#have recently turned our broken fridge at work

[rottenroyalebooks]

Love Drunk - 0.2

Pairing: Eddie Munson x older sister!Harrington reader

Also includes: Steve Harrington x sister!reader (siblings)

AU: No Upside Down.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Y/N Harrington left Hawkins as soon as she turned eighteen with her boyfriend to follow her dreams of being a Rockstar. Three years later, she returns to Hawkins alone and scarred. Now, she has to repair her broken relationship with her younger brother, all while trying to prevent herself from falling for a cute metal head who plays at the Hideout, where she works.

Warnings: None.

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I didn't sleep at all that night.

I wasn't sure if it was the nerves of being in my childhood bedroom after so many years or the looming anxiety of recent events following me to Hawkins. Still, either way, I couldn't sleep soundly like Mr. "I probably wouldn't wake up if you're screaming bloody murder," Baxter.

After a few hours of tossing and turning, I gave up, turning to one of my old books for comfort until Seven O'clock rolled around and Baxter stirred awake, making me close my book dramatically, "I knew Saint Bernards were a sloth-y breed, but come on man!"

He just stuck out his tongue as he panted,

I removed the covers from my legs and climbed out of bed, "Alright, let's go. You need to go outside, and I need to make some food." He perked up at the mention of food, jumping off the bed as I made it and waited not-so-patiently by the door.

I opened the door, followed Baxter down the stairs, guided him to the kitchen, and let him outside through the sliding doors. I opened the fridge and hummed, looking through it for something to cook.

I grabbed the egg carton and the gallon of milk, deciding to make some eggs and bacon for breakfast. It was the easiest thing to do in the morning.

I found the bacon and took out some slices, hearing someone walk into the kitchen.

"You're cooking?" Steve's voice met my ears, a joking tone erupting, "Are you really my sister, or are you a clone that was sent to kill me in my sleep?"

I turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow at his low blow, "I've been cooking since I was twelve, remember?" Then, I turned back to the pan to focus on what I was making, "I made you dinner all the time until mom hired that Nanny who made amazing lasagna."

I heard him snap his fingers in recognition, "Yeah! I remember her. They fired her after I turned thirteen; they thought we could start caring for ourselves."

I scoffed, "Yeah, leaving us all the time with a credit card was a great idea. I bought so much booze with that thing; it was ridiculous. Want some breakfast?"

He made a noise of acknowledgment, and I nodded, turning my body to talk to him, "So, catch me up on the fantastic life of Steve Harrington."

Steve chuckled lightly, running a hand through his hair, "Well, I was pretty popular in high school after you left; I was captain of the swim team and then became a babysitter to some incredible kids." He spoke so fast that I couldn't get a word in, "After graduation, I met my best friend working at scoops ahoy, a nearby mall until it burned down, and now my friend Robin  and I work at the family video."

I hummed, "No furthering your education? You have a chance not to follow in the footsteps of your big sister, you know."

"I'm taking some time off." He scratched the back of his neck, "I honestly don't know what I want to do."

I shrugged, stirring the eggs in the pan as they cooked, "That's fine! We all go through life at our own pace; for example, I'm right back where I started. This is just a setback." I turned around and put the eggs and bacon onto a plate before walking to Steve and placing it in front of him.

He mumbled a thank you as I gave him utensils, and I returned to the stove.

I remembered that I didn't see his car anywhere when I pulled in during the early morning hours, "Hey, where's your car? I thought Dad would take you to pick one out on your sixteenth birthday."

When I was sixteen, Dad did the same for me. I saw an old 65' Caravan at a junkyard my friend's dad owned and became obsessed with the thing. He found one in good condition and bought it for me; mom was apprehensive about letting her sixteen-year-old daughter drive around in a Caravan, but I still have it.

He took a second to respond, "The break-line snapped, I have a friend who is a mechanic, and he's fixing it up for me."

I hummed, "Need a ride to work? The caravan is old, but she still runs beautifully."

His lips formed a thin line, glancing down at his food before nodding, "Can we pick up Robin too?" 

"Yeah, that's not a problem."

"Cool, let me go call her." He stood up with his plate and moved to the other room quickly.

♡♡♡

It was an awkward silence.

I knew getting to know the brother I hadn't spoken to in three years wouldn't be easy, but I had hoped we'd be more civil than this.

"So, any girlfriends?"

I heard him scoff, "No, I dated Nancy Wheeler for a minute in school, but that ended, and she's now dating Jonathan Byers."

I rolled my eyes, "You talk as if I know these people."

I graduated when Steve was finishing his time in eighth grade, and as soon as I got my diploma, I ditched town with some less-than-lovely company. I wrote him a goodbye note and left.

"You would've known who they were if you stuck around."

I was taken aback by that response, "Whoa, dude -"

"I mean, you didn't call or write or come visit. You just left a note on my bed, and I never saw you again."

I kept my mouth shut and let him continue his speech.

"Mom and Dad were pissed, by the way. Tried to go to the Chief of Police about your "disappearance," but since you were eighteen and clearly stated you didn't want to come back, there wasn't anything they could do." He huffed, running a hand through his hair.

"Turn here."

I followed his instructions.

"I was worried about you until I heard from a repeat senior that you had skipped town with Ryder Daniels, who everyone told you was bad news, but for some reason, you loved him enough to run to god knows where with him."

There was a beat of silence, "Are you done?"

He paused, sighing lightly, "For now."

"I get you're upset, but this town is suffocating," I pulled up to the address he had given me.

"Then why come back?"

I saw a cute girl with short brown hair exiting the house, and I turned to Steve, "Get in the back."

He whipped his head to me, "What, why?"

"You know how to sit in the back, and she doesn't."

"But I'm comfortable -"

"Just get in the back, Steve."

He groaned, unbuckling his seatbelt, and climbed into the back of the campervan. He sat on the dining bench where Baxter loved to sit during rides and got comfortable as Robin opened the passenger door.

I smiled at her, giving her a once over, "Welcome to the Van; you get the music selection in the glove box."

"Please pick something decent; I can't stand the music she picks." Steve groaned, and I rolled my eyes.

"I-I'm Robin," She said, buckling her seatbelt as I drove off.

"Y/N." I greeted, watching her from the corner of my eye as she opened the glove box and picked through the selection of music.

"So, are you Steve's new girlfriend?" She asked me, and I jumped, nearly driving us off the road.

Steve and I started gaging dramatically in unison. Both were equally disgusted with the question.

"God, no," Steve said, shaking his head.

"Gag me with a spoon! No, like I'm his sister." 

Robin whipped her head around to look at Steve, "You have a sister? And she's crazy hot?"

I smirked, "I'm the attractive sibling."

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part seventy-two: "The Belated Valentine's"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Matt surprises you with a date night out to make up for the two of you spending Valentine's Day broken up.

Or You learn Matt tried to subtly have a date with you two years ago.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 3.8k

a/n: A sweet, fluffy installment that features a flashback to pre-relationship with Reader in Matt's naughty POV. You can find the entire list of installments for this series on tumblr here.

You were staring at the contents of your fridge after having just arrived back home from work about ten minutes ago. It was looking quite sparse considering tonight was a Friday night and you hadn’t gotten groceries in a few days. Frowning, you realized there wasn’t much worth making for dinner. 

You sighed and shut the fridge door. It appeared you’d be ordering takeout for you and Matt tonight. He’d called you on your lunch break earlier and sounded incredibly eager to spend the evening with you. Apparently he hadn’t been intending to go out as Daredevil tonight. ‘I just want to spend my night with you, sweetheart,’ he’d told you earlier in that charming tone of his. 

And for some reason his enthusiasm to see you tonight had left you nervous. 

Unfortunately you had absolutely nothing in your fridge to make for dinner. Maybe he’d be feeling takeout, though you knew he usually preferred when you cooked. He often said the food tasted better since you intentionally tried to cook with his heightened senses in mind.

Three knocks came from your apartment door and you turned quickly in surprise towards the sound. You hadn’t been expecting Matt to show up so soon, usually he spent a bit longer at the office on Friday nights lately. He was often trying to finish things up so he wouldn’t have to deal with work over the weekend since the firm had gotten quite busy recently. 

Confused, you crossed your apartment and made your way over to the door. You unlocked the deadbolt and the lock before pulling it open to reveal Matt’s smiling face. Your eyes quickly dropped down, noticing the large vase of peonies in his hands–it certainly didn’t look cheap. Immediately your brows furrowed as you stepped aside and invited him in.

“Uh, did I forget that today was something important?” you asked nervously, mentally trying to recall the date as you closed the door behind him.

“No,” Matt said, the smile never wavering. “You didn’t.”

He held out the vase towards you and your eyes once again dropped down towards it, studying it carefully. It was big. And absolutely stunning.

“What are these for?” you asked him slowly.

