feet!” 

“I don’t know where to put them!” 

“You’re stepping on my toes!”

“Sorry!” 

“Oh yeah, you’ll be sorry!” 

It’s hard to picture what’s happening behind the wall when you don’t have faces to match with the voices. But you don’t really need it when their bed slat creaks beneath their weight and their headboard slams against your shared wall. Not when her yelps erupt as a result of the tickle fest they’re currently immersed in. The sounds are vivid enough for you to know much more than you need to know. It almost feels like you’re intruding on an intimate moment that’s not meant for your eyes, let alone your ears. 

Meanwhile, as you struggle to tuck the fitted sheets beneath the four corners of your mattress, you wonder whether it’s worth it to leave the apartment again after such a hard day. Of course for the sole purpose of avoiding a home made porn video being filmed in the process. 

Maybe it’s not too late, and you can still catch up to Jeongguk. You could head to the gym and snatch back the $5 you generously handed him because the more you think about it, the more you believe that someone owes you for your miserable time spent in this apartment complex. But you can’t take your anger out on the poor boy from down the hall when he doesn’t deserve it. 

The sanctuary of your bed calls your name like a siren, so instead, you do what you’re forced to always do— plug in your cheap headphones, blare out some music, and move on with your day. 

And it works for the most part. 

You’re able to successfully put on your bed sheets after struggling to play a big game of tug of war with your mattress. Despite the internal push and pull, you also will yourself to do adult things like tidying up the studio, making the space somewhat habitable for humans. By 9pm, you can finally sit down and enjoy a nice, hot meal. However, you’re forced to keep your headphones on because your neighbor’s not-girlfriend decided that she couldn’t go a single day without her not-boyfriend’s dick in her mouth. 

You swear you’re going to ask him tonight why he hasn’t made it official because it’s clear as day that they’re in love with one another. You know that you definitely would be if someone offered you oral every single day. Unfortunately, nobody’s offering. Thus, you’re forced to live vicariously. 

So as midnight approaches, and the moon reaches its apex, you settle into bed with a book in hand, ready to suffer through the night. It’s difficult to concentrate on the text when your music is blasting, but you suppose it’s better to listen to lo-fi hip hop beats as opposed to the scream of “daddy” over and over and over… 

Although you applaud her for her shamelessness, you would still prefer if she could keep to herself.

Thankfully, these moments are only temporary. 

With your eyes squeezed shut, you let out a lethargic yawn. Looking over at your nightstand, you spot your ticking alarm clock. It’s nearing 1 in the morning, and you decide that you’re exhausted. Well, you’ve decided that long ago, but going to bed before midnight is admitting defeat against your own body. Nevertheless, no matter how tired you are, you know in the back of your mind that there’s no way you could have dozed off with your neighbors going on a Netflix binge with speakers fully blaring audio from The Office. It’s as if they don’t know what headphones are. 

But after “one more episode” and a disgustingly long makeout session, you can hear the shuffle of feet across the floor boards and the turning of the lock. 

It’s nearly 2 am, and the radiator hisses. It’s quiet. 

But then that’s when you hear it like clockwork. The delicate hum before the pleasant tune. Tonight, it’s not a song you’re familiar with. Something about the universe moving and happiness that’s meant to be. Mentions of penicillium and a calico cat? There’s lots of talk about letting someone love you, and that’s when it really hits you in the gut. You’re not so sure about the song, but as always, it sounds pretty. It’s not typical to call a guy’s voice beautiful, but it is what it is. It’s serene, and it’s the promise of tomorrow. It’s something you wish that would never stop. 

But of course all good things come to an end. 

There’s a purposeful knock against the wall which startles you. “Hey, I know you’re up. How’d your day go?” Your neighbor asks, breaking the silence and dragging your attention towards his voice once again. 

You tug your headphones off and walk to the other side of the apartment to lay your book down on the desk, gracefully avoiding anything in your wake because your apartment is finally clean.

“You know, sometimes I wish you would catch me on my good days so I wouldn’t have to tell you such sad stories.” A wary smile surfaces your lips. 

“Why, what happened today?” He asks with concern laced in every syllable. “Did you take my advice?” 

You climb back into bed, pulling your covers over your torso. Sometimes you feel bad about how many silent complaints you have about your neighbor when he’s actually a really nice guy. He just lacks the proper etiquette knowing that the walls are paper thin.

“IIIIIII tried to.” You drag out the vowel, hesitant to recall the embarrassing story. 

“Yeah, and how’d it go?” 

“He doesn’t like me back,” you say plainly after a moment’s reflection. 

Your neighbor scoffs. “He’s an idiot then.” 

You try to fight back the smile because as untrue as it is, Jimin is anything but an idiot. But it’s comforting to know that someone has your back, defending you in all your honor. 

This time, you genuinely chuckle. “It’s not that.... He uh, actually has a girlfriend.” It hurts to admit it out loud. “And I’m sure she’s lovely if he likes her that much.” 

“Like I said, he’s an idiot for losing out on the best thing in his life.” 

It’s impossible for you to fight back this bashful smile because it makes your heart flutter. This may be the first time you’ve felt good about yourself this whole day. 

“Thanks, but I don’t know about that though—” 

He interrupts you, “Come on, don’t say that. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” 

You shake your head in disbelief, “You’ve never even met me, and you don’t even know what I look like.” You roll your eyes, but a chuckle unintentionally falls from your lips. 

“It’s not about what’s on the outside, okay? I already know you’re beautiful because that’s what you are on the inside.” 

“Shut up, that’s so cheesy.” You flip over on your bed and dig your face into the pillow, flustered by his kind words. There’s absolutely no way people this nice exist in this world. “I could be a troll or a vampire or something for all you know.” 

“Vampires are kinda hot. Haven’t you seen Twilight?” He banters. “And I’m sure this guy isn’t even all that great. Like, tell me something you hate about him.” 

Your hands cover your mouth, stifling a laugh. “I’m not gonna hate on him because he doesn’t like me back. It’s just the reality of it. Besides, he’s perfect.” You roll your eyes, annoyed by how flawless Jimin is in your eyes. 

Your neighbor prods at you. “I reaaallly doubt that. There has to be something. Not even a pet peeve? Maybe he’s chronically late to everything? Sings out loud in a quiet place? Has a super annoying laugh?” 

“Yes, yes, and no.” You flip your pillow over to the cold side and settle in to lie in a more comfortable position, slipping your hand beneath the cushion. “I can excuse the lateness,” you lick your chapped lips. “He also sings like an angel, and his laugh is really endearing. He does this thing where he laughs with his whole body, and he falls over every time. I like it because I know he’s at his happiest then,” you remember zealously.

“Damn, I guess I’m just projecting my own flaws now, huh?” You can hear him snort from laughter, rolling his neck and cracking the joints in his body, and then the click of his knuckles, 10 of them, one after another. 

“Ugh,” you scrunch your nose, “Don’t do that. He does it too, and I guess that’s the only thing he does that really gets to me.” 

Your neighbor cracks another joint somewhere on his body just to annoy you, and you cringe. “See, now we’re talking.” 

“I was gonna tell you that you sing well too and that I like your laugh, but maybe I’ll have to reconsider,” you taunt. “But still, you shouldn’t put yourself down for the things that show off your happiness.” 

The bed creaks from the other side. He must have switched positions for that to happen. “Thanks,” he offers. His voice is muffled, face most likely pressed up against his own pillow. “How about you tell me about the things you like about him?” 

“What? Are you trying to wound me?” You ask, slightly hurt. 

He scoffs, “No, I’m trying to prove a point here. So, tell me.” He implores like this is some kind of couple’s therapy session. Apparently, without your other half. 

As moonlight filters through your curtains and the cars whiz by on the empty street below you, you consider all the things you love and appreciate about Jimin. 

“I love how selfless he is. He’s caring and attentive... He’ll know when I’m tired and he’ll offer me coffee. He also scolds me for sleeping late and he lifts my burdens for me, even when I don’t ask him to.” You close your eyes in retrospect of Jimin and all the good things in life that he embodies. “It’s not even the things that he does for me that make me like him.” 

Your neighbor hums, letting you continue. 

“I guess it’s the principle that’s important.” You play with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, pulling on the edges to give yourself some comfort. “There are people in this world who aren’t… the nicest? I guess. And… he’s one of the purest people I know. It’s like he goes the extra mile to make sure I’m happy… and healthy.” You take a deep sigh before your mind wanders to the darker parts of your brain. “But I also know he treats everyone else like that too. Because he’s that nice. So... I guess I should have seen it coming that I wasn’t so special anyways,” you recall with tears welling up in the brim of your eyes and a knot tightening in your throat. 

“Don’t say that, you’re one of a kind,” he assures you sternly, “What’s his name? I’ll go beat him up right now.” 

You give a bitter laugh, wiping away at your eyes with the back of your hands. 

“My point is that there are other guys out there who are just as caring. And they should make you feel special because you are, and it’s what you deserve. So if the next guy who comes along doesn’t treat you that way, I will beat his ass, okay?” He says in the most nonthreatening voice ever.

You chortle, “Okay, yeah, sure.” You’re not totally convinced of that. 

“You’re probably right, I don’t want to fight and embarrass myself after promising you that,” he giggles. 

“I appreciate the sentiment though.” Earnestly, you do. You don’t know many guys who are this nice, Jimin being the exception. “How ‘bout you though? It sounds like you made up with your not-girlfriend? I hope that wasn’t you in the laundry room earlier,” you tease, deflecting the attention away from you with a raised voice. 

He gladly takes the bait. “Oh shit, that was you? I’m so sorry.” He rolls around the bed in a fit of sweet laughter, and the slat creaks. “And yeah, we did,” he breathes out with a shallow huff after regaining composure. He sounds nonchalant about it. 

“You don’t sound very happy?” 

“No, I am,” he deadpans. 

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Can you tell me what it is that you like about her?” You ask. 

He doesn’t answer immediately like you’d expect, but he’s dwelling on the answer. 

“I love how kind hearted she is,” he thinks out loud. “She’s a natural nurturer.” 

You can hear the smile in his voice, and you can’t help but reciprocate because of how pure that is. 

“Like... she’s always so bright, and…” he stops. “I just don’t know how to explain it. You’d have to meet her to know what I mean.” 

“Yeah you should invite me over so I can meet her.” You both chuckle knowing that you should meet one another before meeting his fuck buddy. 

“I think you’d like her actually. She has this beautiful soul… I- I don’t even know. She just sees the best in everyone. I know that she probably has her own struggles, but I don’t think she’ll ever let anyone know about them,” he mulls over, going on a tangent. 

“Why’s that?” You curl up on your side, hugging your pillow like you do during every conversation with him. It’s as if he’s recalling a bedtime story for you. You let out another yawn, and although you’re on the verge of falling asleep, you stay up a little longer just to hear him talk. 

“I’m not so sure why… I guess I love her and hate her for this...” He reflects. 

You hum, acknowledging him while urging him to continue his train of thought. 

“I don’t know... but she’s the type to suffer in silence for the sake of seeing other people around her smile. And… I don’t think she’ll ever admit when she’s hurt or when she needs help. She puts others before herself. Like, she’s so hellbent on putting on a happy face so that others can be happy too.” 

You nod to yourself, understanding what he means with every word. 

“And It’s not like she fakes her happiness or anything,” he continues as if clarification is needed. “She’s just… such a joy to be around. She makes everyone feel welcomed… and comfortable… And when she’s really happy, like genuinely happy, it feels like everything is right in the world.” 

You can tell he has a big, doting smile on his face. One simply cannot talk about a love like this and not smile. 

“I only wish that she’d be vulnerable with me so I can make her world a little brighter too.” 

“That’s really sweet, and also, I lowkey feel attacked right now,” you let out a dry chuckle. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “But I think that’s why you two would get along well.” 

“Set up a date, and I’ll come over,” you joke with raised brows. 

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about it,” he teases. “Oh, but uhm... if we’re still on the conversation of what I like about her, physically, I love her smile. I swear to God I stopped in my tracks the first time I saw her… and it still happens every time.” 

“That’s cute,” you smile fondly. 

“When she looks at me, I think the whole world stops for a second because I can actually feel myself get vertigo,” he giggles innocently. “And she’s also got this super adorable snort-laugh that never fails to bring out the best in me. God, it’s beyond cute, you don’t even know.” 

“It sounds like you’re in love,” you suggest, curling up tighter into a ball, squeezing at your pillow. “I don’t see why you haven’t made it official yet.” 

The pause is filled by the whirring of the radiator and the ticking of the clock. 

“Yeah… I don’t know either.” 

Waking up, you find out that going to bed with a broken heart is a little easier than going to bed with a hopeful one. Perhaps it’s the emotional exhaustion that puts you to rest, but it doesn’t mean you’re any less fatigued. All your efforts are put into your work, and in a way, tending to flowers has served as a distraction from the wilting ones that reside in your chest. 

When in reality, you should find a way to revive those instead. 

But as Jimin stands before you, you can’t resist the shriveled petals that land in the pit of your stomach like cherry blossoms in the midst of spring. You really don’t know how you manage to bear discourse about Valentine’s Day when he’s unknowingly sitting there with wide eyes, listening to you talk about unreciprocated love that’s so obviously directed towards him. 

“You mean to tell me that you read romance novels and watch rom-coms, but you hate the most romantic holiday of the year?” 

“Exactly,” you nod as if it’s indisputable. 

He gives you a questioning look with a crease on his forehead and lips pressed together in a straight line. “Make it make sense,” he challenges.

You finish chewing on the forkful of salad you popped into your mouth before answering. “Can I rant about it?” 

Jimin gives you the go ahead and you continue, “I don’t think you understand how much of a die-hard hopeless romantic I am.” 

“Actually, I think I do,” he scoffs and raises his shoulders confidently with eyes closed as if it’s a matter of fact. “That doesn’t prove your point though,” he counters. 

You put your hand up, motioning him to stop interrupting, “Let me finish.” 

Jimin shrugs and grins from across the counter, allowing you to proceed. 

“When I love something, I put my heart and soul into it. I believe in passion, chivalry, and true love.” He hums in agreement as you count down each item with your fingers as if it’s an unofficial list of all the things that encompass a hopeless romantic. “And for me, Valentine’s Day is a poor excuse to spend money and show off all the things you’ve received from your significant other.” 

“That’s valid,” Jimin nods, agreeing while munching on his fries. 

“Like, why spoil someone on this particular day? What happens during the other 364 days?” You spew. 

Jimin mouths “365,” correcting you on the technicalities of a leap year. 

You click your tongue, moving on to the point. “Are they not cherished for the rest of the year? I would hope that my boyfriend makes me feel special for more than a single night.” Your forehead creases, too livid at this point to even realize how sadly single you sound. 

You’re too busy ranting, accidentally speaking over Jimin to hear him reassure you that you are special. “Also there’s just so much pressure to make the night special, as if they have to plan something, otherwise they’re not the ‘perfect couple’ or the ‘perfect man.’” You emphasize with air quotes. 

“I felt that one,” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“You see my point now?” You acknowledge him sullenly. There’s a tug on your heartstrings at the mention of his girlfriend, but you drive your point forward in hopes of changing the direction of topics. You don’t even want to think about whether or not he’s made plans with his girlfriend yet. 

“And what’s the deal with chocolates?” You yell, completely frustrated, throwing your arms up. “They’re totally overpriced. And cards? Cheesy and terrible. My Instagram feed? Flooded with PDA, and it's a big stab at singles like me.” You enunciate angrily, driving your fork harshly into your salad once again. 

He laughs and nearly falls off the stool he’s sat on top of before swiftly catching himself. You snicker at his unadulterated cuteness. 

“How ‘bout flowers?” He questions with ketchup lingering on the corner of his mouth. 

Picking up a napkin from the edge of the counter, you mindlessly reach across to wipe at his lips, still in the process of ranting. “Don’t get me started on flowers,” you shake your head, folding up the napkin on the table. Jimin smiles at you as your eyes train on the fork that digs through your salad, stabbing into the poor vegetables. “Florists overcharge for them, and I hate it because I didn’t get into this business for the purpose of cheating people out of their money.” At this point, you’re rolling your eyes, seething at the thought of Valentine’s Day. 

“Why’d you get into the business then?” He asks, silently offering his fries to you, the ones you’ve been eyeing ever since he revealed his lunch. 

“Because I love flowers,” you say plain as day, reaching to grab a fry. “Because they make me happy, and when I send them off to someone, I know it’ll make their day a little brighter too.”

You wave the fry around in the air before sticking it in your mouth. Capping off your empty bowl of salad, you don’t seem to notice how Jimin looks at you and the understated beauty you exude. 

“It’s cheesy, I know! You don’t have to look at me like I’m crazy,” you whine, briefly looking up at him with round eyes, turning around to toss your garbage. 

Jimin flashes you a big, toothy smile, “No, you’re not crazy. You’re just... exactly what I thought you were.” His voice is low, almost as if he’s thinking to himself. As if they’re words you’re not meant to hear. 

“Thanks? I think,” you giggle, unsure what he means. “Are you saying I’m predictable?” You inquire.

“I meant refreshing.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes form as he grins. “I’m just trying to figure out why you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day.” 

“First of all, I don’t need a date,” you say in defense, teasingly offended. 

“I know that, and you know what I mean. But you deserve to be treated like you’re speー” 

“Second of all, I do have one.” 

“Oh. You do?” He asks, creasing his brows and biting his plush lips. 

“Yeah, with myself,” you jest with a smile, elbows resting on the counter with hands cupping your face. 

Jimin’s chest deflates with an exhale, finally letting out the breath he’s been holding. “What, are you gonna watch The Notebook until you cry?” He pokes at your shoulder like a tease. 

“I’m not that predictable,” you eye him with a gleam in your iris, fully knowing that it is the case. “But maybe,” you affirm with a sly smirk, “after I close up the shop at midnight though.” 

“Knew it,” he scoffs. “But why are you closing so late? You should go home early so you can cry and watch The Notebook.”

“Mmm.” You hum, standing up from your stool and turning to hide the downturn of your lips. Running a rag underneath the faucet, you turn to wipe down the counter free of any crumbs. Jimin lifts his elbow up as you glide the cloth across the glass until it’s squeaky clean. “Let’s not forget that it’s Valentine’s Day, and I run a flower shop, Jimin. People are going to come by for a bouquet until the last second.” You exasperate, shaking your head in disapproval of all the last minute shoppers. 

“You can’t get anyone else to lock up?” He suggests. 

“They’ll hate me forever if I force them to work until midnight,” you reason, “Besides, it’s not like they’re single, so it’s fine. I can do it myself.” 

“I really think you should be resting though. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, right?” He asks with concern in his intonation. 

“I can take care of myself, I promise. I’m gonna treat myself after work anyways.” You do a little dance that consists of shimmying your shoulders and bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet. 

He smiles at you endearingly with wide eyes, “I don’t think crying to The Notebook is a form of treating yourself.” He repeats as if the joke will never die. 

You shake your head and click your tongue exclaiming, “If you must know, I’m gonna bake cookies.” 

“Are you gonna share with me?” He pleads. 

Your tongue pokes at your inner cheek as if you’re thinking about it. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might eat them all in one night.” Your lips purse in a taunt. 

His mouth forms a pout, and you’re forced to give in to him and his bright puppy dog eyes. 

“Ugh, fine, but only because you asked so nicely, I guess I can make some extras,” you groan, pressing your lips together straight like an arrow. You nudge his shoulder with your own despite the squeeze at your heart and the softening of your eyes, “For you and your girlfriend.” 

It’s not like you had to mention it. But it’s been on your mind since yesterday, and you’re sure that the only way to fix a broken heart is to learn to accept it. Even if it means plucking out the thorns that are lodged in your heart until it feels numb. Empty and devoid of life. 

“Girlfrie- oh, right, right. That’d be nice,” he sputters out, body stiffening, “Butー”

“Maybe I can bake them Thursday night?” You offer. “So you can pick them up on Friday if you buy flowers for her?” Your eyes blink in a failed attempt to wink. 

Jimin stifles a laugh at your pitiful endeavor. It’s really pathetic how hard you try, pretending that you’re not hurt right in front of the guy who stormed into your garden. 

But you suppose flowers can’t grow without a little bit of downpour. 

He licks his lips, and his smile falters. “Riiight, but it’s okay, you should enjoy your cookies on Friday night because I’m not sure I’ll be around to buy flowers that day anyways.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask, perplexed, head cocked to the side. 

“Uh, don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, brushing it off before taking a look at his watch. “I have to head back to work though, my break is almost ending.” You watch him carefully with narrowing eyes as he collects his belongings, scrambling to head out the door. With the exit half opened, he turns around to bid you goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

The bell chimes and he’s out of sight. 

You can’t even process his words because you’re too busy staring at the exit trying to figure out what the hell just happened. 

Adulthood is just an endless cycle of sleeping and working, but it seems like you’re lacking in the former activity seeing that all you do is work. In the final stretch of Valentine’s Day, with a few more days to go, you’re just about ready to crash and burn. 

Upon entering your quiet apartment tonight, you fail to do anything productive. You nose dive into bed and curl up into a cocoon at the strike of 10 pm. Somehow, you don’t even care enough to tug off your jeans or remove your smudged makeup. You’re ready to accept the consequences of bad skin and a stained pillowcase because the only thing that matters is that you knock out the moment your head hits the soft linen. There’s no time to replay the events of today or plan for tomorrow when your eyelids weigh you down into a deep slumber. 

There’s not a single thing that can spur you. Not even the shining of the moonlight over your profile or the rhythmic whizzing of cars on the empty street beneath you. Even when there’s a police siren ringing in the distance or a rumble from a descending airplane in the atmosphere above you, you don’t bat an eye. You can’t even hear the hum of the rusty pipelines when your neighbor hops into the shower at the breach of dawn. Even the whirring radiator and the ticking clock blurs into nothing but white noise. 

They’re all there to keep you company as you lie down in a bed of withered roses. To offer you comfort in your barren Renaissance garden. 

You can’t seem to put your finger on it, but you wake up feeling like it’s the best night of rest you’ve gotten in the last week despite it being a short lived slumber. It’s definitely the most consistent night of sleep you’ve had in a while. And even though you went to bed without dinner, it didn’t hinder your sleep whatsoever. It only means that you can eat a full breakfast to power through the day. 

And powering through is what you do best. 

Apparently, the world is up against you because you can’t remember the last time you even got to sit down. You’re constantly on your feet, attending to customers and fulfilling orders. There’s no time to breathe even when you’re literally enclosed in a greenhouse. There’s always something to do, and stopping to take a break means slowing down the process. It’s not an option you want to take. 

At the end of each day, you’re wobbling back home with sore muscles and blurred vision. Your ability to function is beyond your own imagination. Your definition of “functioning” has diminished to standing on your own two feet although that still bears a challenge for you. 

The sustenance in your body is nearly nonexistent, especially because you’ve been neglecting your self-care. Typically, you don’t think about eating on the job. It’s honestly not on your mind because there are only two things that occupy your brain space: (1) Work and (2) Jimin. 

Somehow, Jimin takes better care of you than you do yourself. And without him around, you’re a walking corpse. He’s always providing you with lunch and snacks, leaving you sticky notes with reminders to hydrate yourself. You didn’t realize that you needed him this much to remind you of the simple tasks like drinking or eating or… smiling.

Sometimes he draws cute flowers or scribbles plant puns on the post-it notes, sticking them onto obscure places that are hard for you to find. Your favorite one being the time he wrote “I love it when you call me big poppy.” 

He claims that the notes are designed to make you laugh, even for the few that are not very funny. They definitely do brighten your day, especially when you have the ephemeral chance to glance at them hanging up above your desk in the back office. Smiling at the itty-bitty illustrations has become second nature to you. When you’re going through a rough day, aka everyday, and you’re in need of a breather, you wander into the back room to pace around, only to come face to face with a kaleidoscope of doodled butterflies spanned across a string of rainbow post it notes.

He once drew a sunflower and said something cheesy about how your laughter is the embodiment of sunshine— how it would be a crime against the flora population if you were to go a day without laughter. 

It was corny and far from being right, but it was so perfectly Jimin. 

When he does stupid shit like that, it makes you feel like the biggest lovesick idiot in the world. In your naive past, you thought that the smiles he sent your way were ones reserved for you and only you. You were convinced that the shameless flirting was a silent mechanism used to express his inclination towards you. You assumed that the daily visits to your flower shop were formidable attempts to get to know you better. A little part of you hoped that the songs he shared with you equated to sharing a piece of his heart. 

You absolutely were sharing. You just didn’t realize that you’d be sharing with someone else. 

So when Jimin consigns adorable puns that melt your heart, and he stops by with a cup of coffee, just know that they’re acts of friendship. When he spends his lunch breaks at the flower shop and sings songs that remind him of you, he’s coming from a place of kindness, not attraction. 

It is true that Jimin’s your sunshine, but it’s also a fundamental principle to botanists that too much of something is bad enough, and too much of nothing is just as tough. And deceiving yourself into believing that he was all that you needed had scorched up all the flowers in your garden. 

The drought he put you in didn’t prepare you enough for the brewing storm. 

It pains you to say that you need him more than he needs you because even if he isn’t romantically interested in you, you would have hoped that he’d stick around as a friend. His waning presence leads you to believe that he’s simply not interested. 

Maybe you were too invested in what could have been between the two of you, you failed to see what was right there in plain sight. 

Somehow, you still wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. And it’s pathetic granted you’re incredibly busy with work and your own crippling health. Yet thoughts of him still pop up throughout the day more than you would like. No matter how much you want to forget about your infatuation, you simply can’t will him away because of how often his beautiful face flashes before your eyes. You want to push him to the back of your mind, but whether you’re in need of a breather during your hectic schedule, admiring his stupid puns and butterfly mosaics, or you’re in need of some company in your eerily quiet apartment, doing laundry or having a meal all to yourself, you still can’t get the sound of his sweet laughter out of your head. 

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you manage to close up shop long before midnight. It’s a blessing and a curse because you are absolutely wiped out. Not only are you mentally checked out, but ironically, your flower shop is destitute of flowers, completely sold out from the holiday. As you clean up the barren space, you can’t help but feel as if a big weight has been lifted off your shoulders. The stress of Valentine’s Day is over, and you can finally go home, lie in bed with a tray of cookies, and enjoy the beauty that is Ryan Gosling. 

You even consider closing the store all of tomorrow because you need the day off to recharge. So as you print out and paste your notice on the glass door, you’re dumbfounded to come across a sliver of paper that’s already attached on the other side. Opening up the door and letting in a gust of cold air breeze by you, you remove the sticky note that’s been unknowingly attached to your entrance. 

Not a daisy goes by that I don’t think of you.

The smile that tugs on your lips grapples against the ache in your heart. Quickly, the fond smile melts into one of hurt and disappointment. Your left hand balls into a tight fist, marring crescent moon shapes into your palms. Meanwhile, your right hand delicately fiddles with the tiny square between your fingers, debating whether or not you should crumple up the paper and toss it away to be long forgotten. You’ve never been so confused about your feelings until Park Jimin came into your life, but you tuck the little daisy doodle into the pocket of your coat with a sigh. 

With every passing year, Valentine’s Day becomes a little more bearable than the previous. Tonight feels like any other night, but better. You’ve come to accept that if there isn’t someone who can make you feel special, you might as well do it yourself. 

Making a meal for you that doesn’t consist of ramen or 5 minute rice while dimming the lights and sparking up some candles is undeniably part of the healing process. And that’s what tonight mainly consists of. It’s all about love and self-care. 

With your laptop perched on top of your dinner table and your Netflix queue lined up, you mindlessly mix at your wet and dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Nothing has made you feel more at ease than the comfort of watching your favorite movie on repeat and the sweet taste of raw cookie dough on your tongue. Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that can put a smile on your face. 

As you wait for your cookies to bake, you settle into bed with your legs crossed and back pressed against the headboard. Laughter from the speakers of your laptop fill the space, and you can’t help but laugh along with the characters, disrupting the peaceful ambiance of your apartment complex. The rumble of your laughter subsides, and the movie rolls on from scene to scene. 

Your ears perk up like Pavlov’s dog when the oven goes off. You turn your head so quickly you nearly get whiplash, but it’s all worth it for the love of chocolate chip cookies. The aroma of sugar is enough to will yourself out of bed and conveniently press pause on Ryan Gosling’s charming face. 

Pulling on your oven mitts to retrieve the hot platter, your body begins to sway around to the sudden echo of music. The soft guitar strums reverberate through the walls and against the vacant space of your studio. Your body stops moving to the acoustics when you realize where the noise is coming from. Looking up, your eyes bore into the eggshell walls as if you can see through it. But you soon space out, focusing on the vibrations of the nylon strings instead. 

The song fades out and the quietude breaks you out of your reverie. You blink in confusion, trying to remember the last time you heard from your neighbor. Although you haven’t spent much time in your apartment in the past week, you miss the late night chats with him. Lately, you’ve been knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow for some much needed rest. You haven’t heard his voice in forever, and especially not his angelic singing voice. Even tonight he refrains from singing in place of just practicing his guitar. 

It’s a bit out of the ordinary. 

His side of the wall is surprisingly quiet tonight. You would have expected him to be out and about with his girlfriend, but at this point of the night, they would have been jumping at each other's bones. Yet the gentle patter of footsteps and the lack of banging would suggest that he’s flying solo tonight. 

Despite your curiosity, you’re not sure whether or not you’d want to bring it up in case it reopens some wounds. You think it’s best to leave it alone for the time being until he’s ready to come to you instead. 

So as you proceed with bingeing your movies, there’s something in the back of your mind that still distracts you. It’s literally a crime that you’ve sat through 2 hours of The Notebook, yet you haven’t shed a single tear because you’re not even focused on the film in front of you. Rather, you’re thinking long and hard about the last time you heard your neighbor laugh in sincerity. 

You really couldn’t care any less about the end credits that roll in front of you. Rather, with your chin propped up in the palm of your hands, you listen intently to what’s happening on the other side of the wall. It’s bizarrely quiet, aside from the sad symphony of string instruments that ring in the background of the ending credits. 

When your screen turns black, you shut off your laptop and stow it away, knowing in your heart that you’re no longer in the mood for a romantic movie marathon. You make your way into your kitchen and reach for the cookies that have cooled off by now. But somehow, it feels wrong to sit here in enjoyment of your own company. Yet at the same time, this batch of cookies was the only thing you were looking forward to all week. 

Nothing seems to satisfy you. 

The only desire that creeps upon you is the desire to spend the night with someone else by your side. Frankly, it’s stupid because you know that you don’t need a man, and even the whole world knows that you don’t need one. Especially not on Valentine’s Day because you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate February 14th with every fibre of your being.

However, the idea of having a friend at your side doesn’t seem so bad at this point. 

You transfer all the cookies from the tray onto a smaller plate, arranging the delectable morsels into a presentable fashion. 

With your slippers on, you make your way out of your apartment, letting the door close softly behind you. Standing in front of your neighbor’s abode, you nervously shift your weight on the heels of your feet. Midnight is approaching, and you wouldn’t want to disrupt his night like this, but it just feels right to knock on his door and offer your company. Just to check up on him because perhaps he’s in need of some companionship just like you. And who wouldn’t want some chocolate chip cookies? Baked with 80% sugar and 100% love. 

Mustering up all the courage in your body, your hand comes up in a tight fist, knocking at the wooden door. You wait a moment, but to your dismay, there’s no evidence of movement on the other side of the partition. You would have heard his footsteps by now, and perhaps the turning of the deadbolt, but it’s dead silent. 

Perhaps he didn’t hear you, so you knock a little harder this time.

Nothing. 

As you stand outside, lost in naivety, you wonder whether you should try to make a fool of yourself and knock again. It’s been a good 5 minutes of you debating between speaking up to get his attention or giving up and retreating to your studio in embarrassment. Then you mentally facepalm yourself remembering that it’s incredibly rude of you to drop by without any kind of warning. 

But still, you had his best interests in mind. 

You think that the third time’s the charm, so in a last attempt, you knock with full force. 

“Uhh, hey!” Your voice shakes and cracks. Blame it on the nerves. “I made some cookies, and I thought I’d share some!” You semi-yell in hopes of catching his attention. 

“One second!” Oh, thank God. You can hear the bed frame creak on the other side and the skid of footsteps across the floor boards. 

Your heartbeat weirdly picks up because of the fact that this is quite literally the first time you’ve come face to face with your neighbor. The late night chats with him have always made you feel comfortable, but there’s a certain nuance to meeting him that shakes your nerves. 

You brace yourself as you hear the lock turn, eyes casting down towards the plate in front of you. 

“I didn’t know that today’d be the day we meet like thiー” He says as the door swings open. 

You look up expecting to greet him with a smile, but the one you had prepared falters from your lips. 

“What’re youー” 

“Y- You liveー” 

You stutter over one another, lost in confusion. Staring into the very familiar set of brown eyes in front of you, you’re confounded by your new discovery. 

Jimin stands before you, running his hand through his black locks as he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you through. 

“Hey, neighbor?” He sounds disoriented, untrusting of his voice. 

You’re stood frozen at the foot of the entrance, unsure as to how you could possibly process all of this. 

“I heard you made cookies?” He asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Here, come in.” He gently tugs on your sleeve, coddling you because of the state of shock you’re in. 