“You,” he answered. “They’re for you, sweetheart. Happy belated Valentine’s Day. Since I ruined our first one.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Matt,” you scolded. “I thought we’d been over all of that.”

“We have been,” he agreed, nodding. “But I did mess it up. And I hate that you spent that evening the way you did. Getting drunk at a bar because of me.” He grimaced, continuing on before you could say anything. “So I’m trying to make it up to you now. Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

Your jaw dropped as you stood there staring silently back at him. Blinking a few times, you found yourself unsure how to react. Was he really being this goddamn romantic right now? You were not remotely prepared for that tonight.

“Sweetheart?” he asked, tone a little nervous. “I mean I know it’s not anything extravagant–I actually initially had something else planned for you for Valentine’s Day,” he admitted. As if realizing he'd said that aloud, he quickly added, “Though I think I might save that for…something else.”

“Something else?” you asked curiously, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, well,” he said, suddenly fumbling and bashful behind the vase of flowers. “I mean, it’s–it’s uh…maybe a good idea to keep in my back pocket. You know, in case I mess things up again. With you.” He cleared his throat a couple of times before he shot you a strained smile. “Just–just forget I mentioned that. Not important.”

You stared at him in silence for a long moment with one brow raised, wondering what he could have been planning initially. And then you began wondering why he seemed so nervous at the mention of it–Matt Murdock was generally not nervous. When he held out the vase of flowers even further to you, that timid expression still on his face, you figured you’d let it go. You supposed you’d eventually figure it out.

“Thank you, Matt,” you said, accepting the vase from him. “I love peonies.”

He visibly relaxed before you as you turned, heading to the kitchen to place the vase onto the counter. They smelled wonderful and you briefly wondered how they smelled to him.

“I know. I remembered,” he said. 

Turning back around, you took in the sight of him in his dark dress slacks clinging to his thick thighs and his suit coat with a white button up shirt and red tie under it. He looked handsome, as he always did, but certainly dressed nicer than you felt in your dress slacks and blouse. Frowning, you stared down at your outfit.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m uh, not exactly dressed for a date,” you admitted. “I didn’t know you were wanting to go out tonight.”

“Well,” Matt said, shooting you a bright smile, “I intentionally left the choice up to you for tonight. I have reservations somewhere really nice, or I know there was that Vietnamese restaurant that just opened nearby that you had mentioned sounded interesting. So it’s your choice. And you certainly have time to change if you’re wanting to, but honestly, I think you look great.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning at Matt. “Ha ha, Matt,” you said.

He winked back at you and you felt your cheeks heat up. Why did he have to be so smooth?

“Let me just change really quickly and then we can go,” you told him.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he replied, shooting that charming smile your way again.

_______

Chewing the bite of rice noodle and pickled vegetables, you sat across from Matt in the new restaurant you had been dying to try. He was eating his own noodle dish and lightly tapping his foot up against yours under the table. He’d been more flirtatious tonight than usual you’d noticed. On your walk over to the restaurant he had often pulled you towards him by your enjoined hands and kissed you–whether it was your mouth or your forehead didn’t seem to matter. He’d remained holding your hand across the table while you both had waited for your food to arrive, and when you’d inevitably needed to let go of his hand to eat, you had occasionally felt him bumping his foot against yours like he was doing yet again. You didn’t quite understand the increase in affection this evening, but you certainly weren’t complaining. Even if it was somehow making you nervous like this was your first date all over again. 

“You know,” Matt began, “I did pick this day for a reason to make up for Valentine’s.”

Lowering your chopsticks, you eyed Matt suspiciously. “And what was the reason?” you asked him curiously. 

“We met just a little over two years ago,” he told you. 

That fond, sweet expression he’d so often given you just before Marci and Foggy’s wedding day was currently on his face. Your pulse quickened as your head tilted to the side, trying to recall when it was you both had met. 

“Wasn’t that technically towards the end of March?” you pointed out. “This is April, Matt.”

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding. “It is. And it was this day, two years ago, that I actually subtly– sort of –tried to set up a date with you.”

Both of your brows shot high up onto your forehead. “You did not!” you exclaimed. “I’d have remembered if you’d asked me on a date, Matt.”

“I said subtly set up a date, sweetheart,” he corrected, his own food currently forgotten. 

Setting down your chopsticks, you sat further back in your chair and focused fully on Matt. “What the hell does that mean?” you asked. “How was I unaware of this?”

He chuckled, the corners of his eyes creasing as he continued to gaze fondly back at you. “You remember that day I asked for help to go over those papers? For that court case you’d been helping us with? The papers that you couldn’t get printed in braille in time?”

Your eyes narrowed as your attention dropped down to the table while you tried to recall the memory. “You mean the night I came over and you ordered pizza?” you asked, glancing back up at him. 

Matt nodded quickly, resting his elbows onto the table as he leaned forward towards you. “Yes, that night. It was two years ago today,” he answered.

_______

"Hey," Matt greeted you with a smile as he opened his apartment door. "Glad you found your way here alright."

Little did you know he had already been aware of the moment you'd entered the elevator in his building, Matt having picked up on your familiar, unsteady heartbeat a bit ago. You were nervous. He figured you would be because he knew you always were around him. 

"Uh, hey, Matt," you muttered awkwardly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. "I uh, I brought the files with me."

"Oh, I already brought them with me from the office, but thank you," he said. "Why don't you come in?" 

He stepped aside, making room for you to pass by him. As you did, he felt the warmth of your body radiating over his skin as you stepped inside–your body temperature was significantly more elevated than normal. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of that, and he also wasn't entirely sure what to make of the way his eyes momentarily closed when he caught the scent of that peach shampoo you used. 

Hell, you smelled so damn good all the time, whether it was your shampoo or your natural scent or–fuck–the smell of your pheromones . What he wouldn't give to bury his nose into your hair or burrow his face into the crook of your neck where he could enjoy the feel of your trembling pulse as he inhaled the scent of you. 

And oh, he certainly had thought about the scent of your arousal–some nights the memory of it had kept him awake. Whether it was the way you’d smelled at Josie’s or any of the number of times he’d seen you around the office since then, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. His nostrils flared even now as he caught the faintest taste of it in the air. His left hand clenched into a fist as he shot you a tense smile before he led you down the entryway hall and towards his couch. 

Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted to bury his face between your thighs, often wondering what they would feel like clamped around his face. He certainly had tried to imagine the taste of you on his tongue. He'd wondered what you'd sound like lying on your back on his bed moaning his name ever since your friend had made that comment at Josie’s. He'd often tried to envision it, remembering how it sounded when you'd said his name in conversation. He especially liked when you called him Matthew–what would that sound like as a breathy pant from your lips while he kissed your neck?

But no, he couldn't think of that right now. You weren't his even if he hoped for it someday. And if he focused too much on his attraction towards you, he’d certainly have another, more visible, problem on his hands. 

Matt had led you over to his couch and the two of you began going over the files. He’d handed you the little stack from off of his coffee table, his fingers intentionally brushing against yours. Your heart rate spiked and his head tilted to the side, zeroing in on the sound. Was it just attraction causing the spike or was there more to it? He often found himself wondering the answer to that question. What was your body telling him? Why was it so confusing and exhilarating for him to listen to?

He’d asked you repeated questions about the files as the night wore on, enjoying the melodic sound of your voice as you read from the papers and answered his questions. He’d been hoping to delay your stay until he had deemed it long enough to suggest ordering a pizza. And he’d noticed the way heat flared in your cheeks yet again when he had. 

Why were you so nervous around him? Was it actually because of him–did you want him just as much as he wanted you? Or was that just you? You did seem like a very anxious individual even when you were with Foggy, Karen, and Marci. Maybe he was getting his hopes up for your nerves to mean something more.

Were you only physically attracted to him and that was it? Because of course he’d thought about just grabbing you and drawing you in for a kiss, often wondering just how your lips would feel on his and how you would taste on his tongue. And sure, he’d had many moments tonight where he’d wanted to just pick you up from his couch and carry you to his bedroom, curious to know how it would feel to have you clinging to him as he did. He’d wondered how fast your heart would beat when he tossed you onto his bed and buried his cock into you over and over. He imagined you would moan out only the most beautiful of sounds–sounds he didn’t think he could even imagine. 

But Matt didn’t want just one night with you. He didn’t even want a string of nights with you. He just wanted you. And he desperately wanted to be wanted by you in return.

While you’d both been waiting for the pizza to arrive, Matt had occasionally had to ask you more questions repeatedly to keep up the ruse that he’d needed help with these files–which was a setup because he’d had Foggy go over them with him at the office earlier today. And while you’d been waiting for him to type up some notes on his laptop, he’d caught you staring at him. Each time he would turn to shoot you a smile, your eyes darted away quickly as your cheeks further flushed and sweat dampened your palms. 

The scent of your arousal increased at one point when you weren’t even looking at him and it had begun to drive Matt absolutely wild despite the calm exterior he was trying to portray to you. What the hell was turning you on so much? Him? Your proximity to him?