You nod your head, barely cognizant of what’s being said. But your feet still shuffle through the entryway, and you slide off your slippers at the front door. 

“This is so crazy,” he says, taking the plate of cookies off your hands. You’re both surprised that you have yet to drop them. He places the plate onto his coffee table, and his back is turned to you as you stand to the side, playing with the sleeves of your sweater. 

How much weirder can this situation possibly get? 

“You mean to tell me that we’ve been neighbors all this time and we didn’t even know?” You ask, sucking your lips inward, cocking your head to the side. Your words are a jumbled mess, but Jimin has become a master at deciphering your incoherent words through the thin walls many nights in a row. 

“I’m just as surprised as you! I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots?” He exclaims in dismay, patting the seat beside him on the couch as an invitation to you. 

Your brain feels as if it’s lost all of its cells because you have so many questions, yet you can’t seem to articulate them. As you sit down, you close your eyes and rub at your temples, praying that you’d wake up from this odd dream. 

“There’s no way I could have connected the dots,” you sputter in collection of your thoughts, completely exasperated. “I just don’t understand.” 

You fiddle with your fingers, and Jimin takes your hand in his. His touch is soft, and as much as you want to pull away, you give into him because there’s no way you’d ever deny him, especially not when he looks at you with those big round eyes. 

“I have so many questions,” you admit, rubbing at your eyelids. 

“Shoot.” 

“Uhm,” your head shakes wildly. “I don’t even know where to begin?” Your eyes widen, shocked by how nonchalant he’s acting. As if he didn’t just lead you on and ghost you days on end, pretending that everything’s okay now. 

“Take your time,” he chuckles reassuringly, offering you a calming smile. 

“Uhm… How are you? I guess? Th- that’s kind of the first thing I wanted to ask you before… I- you know.” 

Your heart gallops because he’s looking at you, biting his lip. And you, you are completely weak for the man who holds all of your affection in the palm of his hands, yet you can’t handle his smoldering stare, so you avert your eyes elsewhere. This is downright cruel and unusual punishment. 

You continue, “Because I haven’t spoken to you much lately, you know?” 

“You wanted to check up on me?” 

You blink away, eyes now focused on the vase of wilting flowers on the coffee table. Pink and red variegated carnations. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself and regulate your breath. Your body stiffens and your shoulders tense. Even your jaw tightens, but you manage to nod your head. 

“I’ve been better,” he admits sullenly. 

Your hand lets go of his, pulling back to seek comfort at your side. It just doesn’t feel right to hold his hand so intimately when he’s made a mess of your head and your heart. You just can’t do it to yourself, and you can’t do it to him or his girlfriend. Especially not when his heart belongs to her. 

You open your mouth as if you have another question to ask, but none of them are coherent enough to utter. There’s plenty of noise ringing in your head, but it’s all nonsense. 

Jimin gently rests his hand on the ball of your knee, almost like a graze, but his touch is hot, and you brush him off with the recoil of your leg. 

His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. His hands retract to his lap, respecting your wishes. He gulps, and noticeably the lump in his throat goes down in a swallow. 

“Hey, it’s just me, okay? You don’t need to be scared.” He displays his palms out to you as a peace offering. A symbol of vulnerability. The tension in the air is palpable, but you still manage to keep your guard down in front of him. 

Because this is Jimin. The guy you’ve come to know and unfortunately love. But it’s just that you’ve never seen Jimin like this.

“Yeah and that’s kind of the problem,” you breathe out. Your brows knit into a frown, and he looks at you in bewilderment, with wide eyes, parted lips, and stress tousled hair. “I- I don’t know if you’re Jimin the mysterious neighbor who’s been nothing but nice to me, or Jimin the guy from the flower shop who pretty much made it loud and clear he doesn’t want to see me,” you scoff. 

“B- butー What do you mean? We’re the same person.” His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head subtly trying to convince you. He fiddles with his fingers, cracking his knuckles out of bad habit.  Shifting his body so his knees are pointed towards yours, nearly in contact, he refrains from the much needed skinship. The heat radiating from his body is something you’re familiar with, and although it once brought you comfort, you can only feel resentment. 

“Of course I want to see you? Iー I?” He’s a stuttering mess, shaking his head from side to side as if you’ve got it all wrong, but you interject because you have so much to say, yet you haven’t expressed yourself to your liking just yet. 

“I don’t know about that!” Your hands clench up at your sides until your knuckles turn sharp. “Because neighbor Jimin is telling me he has a fuck buddy he thinks he’s in love with, and flower shop Jimin has a girlfriend he doesn’t want to talk about. So what is it? I’m hearing a lot about mixed feelings for this one person, and… if you’re involved with someone, I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” you spit out more harshly than expected, inching further and further away to the edge of the couch with your arms crossed over your chest. You gulp down a thick glob of spit in hopes of washing down the acidic sting in your throat, but it’s like bile just sits there on your tongue. 

“Let me explain, okay?” He begs of you. 

You sit there in sullen silence, staring at the carnations in your peripherals, ready to have him break your heart all over again. You nod, but you don’t even bother turning to face him, unsure whether or not you’d be able to hear him talk about how he’s in some complicated relationship with someone else. 

“Please, look at me?” he pleads with a sniffle, “I need to know if you’re okay.” His voice cracks, and you finally look his way. You’re far from okay, but seeing him with glossy eyes, you also know that he isn’t either. 

He licks his lips, and his hand comes up in desperate need of tucking the stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face. But he decides against it in fear of rejection, and he rests his hand on the ball of his knee instead. Your line of sight falls to his shaking leg. You hesitantly reach across to close your hand softly around his in comfort. His movement stops instantly as he lets out a huff. 

Licking your lips, your eyes gaze towards your hands, and you can’t help but imagine how they’d slot into one another so perfectlyー 

“_____?” Your eyes shift to lock with his and there are tears that brim at his corners, but they’re kept at bay, refusing to fall. 

“I-” He exhales. 

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, and you don’t know if it’s more for yourself or for him, but it gives him the strength to continue on. 

“Look, that girl and I? We weren’t in a relationship. I promise you. I told you that we were friends with benefits because that’s what we were.” He insists, hoping the message gets across to you, but your heart drops lower into your stomach at his admission. You don’t even want to picture him with some other girl, yet you know way more about their relationship than you would have ever wanted. 

Hell, you were even convinced that they were in love. A highlight reel of the last few months spent in your apartment flashes before your eyes, and your grip on his hand loosens. You think back to the days when Jimin was just some faceless guy, dancing around with his supposed girlfriend, having pillow fights, running warm baths, making out beneath the stars, and fucking around with her like they were in love. 

But he continues in hopes that you’d understand his point of view. “It was easier to tell you the truth because you didn’t know who I was, and you wouldn’t have judged me for it. So I was an idiot, and at the flower shop, I told you she was my girlfriend because it would have been easier to explain this complicated mess.” A single tear cascades down his cheek, and he wipes it away with the crook of his elbow. 

“I mean, she wanted it to be serious, but there was just something pulling me back. And do you know what that was?” 

You shake your head no and pull away, unsure how much more of this you can take. 

He looks you dead in the eyes, but you can’t even look at him for another second because the wilting carnations are sitting there, mocking you. 

“_____, you asked me the other day what I liked about her, and I was wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer... It wasn’t easy because you were the only person I thought about.”

A sudden tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, unbelieving, but you compel yourself to look back at his visage, checking for any tells of a lie. He doesn’t even falter. 

“She and I? We fought so much because she was convinced I had feelings for someone else. And you know?” He shakes his head,  “…It’s true. I couldn’t think about the things I liked about her, but then when I thought of you. My god, it was just so much easier to talk about the things I loved about you because you’re the one I like. I didn’t know how to express that, okay? The songs that I wrote? The ones you hear me sing day and night? Fuck…” He rubs at his eyes, and they’re evidently red from all the tears welled up. “They’re all about you, and you didn’t even know,” he sobs out. The first drop of tears came out steadily, but as you examine his face in total shock, the tears begin to cascade down his face. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, now understanding where he’s coming from. It’s all a little more clear to you, and there’s no need to continue on if he’s in hysteria like this. His arms instinctively squeeze around your waist, holding on tight, too afraid that he’d lose you if he were to let go. 

“I didn’t have my feelings sorted out because I was comfortable with where I was, but it’s not like it made me happy,” he confesses. You hush him, running your fingers through his hair and caressing his slumped back. Sitting in silence, you can only hear the sound of your breathing falling into sync with his. Occasionally, the radiator would go off and a car would drive by on the street beneath you. 

You tell him that it’s all okay and that all is forgiven, but he still continues in justification of himself. “And I was convinced that you’d think I was a horrible person for liking someone else when I’ve got a complicated relationship going on, okay? Because that’s how I felt about myself, and I swear we broke it off, but I was too embarrassed to come to you because I didn’t know how to explain the mess I got myself into. It’s all my fault, and I’m so so so sorry, you have no idea.” 

He’s wracked with sobs, but you hum, listening intently to his every word. They’re coherent enough for you to realize that you’ve both made mistakes because of a huge misunderstanding. 

The Jimin that you know and love is right here in your arms, and there’s nothing you can do but forgive and forget. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he cries out with a hiccup. “I promise you that you’re the only person I care about.” 

You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, hoping that he calms down because there’s really nothing to apologize for. “What did I say? You don’t have to be sorry, okay?” You remind him. 

He lets out a breathy exhale, “I messed up,” he hiccups, “I don’t deserve this. You.” 

Your hands rest on his shoulder, gently pulling back from him, but he clings on tighter to your waist. Looking down at the sweet man beneath you, you smile to yourself. 

“Jimin,” you murmur.

“Hm?” 

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You shake your head, and a soft chuckle vibrates through your chest. Still, you keep him in your embrace because although it may seem like Jimin is the one in need of a hug, you need it just as much as he does. 

“Can I tell you a story?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tickling the skin at your sternum. 

“I think I caught feelings for you the first time we met. Do you remember that?” He hums as you reminisce on the memory. “It was some random Sunday, and you walked in looking for a bouquet for your mom, but you realized you didn’t have enough cash on youー” 

Jimin laughs beneath you, and it’s the way that he laughs that makes you realize you need that in your life. A cheshire grin spreads across your lips, and that’s when you know you can’t go a single day without hearing his laugh again. 

“You didn’t have enough cash, so you pulled out a post it note and scribbled an IOU.” You can barely get the sentence out without chuckling to yourself. Jimin has stopped sobbing at this point, being reduced to a few sniffles here and there. You deem it as the right moment to pull back from his embrace so you can look him in the eyes. 

“You drew a little daisy for me and that’s when I knew you were really something else.” 

You cup his cheeks, and a grin tugs on his lips, matching the one on your face. His eyes shine in the dim light, just like how the sun radiates in the day time. A single tear trickles down his plush cheeks, and you wipe it away with the pad of your thumb. 

“Look, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I have to admit that it hurt me when you said you had a girlfriend, but it really hurt me when you left without saying anything.” 

His eyes cast downwards as if he’s ashamed, but you place your hand beneath his chin, bringing his attention back up. 

“Know that I’d never judge you for the decisions you make and for the relationships you have, okay? And I don’t think you’re horribleー” 

“You don’t?” He cuts you off with his big pleading eyes. 

“No, far from it,” you beam, “I still think you’re the most selfless person I know.” 

Jimin’s face drops at your confession, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you’re not special, because to me, you’re the most extraordinary person in this world.” 

He cups your face, noticing that your eyes are starting to well. Drops of tears roll down your face, and Jimin’s quick to dry them away, pressing his lips against your cheeks to collect the drops of salt water. As you smile, another stream of tears pour from your ducts. Soft pecks are trailed against your skin, and you think you’ve successfully washed away all the pain. 

You can feel the flowers in your heart slowly starting to bloom in preparation for spring. 

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, opening up your eyes. He’s merely a few inches away from you, stuck in a daze. 

His eyes can’t decide whether they want to look at the gleam in your irises or at the curvature of your lips, flickering between the two. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Your whimper is hardly loud enough for your own ears, but he hears you loud and clear. 

His hands rest at the sides of your neck as his thumbs run over your cheeks, grazing over the flesh of your lips. “Can I show you how special you are to me?” 

You nod your head, and Jimin is overcome with the urge to kiss you, inching closer with puckered lips. They’re soft against your own, plush and pillowy. You melt into his touch as if he’s the light of your life. You think you could cry again from the sheer amount of euphoria built up in your little heart. Having him in your arms is all you could ever ask for. 

He pulls back slightly in need of a breath, and you take the opportunity to climb into his lap, with knees settled on either side of his taut thighs. 

“Missed you,” you whimper against the column of his neck, nosing at the sensitive skin. 

Jimin’s breath hitches as he bites back a moan, “Missed you more.” 

“Not possible,” you trail gentle kisses against his collarbones, pulling back on the cotton of his t-shirt to expose more of his neck. 

His hands rest on your outer thighs thighs, squeezing tight on the muscles. You reach behind you to grab at his forearms, urging him to move his hands higher onto your body. He takes the hint immediately and experimentally squeezes at your ass. Your lips part from his neck, and Jimin takes the opportunity to latch his mouth back onto yours. 

His lips are gentle in contrast to the firm grip he has on you. But with your weight resting on top of him, core pressed up against his crotch, you can feel how hard he is beneath you. In need of some release, you start to move your hips back and forth, grinding over his hard on. 

Jimin gives you a lingering kiss on your lips, pulling back with a harsh groan. You offer a teasing smile, and he leans forward. He supports your weight at the bottom of your ass as your legs wrap around his waist. You nearly yelp when he stands, holding you up in his arms. 

“I got you,” he reassures, pressing his lips firmly against yours, walking towards his unmade bed space. He lays you down gently on top of the messy covers, climbing between your legs. You whine upon the release of his lips, but his mouth leaves hot kisses down the column of your throat, causing you to gasp.

“Is it okay if we take this off?” He asks, thumbing at the hem of your sweater. 

You nod sitting up, and he tugs the material off for you, tossing it to the edge of the bed. Upon sight of your bare chest, he molds into you, lips suctioning around your pebbled nipple. His other hand massages at your unattended breast, squeezing at the supple flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” he hums against your body.

You’re easily affected by his words as your back arches and your legs hook around his torso. Canting your hips upward, you signal to Jimin with a whine that you’re desperate for his touch. 

“There’s no need to rush, baby, we have the whole night,” he warns you, leaving a kiss between the valley of your breasts. 

You cry out in frustration, but it soon subsides when he satiates your needs. You relax when his hand lowers into your sweatpants, cupping at your heat. His middle finger traces at your entrance, running it up and down your panty clad slit. Your hips lurch once again, but Jimin presses your hips down, flush against the mattress. 

As his tongue circles around your sensitive nipple, his fingers decide to dip into your underwear. The obscene sound of your juices squelching can be heard when he presses his finger into your tight hole. Inserting a finger in, you can feel your walls stretch around him. A cry falls from your lips as he begins to rub at your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

Jimin inserts another finger, and your cunt feels so hot with the amount of friction. Pumping two fingers in and out, there’s a pleasurable burn that ripples throughout your body. Beads of sweat form on your hairline, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand. You can practically feel your heart beating out of your chest. 

“Tell me how it feels, okay?” He asks, switching over to your other breast.

“You feel so good,” you mewl. He hums against your nipple in affirmation, biting lightly at the perky bud. 

“Jimin?” You call out for him. 

He parts from your chest to look into your eyes, fingers still pumping in and out of you with flexing biceps. 

“I think it’d feel better if you’d fuck me,” you admit, no filter needed. 

“Shit,” he groans, slowing down the pace. “I want to eat you out first though.” 

He retracts his hand, and you feel empty without him inside. Your sweatpants and panties are tugged off in one swift motion, casted to the side along with your sweatshirt. Looking up with stars in your eyes, you can see that Jimin is still fully dressed. You open your mouth to tell him about your wishes, but he must have read your mind because he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it with no regard. 

Beneath his clothing, he reveals to you his robust body. You’re dripping with lust, and it must be so obvious from the way you stare at his abdominals. Everything about him is so well-built, and you curse the talented dancer in front of you. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, winking at you as he descends down your body. 

“Love it,” you moan. 

His breath is hot against your wet pussy. With juices dripping down your ass, you ruin the linen sheets beneath you. His fingers play with your core, spreading your swollen lips to reveal your flower, admiring how pretty your cunt is. 

Sitting up with elbows propped, you look down in frustration between your bent legs to see Jimin licking his lips, staring at your heat like he’s ready to devour you. He kisses at the long, dark lines of stretch marks that reside on your inner thighs before his tongue presses softly against your wet clit, kitten licking at the bud. Reaching out, your hand balls around the white comforter to anchor yourself down. As you spread your legs wider, Jimin’s hands hook around your limbs to rest at your thighs. He presses them down, restricting your movement. 

His tongue laps at your heat with no mercy, licking a stripe up your sex and tracing letters onto your clit, sending your nerves aflame. Your breaths are shallow as you pant, melding yourself to the mattress. He flicks his tongue, prodding it against your hole and delving in and out. He massages your tight walls as it clenches around his tongue. 

There’s a knot in your stomach that forms embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it when his plush lips give your cunt so much attention, sucking harshly on your clitoris. He looks over at your features, taking notice of your reactions, licking over and over the parts that make you squirm the most. 

Your face scrunches in pleasure, nearly toppling over the edge. But you’re not ready to come. Not yet at least. Not without having Jimin’s hard cock inside of you. 

Jimin is relentless against your pussy, but he doesn’t even let up when you call his name out. Your grip around the comforter loosens in favor of digging your fingers into Jimin’s luscious black locks. 

“Jimiiiin,” you whine, tugging lightly at his roots. “I need you, please, please,” you beg. 

He leaves a kiss at your bud, and you shudder in response. Jimin climbs up your body, and you shiver at the loss of contact. 

“You need me, huh?” He teases, “You want to come?” You nod your head ardently when he presses his red, swollen lips against yours. He grapples with your mouth in a bruising, passionate kiss. With clicking teeth and suckling tongues, you can taste yourself off of his plush lips, completely drenched in your arousal. 

Trailing your hand down Jimin’s sturdy body, you can’t resist running your hands over his perfectly sculpted abs. But on your descent, you pull on the strings of his heather gray sweatpants, loosening the elastic around his waist. 

Your palm slides beneath the band, tucking beneath his boxer briefs. His eyebrows scrunch, and he gasps against your mouth when you wrap your hand around his hot, veiny cock, stroking at his erection. His cheeks flush as you swipe your thumb over the head, collecting beads of precum on your fingers. 

He shudders at your touch. “Oh my God, I might die if you keep doing that,” he nearly cries. 

You smile against the skin of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Meanwhile, Jimin reaches over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom. He nearly falls off the bed, losing balance on his knee when you stroke his cock a little faster. 

As Jimin sits up, trying to open up the packaging, you careen forward to pull off his sweats. You can hardly pull it down below his thick ass given the position he’s sitting in. But it’s enough for you to pull his dick out and wrap your hand around his girth in all its glory. 

While waiting for Jimin to take out the condom, you decide to tease him like he deserves. Switching positions, you lie down on your stomach in front of him. With a glob of saliva built up in your mouth, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching it drip down the shaft and onto his balls. You glide your hand up and down to spread the saliva, making sure he’s nice and wet. His balls tighten the moment you suckle your lips around his slit. 

You look up at Jimin with wide eyes in hope of some praise. 

His eyes stare into yours, but he quickly throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m not gonna last, please, I know your mouth is like heaven, but I want to be inside you,” he rambles. 

He tucks your hair behind your ears and rests his hand beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. His lips meet your forehead in a sweet kiss before you lie back down on the bed, spreading your legs wide open as an invitation. 

Jimin ungracefully pulls off his pants down the rest of his legs. He pumps his thick cock in his hands before sliding on the condom and lining himself up at your entrance. You groan, reaching out for his wrists as he glides his length up and down your folds, making sure you're nice and wet for him, fully prepped. 

The callous on his thumb is rough against your clit as he rubs down on it, easing the discomfort of penetration. Your velvety walls stretch around his member as he sinks into you inch by inch. 

You’re gasping for air as he sheaths himself inside you, but you remain calm because Jimin peppers kisses all across your face. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned. 

“Mhmm,” you hum, “Might need a second.” 

His nose nudges at your cheek, “Take all the time you need, baby.” 

Moments go by until you’re comfortable with the stretch. You don’t know how Jimin has so much patience with you when you can literally feel his dick twitch inside your pussy, impossibly harder than he was moments prior. But like the angel he is, he still waits for your go-ahead. 

“Jimin, you can move,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and offering a butterfly kiss. 

His mouth finds his way to yours, and he kisses you with so much fervor. You’re too distracted by the kiss to notice him slide out of you. 

But your lips part slightly, letting out a gasp when he drives his dick back into you, setting a moderate pace. Your hands reach for the skin of his back, latching your nails onto the smooth surface. The slap of skin on skin is obscene as his hips meet yours, pumping himself inside of you. The delicious burn has you digging your nails into his shoulder blades, scratching at his taut muscles. 

You weren’t wrong to say that you can’t go another day without hearing Jimin’s laughter, but at the time, you were not privileged enough to hear his moans against the shell of your ear. That is the one thing you don’t want to ever live without, too spoiled by the sensual man above you. 

Jimin fucks into you deeply, changing his angle as he shifts his weight onto his knees. His calculated thrusts to your g-spot sends you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes focus on your pussy, watching his dick disappear inside of you like an addiction. With a firm grasp on your hips, he lifts you higher to help you reach your orgasm. 

“Jimin, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, gripping your walls tightly around his length. 

“I know, baby, you can come.” He lowers himself onto his elbows so he can come face to face with you. His hands reach down between your bodies, and he rubs harsh figure eights on your swollen clit. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body trembles beneath him, moaning his name like a vice. 

Jimin rides out your high, pumping into your tight hole until your legs nearly give out. He doesn’t dare pull away, continuing to circle your clit until you’ve nearly reached your limits. Your walls pulse around his cock, squeezing around his shaft until he’s nearly at his edge. His hair is matted to his forehead, slicked by sweat. You brush away the loose strands with the tips of your fingers. 

“Are you close?” You breathe out, hush and quiet, cupping his jaw with the palm of your hands. 

“Mhmm,” he gulps, rutting into you, pumping your cum in and out as it sheaths his shaft. 

His pace falters as he approaches his orgasm, hips stuttering against yours. Jimin nearly collapses on top of you as he spills himself into the condom, moaning into the cusp of your ear. His chest presses up against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

You trace soothing circles onto his back as he basks in the afterglow of post orgasmic sex. 

His breathing soon evens out, and it’s comfortably quiet, that is with the exception of the radiator hissing in the corner of the studio. 

“Wow.” He kisses your temple before pulling out, letting the remains of your cum flow out of you. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“So on a scale of 1-10, how special would you say you feel right about now?” A smug smirk tugs on his lips, and you playfully smack his pecks. 

“Does this answer your question?” You ask, peppering 10 kisses onto his lips. 

“Mmm, no, I didn’t quite hear your answer” he says, leaning in for another kiss, “Tell me one more time?” 

And as Jimin kisses you goodnight, you know in your heart that the heartache and the loss of $5 are all worth it in the end if it means you get to wake up and smell the roses with Jimin at your bedside. 

[kaito-is-baby]

Devil Town

Shoto Todoroki x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: Spoilers about Dabi's identity? (I don't think this is a spoiler anymore lmao) and a little of gaslighting from the reader if you stretch

Plot: AU where Shoto kills Touya on accident, he and Endeavor run away, they end up on a ghost town and meet the reader, this will be a series and I can promise you I have a very good mystery for the town, also this was totally inspired by devil town by cavetown, it wil have many references to the song so… if you are a fan I think you will like this <3

part 1 (previous) | part 3 (next)

The bright rays of dawn streaming through his curtains woke Shoto up, he took his phone in his hands wondering how soon in the morning would it be to have the sun just rising now

9:00 a.m his phone screen read 

Where in the world did the sun rise so damn late?

Shoto found clean clothes on his little bedside table, the very same clothes he was wearing, the same print on the white t-shirt he was wearing was resting on the white t-shirt on his table, the same blue shirt he was wearing could be found underneath the white t-shirt and the very same denim jeans he was wearing too, they had just one diference, the new ones waiting in his bedside table were not soaked in now dry blood from his brother.

Once dressed in his new clothes he opened the door just to hear his father’s voice calling him from behing 

Deciding to ignore him Shoto hurried up to the stairs, soon finding the hostel hall and, in its reception desk, the recepcionist was waiting, her elbows on the tabble, her chin resting on her hands and a little movement from side to side from her head, he found her just like he had left her the night before, the same white striped dressing gown on her and the same 'everything is just a game' expression on her face

The girl waved at him and that was the only thing Shoto needed to take his decision

He approached the girl, ready to ask her what had kept him awake almost all night when she cut him 

“Were the clothes of your liking?” she smiled 

“Eh... yeah, yes they were” so it had been her who brought them to his room and found them in the first place “How... How did you find clothes so similar to my old ones? And... it was already midnight when we arrived, the day had just started when I woke up and they were already on my room where did you bought them?”

“I... made them?” her eyebrows curved “Look, it’s my job to make sure everyone in this town is comfortable, I gave you father clothes too and he did not complain, take them and stop asking so many questions, will you?”

“But... I have one more question” the girl nodded at him, allowing him to continue “I want to know your name” 

She giggled 

“I want to know your real name too, I guess we can’t have everything we want” 

“At least give me a false name so I can refer to you” 

“You souldn't refer to me, you should go out and meet the town's people, you will lose any interest in me as soon as you do so”

“I heavily doubt it”

“But I am sure of it” she said, focusing her eyes on the book she had on her table

If there was something Shoto was more curious about than the girl it was that book, it looked like the usual book they have on a hotel to know who is staying in each dorm but the misteryous girl and her misteryous hostel had no one else hospeding than him and his father, what else could be filling pages and pages of that book? and why would she look at it and have it with her everytime? 

"Look, you are cute, really cute, but I’m not interested so can you please leave for once?” the girl’s angry voice woke him up

“Yes, sorry, I got distracted by...” she would never tell him what was inside that book, would she ever explain anything? “its nothing. I will leave now”

Already on the door Shoto said something else before leaving the hostel “You are really cute too” It was more a muffle to himself than a sentence directed to her yet she heard it and a silly smile appeared on her face

He was shy and unused to romantic interactions

And something much worse, he was in a weird town with a death in his back, this was not the time to fall for someone, less someone even weirder than the town itself

...

The sun rays blinded Shoto at first, how could it be already so shiny when it had just rised?

It’s true one of Shoto’s eyes was blue, which usually make the eyes more sensitive but he had never really be blinded by the sun before 

“I guess the hostel is way to dark and my eyes were not ready for this” Shoto calmed himself 

The whole town had changed, he knew it, his father's car wasn't at the hostel door anymore and the hostel was again at the top of a slope

But this time, under the slope Shoto found what he expected to find the first time instead of a weird forest, a little town

Much to Shoto’s disgrace it was now the entrance to the town and the road he and his father were following what had disappeared this time alongside the lonely forest 

Not more than ten houses, a clock tower and a cafe 

That was what constitued this “town”

He entered the small cafe, trying to get them to give him some information about the whereabouts of the road 

Inside the counter was a blonde boy with a black highlight, laughing loudly at whatever his co worker -a big muscular man with thick lips and scary eyebrows- had said. The big guy was scary at first but once Shoto saw him baking and joking with the blonde his first impresion changed completely, he seemed like a good person

But then Shoto thought to himself, Didn't he look like a good person too? And he was a murderer and no better than his horrible father 

“I’m Jirou and I have to attend you, is there anything you want?” a purple haired girl in the same uniform as the two boys behind the bar welcomed him and guided him to his table 

“Do you have green tea?” 

“No, we got out of it just yesterday but we will have the new cargament by tomorrow!”

“Well then I guess a dark coffe will make it too” 

“Alright, tomorrow we will have your green tea ready eh... what’s your name?”

“oh! right!! you are new!!” the blonde exclamed 

“The name’s Dabi” 

“Welcome to Devil town Dabi!” A pink colored skin girl greeted him

Shoto’s cup of coffe was almost empty when a green haired boy filled with freckless all over his faces entered the saloon, standing on a girl of his same height, big eyes and red cheeks

“Denki please, could you give us some ice for Izuku’s ankle? he broke it again”

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital instead of asking for ice?” Shoto found himself asking

“Are you going to bring them to the hospital?” A deep and angry voice asked him 

“Don't you have one here?”

“Fuck off bastard, you can’t be serious and I really hate people mocking me” The blonde boy whose deep angry voice belonged to treatened him 

“Uraraka will take me to the city tomorrow to get checked” The injured boy, izuku, affirmed

 “In this shitty town there is nothing more than stupid trees” the angry boy spoke again

“And a road in the middle right?” Shoto asked, trying to find it again 

“What are you talking about?” Izuku asked

“There was a road with a sign with the towns name that crossed the whole town”

“The whole town are 10 houses and this cafe, I think you are mistaken, there’s no road here” the girl who attended him, Jirou, clarified 

“No, there was a road and-” Shoto then found a better thing to ask “the hostel! the hostel at the end of this slope, you have seen it right?”

“Yeah, but it’s been abandoned for years now, none of us has seen it working”  The baker answered 

“I don’t think its abandoned, there’s a recepcionist working on there”

“Who?” Denki, the guy who gave the injured boy the ice, asked this time

“I... I dont know her name”

“Look bastard, if you want to make fun of someone go somewhere else I dont want to see your stupid half burned face”

“Bakugo!” the girl with pink skin reprimanded him

...

Shoto left the saloon after that, wondering if he was the one losing his mind and not the people on this town, his biggest hipotesis was that both, he and the villagers were losing their minds

He wanted answers and he wanted answers from that stupidly misterious girl on the hostel 

He headed to the little amount of trees near him, he remebered, alongside the road were plenty of trees, he heard his mother on the woods. He had to walk through plenty of them until he found the hostel and not a single time did he sight the damn town

Shoto walked miles, he walked through the woods for hours and yet he couldn't find the road to get out of the weird town

He heard his mother voice again, calling him, screaming at him like the day he got the scar he had on his face 

“You said something dumb again” Shoto turned to where the voice came from

Sitting on one of the trees branches there she was, the recepcionist again 

“She’s mad” She jumped back to the ground “At least that’s what they say”

The girl was even prettier at the moonlight, it was easy for Shoto to lose himself on her eyes and forget about everything she was saying 

“Who? Who says that?” 

“The trees, obviously, who else would it be?” she laughed 

“oh” Shoto tried to find what she found so logical on her answer but he did just find it irracional, there was no way the trees were speaking, not even if he himself was hearing his mom coming from one of them “who... who is mad?”

“I'd say it’s your mother, she must miss you, all of you.” Was she refering to his older brother too? “I think this is not what she expected when you left” 

Shoto gulpped

He knew well what the misterious recepcionist was talking about, he left on a mision with his father to bring Touya back and now Touya was dead and both him and Endeavor were missing with no explanation

“But we’re fine, no one’s gonna catch you here” She said, speaking from his back again, she had walked through him while he thought about his past 

“What-?” 

When he turned around she was no longer there and so he decided to leave, it was dark at night already and he wanted to wake up soon, he needed to know more 

...

“Can I get an explanation to that last thing you said in the woods?” Shoto exclamed just the moment he entered the hostel, his voice much louder than he had ever expected it to come

“I... I wasn’t on the woods Dabi, I’ve been here all day” 

“You were on the woods, sitting on a branche you said something about being save here because no one would catch us and-”

“Dabi, I think you need to rest” 

“No, you already said something like that yesterday, when you came from- where did you came from when I arrived at this town? I walked trough the whole forest and didn't see you”

“I was here all day, just like every other day, every day is the same here”

“No, no you weren't, when I arrived here this place was lonely like-” Then shoto remembered what the villagers had said about the hostel “-an abandoned place...”

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t have a 5 stars hotel but I’m not even charging you so-”

“You weren’t here when I entered and arrived later, you were out there and I didn’t see you and this place smelled like... The woods sounded like...” Like Touya, like mom was what Shoto tought to himself

“Do you need me to help you get to your room?”

“No... no, I will be fine”

Shoto set his alarm at 5 a.m, the unnamed girl couldn’t be already up at those hours right? He would take a look at that book of hers and finally discover what was going on here. Was this his own personal hell? Because it sure seemed like it 

[bonesofapoet]

From Dusk ‘Til Dawn

[marcus lopez arguello x you]

author’s note: i dunno about you guys, but i miss this show So Much, and i wont disappear from this fandom again!! you know, probably. (used to write for deadly class under ladyofstadvst) also, this prompt is like ten years old but im still a sucker for it so here! we! are!

word count: 1148

ao3: @ ladyofstardvst (apparently tumblr doesnt like links anymore??)

two times Marcus wanted to kiss you, and the one time he did.

I.

Marcus Lopez Arguello couldn’t remember the last time he paid attention to the world around him.

He noticed thunderstorms and sunshine, knew when it was cold enough to snow. Saw the leaves begin to change from bright, leafy greens to honey gold and russet red. Of course he saw these things. He simply stopped caring about little happenings when Reagan killed his parents.

The last memory he had of a sunset . . . he couldn’t remember.