…were you thinking inappropriate thoughts about him right now as you sat beside him?

He felt his cock twitch in his dress pants and he grit his teeth. No. He’d have to focus on something else.

But fuck, how had you not realized he liked you? How had you not picked up on how this was so obviously not him needing help with work? Were you just being polite and ignoring his flirtatious comments because you weren’t interested? Or did you just really not see what this was?

If only he could just make a move on you. If only he could just flat out say something to you, tell you that he liked you. Ask you if you liked him. But with the way your heart was pounding in your chest beside him, he was afraid the question would result in you running away from him, and he was more terrified of that outcome.

He didn’t want to lose you.

Was he just stuck in the friend zone with you? Too terrified to say anything and scare you away, but the subtle flirtations not remotely getting him anywhere?

Fuck.

_______

You shook your head. “That wasn’t a date though,” you told him. “We were going over files for a case because I couldn’t get them printed in braille in time. And Foggy and Karen weren’t available to help you.”

“I asked them to say they were busy,” Matt admitted, a little smirk forming on his mouth. “That day we were at the office. I asked them to say they couldn’t help in the hope that you would offer to come over and help me instead. And you did.”

Your mouth fell open as you gaped at Matt. You remembered that night. Remembered how nervous you were going to his apartment alone, something you hadn’t really done since that night in the year that followed until you’d actually been dating him. You had been so nervous to be alone in his space with him, your hands occasionally bumping against each other’s while you worked on those files with him. You also remembered how distracted you’d been by his lips, the thought of him just leaning over and kissing you with that perfect mouth of his having crossed your mind repeatedly as you both sat on his couch.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out. “You didn’t actually need my help, did you?”

“Nope,” he answered, grinning mischievously at you. “I’d already gone over everything earlier with Fog. But I pretended to be confused so that I could get you to stay long enough to have an excuse to order pizza.” He shrugged a shoulder innocently. “And then that was an excuse to have a beer with you and forget about the files altogether.”

“Matthew Murdock, you sly, scheming man!” you teased. “That didn’t work out so well for you though, did it?”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head yet again. “No, it didn’t,” he agreed. “Because you didn’t remotely seem to catch on.”

“How was I supposed to know you were asking me over on a ‘subtle date’?” you defended. “That’s not even a thing!”

Matt pulled a face across the table from you. “Oh it most certainly is a thing,” he countered. 

“No it’s not!” you disagreed. “Because you either ask someone on a date or you don’t!”

“In my defense,” Matt explained, “I thought it was pretty obvious when we’d been sitting on the couch eating pizza and drinking beers and not even remotely discussing the files anymore. I had been hoping maybe if we just spent some time together, just the two of us, where we were initially focused on something else, then maybe that might help you finally relax a little around me. But you were still quite the nervous and confusing individual. ”

“Well your plan to calm me down certainly backfired,” you told him. “Because I spent the entire time nervous and staring at your mouth wishing you’d kiss me.”

“So that’s what was going on!” he exclaimed, settling back into his chair as he grinned at you. “Your body was somehow more worked up than usual that night and I couldn’t quite figure out why. And I knew I noticed your attraction to me. Because you were quite distracted. Often taking a moment to realize I’d even said something before you answered me.”

Nervously shifting in your seat, you averted your gaze. “Yup,” you admitted awkwardly. “That was just me desperately wishing you’d take me into your bedroom because you’d uh, left your bedroom door open and I remember staring at your bed a few times…”

Matt leaned forward on the table towards you so fast that you jumped in your seat. His expression had darkened a little at your confession, a devilish smirk on his mouth. Your pulse increased just at the sight of him across from you. And then you felt his hand on your knee under the table and your breath hitched.

“And what were you hoping I’d do to you in my bedroom that night, sweetheart?” he asked.

“ Matt ,” you whispered harshly, your head turning to take in the sight of the people at nearby tables eating, “we’re not alone, you know.”

“No one’s paying attention,” he replied. “What were you thinking about that night?”

Ducking your head, you swallowed hard. You took a deep breath, your eyes focused on your bowl of noodles before you as your fingers tapped against your chopsticks.

“I…was wondering what it would be like to kiss you,” you admitted quietly. “What it would feel like to have your hands undress me.” Nervously you gnawed at your bottom lip, your gaze still averted from Matt even though you could feel the weight of him staring back at you. “Mostly though I was…wondering what it would feel like to hear you say you actually liked me. That was uh, what I really wanted.”

When Matt didn’t immediately respond, your eyes flew back up towards him. His expression had shifted from something hungry to something far softer. His lip was ever so faintly curling up at the corner, his brows gradually drawing together.

“That’s what you wanted the most that night?” he asked gently.

“I mean yeah,” you admitted sheepishly, shrugging a shoulder. “Sure, sex would have been great–especially knowing how great it actually is now. But what I wanted was just for you to like me. You’re this incredibly charismatic and charming man–who is ungodly attractive. And I had this absolutely asinine crush on you that had been forming for the few weeks before,” you rambled on. “And you’re so goddamn smart and funny. There was absolutely no way I’d have realized you were trying to subtly turn whatever that night was into a date, Matt. Because I’d never have believed you’d ever be interested in me. But yeah,” you finished lamely, “I just wanted to hear you say you liked me, too.”

Matt sat in his chair across from you entirely silent. There was a look on his face that you couldn’t possibly decipher as he focused on you from across the table. A very slow smile was making its way across his lips, something warm and loving reflecting at you in his eyes.

“Well sweetheart,” he began softly, “I can certainly sit here and tell you that I’ve absolutely fallen in love with you. Does that work?”

Your own lips curled up into a smile as Matt slid a hand across the table towards you. Reaching your hand over, you slipped it into his and felt him wrap his fingers around it. 

“Yeah, Matty,” you answered. “It definitely does. And I love you, too.”

“Good,” he said, squeezing your hand. “And for the record,” he continued, that soft expression switching back to what had previously resided on his face, “I can certainly remind you what it feels like for me to undress you after dinner. Your place or mine, sweetheart,” he purred. “You pick.”

Goosebumps rose along your arms at his words, a shudder running down your spine. God he knew exactly how to work you up in seconds. His hand on your knee gently squeezed as he raised a curious brow.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” he whispered. “You interested?”

Tongue slipping out between your lips, your eyes lingered on that hungry look on his face. It was truly unfair how attractive he was because it made it difficult for you in moments like this to refrain from shoving the table out from between the two of you and jumping him in the middle of the restaurant. Sensing your train of thoughts, Matt’s lips quirked up in an amused smirk.

“I would be very interested,” you answered him.

[mysticnightmarewrites]

the night we met - Ch. 3

When Gendry's world starts to break apart, shattering all the dreams he'd only recently dared to hope for, he turns to Sansa, who offers sisterly advice and her delicious grilled cheese sandwiches. It's been weeks since he last talked to Arya, and it's time to confront the truth.

Read Ch. 1-2 on Tumblr

SONG: "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron

PAIRING: Arya/Gendry

LENGTH: 1.5k words

WARNINGS: Fic is 18+ (minors DNI)

All that time I’d been saving up for a ring, planning our whole lives together, she had already been slipping away, and I’d never noticed a thing. Arya had always called me stupid. She’d meant it as an endearment, but gods, she was right. I was stupid.

“Please,” I whispered to any gods that may be listening. “Please take me back. Let me change this. I’ll do anything.”

They were the cries of a broken man who had nothing left to believe in. Because what was the point in loving something so much that losing it hurt this bad? It’s not like it would have ever worked out for us. I understood that now. Arya had needed something more, something that was just hers, not tainted by the flashing lights or a family name. She’d spent her whole life living up to how others saw her. To her dad, she’d been the favorite child, and when he died she became the rebellious daughter of the late Ned Stark. I had watched her get lost in it all, and I’d let her get lost in me, too. I was just a reminder of some of the worst moments in her life, but Braavos? Braavos was freedom.

The now-familiar pull tugged at me, sending me backward again. This time to Sansa's old apartment in the capitol. I'd driven for hours just to see her that day. The wound of my disinheritance had stung so deeply, I'd spent weeks hiding away, ignoring Arya's calls. Resigning myself once more to the bleak future I had seen for myself growing up, interrupted only by the daydream that was Arya Stark and Riverlands U.

One day, I woke up to a kitchen full of mostly empty pizza boxes, milk spoiled on the counter, and nothing but half eaten takeaway in the fridge. My overdue rent bill had glared at me from the spot where it fell through the mail slot. I couldn't go on like this anymore. But how could I face Arya after all the days I'd spent pushing her away? She deserved so much better than me. And so I had turned to the smartest person I knew – her sister.

"Who was that guy you were working for when we met?" She'd asked while flipping the grilled cheese sandwich on the stove. "Tommen? Toby?"