And he still couldn’t, even with the one painting the sky right before his eyes. Because when it was transforming into a radiant Monet as the sun descended down, down, down below the skyline, then the harbor -

The only place that held his attention was you.

You, with a smile that tugged the corners of your lips up towards your eyes. Eyes that reflected the deep violets melting into vibrant magentas and swirling with heavenly golden clouds. You, standing next to him in awe at the raw beauty this world had to offer for no cost but your time.

The air had become tinted with that specific shade of pastel pink, and Marcus had to catch his breath. His chest tightened, hands began to shake just enough to be noticed. He shoved them in his pockets so you wouldn’t see.

He would trade all the sunsets in the world just to feel your lips against his own. He would do it in a heartbeat.

II.

This time, it’s different.

Power outages darkened the city, torrential rain threatened to flood the streets, shutting down trains and buses, and no, don’t even think about walking. Wind came alive to uproot small trees and gift certain people with wings. It rattled the glass of Lost Innocence Comics right inside of its frames.

You and Marcus were soaked to the bone after stepping outside to just get a look down the street.

Great, he groaned, slamming his head against the locked door. The C L O S E D sign rattled against the glass. We’re fucking stuck here.

In front of him, the clouds changed from heather gray to deep navy and, within minutes, they were almost midnight black. It began to look like night had come to call early.

“Think we can find some candles around here?”

“Uh,” Marcus scrambled to collect himself, turned to face you in the fading light. “Who knows, there’s all kinds of shit in back.”

An eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Lead the way, then.”

Thunder rumbled low and followed you into the small storeroom. It was all damp concrete and chaos and muted rainfall past the small window lodged into the far wall.  Bright, violent flashes of lightning accompanied scavenged flashlight beams as you scored a box of matches. Marcus balanced the half-burned pillars he found on a stack of inventory crates to breathe the treasured warmth of fire into the darkness.

Your chilled bones didn’t complain, either.

Flickers of flame danced across you both, the silence slowly growing thick with that special sort of tension. The kind that was only present when something big was about to happen, or when no one had anything left to lose. It would have become overwhelming, but then – then. You were closer to each other than you had been before. Closer than the moment that had just passed. Maybe it was the sharp crack of thunder that made your heart beat faster when his lips were drawing so close to yours -

A bright, harsh light filled the room and you both jerked apart.

The power kicked back on, and the worst of the storm had passed.

III.

Things were different after Vegas.

Distant, secretive, hushed.

A fog followed them around like a phantom that thrived on fear, and fear alone. The friends who came back were not the same people who left the day before, not really. Those mere hours seemed to age them years, decades, eons.

Maybe it was smart that you bailed on them with Willie. You wondered if the abandonment of their two friends led to their downfall.

That was the thing about King’s Dominion - death clung to it’s students like a cloak one could never shed. You didn’t always want to rush off to meet danger at it’s doorstep when you didn’t have to. There was value in a quiet, comfortable weekend spent in your room, thank you very much. So you turned them down.

But that was the thing.

There was no such thing as comfort in a place like King’s, in a life that trained the next generation of assassins. It felt detached somehow, the reality that there were no safety nets, no promise of a life growing old, no promise of even growing at all. Comfort, ease, dreams – those ceased to exist the day anyone walked through those monstrous front doors.

Marcus forgot that too, sometimes.

Vegas reminded him that life was so impossibly fleeting, invincibility certainly did not exist, and there was no fucking time to live safely when there was nothing safe about life in the first place. When all you really had were ghosts that didn’t yet exist, and nightmares of the ghosts already born from your own making.

When San Francisco greeted them in the early morning sunlight, Marcus Lopez Arguello found himself heading straight to your dorm.

I almost died, he greeted you with tired eyes and a rough voice. Like. Five fucking times.

He watched as your eyes drifted over his silhouette propped against the door frame, all bruised and bloody boy. You expected nothing less at this point.

“But you didn’t.” came your reply.

“No,” he said. You were so close that it had gotten difficult to breathe – and, no, it wasn’t because of his bruised ribs. Probably. “I didn’t die.”

The unspoken ‘yet’ hung in the air, the elephant in your room.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t with-”

The dam inside Marcus cracked, hitched, broke.

There wasn’t a universe where he would allow you to apologize for something he had no right to ask for in the first place. No universe where he would allow death to take him home before he did the small things. The important things.

The kind of things that almost dying in an alleyway dumpster in Las Vegas made him realize mattered.

He kissed you, and you kissed him back.

It was hesitant, at first. All soft lips and warm breath questioning if this was real, if this was happening, if maybe Marcus really was dead after all. Then passion crept in, the comfort of his arms wrapped around you, your hands threaded through his hair, his own pulled you closer and closer and closer.

He was so very much alive, with a pounding heartbeat to prove it. With your skin grazing his, with your breath in his lungs. For the first time in a long time, he was so very grateful to be alive.

[angst-fairygodmother]

I’d like to request: “You can hold onto me if you’re scared, you know?” with Nathan/Reader, pretty please? 👀

A/N: This was so fun to write! Thank you for the lovely Nathan prompt. Word Count: 1265 Content Warning: a little spice, swearing

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you whispered as you shifted positions and peered, squinting through the darkness. 

Someone had been vandalizing the community center every night for the past two weeks, and given that Nathan lived there (despite your attempts to convince him to let you help him find a proper place) and you didn’t want him to get blamed for it if anyone found out about the arrangement, you had agreed to help stake-out the place and catch them in the act. You had tried to convince the others to help as well, even appealing to their more selfish nature by pointing out that you all kept having to cleaning up the mess, but only Simon had agreed. Of course, he had also bailed about an hour ago after drifting off at his “post” and reminding you and Nathan that morning would come early. So now it was just the two of you, in the dead of night, situated in a shadowy overhang not far from the building, hoping to spot someone.

You shivered, trying to tell yourself the chill you felt was just from the night air, and hoping Nathan didn’t notice.

“Of course it is. I’m immortal and ya’ve got yer whole badass Poison Ivy thing going. Even if someone decides to mess with us, they’ll lose,” Nathan said, louder than you would have liked. 

“I didn’t take you for a Batman fan,” you said, chuckling at the reference.

“What? No. Mum liked that old movie a lot, so I’ve seen it,” he shrugged. “I think she really liked lookin at Clooney in that skintight armor stuff. I don’t see the appeal.”

“Well, you’re also not a middle aged woman, which I think is pretty much his demographic,” you teased before sobering again quickly. “Your logic only works if we’re near enough something I can use, and don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s not a lot of life around the center.”

“Ah, but that’s why I brought you...this!” he said dramatically, lifting his jacket which had been sitting in a bundle next to him and revealing a small, pathetic little plant that looked like it might have been rather aggressively dug up from the park next door and then promptly crushed further under the fabric for hours.

Still you felt your anxiety disappear, at least for the moment. As with most things about Nathan, the gesture was thoughtful, even if the execution was flawed.

“Aw, poor thing,” you cooed, cupping the cutting when he placed it in your outstretched hands. 

You took a deep breath, trying to focus and pep it up a bit now, in case you needed it later (and maybe a little because you felt sorry that Nathan had battered it). You still weren’t entirely sure how your powers worked, but you knew that when you pictured things growing or blooming, they did. 

After a few minutes, the little plant was looking much fuller and greener and you looked up, eyes meeting a different, even more beautiful green as you caught Nathan staring at you. He quickly looked away, but not before you caught the tenderness and awe on his face and you bit your lip, face heating. 

Something clattered off to your left, and even though it was probably just a stray dog or something, you tensed. It was followed by a high whistle cutting through the night and making you jump.

“Fuck, what was that?” you whispered, looking wildly around for a source. 

“Ya can hold onto me if ye’re scared, ye know?” Nathan teased, nudging closer to you. 

You rolled your eyes, but whatever remark you might have made died on your tongue as the sounds drew closer: shuffling, and the thump of shoes on concrete, and occasionally, that damn whistle-shriek. 

You clutched tightly to Nathan’s arm with one hand, nails digging into his sweatshirt and you both drew backward further into the shadows of your hiding spot. His hot breath tickled against your neck and an arm slipped around your waist, keeping you close. 

“This is cozy,” he quipped softly, lips tickling your ear and you could practically imagine the wiggle of his bushy eyebrows. 

“Seriously? We are hiding from who knows who or what and you still can’t shut up?” you hissed.

“I’m just taking advantage of a moment. Ya know, like that fancy saying. ‘Carpet dean’ or whatever.”

“Carpet…” you frowned. 

And then it dawned on you what Nathan actually meant and you had to press your lips together to hold in your giggle. 

“Oh Nathan,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s ‘carpe diem.’ Seize the day.”

“Ain’t that what I said?”

“If you were really seizing the moment, you would have just done this.”

Before he could ask what you meant, you had leaned upward, planting your lips on his and burying one hand in his hair, the other still clinging to his forearm. He made a small noise in the back of his throat, pulling you closer and cupping the back of your neck. His tongue ran teasingly over your lip and you parted readily, allowing him to dive in hungrily to explore your mouth, your tongue dancing with his. He pushed you back gently, your shoulders bumping against the brick wall behind you, giving him even more advantage over you, not that you were complaining in the least. You tugged lightly on his curls, relishing in his moan against your mouth. 

The sound of shattering glass very close by had you suddenly leaping apart, both scrambling to find the source. There, a few feet away and just barely visible from the distant street light are a couple of dumb teens taking pot shots at the windows with bricks and a baseball bat and passing a joint between them. 

“Gotcha, ya little shits,” Nathan muttered, moving to confront them before you caught his arm.

“That bat gives them a distinct advantage if you go pick a fight,” you pointed out.

He scoffed. 

“Besides, wouldn’t it be loads more fun to screw with them?”

That mischievous smirk that you made your stomach do flips crept across his face. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

You laid out your plan for him, which involved a) using your powers to cause their joint to sprout and bloom in their hands, b) Nathan making horrible noises from the shadows, and c) if that didn’t work, just running at them, maybe using your powers and the little plant he had so kindly collected to give him a strange and monstrous appearance. 

He chuckled, grin wide and eyes bright. “Oh Y/N, that’s brilliant. They’re sure to shit themselves! I love ye...r evil mind.”

You flushed, grinning back at him.

One of the teens threw a firecracker at the ground near the doors, causing the whistling noise that you had heard earlier and lighting up the side of the building where a third was spray-painting crude images on the wall. 

“Oh come on,” you muttered. “That is an insult to street artists.”

Nathan quirked an eyebrow at you. 

“Oh don’t start,” you growled. “Let’s just do this hey? I have better things to be doing.”

“Better things then spending time with me?” he cried, placing his hand on his chest and gasping dramatically.

“Did I say that?” you smirked at him.

His face scrunched adorably in confusion. You waited expectantly as what you were implying slowly dawned on him. 

“Oh. Oh!” His emerald eyes lit up giddily. “We should definitely get rid of them. Right now.” He nodded, curls bobbing.

[notveryglittery]

mice on venus (1.1)

summary: gee, those forest ravines really pop out at you, huh? wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, qpr prinxiety, romantic analogical. warnings: falling off a cliff, injuries, janus is a lil rough around the edges but sometimes u gotta be when living in a dangerous blocky world... author’s note: i couldn’t sleep last night... bc brain was making this... and also @thoriffix​ makes nice minecraft art... so yeah, minecraft sanders sides au? i have no clue what i’m doing besides having fun :) not too much knowledge of the game is needed; you can look at it as a basic adventure au. enjoy!

mice on venus (1.1) (you are here) | far (1.2) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) idk if this will go on ao3 but here’s a spot for editing 

— — —

Patton’s voice tears from his throat in a raw and terrified shout. "Roman!" He screams, hands outstretched uselessly, as Roman tips backwards over the edge of a ravine, and disappears.

Logan is there, barely a second later. He rifles through his bag, finds what he needs, and throws it with all the force he can muster. Gravity won't let it hit the ground before Roman does, but it will help when it arrives nonetheless. He hurries to stand, turn, and face —

"What happened?!" Virgil asks breathlessly, daggers drawn and at the ready.

"Roman fell into a ravine," Logan answers with so little tact that Patton would scold him for it if he were paying enough attention to overhear. The color in Virgil's face drains. "I threw a Splash Potion of Healing after him," Logan reassures without pausing, "but we need to get down there."

"I knew I should've stayed home," drawls their final party member, sounding awfully bored despite the situation.

Patron does hear this and he rounds on Janus with fire in his eyes. "How could you be so cruel?! Roman might be dead!"

Janus raises an eyebrow. "Were you not listening just now? Our local brewer lobbed a potion. Roman's seen worse. He'll be fine."

Patton's lower lip trembles but it's hard to tell whether he wants to cry or to berate. Maybe both. He looks for Virgil, only to find him at the ravine's edge with a bucket. Water is flowing from where it's been poured, creating a safe passage for them to traverse down in once safe.

Roman, meanwhile, is falling.

His only warning had been the horror dawning on Patton's face and even then, it came after his foot met air instead of solid ground like he expected. For some inane reason, his first thought as he went plummeting was "who put this ravine in the middle of a forest?" Next, it was panic and "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

With the wind stinging his face and his blood roaring in his ears, Roman knows he has mere seconds to figure out how to make this suck less. He struggles to right himself until he's facing the ground that is rushing up to meet him. He pulls his shield from where it is strapped to his back and thanks Jeb that he'd had the foresight, as their fighter, to give himself something sturdier. The rickety thing the others use wouldn't have done much for him here but the curved, solid iron plate he tucks himself into should absorb most of the impact.

That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hell. He can barely cry out with how his breath is knocked out of him. Pain shoots up his ankles and legs, lighting every nerve along the way. He tilts over, gritting his teeth and trying to see beyond the stars that swim through his vision. He isn't safe… There could… Mobs…

Glass shatters next to him and he flinches from it. Please not a witch, please not a witch, please not a witch —

As opposed to the nauseous kick of poison or the heavy weight of slowness, however, warmth of healing washes over him. In his shock, he'd forgotten anyone had been with him but of course, Logan would have been right behind Patton, with his emergency potions. Relief floods over everything else. He isn't alone. He has help.

"— an idiot!" is the first thing Roman hears when he comes to. He opens his eyes to see Virgil pacing beside him, flailing his arms, and apparently mid-rant. It's probably Logan at his feet, wrapping his ankle in a splint. Ah… the pain from it being jostled must've woken him… He's glad he doesn't remember it.

"Honey," Patton's voice whimpers, close to him, choked and scared and none of that will do —

"C'mere," Roman croaks, reaching for his beloved. Patton catches Roman's hand and holds it almost too tightly. Roman isn't sure which one of them is shaking. He brings Patton's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I'm okay, sweetness. Don't cry. Please. You know a smile will help me recover better than anything."

"That's not true," Logan pipes up, deadpan.

Patton gives him a tremulous smile anyway.

"Learn to watch—" Virgil stops. Freezes. Looks up. "Oh. Great." He's rifling through his supplies before the others even have time to ask him what's wrong.

The sudden realization of dimming light answers them well enough, though. Janus wastes no time in beginning to help Virgil, moving with him to the ravine's wall to back their makeshift base against. Sunset brings with it monsters and they certainly aren’t in the best place to handle that.

"You need to sleep before you get back on your feet," Logan tells Roman as he packs away his med kit. "No adventures for at least three days."

Roman gasps, as if Logan has just told him his birthday is canceled.

"Logan's right, dear," Patton intervenes, pulling one of Roman's arms over and around his shoulder. He helps him stand slowly, making sure Roman favors weight on his less injured ankle. "It's okay, I'm gonna stay with you! It'll go by so quick, you won't even know it happened."

Roman wants to complain further but he’s lightheaded from his now-vertical position. With practiced ease, Virgil and Janus have a lean-to set up to keep them safe from the nights terrors. Unfortunately, there’s only enough materials for two beds. Fortunately, they sleep in shifts anyway. It takes some coaxing to convince Roman that he doesn’t need to stay awake for one but once his head is on the pillow and Patton is combing a hand through his hair, he’s out.

Logan sits up for the first two hours. Forty minutes in, Janus leaves to explore the ravine. The others know better than to even try stopping him. He returns, laden with coal and iron ore.

“Roman’s shield is gonna need repairing,” Janus says matter-of-factly as he takes over for the next watch.

Logan groans. “I suppose, at least, the painting will keep him busy while he’s grounded.”

“He’ll last…” Janus pauses, considering. “I give him no more than a day and a half.”

“If he wants to sustain his injuries, sure.”

“Bet you he’ll try stealing an Instant Health potion.”

“Not if he knows what’s best for him,” Logan snaps.

Janus smiles with too many teeth which isn’t to say he has too many teeth, just that normally his smiles are close-lipped. Logan scowls before ducking into their small shelter to try and get some rest.

The next two hours pass without trouble. Virgil takes his turn. The howling screech of an enderman startles Logan awake but just as quick, Virgil is peeking in on the party and waving the concern away with an ender pearl clutched in his fist.

“Didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity,” he whispers, before returning to his post.

Patton sets up for the last watch. Virgil makes Logan take the free bed, which doesn’t take much convincing seeing as he’s half-asleep already. Roman begins to toss and turn so Virgil sits on the ground beside him, reaches up, and holds his hand.

“Sap,” Janus says from the corner where he’s been making torches.

“Have you slept at all?” Virgil asks instead of taking the bait.

When Janus doesn’t answer, Virgil frowns. “How long has it been?”

Another round of silence.

“J, what the fuck? We don’t need phantoms on top of everything else!” Virgil raises his voice without meaning to. Logan stirs at the sound of it; he’s always been a light sleeper.

“Hush,” Janus hisses. They wait a few moments more until Logan has settled. “I will when we get back home. I’ve got at least one more safe night.”

Virgil’s glare sharpens but he doesn’t push any further. Janus goes back to his crafting but Virgil notices now how slowly he works. Instead of staring and letting his concern build, Virgil leans back and shuts his eyes, focusing on Roman’s warm hand in his.

Sunrise means a quick breakfast of bread and crisp apples. They share amongst themselves before Logan and Patton take down the lean-to. Janus returns to the top of the ravine, making sure to dispatch any mobs lurking in the shade of the trees. Virgil remembers the leads Patton had brought with him, for if they had come across any horses, and suggests tying Roman to one of them, just in case things go wrong on the swim up the waterfall.

Roman, ever full of bravado, insists he would be just fine on his own. Looks of concern and frustration come from his boyfriend and queerplatonic partner, respectively, and he quickly gives in without much fuss. Janus joins them again and offers to build a ladder back up, especially since there’s no short supply of wood; Logan disagrees, worried that it would take too long and they’d be caught out once more at nighttime.

Eventually, they do all get up and out of the ravine. Roman’s splint needs redoing now that it’s wet and heavy but afterwards, they are on their way home. He relies heavily on Patton and Virgil to help him, careful to not put too much weight on his injured foot; he hates needing so much help, but he supposes it’s mostly alright, what with Patton keeping him entertained with stories and Virgil teasing him about dumb little mistakes made in the past.

Slow going as as they are, they make it just as the sun is beginning to set. The lanterns are lit at the village they had set up nearby roughly a year ago and their neighbors are gathered at the bell for gossip and trade. Patton wants to swing by to say hello and offer some cake but Roman is really struggling beside him now.

“Oh, sweetpea, you must be so tired,” Patton murmurs, shifting so that he can take more pressure off of Roman. “I’m gonna get you the best dinner… And hot cocoa, too, how’s that sound?”

“We haven’t got a steady supply of cocoa beans yet,” Roman says without much conviction.

“I’ll cocoa bean anyone that tries to stop me,” Patton insists.

Virgil stifles a laugh behind his hand and pretends he didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat disguised as a pun. He makes a note to kick their search for a jungle into first gear and wonders if Janus would be up for a trip to the west. It is the least explored direction and their terribly empty maps remind them every day. In the meantime, he’ll help Patton to get Roman comfortable and settled. He makes sure Janus goes to bed that night, keeping him company until he’s well and truly deep in sleep.

After one last sweep of the perimeter, Virgil retires to his and Logan’s room. Logan is waiting up for him, reading by candlelight. Virgil changes into his night clothes and slides in under the covers. Logan is warm and, with a fond eye roll, compliant as Virgil tugs at his sleeve until he eventually puts his book away. Logan lays on his back with Virgil splayed half-across his chest; the sensation has always put Logan at ease, having his partner’s presence so physical and grounding and there.

“Will Roman be okay?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that Logan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Like Janus said, Roman has been through worse.” Logan hesitates but not long enough for either of them to actually start thinking about it. “As long as he is careful, which I’m sure Patton will help him be, he’ll recover in no time.”

The tension flows out of Virgil in one slow exhale. “Thanks, L.” He shuffles deeper into the blankets and Logan’s embrace. “Love you.”

“And I you,” Logan responds with a hum, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.

[brandstifter-sys]

Crisis Angel 

@dukexietyweek Day 2: Swapping              (Ao3)

Word Count: 2277

Characters: Roman, Virgil, Remus

Pairing: Dukexiety

Rating: T+

Warnings: Blood, death mention, Gore, sex mention, Body Horror, Fire, Criss Angel references

The Dragon Witch causes Remus and Virgil to switch roles because she's tired of listening to them whining about the other, but they manage to fix it

---

It wasn’t everyday that Remus got cursed by the Dragon Witch, in fact it was incredibly rare, since she actually liked him and his antics. But he had to complain and whine about his predicament, no one liked him, and he seemed to scare the shit out of Virgil. All he wanted was cuddles, clothing optional–was that too much to ask!? A duke can fall in love and want to be with the person who had his heart, and he can want without shame! If only he weren’t the embodiment of intrusive thoughts he could win that emo over. The Dragon Witch just had to take his ranting to heart! 

Remus woke up feeling a general unease. He was very much aware that he had to fix his weapon rack or else he could do some serious damage, and there would be blood and broken bones and sprains and he didn’t know how to mend himself! That’s what Janus was for—and for being a friend, like the golden boy he was. He was kinda saddened when he remembered that no one else really liked him or wanted him around. He had a feeling he knew what happened, and he didn’t want to think about the implications of it. He did anyway. It's not like he had much of a choice.

Instead of his usual attire, he threw on a Green Day shirt, leggings, sneakers, and Virgil’s old hoodie. He kept it for the nostalgia and because Virgil didn’t wash it before he got to it, so it smelled nice. It was the only part of his outfit that made him feel comforted and safe. He would need the safety to manage his way through the day and back to the Dragon Witch’s castle. She had to be behind this sudden change! He just hoped he was the only one affected. 

However, when he stepped into the common area, Remus realized that he was not the only one affected. Oh no, he saw more than he bargained for! 

"I can't believe you of all people would suggest such a thing!" Roman huffed from his usual recording spot and crossed his arms. 

"Why not? Just because I hate him doesn't mean I don't think he should be royally fucked into submission!" Virgil jeered from the stairs, where he was spread out and lounging like some kind of rockstar. He definitely dressed the part—tight leather pants covered in zippers, an open spiked leather jacket that showed off his defined torso, and knee-high combat boots.

"I want to vanquish that foul villain, not create a fanfiction worthy scene to deflower him!" 

"You wouldn't, I made sure he was flowerless years ago. You're just making excuses, Princey—we all know you want that snake cake and to tear into that dandy with your second sword—unless you're more interested in a new pony to whip."

"What happened to you? You sound like—" 

"—me," Remus said and announced his presence. Two sets of eyes landed on him and he swore he wanted to disappear at that exact second. 

"Are you saying I sound hot?" Virgil jeered and leaned forward, smirking coyly at Remus. Roman huffed and ignored him, deciding that Remus might be more willing to explain. 

"Do you know why Virgil is acting like this? And what are you doing in that hoodie? You look like death!" 

"I don't know for sure but I'm pretty sure Mille did it," Remus shrugged and leaned against the staircase tiredly, but not letting his guard down, not with the way Virgil was eyeing him. He shivered at the thought that crossed his mind—too much blood he did not want. 

"Millie? Remus, have you been bothering her as of late?" Roman pressed. 

"I don't know if I would say I was bothering her, I visit her at least once a week with snacks and we hangout. I could have been bothering her, though. Maybe I was! Oh god, what if I was and she didn't say anything because she doesn't trust me to listen to her when she's uncomfortable?!" Remus freaked out and tugged the hoodie closer around him to shield his body.

"You know you could have asked me for that hoodie, I would have given it to you, in exchange for a few organs," Virgil mused and licked his lips. Remus winced and curled into himself, uneasy about getting that kind of attention in front of anyone else. 

"You switched," Roman said as it dawned on him, "but why would she do that? Unless—" 

He froze when Virgil casually drank lighter fluid from a flask and then a lit match. The plume of flames that shot from his mouth towards the ceiling made Remus jump back and clutch his chest. At least he wasn't thinking about how he could have made a mistake with the Dragon Witch.

"Hmm the Dragon Witch did this? Do you think she'd make a better pair of boots or a belt? I'm tired of the flood of new parlor tricks," Virgil hummed, "It's agony without any relief—but I know one of you can make me feel better." 

Roman scowled as Remus inched toward the couch. Virgil snapped his fingers and appeared on the couch behind Remus. 

"I'm a better seat than this old thing, Dukey," he teased, getting Remus to yelp and freeze.  

"I'll go see her and save you the heart attack, at least from that journey. I'll see if I can stitch the pieces together since you don't seem to be prepared for that." 

"Need a few needles?" Virgil asked lazily and pulled a string out of his navel, shockingly there were needles threaded along it. Roman sank out with a huff, unwilling to deal with any more nonsense. Remus was more distracted by Virgil's bare skin and toned abdomen to be bothered. So he might have been gawking. 

"You can get a closer look, with your tongue if you're brave enough," Virgil teased before tossing the thread away. Remus turned bright pink and averted his gaze. He kept getting horrible ideas about what he could do to that body.

"You don't want me to do that," he sighed and hugged himself, "No one wants me to get too close, even Janus has his limits. And I know it's for a good reason." 

Virgil sat up and leaned towards Remus, pouting. 

"You really think that, Cuddlefish?" 

"Yeah, everyone else just wants me to get lost, except Janus, why wouldn't I think that?" Remus said bitterly and sat on the arm of the couch. 

"I only want you to get lost in my eyes, or my intestines after I go Dahmer on your ass."

"Come on!" Remus snorted, "I scare you, and you don't like me and my gross ideas. I make you uneasy and I don't know what to say to not do that because everything could go wrong and I don't want that. And now more than ever, I'm terrified of everything that could go wrong!" 

"I usually don't like the thought of you seeing my pants tenting—that's a circus that's not usually in show. But you can get ringside seats whenever you want, if you want."

"What?" Remus questioned, trying not to focus on the image of Virgil wearing Britney Spears' ringmaster outfit from the video—or something more revealing. 

"If I don't keep my distance I'm not gonna be able to let you get away. I like you, so goddamn much I just want to rip your eyes out to stare at them forever." 

"Virgil?" 

"It's a lot easier to say it without the crushing weight of anxiety squeezing my innards out through my pores. I like you, that way, hell, I might even be bold enough to say I love you! And it's usually so terrifying I could drop dead from emotional overload at any second and you'd have a corpse to play with as much as you want!" Virgil raved, jumping to his feet, "You are everything I'm not and I want you to want me the same way but you deserve better than a panicking maniac with anger issues and low self-esteem! And I know that this change won't last so I have to tell you now before I go back to being a pants-shitting basket-case."

"And what are you going to do when we switch back? I don't know if I can take a confession like that just for it to change jack shit, especially when I want you to mean it. I don't wanna be the emotional victim of the resident mind freak," Remus pressed. Virgil stood in front of him and tapped his chin in thought. 

"Actually," he hummed and thrust his hand through his chest, revealing some torn muscle and his broken ribs. Remus' eyes went wide as he grabbed his thundering heart and tore it out, blood spurting on the floor.

"I want you to keep this, keep it safe, and that way I'll know that it's safe to act on these feelings, even when I'm an anxious emo mess again." 

Remus reverently took his heart and cradled it in his hands like a treasure he was afraid to break. He stared up at Virgil in awe before pressing his lips to the gift. 

"There's a different throbbing muscle you can put your mouth on," Virgil teased. Remus scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue. 

"Not when you have a hole in your chest, Angel!" 

"Wanna stick something in it?" 

"Kinda," Remus admitted sheepishly. Virgil leaned down and cupped his cheek. 

"First let me show you my greatest trick," he purred, "turning a man into a puddle." Remus' breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut as Virgil captured his lips and licked into his mouth. Remus melted into the kiss just as expected, his heart racing with his thoughts. 

And then a familiar feeling took over him. The Dragon Witch really went with the biggest cliche to lift the curse.

"I can't believe I just did that," Virgil mumbled as he pulled away. Remus grinned and wiggled in his seat. 

"But you did! And you can do it again!" Remus sang and giggled, "But first—!" He conjured a jar around the heart and set it on the ground gently, then he eyed Virgil's wound. 

"Do you want to fix that or can I stick something in it?" he pressed, getting Virgil to glance down and flinch. 

"No, too many risks, I don't really want you to accidentally mess something up." 

"Accidentally?" 

"I don't think you would do anything like that on purpose with this hole." 

"This hole?" Remus purred, "So there are others I can mess up? Please, do go on!" 

"Maybe later, after I skin the Dragon Witch. I didn't want her to actually get rid of my anxiety so I could tell you—y'know—"

"So you were bemoaning your cruel fate too? Maybe we should thank her! You're really hot when you're confident and having my kind of thoughts!" 

"Give me enough time and somewhere private and you can get more of that," Virgil mumbled and rubbed his neck, "If I'm in a comfortable place, I might be able to relax—but don't get your hopes up, anxiety sucks." 

"It was kinda not that bad being Anxiety," Remus mused, "I didn't feel great but I was a lot more aware of my surroundings and the way my pulse thundered from excitement! Now I know what I need to fix in my room and what really gets me going!"

"Even if I'm not Creativity anymore, I still might have a few ideas worth trying," Virgil said in agreement. 

"Creativity?" 

"Yeah, your role." 

"But I'm an intrusive thot!" 

"You think you're the only one with twisted thoughts?" Virgil scoffed and grabbed the hair at the base of his neck, "You know you were still having them, I could see how you flinched without me doing anything, it's so obvious. That part didn't change for either of us." 

"So you have intrusive thoughts too? You should tell me about them! Over dinner!" 

"I could do that, if you can't come up with a more creative date." 

"You can come to my room to watch a few horror movies and cuddle—but you have to wear that outfit or less because goddamn! I forgot how ripped you are!" 

"Dinner it is," Virgil huffed and loosened his grip. Remus whined and leaned closer with a pout. 

"Movies and cuddles. But jammy pants and no shirt under the hoodie instead," he countered, "I need skin to skin contact no matter how platonic." 

"You mean the mouth to mouth won't be enough for you?" Virgil mumbled and blushed down to his shoulders. Remus' eyes went wide.

"You never said that would be an option! I didn't think you'd want to do too much on the first date!" 

"You have no idea what I want to do with you right now." 

"You can show me!" Remus grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Virge scoffed and loomed closer, gripping his hair tighter. Remus' breath hitched as those lips brushed against his own. 

"You'll just have to wait for that," Virgil mumbled and pulled away without kissing him. 

"Tease!" Remus whined and crossed his legs. Virgil smirked at him and shook his head. 

"See you tonight at eight—or more like seven since I tend to panic and show up early," he said and pressed a kiss to Remus' forehead before sinking out. 

Remus picked up the jar again and squealed. It was going right above his TV so he could see it while he held its owner close to his. He definitely owed Millie big time!

----

Inspo pic for Virgil’s outfit

[i-turned-the-emperor-to-dust]

Miraculous Fanfiction

It Started With a Kiss [AO3 Link] (Based loosely on the Korean Webdrama: Who Kissed Me?)

After drinking too much at a collége reunion, Marinette recalls kissing someone after the party but can't remember who. Enter one flirty, ridiculous cat who's hell-bent on helping her remember!

(Yaay, finally finished my first Fanfic in the Miraculous fandom! I’m so proud of my muse - finally cooperating for once 🥳)

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The memory itself was vivid, even if the details themselves were a bit fuzzy. But Marinette knew this much: the lips had been soft against her own, the pace slow and languid, and they certainly knew how to use their tongue, how to apply just the right amount of pressure as their hand tangled in her hair, greedily pulling her closer.

A perfect kiss.

Well, nearly perfect. Marinette still couldn’t remember just who those lips belonged to.

“I swear, girl. Only you would experience the most memorable, mind-blowing make-out session of your life, and not even remember who the lucky guy is!”

As Alya gave her another comforting pat on the back, Marinette nodded morosely, emotionally spent from the memory alone. “It’s not fair. I’m cursed, Alya,” she despaired, arms dangling dramatically over the side of her chaise longue as she wallowed in self-misery.

“You got that right,” replied her helpful, supportive friend.

“Are you sure you don’t remember who I left with?” She asked again, desperately hoping her friend hadn’t suffered a mental-blackout like she had and would have the answer ready to unwrap like a present.

“Sorry, girl. Like I said, I left early with Nino. Trust me, if I knew you were going to drink too much and have a sexy tongue-soiree after a self-imposed drought, I would’ve stuck around to film it for posterity.”