"Tobho," I said, leaning over the kitchen island.

"That's right. You should give him a call. See if he needs any workers. Arya said you were a really good mechanic."

She flipped her auburn hair behind her head as she turned to plate the sandwich, putting it in front of me.

"Go ahead, eat, and we'll work out the plan, OK?"

There was a reason I had turned to Sansa when my life turned to shit. She was the closest thing to a sister I'd ever had, and I loved her for it. We talked as I ate, with the occasional notification popping up on Sansa's phone. I hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but now I knew just who Sansa had been talking to.

When the brunette ball of fury stormed through the door, I let out the breath I had been holding, but the Gendry I was watching stumbled off his stool and fell to the ground in shock.

"What are you doing here," I'd asked, weakly.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" The anger in her voice had rattled me to my core, and I did my best to keep looking into her cold, gray eyes.

Sansa reached a hand down to help pull me to my feet, and I had stared at her, as if begging her to save me from this misery of my own making.

"This was for the best, Gendry," she said, squeezing my shoulder and giving Arya a nod before leaving the room.

There was silence for a long painful moment, to the point where I couldn't take the void that was settling between us.

"Do you want any?" I finally asked, picking up the second grilled cheese sandwich Sansa had just set down for me.

My casual words seemed to break her and suddenly, she was up in my face. She may have been a good head-and-a-half shorter than me, but she still seemed dangerous when she was mad, and I had almost dropped the plate instead of setting it down safely.

"You could drive halfway across the country, but you couldn't even show up at my door?" She said, like it had taken everything in her to just get the words out. Tears slid down her face, staining her cheeks with the sadness that had tried to hide behind the anger.

"I didn't feel like I had the right," I admitted, collapsing onto the nearby sofa that had already been pulled out into a bed. My head hid in my hands. "At first, I just needed a few days to process everything, and then I spent the next week too embarrassed to tell you, and then it felt too late. I'd kept it from you too long. You deserve better."

"Maybe that's true, but I want you. We have a few hours to spend together in a car to get home. You can tell me then or you can tell me now, but you will tell me."

I nodded, scooting over so she had a place to sit.

Once the words started coming out, I could stop them. I listened for what felt like hours as the past me explained it all. The letter I'd gotten in the mail. The end of the once seemingly endless cash flow that I, a poor boy from Flea Bottom, had grown accustomed to. How all the dreams I had never hoped to dream fell to the ground like dust. No more becoming an architect or an engineer. No more corner house on a good street with enough room for a pack of dogs to run around. No more the kind of man who could marry into one of the most important families in the realm.

After a while, I got up to grab a glass of water, but the silence didn't last long.

"That's why you haven't talked to me in nearly a month? I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere until Hot Pie said you texted him."

"It felt like I was," I said, taking a sip in the quiet that followed her words. It was true. When I was younger, I'd been called gutter trash all the time, and gutter trash I'd become once more.

She was still angry with me, I could tell, but her expression softened, and she held my back to her chest all night long. And when we returned to my small flat, she didn't even make a face at the stench coming from the kitchen.

I watched as slowly, my dear, sweet Arya put all the pieces back together. Without knowing it, she was the glue that had held me together all those years.

She dished both of us up a plate of spaghetti and sat down beside me, idly twirling the strands with her fork.

"I don't know if I can trust you now, Gendry. I was really hurt," she admitted.

"I know," I said, putting down my fork. "I won't do that again. I promise. From now on, you'll have all of me. Every piece."

After everything I'd put her through, though, and everything she was dealing with too, after that day, she only had most of her to give. And I took every morsel I could.

This time when I felt the pull of the magic dragging me farther into the past, I fought it as hard as I could. "I can't. I can't," I muttered to the unyielding force gripping me ever tighter. "I can't," but I knew I had to.

Suddenly, I was back on campus, laying flat on my back with clouds drifting through the endless blue sea of the sky above.

Arya's laugh filtered through everything else, and I closed my eyes to hear it better. It was even more beautiful than the sunny sky. Better than the feel of the soft grass under my fingers.

For a moment, I let myself pretend I was laying with her there again, as if for the first time, blocking out my past self who was also lying on the sun-warmed lawn.

"This is nice," I said, my words an echo of the past.

"The sun is nice," Arya said, and I let her voice surround me in a way the grass under my back never could.

"No," I said, in perfect tune. "I meant this, lying here with you."

"Oh!" I could hear her smile. "You're right. I could do this forever."

A tear dropped down my face, one that hadn't been there before, my broken voice joining that of a green boy of 24.

"I could too."

Opening my eyes to the bright light, I watched Arya and my old self stroll down the hillside on paths I could no longer follow, leaving me broken with the sky open above.

[chasinghalebopp]

The Ellen White Cult: Chapter 2

Part II :: Deeper into the Beast

“Countryside is not affiliated with the General Seventh-day Adventist conference,”

I was told.

What does that mean? I wondered. Why not?

Perhaps getting conference status was difficult. Maybe Albert had not gone to seminary? Maybe the other church had a monopoly on the area? It could be anything. Without conference affiliation, Albert’s income from the church would rely on tithes and offerings. I had given a crisp $20 bill as the offering plate went around. It wasn’t much, but it did help.

It wasn’t to say that Albert came without plenty of cash. He had recently sold a home in Santa Clarita, Los Angeles County for a tidy sum. His wife and he made their way up to Stevens County in the state of Washington and purchased land and a home for far cheaper. The difference in money paid for the new digs versus the Southern

California property was likely substantial. It was safe to say that Albert had some cash on hand. It was enough to rent a church building and begin work as a minister.

At first, I thought it was a hobby. Maybe he loves the Lord and wants to spread the gospel, I thought. After all, who was I to judge? As I stated previously, I had a lot to learn when it came to Adventism and running a church.

Having returned from missionary work in Ukraine, we were now staying with my in-laws. They had some property located a 45-minute drive from the church. And what a drive it was! After climbing in the back of my in-law’s older jeep SUV, we bounced along a dirt board that was more of a washboard than anything else. Our heads rattled as the car jolted back and forth on that crazy road. Thump thump thump went the vehicle. It was a rough road, and in the summer months, it only got worse.

I had always sworn I would never move to this part of the country, yet here we were, considering living the type of life that Ellen White fervently preached in Ministry of Healing and Adventist Home. As we made our way through the forest, I caught sight of an old refrigerator that was placed at the front of a nearby neighbor’s driveway. In red spray paint, the words spelled “a shot to the head, a thief is dead.” I wondered if the thief was inside the fridge. I don’t think anyone dared to check. Years later, that fridge still stands with its message loud and clear.

We turned down the easement road toward the in-law's property. On the way up we passed another neighbor whose yard was strewn with piles and piles of junk accumulated over decades. Broken down cards and trash lined both sides of the road, with nature vying for supremacy. This is why the land was so cheap out this way. Albert must have got one heck of a bargain.

A couple of minutes later we arrived. This was our home for the time being. It wasn’t Kyiv. It wasn’t Manhattan. It wasn’t Capitol Hill, but it was now where we were staying. Had you asked me, after law school, if I ever would have moved in with my in-laws and stayed in their back bedroom, I would have said, “no, never. Never!” Yet, now I had chosen to live up there and I saw this as the “right thing to do.” To give our daughter a pastoral life and a life with Jesus as the center was the best thing we could hope to give her in this life. So here we were!

We climbed out of the car and gathered our bibles and the leftovers from the potluck. The mountain air was crisp and clean. Above, in that big blue sky, a plane had recently flown overheard. Its contrail was dissipating in the warm atmosphere. Looking around, trees rose from the dusty earth. The part of Spring when the land becomes very dry in this part of the country was now approaching. The warm summer sun was high in the sky, and it was good to be outside.

The in-law's property was similar to the neighbor's. Freddy enjoyed tinkering with old cars, and there were plenty of them around the property. Some were rust buckets and others may have run within the last few years. Old appliances and tires rose from the dust. Old tools, pipes, tv sets, and whatever else you could picture were strewn about. To the average person, these would have just been random pieces of junk. To Freddy, these were priceless antiques. The memory of the things that he lacked in his childhood on the streets of the suburbs south of Seattle.

The home we were in was nothing fancy. Just an old trailer that desperately needed to be updated. It had been built upon over the years, with all sorts of new rooms added to what was once a single-wide mobile home. It wasn’t the fanciest place to live, but having backpacked around the world throughout the years, it wasn’t the worst place

I had stayed. The bedroom we were given worked well for us. The family worked hard to make sure we were taken care of. And there were many good memories in that home. Not all the memories were good, but there was enough love there to make it a special place in our hearts.