“Gee, thanks,” Marinette groaned, cursing the unfairness of it all. Apparently, all her Ladybug luck was on reserve for when she actually needed it to defeat akumas.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out,” her best friend assured her, a determined glint entering her eye as the seasoned journalist took over. Nothing got her blood pumping like a mystery to solve. Climbing to her feet, Alya walked over to her rolled-up poster board and yanked down a nice clean page, then grabbed a marker and prepared to write. “Alright then, first we need to go over the list of suspects, starting with every single person that was at that party last night.”

“All of them? There were a lot of people, Alya.”

“Not that many, really. It was just our collége reunion, so let’s start with the people that actually showed. Let’s see,” she hummed, thinking back to last night. “Adrien was there with Kagami, as usual. And Luka, Juleka, and Rose all came together. Max and Alix were with Ondine and Kim, and Mylene and Ivan arrived a little later.”

“Nathaniel and Marc came too,” Marinette added, even though she thought this brainstorming session was kind of silly. She couldn’t imagine sharing a kiss with any of their old classmates. It was more likely she’d left the party alone and ran into some handsome stranger along the Seine.

“Right,” Alya nodded, adding the final names to the list. “Alright then, all done.”

“Really?” Marinette teased, glancing meaningfully at the poster-board. “You’re sure you’re not forgetting anyone? No one else comes to mind?” As Alya continued to stare at her blankly, Marinette giggled and added sweetly, “An adorable, newly engaged couple, perhaps?”

Realization dawned, and Alya chuckled as she rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine, me and Nino were there too, though I think it’s safe to say the only lips we were rocking last night were each other’s.” But even so, she dutifully added both names to the list, as meticulous as ever. “Now that should be everyone.”

With the list more or less complete, Marinette took a step closer to examine their handiwork. She supposed she should be grateful that Chloe, Lila, and Sabrina weren’t on the list. At least she’d have one less nightmare to contend with; if it had been any of them, she’d rather cut out her tongue and live in denial forever.

“See? We already have a pretty great suspect pool,” Alya enthused, encouraged. “So, where should we start?”

“Well, you can definitely cross off Adrien,” Marinette said morosely, though saying the words didn’t hurt nearly as much as they used to. Ever since she’d accidentally discovered he was Chat Noir, she’d found herself even further relegated to the friend zone. But since she couldn’t tell her friend that, she said instead, “He left with Kagami shortly after you and Nino.”

“Damn, girl, you sure know how to ruin my fun,” she complained and made a big show of crossing out his name—a single line wouldn’t do, oh no, he got the royal treatment. There were now four dark strikes through his name, and beside it, a face with its tongue sticking out.

Thankfully, Kagami was saved from a similar treatment. Before her friend could put a mark across the other girl’s name, Alya’s phone rang, and glancing down at the caller, the journalism intern nearly jumped two feet in the air. “Oh shoot, I have to take this,” she said as she picked up the phone and wandered clear across the room, leaving Marinette to continue thinking in peace.

But thinking was hard.

Her head continued to pound thanks to the hangover she was still fighting, a fact she knew Tikki wouldn’t let her forget anytime soon. It certainly explained why she was having so much trouble remembering any more details about the kiss. Her mother’s homemade tonic may have helped, but there was still no better cure than staying sober.

If only she could remember something, their hair or eye color, their build and height—any hint would be useful—or better yet, if Tikki would stop being stubborn and just tell her already, then the mystery would be solved and she could finally stop driving herself crazy!

And judging by the way Alya was jumping up and down in the corner, she had a sneaking suspicion her best friend wouldn’t be any more help.

Unsurprisingly, Alya hung up her phone moments later and hurried back, her hands steepled in apology. “I’m so sorry, Marinette. I know I said we’d hang until you had to leave for Kagami’s, but I just got dibs to assist on a super-exclusive interview, so tell you what—you go over our list and eliminate anyone you can, alright? And if you run into a dead-end, just start calling some of our classmates and see what they remember. I’ll call you later tonight and we’ll go over all the evidence. Hopefully by then, you’ll have gotten your answer or remembered something. How does that sound?”

“Good, I guess,” she replied, though she doubted she’d get very far.

“Great!” Grabbing her bag, the-tornado-known-as-Alya gave her a quick hug and a wave, and then disappeared through the hatch, leaving her alone with her silly suspect pool. By the time she spoke to Alya later, she had a feeling there wouldn’t be a name left on that board that didn’t have a line through it.

“You know, if you had been responsible last night instead of drinking to excess, you wouldn’t be having this problem,” Tikki chastised as she came out of hiding. It was a wonderful reminder of why she hadn’t wanted to be alone today. She loved her kwami dearly, but having to be reprimanded while nursing a hangover wasn’t exactly her definition of fun. “You’re just lucky there wasn’t an akuma last night, Marinette. Or anyone nearby to overhear you.”

“I know, Tikki. I’m sorry.”

And really, she was. It had been irresponsible and thoughtless of her. Not to mention, if Hawkmoth had attacked, Adrien would’ve been forced to fight him all alone since she would’ve been more than useless. At the time, though, she hadn’t been thinking about Hawkmoth, about Paris, about anything, really.

After watching her “friend” laugh and joke with Kagami all night, just once, she hadn’t wanted to be responsible. Just once, she hadn’t wanted to think at all. She might have resigned herself to never being with Adrien, but knowing he didn’t see her civilian self the same way he saw Ladybug, didn’t make the reality hurt any less.

So instead, she was left with the haunting memory of a kiss she couldn’t forget and a well-meaning kwami who was too noble to give her an easy way out of her misery.

Resigned, she asked: “You’re still not going to tell me who I kissed, are you, Tikki?”

“Sorry, but no,” Tikki replied as she took another bite of her cookie, and Marinette had the distinct impression she was being judged.

Despondent, she sagged against her seat, desperately wishing Alya were still here. At the very least, she could use a distraction.

. . .And when she heard a familiar thump come from somewhere above, a distraction was exactly what she got.

��                                     —                     —                  —        

Chat paced across Marinette’s balcony, silently trying to pump himself up.

It was all good, it was fine. THEY were fine. It was just a kiss, nothing to get nervous and bent out of shape about. She wouldn’t be mad at him. She’d be happy, thrilled even! And when she hugged him, which she totally would, he’d convince her they were meant to be together, that this was destiny, and there was no way he was going to let Hawkmoth destroy what they had.

He had his speech memorized. His arsenal locked and loaded; hopefully, the flowers wouldn’t be overkill. And Plagg had been adequately threatened to keep quiet.

Now all he had to do was make himself move.

Staring at the trapdoor, Chat took one tiny step forward, then another, knowing his future was just within reach…

And then collapsed, his hands in his hair, the panic rising.

What if she hated him now? What if she insisted he took advantage of her and never wanted to see him again? What if she decided to take their hypothetical hamster, the very one they’d discussed in length just last week, and raise it on her own? What then?

Luckily, he didn’t have to fret for long. Without warning, Marinette’s skylight was flung open, and her beautiful face peeked through. With cat-like reflexes, Chat quickly skidded away, surprised to see her there so suddenly. 

“Chat?” she asked, a tinge of exasperation in her voice, though to him, it might as well have been music. “I thought I heard you up here. Why didn’t you come in the front door?”

Chat grimaced. He couldn’t exactly explain that it was safer this way, that despite his promise, Plagg would definitely use this opportunity to torment him. So he simply shrugged and tried not to look too guilty as he slowly crawled closer. “Sorry, I just wanted to surprise you. Surprise,” he finished lamely as he greeted her with a tiny wave. Noticing he was waving the same hand holding her flowers, he blushed in embarrassment as petals rained across her balcony. He quickly hid them behind his back. 

A forced, awkward smile settled across his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said as she rolled her eyes fondly, teasing. “Come inside, you silly cat. Unless you’ve got more grooming to do for a photo shoot." With a chuckle, she disappeared back inside her room. Encouraged by the fact that she hadn’t refused to see him, that she seemed happy, even, Chat followed after. A couple quick jumps later, he found himself standing in the middle of Marinette’s room.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he told her with a grin, even though he’d just been here as Adrien a few days ago, and it hadn’t changed one bit.

Marinette chuckled. “Thanks, it took a lot of work.”

Well, that cinched it. He loved her. Only Marinette would go along with his lame jokes and silly puns and not even bat an eye.

He had meant it, though—he loved her room. It was cozy and comfortable, warm, and lived-in. The complete opposite of his own. Despite being eighteen now, it hadn’t changed that much from when they were young. The walls were still her favorite color, in varying shades of pink, and she had all the same trinkets and furniture that had hardly aged a day. The only thing that had changed were the pictures she used to have of him all over her walls. At some point, they’d been replaced with photographs of all their friends and inspiring fashion pieces she’d come across in magazines.

He wasn’t sure when that had changed or even why, but it was one of the reasons he was so nervous. He knew she had liked him once, and if their conversation last night could be believed, she still did. But today, in broad daylight, without the help of wine, would she still feel the same?

“So, what brings you by?” Marinette asked curiously as Chat lovingly placed her flowers on her desk. “I thought we were going to meet at Kagami’s in a couple hours.”

Chat shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “I had some time to kill, and thought I’d spend it visiting my favorite purrincess.”

“Oh? And since she wasn’t home, you came to see me?” She put a hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon. “My, my. I’m flattered, monsieur super-hero.”

Seeing an opening, he took her outstretched hand and placed a quick kiss there, his eyes searing into hers, absolutely relishing in the way she blushed. “Not as flattered as I am,” he told her, the words “my Lady” on the tip of his tongue but held back by sheer will alone.

Now wasn’t the time.

“So, did you have fun?” he asked, reluctantly releasing her hand. “At the party, I mean.”

He watched her closely for her reaction, looking for the slightest sign she was unhappy or upset or disappointed somehow. She hadn’t brought it up herself—maybe she wanted to pretend it didn’t happen, or worse, maybe she didn’t like it. Was she preparing to let him down gently AGAIN?

Marinette, unaware of his catastrophizing, shrugged as she walked towards her unrolled poster-board, fingering the corner of it thoughtfully. “It was alright, I guess,” she replied, flushed, as she glanced at him with a smile. “I’m a little iffy on some details, though.”

Chat raised a questioning eyebrow. “Oh? Why’s that?” he asked, trying his best not to sound too curious, too invested. Though it was hard.

“I guess I drank a little more than I should have,” Marinette admitted as she bit her lip in shame, irrevocably drawing his gaze. Because those were the same lips he’d finally gotten a taste of late last night. Swallowing at the memory, Chat flushed as he forced himself to look away, to act nonchalant, like he didn’t want to resume right where they’d left off.

To distract himself, his eyes followed hers. For whatever reason, he found himself staring at all the names of their old classmates written on a giant poster board. Well, not all of them, he realized. It was only the ones that had come to their reunion party last night. “Are those the details you’re iffy about?” he asked, stepping up next to her to get a better view. “You’re not class president anymore, you know. You don’t need to take roll call, Marinette.”

She swatted him playfully across the arm. “I know that. It’s just a small project I’m working on.”

“Ooh, what kind of project?”

Again she blushed, and Chat realized there was clearly something he was missing here. “Well, aren’t you a curious kitty,” she cooed, scratching him underneath his chin as he leaned into her touch. It was such a Ladybug thing to do, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection sooner. Of course, the line between Marinette and Ladybug had been blurring for a while now. Even before he learned the truth, he’d dreamt about them being the same person multiple times. And with moments like this, it wasn’t surprising why.

“Actually,” she continued haltingly, “about last night. Something did happen, but it’s all a bit of a blur. See, I—I kissed someone, but I can’t remember who it was…”

At first, her words didn’t register. Then, slowly, Chat’s eyes began to widen ever-so-slightly, understanding firing all eight cylinders.

“Wait, you mean, you forgot?” He stuttered, and realizing what he’d almost admitted, cleared his throat and continued awkwardly, “I—I mean, that’s too bad, really bad. Seems like the kind of thing you’d want to remember.”

“I know, right? I knew I shouldn’t have taken that last shot! Kim and Alix can be very persuasive.”

“So, um, what all do you remember then?”

Marinette put a finger to her chin and began to tap-tap-tap, and he thought that was just the cutest thing ever. Everything about her was cute! “Not much, to be honest. Only that the kiss was amazing.”

Chat’s cheeks went pink, and he just knew his entire face must be blazing. Not for the first time, he was glad he was still wearing his mask. “R-really? You really thought so?”

Marinette nodded as she absently tapped the poster. “Do you think it could’ve been Luka?” She asked, turning to look at him with an open and vulnerable expression. “We talked a lot last night… maybe he wanted to get back together?”

At the very thought, Chat clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, and if he were really a feline, he would have hissed.

“No, it definitely wasn’t Luka,” he muttered, much sharper than intended, and when he realized Marinette was staring at him strangely, he hastened to add, “I mean, I-I saw him last night, walking with Rose and Juleka—when I was out on patrol! I’m not sure what happened with that amazing kiss,” he continued with a wink, “but I have a feeling whoever the guy was, he wouldn’t just kiss and leave. At the very least, he would’ve walked you home or called.” A thought occurred to him then, and he asked nervously, “He, um, didn’t call. Did he?”

“No, he didn’t. I guess you’re right,” Marinette confirmed, sounding almost disappointed as she picked up a marker and crossed Luka’s name off the list. Despite that, Chat couldn’t help but feel relieved as his biggest rival was summarily removed.

One down, he thought cheerfully. Only a dozen more to go!

But first, it was time to get out of this cat-suit. He could practically hear Plagg grumbling in his ear, demanding cheese and freedom. And despite the risks of releasing his unlucky kwami, he knew it was necessary. If he was going to get his heart trampled on, he was determined to do it as Adrien; Chat had enough rejection to last a lifetime.

Unfortunately, he didn’t bring any cheese. Smelling like camembert when he planned to confess to the girl he loved was the last thing he’d wanted. So he turned to his partner, prepared to beg for a small slice as tribute—“It’s on the workbench,” Marinette told him, having read his mind, and Chat followed her gaze to see she already had a plate waiting for him, piled high with a variety of gooey options.

Chat shook his head in awe.

He shouldn’t be so surprised—that’s how in sync they were. It was one of the many reasons they belonged together. And yet she never failed to take his breath away.

The urge to confess had never been so strong, so not wanting to waste another second, he commanded, “Plagg, claws in!” Like always, his entire body was enveloped in warm green light, and once it was done, he opened his eyes to see Marinette staring at him with a cute, gob-smacked expression on her face. Even a year later, she still looked at him like she was seeing it for the first time. Adorable.

He chuckled at the sight, but realizing potential disaster awaited, turned his full attention to his greedy little kwami. “Alright, Plagg, remember our deal,” he whispered, green eyes narrowed in warning. “Not a word, or you’ll be living off cottage cheese for a month.”

With twinkling, giddy eyes, his kwami scoffed. “Oh, please. Like I’d want to ruin the fun of wherever this conversation is going. Please, by all means, dig yourself in even deeper. It’ll be a joy!” And just like that, he was off, his mouth already buried in a slice of brie.

“What did Plagg mean by that?” Marinette asked, sidling up next to him.

“Nonsense, as usual,” he muttered and turned his attention back to the “suspect pool”, quietly wondering who he should eliminate next. Nathaniel used to have a crush on her, maybe he should start with him? But then he noticed his own name had already been crossed off, and there was even an unflattering drawing right next to it. “Hey, what’s this?” He complained, putting his hands on his hips, intentionally keeping his voice light. “I was eliminated before I even had a chance to compete?”

“Well, obviously, I knew it wasn’t you,” she teased, tapping him in the chest with the tip of her marker. “We’re friends, right? Besides, you already have Kagami.”

Wrong. He hadn’t been with Kagami in almost a year, ever since he started realizing he had feelings for his good friend Marinette. Of course, she’d been with Luka at the time, so he’d been forced to wait and watch, and yet, even when they finally had broken up, the perfect opportunity just never seemed to present itself.

Until last night.

“I’m not with Kagami,” he told her softly, though considering how often they still hung out, it wasn’t surprising she’d think that way. “We’re just friends, Marinette. We’ve been that way for a while now.”

The friend he absolutely didn’t want as a friend, gasped, staring up at him in disbelief. “What? I’m so sorry to hear that, Adrien. I had no idea.”

He shrugged. “It was so long ago and it was mutual. We agreed to split as soon as I realized I was in love with someone else…”

Marinette’s beautiful blue eyes widened at that revelation, and the prettiest blush colored her cheeks as she turned her attention back to the board. Her hands shook the slightest bit as she crossed Kagami’s name off the list.

“Well, you two still left together,” she said softly. “So I guess I can rule her out.”

Adrien laughed as he took the marker from her hand. “Wow, you can’t even remember the gender? You were drunk.” And though he felt the tiniest bit guilty about that, she hadn’t seemed drunk. They’d held an entire conversation before the kissing had even begun. Still, knowing that all of that build-up and ground-work had been destroyed was depressing.

“So, what do you remember? Aside from it being the best kiss in the history of kisses,” he added slyly, fighting back a grin.“You must remember something. Like, what led up to it? What color was his hair? His eyes? Do you even remember where you were at?”

“I think I remember stairs—in Montmartre,” she replied, and watched as Adrien began crossing names off the list. First, he removed Nathaniel, Alix, Kim, and Max. And after that, drew a line through Ivan and Mylene, easily eliminating half of her suspects as if it were nothing.

When she raised an eyebrow in question, Adrien shrugged, though his eyes were full of mirth. “They all hate stairs,” he said by way of explanation, and with an encouraging smile, asked, “Anything else you remember?”

Marinette dutifully looked away as she closed her eyes, searching for any details floating just out of reach. Though they both knew the answer, knew where all of this was headed.

Still, he waited patiently, allowing her to figure it out for herself. And sure enough, when her pretty bluebell eyes flew open and her lips parted in surprise, he knew she knew. “Green eyes. Blond hair,” she whispered as Adrien continued down the list, eliminating the rest of their classmates one by one, everyone who didn’t match that description. And when no one was left, he circled his own name, again and again, until it stood out like a shining star against that pure white background.

“Adrien?” she breathed, finally looking up at him.

“Surprise,” he said again, laughing lightly as he fearlessly met her gaze. But inside, he was shaking. Once more, he felt like a love-sick cat standing on a rooftop, bracing for rejection. “I came back, you know,” he told her, feeling strangely shy. “I forgot my bag and saw you sitting outside on the stairs getting some air, and we got to talking, really talking… I—I honestly can’t believe you forgot all of it.”

“Sorry,” Marinette mumbled, just as softly. “There’s a reason I don’t drink very often.”

Adrien bit back a smile, knowing the real reason behind her sobriety. After all, the savior of Paris couldn’t exactly fight Hawkmoth while intoxicated, could she? 

“Then what made you drink last night?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer, having heard them from her very lips on those stairs. Yet the selfish part of him, the part that wanted her to remember what they’d shared, needed to hear those words again. “Surely your classes at IFA couldn’t be that stressful. Not already.”

Marinette released a quiet little sigh as she nervously fingered the poster-board. “Well, why did you kiss me then?” she shot back, and Adrien laughed, not expecting her to turn this back on him so quickly. But unlike his Lady, he wasn’t afraid to be upfront and honest.

“Because I wanted to. I’ve been in love with you for a very long time now, Marinette.”

“Y-You have?!” Marinette stuttered and then stumbled, nearly tearing down her poster-board in the process—which was quite the feat, considering she’d been standing still. But as always, Adrien was there to catch her before she could fall too far, his arms around her shoulders, holding her steady.

Reluctantly, he let her go. “I have.”

“But, but I had no idea! Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why did you let everyone think you were still dating Kagami?”

“I didn’t! I didn’t even know that’s what everyone thought!” Adrien insisted, shaking his head. “I was just being friendly, and since she’s one of the few people my dad actually lets me hang out with, I had no reason not to. Besides, the only reason I ever dated her in the first place was because I couldn’t have you—you didn’t like me that way!”

“I’ve always liked you that way!”

“Well, sure, I know that now,” he complained.

“Then, so, we do like each other. Both of us,” Marinette confirmed, blushing like mad now. “And last night, on the steps, we confessed to each other . . . and I don’t remember any of it!” It took all of five seconds for Marinette to go from flustered and shy to absolutely distraught as she turned away, hands tangled in her hair.

Adrien simply took another step closer. “That’s nothing new for me,” he reminded her, having experienced an unfair amount of memory issues in the past. “But if it bothers you that much, I can always remind you what happened if you want.”

Marinette stopped pantomiming long enough to glance over at him. “Really? Y-you’d do that?”

“Of course,” he told her with a happy little laugh.

“O-okay then,” she said, staring at him, expectant and trusting.

And Adrien was determined not to disappoint. He’d give her a story she’d never forget.

“So there we were,” he began, setting the scene as he leaned towards her, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “All alone on the stairs on a beautiful night. There was romantic music drifting in from the venue, and the light from the street lamps bathed us both in a warm, soft glow—so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when you confessed your undying love for me right there on the spot.”

“I WHAT?!”

Adrien nodded, fighting back a grin. “That’s right. Apparently, you ‘couldn’t keep your feelings to yourself anymore’—those were your exact words, by the way. And you started insisting we were destined to be together, that fate and Hawkmoth, and even ‘dumb, purple butterflies’—again, your words—could never tear our love apart.”

Unsurprisingly, Marinette’s face had gone from a pale, sickly white to a bright fuchsia, so red, it was entirely possible her blood-vessels may have imploded, but Adrien continued on innocently, enjoying being able to unbalance his Lady for once. “And that’s when you kissed me. And then I kissed you, and honestly, we did a lot of kissing last night, Marinette, it’s kind of hard to keep track—but it really was as epic as you remember.”

At some point during his retelling, the love of his life had collapsed soundlessly to the floor, her legs splayed out beneath her as she stared at the rug in utter humiliation and self-reproach. And Adrien felt a little bad. But only a little.

He hadn’t exaggerated too much.

Hoping to cheer her up, he knelt down, slowly placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, like he was approaching a startled rabbit that was ready to bolt. “If it makes you feel any better, I did bring you flowers,” he reminded her, gesturing to the abandoned bouquet on her desk. “I would have given them to you last night after I brought you home, but it was too late and all the stores were closed.”

Finally, Marinette lifted her head, her cheeks slowly resuming their color as she glanced at her gift from across the room. “Flowers? Those were for me?”

“Of course,” he teased. “I don’t give flowers to just anyone, Princess.”

“But—Kagami? I thought they were for her birthday.”

Adrien’s gaze softened. “I already gave Kagami her gift last night. I bought those for you, Marinette. I couldn’t exactly come here empty-handed, could I? Not after giving you a kiss to end all kisses,” he reminded her with a wink. “Of course, if you don’t want them…”

“I DO! I want them!” Marinette insisted loudly, too loudly apparently, because her eyes instantly widened and she threw a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. “I-I mean,” she floundered as she lowered her hands and gave him a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Adrien. They’re beautiful.”

And if he wasn’t kneeling, it would’ve been his turn to collapse.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he replied sincerely, and Marinette practically melted right there on the floor. Adrien laughed, pleased and encouraged by how open and unguarded she was being. If she was angry or regretted anything, he had no doubt she would’ve kicked him out long before now—his lady was nothing if not decisive.

And apparently delusional, because the next words out of her mouth were: “Thanks, but I’m not, not really,” and at her shy expression, Adrien scoffed so hard he nearly gave himself whiplash.

“Of course you are,” he insisted, just as loudly and as passionately. “You’re beautiful, Marinette. You’re brilliant and brave and talented and kind and just-just amazing. It’s no wonder I fell in love with you twice,” he told her, and if he thought her face couldn’t get any redder at that point, he’d be wrong. “I’m only sorry I never saw it sooner,” he continued, needing to get the words out. “That I was stupid and blind, and mistook what I felt for you as friendship when it was obviously something more.”

Marinette stared at him in wonder. “How can you say all of that so easily?” she asked him, shaking her head in disbelief. “I-I’ve been trying to tell you that for four years now, and it took getting drunk and then blacking out before I could even get the words out!”

“Well, what’s stopping you now?” He asked, giving her an encouraging smile as he threw out his arms, opening them wide in invitation. “I’m here. I’m listening. Go on and woo me, Bugaboo.”

Marinette stared at him, completely slack-jawed. And it took waaay too long for Adrien to realize what he’d just let slip, what he’d unknowingly confessed. And just like that, he found himself at a crossroads.

“B-Bugaboo?” She repeated uncertainly.

He could deny it, of course. Could laugh it off and say she reminded him of his lady. But if he was honest with himself, Adrien was tired of the lies, tired of pretending he didn’t know. Now that everything was out in the open, it was time to be honest about everything. “Would you prefer Wonderbug, My Lady?” He asked, unable to hide his nervousness, “Or Mrs. Agreste? That’s on the table too, if you want it.”

A dreamy look entered her eyes at his suggestion which made him sit up and take notice. But just as quickly Marinette began shaking her head, as though mentally berating herself.

“But HOW did you—WHEN?”

“So, that’s a funny story, actually,” he continued, red-faced now, and absolutely dreading this conversation. Why couldn’t they just go straight back to kissing? “Last night, you may have, kind of, sort of, admitted you were Ladybug to me—not that it mattered,” he hastened to add, “I’ve known for months now!”

“YOU’VE WHAT?”

“I mean, I saw you���months ago, by accident. Not on purpose! I wasn’t following you or anything, I swear!”

Thankfully, as he rambled like an idiot, Tikki finally decided to make her presence known. Now that Marinette knew the secret was out, she had no reason to stay hidden. So, like an angry little hornet, she buzzed onto the scene, antennas twitching irritably. “That’s right, you did,” she chastised as Marinette’s look of panic increased ten-fold. “Now do you see why I was so upset with you, Marinette? That was very irresponsible: Anyone could have overheard you! You are NEVER allowed to drink alcohol again!”

“Aw, come on now, Sugar Cube,” said Plagg, flying lazily beside her. “Leave the kid alone. Humans always do stupid things when they drink. You should’ve set a better example.”

Despite Tikki turning that terrifying displeasure on her partner, Plagg didn’t even flinch. “I certainly do not drink, nor to excess,” she shot back, leveling him with a glare. “If anyone’s been a terrible influence, it’s you and that cheese addiction of yours! Do you know how difficult it’s been for her to sneak enough cheese out of the bakery to sustain your insatiable appetite?”

“No more than your macaroon addiction, I’d wager!”

“I don’t have an addiction!”

As the two kwami’s verbally sparred, Marinette stared at Adrien who stared right back, somehow their own conversation forgotten in the unexpectedness of what they were witnessing. “S-sorry,” Adrien replied at last, nodding his head towards Plagg. “He can be a bit of a glutton.”

“It’s really not that much cheese,” she hastened to assure him as Plagg laughed derisively at Tikki’s latest rant. For some reason, they were now talking about the extinction of the dinosaurs. As one, the two found themselves naturally gravitating away from the arguing kwami’s, and both took a seat on her lounge chair, looking uncomfortable as they watched.

“I’ve never seen them fight before,” Marinette whispered, her own worries and fears suddenly seeming small while watching two ancient, tiny gods verbally duking it out.

“I know, right? Plagg doesn’t usually get this passionate about anything other than camembert. I didn’t even realize he was capable.”

Marinette sighed, realizing she wasn’t going to get any helpful guidance from Tikki anytime soon. “So, what do we do now?” She asked, turning so she was facing him directly, though her expression was worried. “I’m the guardian now, Adrien. Doesn’t that bother you? What if we get together and I forget all about you after passing on the miraculous?”

Adrien laughed, though it was filled less with amusement and more with resignation. “You mean like how you forgot everything last night?” He teased, knocking his shoulder playfully against hers. “I’ve got news for you, princess, as long as Hawkmoth is around, nothing between us is ever going to be easy. But you’re worth it. WE’RE worth it. And if you do forget me,” he continued warmly, “well then, I’ll get to enjoy making you fall in love with me all over again. I can be very persuasive, you know.”

The way her cheeks flushed at his comment seemed to suggest she agreed whole-heartedly. But Adrien wasn’t done. As if afraid the words would fester and rot, he knew they had to be said.

“I still love you, Marinette. The feelings I had for you back when we were in collége, when I only knew you as Ladybug—they never went away. There will never be anyone for me but you. You’re not just my partner, you’re my best friend and the only person who knows me so completely, inside and out.” Praying she could feel his sincerity, he took her hand in his. “So please don’t tell me last night was a mistake.”

Marinette stared down at their linked hands and to his relief didn’t pull away. Instead, she met his gaze without fear or hesitation and gently squeezed his hand in return. “I know I wasn’t in my right mind last night but I meant every word I said. All of it,” she told him, her lip quivering as a bright and beautiful smile broke free. “I love you too, Adrien. Even after learning you were Chat Noir, my feelings for you only grew. I love you, my chaton. I always have.”

It may not have been very manly to tear up, but he had waited YEARS to hear those words. Feeling overwhelmed, relieved, and loved at last, Adrien wiped his eyes with the back of his arm. “My lady…”

“Oh, for crying out loud, would you two just KISS already?” Plagg complained, apparently taking a break from tormenting Tikki just to torment them.

Adrien, who had been staring lovingly at Marinette, shrugged helplessly. “Permission to show you exactly what you forgot?” he asked as he leaned closer, lips quirked, and only a breath away.

“I am a bit fuzzy on the details.”

“I can definitely fix that.”

Carefully placing an arm around her waist, Adrien pulled Marinette even closer, drawing her in for a heart-stirring kiss. Her lips were soft and sweet and every bit as amazing as promised. He kissed her slowly, reverently, like they had all the time in the world because this time he was determined to make sure she didn’t forget a single thing.

Though neither of them knew what the future might bring, one thing they knew for certain: Separate, they were already pretty amazing. Together, they would be miraculous.

THE END

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

hi!! for the kissing prompt, under the stars✨

“Aang, what could possibly be so important that you had to wake me up in the middle of the night to see it?” Zuko grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his free hand as his boyfriend practically dragged him out of his tent.

“You’ll find out soon!” was Aang’s teasing response. “Now close your eyes. I want it to be a surprise.”

If he shut his eyes again, Zuko was halfway-worried he’d fall back asleep despite how he’d be standing and walking, but at the same time... He’d also never been able to say no to Aang. Especially since after the war had ended. And as long as his boyfriend didn’t let go of his hand while he tugged him along - well, he’d probably be fine.

Emphasis on ‘probably’.

But apparently they didn’t have far to travel, as after a brief uphill climb Aang slowed to a stop, giving Zuko’s hand a gentle squeeze after doing so. “Okay. You can look now.”

Zuko opened his eyes and was… unimpressed, to put it mildly. They were standing on top of a small, grassy hill, and their campsite was only twenty or so feet behind them. “What am I supposed to be -”

“Look up, Sifu,” was Aang’s gentle, amused response, and Zuko was so grateful the words hadn’t been followed by ‘hotman’ that he followed his boyfriend’s instructions without question, lifting his gaze upwards to see -

“Wow.” No other words but the one came to Zuko’s mind, his eyes wide and his voice barely above a hushed whisper as he stared in awe at the sight before him. Stars raining down, twinkling, falling across the sky and disappearing as fast as they’d come. “They’re so… wow.”

His uncle had told him about meteor showers, once, but what with his tendency to sleep like the dead from dusk to dawn… Zuko wasn’t sure he’d ever see one in person. Although with his boyfriend being a waterbender, maybe midnight dates wouldn’t be terribly uncommon in their future. As long as Aang remained with him, Zuko supposed he could tolerate it.

“I wish I could show you what they look like from the Southern Air Temple,” Aang breathed, one hand outstretched towards the glittering skies above. “Spirits, I remember feeling like I could reach out and touch them! Isn’t it the most beautiful thing in the world?”

Zuko turned to look at his boyfriend, an agreement ready on the tip of his tongue, but his voice caught in his throat when his gaze fell upon Aang’s awestruck, elated expression, gray eyes twinkling with the light of a thousand stars as his soul seemed to dance through the air beyond their mortal realm.

“Yeah,” he managed to choke out. “Beautiful.”

Aang frowned, giving him a concerned look. “Are you okay? You sound like you have a fro-”

Zuko found himself surging forward, cupping Aang’s face in his hands and cutting him off with a kiss that burned with a fire hotter than any falling star. Aang stood frozen before eagerly returning the kiss, placing his hands on Zuko’s waist and gripping the red fabric tightly.

The only time Zuko ever wished he was an airbender, too, was when he was madly kissing the love of his life, because spirits what he wouldn’t give to never have to break for air.

When he was forced to pull away, the tiny, greedy monster in Zuko’s stomach relished the dazed, satisfied look in his boyfriend’s eyes. It was an expression he’d never tire of seeing.

“What was that for?” Aang murmured before giving Zuko a wide smile. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Zuko hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Aang scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Sure you don’t.”

Zuko chuckled. His boyfriend knew him better than anyone. “I mean…” He dropped one of his hands to intertwine his fingers with Aang’s. “Seeing you under the stars just… did something to me.”

Aang’s gaze softened before a smug smirk slid onto his lips. “Is that so?” He leaned forward, standing on his tiptoes so his next words fell right beside Zuko’s ear. “Then we should have midnight rendezvous more often.”

Zuko swallowed hard before nodding. And when Aang captured his lips in a second kiss, Zuko knew he’d never complain about being woken up in the dead of night again.