To Freddy and Darla, there was no other place in the world like their home. It was a true place of pride for them. They fervently believed that they would see Christ coming in the clouds over the mountain and that they would walk out to meet him on the top of those rolling hills. There were many times that we were told to get out of the city and buy a country place. As the years passed, we were told that, when the end times came, we could come and wait it out at their home. We would be free from the persecution of the last days when the Mark of the Beast was unleashed and Sabbatarians were being hunted down.*

*Note: One of the more interesting views taken by the SDA church is the fact that the Sabbath is the seal of God. I have no desire to dispute this idea, but one core belief in Adventism is that after some troublesome large world event, a National Sunday Law will be passed in which observing the Sabbath will be made illegal. As the final plagues spoken about in Revelation begin to fall, those who obey the Sabbath will be protected. 

Those who keep Sunday holy will become furious at this and start to persecute Sabbath keepers. These Sabbath keepers will have to flee to the mountains until the last of the plagues fall. This will be an emotional time of trouble for Adventists as they fight for physical and spiritual survival. At this point, Christ will stop interceding on behalf of mankind, and all of humanity will have to rely on their goodness to be saved, without Christ as an intercessor. Therefore, it is vital that we work as hard as we can today to train ourselves to be perfect for that period of time when Christ stops interceding for us and comes to gather us. One slip-up during this period will result in eternal destruction with the lost who turned their backs on the Sabbath day.

I had never liked the idea of going back to my in-law’s house to wait out the final days. This was mainly due to the fact that Freddy could be an argumentative bear at times, especially on matters of religion. I didn’t know if I could mentally make it through the end times while dealing with that. Surely, once Jesus stepped foot out of the sanctuary and stopped interceding for us, I would likely have some kind of angry thought that would bar me from Heaven. Not good!

Yet, for Albert, getting out of Southern California was seen as a blessing, and he had no qualms about proclaiming how glad he was to be out in the country. The country living message would be preached over the course of our entire time at Countryside, even though pretty much every single member of the church already lived in the country.

The truth was, I had no idea how we would afford to buy land out here. I had no clue about building a home or doing any of the stuff that was looked on highly out in these hills. My talents were not in the realm of construction or mechanics. Coming from a poor family, I knew absolutely nothing about buying property. And I was unemployed at the time. The only work I had at this moment was a small online business and website I had built that were barely covering our living expenses. The idea of buying land was a fantasy and quite unrealistic. I would need some kind of job first. The problem was, we were a little under an hour away from the nearest city. In the winter, the roads out this way were a pain in the butt to navigate, even with a four-wheel drive. We drove a 1968 Volkswagen Bug. Obviously, we had not thought this plan through to the end. Yet, we were relying on the Lord to guide us. Surely, if we were taking the

steps to do his will, He would help us finish the job. After all, Ellen White said something to that effect. “Those who make the moves to live a country life as the Lord directs will find that He will help them.” I’m not sure if Mrs. White said that or if it was another pastor, but I know I had heard it and I was relying on that at this point!

“It’s so good to see Stephen active at church,” my wife said. “He seems so

happy.”

Yes. He did. It was so different than how I had previously seen him. Not that there was anything wrong with him before, but I could tell that he felt good to have some kind of higher purpose in his life. I think that’s something that we all crave. He seemed full of life and energy. Best of all, he seemed to be in better physical shape than ever before. His diet had changed and he was losing weight. His style of dress had improved and he was taking care of himself. I could not deny that some of the things about this new church seemed a bit strange, but the way it had affected Stephen seemed to be very good. I was happy for him.

The lack of children at the Countryside church was a large reason we continued to attend Deer Park’s morning service on the Sabbath. The Deer Park church had quite a few more families and our daughter enjoyed spending time with other children. After the morning kids program, we would make our way to Countryside. Sometimes we would go after the sermon at Deer Park and arrive at Countryside for the potluck and stay for their afternoon studies.

At this point in time, Countryside was working through a study on Daniel and Revelation*. This involved a lot of end times prophecy, which was a cornerstone of the Countryside teaching. We were given a study book and joined the classes. Although I was pretty familiar with the material already, it was fascinating to hear Eric lead this class. When it came to the Bible, I had met few people with such an extensive understanding of the holy book.

*Note: The subject matter of Daniel and Revelation is a cornerstone of Adventist

theology. Ellen White stated that we should study these two books in great detail. Both are prophetic books of the Bible and unlock many end times mysteries. By

understanding these books and unlocking the knowledge from the passages, one can begin to understand future events. Forgive me if this sounds like Gnosticism. When it comes to traditionalist SDA churches, the combined study of D&R is the best of the Bible, eclipsed only by Ellen White’s book “The Great Controversy” (although many would deny this, the air time that GC gets is greater than the Bible).

As time passed, I started to see that Countryside was far different than Deer Park

in many ways. The most prominent was the insistence on going back to the glory days of early Adventism. The idea that almost everything modern was somehow corrupted was an unmistakable theme of this little church. For example, the Authorized King James version of the Bible was the only Bible that was not corrupted. Modern Ellen White books had been corrupted by Jesuits that had infiltrated the White Estate. Even the newer Adventist hymnals were of no use and should be avoided.

Yet, there was also something to be said about the reverent atmosphere. It was appealing and wholesome. Members of the church were extremely kind. It felt like one was a part of a caring family. This place was different than any other place I had been to. People asked questions and took an interest in each other. The sanctuary felt truly holy—a place where the angels would worship invisibly alongside men and women. It reminded me of a place out of a different time—clean, woodsy, and quiet.

Freddy and Darla commented on how the people at this church were far more welcoming than at the Deer Park church. When Darla was sick and missed a row of Sabbaths at the Deer Park church, one member joked to her about how she should sign the guestbook upon her return. She didn’t like that. At Countryside, there was none of that type of jesting. People seemed to understand.

“Look at this,” Stephen would say, showing us a pamphlet he had made.

I took it. It was a list of verses from the Authorized King James that were lacking in other Bible translations.

“These are key verses that are important to understand salvation. The Jesuits have kept them out.”

“Is that right?” I said. I was so glad that my Bible was a King James bible, as I had no desire to argue.

I mean, I could have argued that the King James Bible was not perfect, and had some errors of its own. Compared to other translations, many things were lacking. Yet, I understood that it was not a battle I wanted to get into, and arguing about religion was never appetizing to me.

I couldn’t blame Stephen for arguing this point every chance he got. It was the main focal point of most Countryside sermons. It was dropped in almost every single sermon, with whole sermons being about the dangers of counterfeit bibles such as the New International “Perversion.”

I had learned long ago that when it came to debating things with the in-laws that the first rule was “don’t.” It was best to stay quiet and nod.

“The Jesuits have corrupted every other Bible translation. They are worthless for

study and will lead to being lost.”

I wondered what the point was with the insistence on relying on only the KJV. The language seemed a bit archaic. Yet, it was pointed out that the language was not archaic if you were used to it, and it wasn’t that hard to get used to reading. I thought about my time as a missionary in Ukraine. I used to use the NIV to teach my students, as they did not understand the King’s English. Was this worthless? What about the idea that God could inspire writers of all Bibles? Would God really allow one to be lost because they studied from the wrong Bible? This didn’t seem right or just! Moreover, Ellen White used the RSV in her writings.

Or did she? Maybe this was just one example of how the Ellen White Estate had corrupted Ellen’s pure writings. “By using any other Bible translation, you make the Bible of no effect,” was the message. “Key verses have been removed. Verses that are vital for understanding salvation. Verses that are vital for navigating the end times. The Authorized King James Bible is the ONLY Bible that is from God.”

[chronocidalrage]

PHANTOM BROTHER SYNDROME

The feeling at night is the other possibilities. That I could be doing the same thing but with my brother.

In a better universe, you and I are getting high and watching Universal Soldier movies TOGETHER tonight.

I’m always struck by the sadness of the fact that I could feel better if you were here too.

We both suffered from knowing how much better life can be with a partner.

My life has been about doing whatever it takes to stay connected. Because I got to experience beautiful, loving, consistent connection and it kinda ruined me in a way. It was so good (and so rare in my life) that I felt broken without it.

It’s so hard for me to just do the things I wanna do and hope I can find connection along the way. I focus on the connection first. Exercise is lonely and boring. Shit like that.

So yeah, start going to Susie’s Tuesday class. Ride the bike for at least 15 minutes on Wednesday and maybe Thursday this week. Read while I eat. Figure out how to LIKE working out or how to do it for myself? How does that work?

Also cut back on watching movies. I can watch stuff on the bike or at night if I’m done with stuff or on Saturday or Sunday if not busy. But I’ve gotta cut it down.

DEPENDANCE Isn’t that what it’s all really about? Some sort of ingrained belief that I am simply not enough on my own and I need SOMEONE or SOMETHING else to complete me? If I can’t count on another person, I look to things, such as movies and food. All because deep inside, I believe I am incomplete naturally. Never enough.

I’m always struggling with my primary addiction (connection) and my secondary addiction (food and movies). I’ve been leaning more on my secondary addiction because it’s easier to control. My primary addiction has proven to be quite difficult and unpredictable in recent years.

So I think I’m at a good level when there’s background connections available. Susie in the house. People in the office. It’s like the security of having food in the fridge. It’s there if I need it. But then someone (like Susie) asks me a question or something and I suddenly realize how much MORE complete I could feel. It’s not really that I “go away” it’s that I’m suddenly reminded of the completeness of real connection and all of my other goals seem less important in that moment. But it also stresses me out because I’m like “don’t tease me with real connection if you’re not gonna give it to me.”

So on days like today, I like the break from the “tease” of connection. No one to potentially connect with. I have no options to feel more complete. Just me. It’s nice in a way but I have to watch and eat a lot to feel complete on my own.

So I guess I need to always remind myself “you don’t need connection, food, or movies to be complete. You are complete on your own.”

FEELING COMPLETE Try focusing on your senses. Don’t think spoken thoughts about them, just think about them. Sound, sight, taste, smell, touch. Feel your whole body. Focus on that and let feelings and thoughts come up if they want to.

My primary trauma is the fear that no one will ever love me more than (or possibly even as much as) Atom, I’ll never be more complete than that, and I’ll never be happier than I was playing Sonic 2 on the living room floor with Atom. Or than I was when he got off the phone with Stacy to keep playing GI Joe’s with me. My trauma is the fear that the best parts of my life occurred before I was 14. It’s all been downhill from there. Not because good things haven’t happened since then, but because I have felt less and less complete, and more and more afraid since then. That was when I felt safest. Most content. Everything was so simple.

ATOM We both lived with the trauma that our lives may have peaked in childhood. Because life just kept feeling worse and hurting us more and getting in the way of our connection. Our trauma was the fear that it would never get better than that. For Atom, that may have turned out to be true. Sadly. But I still have a chance.

I was always more interested in the unknown. The horror fan. Atom wasn’t. He remembered life before “us.” I didn’t.

I guess I’m struggling. I could be doing worse, I’m doing my best to hold on but it’s hard. To me, the only reasons to live are Susie, Ruby, food and movies. That’s it. Some other things are great (Matt and Tim), but they don’t feel like reasons to live for me. That’s a bummer. I guess I need more reasons to live. Reasons for myself.

I guess I need to remember that they’re not the only good things in my life. The best things in my life can be whatever I want them to be. It’s not already written. No fate but what we make. 

One of my favorite things that happened in my life was Atom coming home from Blockbuster with Hard Boiled. Showing me Metallica. Ninja Turtles. The Tick. Probably GI Joe and Transformers. Batman comics. Predator. How to draw. Seriously some of the all time best moments of my life that have led to so much joy. So grateful and so heartbroken that he’ll never be able to give me one of those moments again.

I think one of my favorite things was nights when mom and dad were out and Scott was busy and Atom and I would just hang out in the living room and watch TV and play games and get pizza delivered. Papa Ginos I’m sure. Like they’d leave us money to order pizza and we’d get some while we watched movies. Those were my favorite nights. I don’t remember them super clearly but I’m 90% sure they happened. Is that where my “I’m more alone, but I can watch movies and eat pizza” habit comes from? All this is because I’m more and more afraid that I’ll never feel that good again. I’m just trying to recapture it without losing anything else.

COMPLETE AGAIN I wouldn’t be doing “nothing” if I felt complete. If I felt complete I wouldn’t be spending so much time watching movies and eating shit. I’d be more fearless.

I think I’m actually more scared of connection than I am addicted to it at this point. Not that I’m not addicted, but I’m also terrified of it.

Maybe the trick is to realize you’re also one of the best parts of your own life. Arguably the best. You’ve done more for your happiness than anyone. You listened when Atom showed you good things. You knew which people were special. You’ve done good things for yourself too.

Spend time with yourself. Love yourself. Is that the whole loving parent thing?

WITHDRAWAL Yeah I seem to go through this awful withdrawal period after spending time with people. After real connection. Does it make me feel more alone in comparison after? More hollow?

Am I struggling with some sort of separation anxiety? Do I worry that it’ll be the last time I see them?

FEAR What am I afraid of? I’m feeling fear when I’m having these connection withdrawals.

Did I really decide I wanted to live or did I just decide this was an okay way to die? Slowly fading away on the couch with my girls? As if I decided my life is already over. As if I’m in the final chapters. This is the night I die alone, or this is the night I never see Tim again. Shit like that.

Am I just living like death could come at any time? Do I not even see a future really?

It’s like I’ve decided the end is near and I’m always looking at things from that perspective. I don’t like being alone because I’m like “am I gonna die alone?” I have trouble doing chores and shit because I don’t wanna die alone doing dishes lol.

I’m just really overcome with dread. And it’s hard to not see everything that way. I think sometimes I think my life peaked in Portsmouth that weekend. Atom and Susie together. Great place. Great food. Great beer. Just a beautiful weekend. And I worry that I’ll never top it.

But I guess my nights with Susie and Ruby get in the way of believing it’ll never be that good again. I guess I just need to believe good things can happen. That my future can be good.

Am I constantly carrying the fear of dying alone? Not exactly because I think being alone is the worst thing ever. But because I don’t want that to be the last thing I feel. Atom died alone. I wish I had been there if he had to die that night.

I guess your final moment doesn’t really matter. People won’t focus on it, and you won’t remember it. Yeah I don’t like how Atom died, but I wouldn’t like him dying in ANY way. I’d want him around. And I remember him for everything else and the fact that he was taken too soon, not his last moment.

But I guess that’s the point. You don’t know when you’re going to die. It’s not written. You don’t know if your life will get worse. You can maybe make it better. Is the solution to stop seeing myself as powerless? Because I think that’s the problem. The last 5 years have really made me feel powerless. Like there’s nothing I can really do anyway. I’m just along for the ride.

And that’s not true. That’s the lesson I was trying to get everyone else to learn. You’re NOT powerless. Atom could’ve changed his life. Mom could’ve helped save him. All sorts of things are possible. No fate but what we make.

My life may have gotten worse. But I can also make it better.

TOOK SUSIE'S YOGA CLASS Thought about how I’ve always wanted to feel loved and only ever really felt loved by Atom. Probably just because he knew me best (so he knew how much there was to love) and because he was consistent so I believed it.

Felt signs of love from others. People disappointing you doesn’t mean they don’t love you. I think Susie is someone I struggle to see love from. Should think about how much of that is me and how much is her (probably more me).

PESSIMISM I think I’m deeply pessimistic. I guess I never noticed? I think because I hate it. I WANT to be positive because I’m so fucking sick of negativity. But I myself am not positive. I’m a pessimist who hates being a pessimist so I pretend to be an optimist. Damn. It’s really hard for me to see the bright part of things, so the bright sides have to be really shiny.

I think to me, everything in the world was bad in some way except for Atom and the stuff we liked. I was between good and bad. And now everything is just bad without him.

Yeah just start looking at things more positively. Look at how the glass is not empty, rather than the fact that it’s not full. I think I view things so negatively that the few things that seem good (or at least that have the downside more down the road) are really bright to me and hard to ignore. Like I see it as “tomorrow will be shit except for maybe when I get Dunks for breakfast or get high and eat Copeland with Susie” I just only see specific things as “good” because they’ve lasted the test of time. Makes me not want to make changes.

FLAWS I only see flaws and my concept of “goodness” is based on how few flaws I see.

No wonder I’m insecure, my concept of a good looking dude is completely unrealistic. Like, as completely insane as it is, the only guys I truly believe a girl could actually find attractive are tall ripped guys with great cheekbones and shit, great style, can dance and move and so forth. It’s not like I see a normal looking guy and think they’re better looking than me really. I’m always comparing myself to fucking models lol.

MAKING SOMEONE LAUGH It’s crazy to realize how much of a compliment it is to try to make someone laugh. Susie’s family really loves me. They’re not pretending.

Susie recalled my "lizard person" theory about Chris Harrison from the Bachelor the day after I randomly said it. She DOES pay attention to me.

DOERS There’s doers and observers. I’m an observer. The only things I figured out on my own were Susie and Ruby. And both scared the shit out of me but look how great they are.

THE WEAR AND TEAR OF ANXIETY It’s like I’m always holding a shield. It’s exhausting. And I’m tired of doing it so I want to avoid situations where I need it.  

[crownstar]

ah it's really thoughtful of you, nice to meet you emily! :) it's so nice your sister is also into kpop, i have no friends irl who listen to it but sometimes i see ppl obsessing over lets say bts in public and i'm like... maybe it's for the best haha my biases are vernon, joshua and jeonghan! aaaand the teaser!!!???!!! i'm so excited wth they look so amazing and the preview is so promising let me sob in peace

my sister, that likes kpop, is like five years younger than me and never ever responds to messages lol so i dont get to talk to her much cuz i dont go home very often. also same at the friends irl (tho i do have one friend now who will listen to stuff i send them, so thats nice, but they also rarely respond..) and seeing kpop fans in public and just going… nah. like me when i was listening to these two girls i work with talk about bts and i went….. hmmmm im not gonna join this convo. tho i did once see a girl wearing a svt tshirt on campus, but it was as i was sprinting across campus cuz my class was starting and i was late. ah! and i once worked with this girl when i did overnights for a few months, who was really into shinee and she would show me stuff during our “lunch” break sometimes. she was mostly pretty chill. tho she did make a lot of impulse purchases, mostly contacts and plane/concert tickets lol. we didnt really stay in touch though after we both got different jobs though :/ 

yeah!!?? omg the teaser! it looks so cool!! im hype! also lmao why are they all looking at an alto sax?? i played that in band lol! also like most of the time if there is a sax in a song its a tenor so why an alto? probs doesnt mean anything but lol those are my thoughts on that scene. edit: its part of the reference to dead poets society i guess... ive only seen bits and pieces of that movie lol 

[amjustagirl]

Love knows not its depth (until the hour of separation) 

pairing: Kuroo x f! reader  genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! warnings: a tiny smudge of suggestive content wc: 4.9k m.list ~ taglist. ~

a/n: this is my rendition of a grown up Kuroo. life has been a little hectic for me recently, so i’m only getting around to posting it now. pls be kind and i hope y’all love it <3 

“I need a break.”

Kuroo continues to snore. You are unsurprised he doesn’t hear you. After all, he came home glassy eyed, smelling strongly of alcohol after yet another night of drinks with his boss before quickly falling asleep in bed. It’s what he does most weekday nights, leaving you alone at home to manage your two daughters and tuck them into bed. 

“I’m tired, Tetsuro.”

You are too tired to even tell him how you feel. You have a career of your own, two daughters to raise, a never ending list of chores and errands that must be done. You are a mother, a wife, a career woman. You have so many roles to play yet there is no space for you. 

You must do something, anything or risk your heart imploding in your very chest. 

You cannot survive that. 

The next morning, you call your boss, ask for a day off. Then you pack your girls off to your mother’s place with two little suitcases with toys and clothes enough for a long weekend before you take the train to Hakone, check yourself into the ryokan with a view of Mt. Fuji that you spent your honeymoon at - except this time, you’re alone (but then again, you’ve been lonely for so long, you hardly notice the difference anymore).

You dip yourself into the hot waters of the onsens, watch bamboo sway in the breeze. It’s been at least a year since you’ve been even able to take a bath uninterrupted. There’s always something - Aiko needing help with her homework, Fumiko whining for another piece of mochi, your boss calling to chase for yet another report, so all you’ve ever had time for is a hurried shower before placating your daughters or seating yourself in front of your laptop to deal with your boss. 

Finally, you’ve stolen a day to yourself. It’s absolute bliss. 

The water is kind to you. Its heat soothes your aching muscles, the rising steam steadies your breath. You walk out of the baths feeling refreshed, renewed, but when you enter your room you find Kuroo Tetsuro waiting for you. 

“I’ve been calling your phone all afternoon”, he says, face pinched. “I was worried.”

“Were you?” you say before you can stop yourself. “Really?” 

“Of course”, he says, uncrossing his legs to stand. “You’re my wife and the mother of my children, of course I care.”

Wife. Mother. Employee. 

The roles that life has handed you haunts you again. There is no escape for you. 

Your skin suddenly feels as if it’s stretched too tight over your frame. Your bones rattle, brittle. They threaten to break if you take another breath. Yet you laugh and laugh and laugh, the sound spilling from your lips filling the room, suffocating the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. 

“If you really cared, you would have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between bouts of laughter. “I tried fixing myself with a break but you can’t even give me that.” 

Kuroo stares at you, equal parts horrified and confused. He takes a hesitant step forward towards you before thinking the better of it, swerving over to the kettle instead, clutching it as if it holds the cure to your madness. 

“Calm down”, he says, “take a seat”, and you do. He offers you a cup of tea. You accept it, even though you’re still shaking from the aftershock of your laughter. “Drink”, he says, and you bring the cup to your lips, though you wonder absently why you taste salt in the bitter tea. 

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 

You want to tell him that you’re not strong enough to do what’s expected of you. You want to tell him that you’re drowning from the weight of being his wife, the mother of his kids, from being a working woman that he can be proud of. You want to tell him that you understand his career is important, but so is yours, and you can’t carry the weight of the world alone. 

But that would take too many words, and you are far, far too tired for that. 

So you say blankly - “I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.”

His face falls. 

You should remember that Kuroo Tetsuro, first and foremost, is a child scarred by his parents’ divorce. You should remember that you made promises that you and he would never put your daughters through that. But you’ve floated beyond hysteria into a grey indifference, your mind too broken, too tired, too numb to consider him when you can barely even hold on to yourself. 

You don’t even notice the hot tears soaking through your yukata. You are deaf to his pleas to give him another chance. There is nothing left in you to give because you’ve poured all you’ve had into him, into your family, into your job. You are so, so empty, and you just sit and sip your tea and wonder idly if the warmth from the liquid you’re ingesting will make you feel a little more alive, or if it’s possible to ease the dull ache in your heart. 

It is only when you wake up the next day and the sun is high in the sky that you register that he rolled out your futon for you, tucked you into bed, and kissed your forehead as a goodnight and goodbye. But all of this is washed away by the relief you feel when you read the note he’s left behind telling you that he’s returned to Tokyo, and to enjoy your break. 

So you do. 

You relish every bite of the meals you have at the ryokan. It’s nice not having to cook or scarf down your food at your office desk for once. You fill your time flitting between the onsens and curling up in your room with a book, taking frequent cat naps until tomorrow comes around again and it’s time to check out and head home. 

There’s a brief moment of surprise when the reception informs you politely that your husband already paid your bill - but you suppose that’s just Tetsuro being efficient at racking up credit card points. The bullet train takes you back to Tokyo, and a couple stops on the subway takes you home.  

“Okaeri”, you call softly out of habit, not expecting anyone to respond, but Kuroo responds with an even softer ‘Tadaima’, striding over to take your bags from you and usher you into the apartment. There are pink roses sitting in a vase, but you pay it no mind. 

“The girls?” you ask, already headed in the direction of their room. 

“I picked them up from your mom”, Kuroo responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed”.

A peek into their room and it settles your mind to see that your girls are safe and sound asleep. 

“Thanks,” you say, back in the kitchen, checking the fridge for what you can whip up for breakfast for you and the girls tomorrow. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.”

“It’s fine”, Kuroo answers, scratching his head. His hair seems a little more rumpled than usual. “I’ll cover it. I should’ve realised you needed a break.”

“You sure? You don’t have to pay for me, I’ve got money of my own.”

“No, let me pay for it, please. It’s the least I can do.” 

You shrug. “Okay”, you say gracelessly. “Thank you.”

He continues to watch you over the kitchen counter as you lay out bread, eggs, ham, cheese. It’ll do for a quick breakfast for the girls tomorrow, never mind the guilt eating away at you that you really should do better than feeding them processed food all the time. You’re so preoccupied with planning the morning rush, the best way to clear the stack of reports that must have piled up on your desk at work by now that you miss Kuroo rounding the counter to stare down at you worriedly. 

“You haven’t had dinner?” 

“Oh no, I had a bento on the train on the way back.” It’s second nature to you to brush away anyone’s concern. “It’s for the girls’ breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take them to childcare before work tomorrow. Sleep in and take a break.”

“Really?” You stare back at him, confused. He doesn't even take charge of the girls in the mornings when you’re sick, your mother always has to fill in your place. He only ever turns up on the first day of school each year. 

“Yes, of course. In fact, I’ve rearranged my work schedule so I can take them to school all of this week at least.”

“Oh”, you say, brows furrowed in confusion. “Okay, I guess. Wake me up if you need my help.”

“I won’t”, he replies, with a cocky smirk that seems almost false. “Goodnight, love.”

You don’t think of Kuroo’s strange behaviour overmuch, falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. 

Kuroo continues to act strangely all of next week. 

As promised, he takes charge of getting the girls out of bed and ready for school. But you’re taken aback when he starts coming home for dinner, completely floored when he hands you a whole armful of bath salts and orders you to take a relaxing, hot bath while he wrangles both the girls and the washing machine into submission. 

He even calls your mother to ask her to babysit on a Saturday evening so he can take you out for dinner at a fancy restaurant that serves foam instead of food. You manage to stumble through conversation with him - a commendable effort, since it’s been so long since you’ve even held a proper conversation with him besides snatches of discussion about the girls. 

At least until he states during dessert - “we can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.”

The mousse on your spoon melts by the time you put it down on your plate. 

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls? Is that what this is about?”

Kuroo shakes his head frantically, reaches across the table for your hand, but you yank it away with a glare. The extra rest you’ve gotten this week has injected a little more fight in you. 

“I try my best to be a good wife and mother, but I’m sorry I can’t be perfect and be there for you and the girls 24/7.” You press down on the sliver of cake with a vengeance. Clink! goes the flat of your spoon against the porcelain plate. “I’m sorry for being selfish, but I don’t want to be reliant on you.”

You regret your harsh words when Kuroo slumps back into his chair, murmuring “I just wanted you to be happy. Forget I ever said that.”

He pays the bill and you walk home in silence. He bids you goodnight with a crumpled smile. 

It finally clicks when you are startled awake by Kuroo’s shout of alarm. 

You roll over, grabbing his shoulder to shake him awake from the nightmare that has him in its grip. His eyes jolt open, and the sight of your face makes him sink back into the pillow with a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.”

“Why would I leave? This is my home, isn’t it?” You mumble, turning your back to him again. 

You feel the bed shift as Kuroo sits up. 

“No”, he rasps, voice rough with sleep. “I was afraid you left me”. 

Oh. So that’s what all of this is about. 

You must stay quiet for far too long, because he gingerly crawls over to you. 

“Dearest”, he says, your heart suddenly aching because you don’t remember the last time you heard him use that pet name with any amount of affection. “Darling”, he tries again, pawing at your back. You shut your eyes resolutely and refuse to turn to face him. 

He doesn’t give up, even though the distance between you seems to yawn wide and wider with each passing second. 

“Are you?” he asks, his words small, shrunken in the still, dark room. “Going to leave me, I mean.” 

No, you’re about to say, the word balancing at the tip of your tongue but it feels wrong. Your break has given you the space to breathe, the time to think. It’s made you realise what you’ve said to him in the ryokan that night remains true. 

This week has shown you that Kuroo can do better as a husband, as a father if he wants to. But he’s poisoned your marriage with neglect, forced you to dress up your sadness in silence, allowed your resentment to fester and simmer into frigid indifference. If you reassure him that you aren’t going to leave him, it’s only because you’re too tired to, not because you actually love him anymore. 

“I don’t know, Tetsuro. Our daughters deserve to grow up with both their parents, but I’m not sure I want them to learn from my example that it’s okay to shoulder the weight of marriage, parenthood and a full time job all by themselves. Your dreams and career are important, I know, but I’m just so tired of being alone in this marriage when it was always supposed to be a partnership between me and you.” 

You hear him choke back a sob. You should comfort him, but the exhaustion you feel at being honest with him, with yourself, weighs your bones down, forces you to sink further down into your mattress. 

“I’m sorry”, he finally says. 

“I’m tired, Tetsuro”, you whisper brokenly, clutching the blankets to your chin. “I think I deserve better.”

“I know. I’ll make it better, I promise.” 

You want to ask him how, but your eyelids grow heavy, and you allow yourself to submerge into slumber. 

You’re not sure what to expect, but the ground beneath your feet shifts. Things start to change. 

Kuroo continues to take your daughters to childcare in the morning on the way to work as he did last week. That very weekend, he straps Fumiko to his chest, takes Aiko by her hand, and within an hour at the department store aided by a flash of his credit card, he purchases a dishwasher and robot vacuum for the house. He loads the dishes without you asking, runs the robot vacuum remotely once a day. It buys you time to breathe, a little more time to sleep. 

He doesn’t always make it home in time for dinner, but he tries his best to rush home so he can read the girls a bedtime story and tuck them into bed. 

“Dada”, Fumiko lisps, chubby fists wound around Kuroo’s tie. ‘I wanna hear another princess story!” 

“No Fumiko! Papa promised to tell us how he met mama!” Aiko prods Kuroo’s side with the wooden doll Yaku sent from Russia that you know he abhors. ‘Keep your promises, papa!” 

“Alright, settle down you monsters. I’ll tell you two stories if you promise to go to sleep right after that.” The girls cheer. “Now. Let’s see. A long, long time ago, your papa met your mama when she decided to beat him up because she thought he was trying to steal her food.” 

“You were trying to steal my food”, you interrupt, leaning against the doorway amused. “You didn’t stop til I stabbed you with my fork.”

He glances up, surprised when you sit beside him on the bed. Then he grins. 

“You left it on the table, dearest. What was a guy supposed to think?” 

“Mama, please let dada tell the story”, Aiko interjects with a huff. 

“Hurry up, dada! I want the princess story next!” Fumiko pulls at her silly dada’s shirt, pouting. 

You both laugh. There’s a soft smile playing on his lips when his eyes meet yours. 

Travelling all around Japan is still part of his job as a marketing director of the Japanese Volleyball Association. But now Kuroo pares it down to the bare minimum, makes sure he’s always back by the weekend at the very least to sweep the girls in his arms and shoo you off for a break of afternoon tea with your friends or shopping with your mom. 

“Will you be ok when I’m gone?”

You hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.”

He bends down to kiss Aiko on her forehead, pinch Fumiko’s cheek playfully. 

“Yes. Well. I’ll come home soon”, he says, quietly. You startle slightly as he brushes his thumb over your wrist, lets it drift over your pulse point. “Please wait for me.” 

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes. “I’ll see you soon then”, you reply. His smile widens, his eyes are hopeful, bright. 

On the weekends, he stops flitting off for work functions and events. Instead, now he joins you for lunches at the kaiten zushi near your house, indulging the girls by ordering yet another plate of sushi just so Aiko has another chance to win a toy from the gachapon and Fumiko has another chance at feeling grown up when she lifts the plate from the conveyor belt. He stops ducking out from dinners at the grandparents’ place - both his and yours. Your mom stops giving him dirty looks when he actually turns up more than three times in a row with sake in hand. 

Once every so often, he even throws little parties for your family of four, going so far as to buy a frilly pink apron that makes your daughters giggle when he whips it out for the first time. After a few mishaps (and a number of frantic calls to Fukunaga), he masters how to make takoyaki and okonomiyaki, and in the colder months, he makes steaming pots of nabe and shabu shabu. 

“Itadakimasu” you murmur, and the girls follow suit. “It tastes good”, you say. 

He ducks his head bashfully, pink dusting the column of his neck. 

“Thank you”, he replies. “That means a lot, coming from you.” 

You start to savour the bubbles of happiness in your chest when you see how your daughters’ eyes shine when they see their papa whip out the pink apron. You learn to laugh when you hear the pitter patter of little feet, their delighted squeals and shrieks when they tell you the latest exploits their silly papa is cooking up - sparklers under the stars one weekend, a nerf gun fight, the next.

The weight on your shoulders grows lighter and lighter until one day you hardly notice it at all. 

“What’s wrong?” you frown at the sight of your husband dashing out of your bedroom, hair a frazzled mess. 

He whips around at the sound of your voice. “Oh. Oh.” He approaches you, slowly, carefully. “You’re still here.”

Your frown deepens. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed. Tetsuro, is everything alright?” 

He nods. “It’s fine - I just... I just woke up and thought you were gone.” 

You take a closer look. It’s dark, but the shadows of the night fail to hide the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the fine lines carved into his brow. His shoulders are bowed, his lips downturned and he looks broken, battered.    

Your heart hurts for him. 

“I’m here”, you say, beckoning him towards you. Physical affection has been scarce between you two for so, so long but he looks so distraught it’s only natural to pull him close, let him rest his head on your lap. “I’m here, Tetsuro. I’m not about to run off into the night – you know I don’t like the cold.”

He doesn’t laugh at your feeble joke. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 

“Yes”, you say firmly, combing your fingers through his hair, rubbing circles along his back. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do.”

You can feel him sag in relief. 

“You don’t have to work yourself to the bone for me. That’s – that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired, you need to take a break.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “I’m fine. I can bear it as long as you don’t leave me.” 

“Tetsuro –“ 

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he begs, head bowed. “I know I’ve been a shit husband to you for so long. It’s no excuse, but I thought - ” he swallows heavily, waits until his voice stops wavering. “I thought we were ok, ‘cos we didn’t fight, not like my parents did before – before my mother left.”

“I was too tired to fight with you”, you say simply. 

He nods once, jerkily. “I know – I know that now. When you disappeared that day, I didn’t know what to do. I went to your mom’s place and she reamed me out, screamed at me in front of the neighbours. I took the kids back, and it made me realise how fucking hard it was for you to do it all alone.” He inhales, closing his eyes as if the memory aches. “I know it’s late but I’ve changed, I swear. The girls need you. I need you. I’ll do anything as long as you stay.”

His fingers are freezing, but you do not pull away. Not when the desperation reflected in his irises makes your heart lurch in pain.

“It was hard”, you confess, and he shudders, struck in the chest by your honesty. “It was so hard, Tetsuro. You hurt me so damn much that I think I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was really functioning for a while. For a long while.”  

“I’m sorry”, he whispers, and you nod shakily. 

“I know”, you reply, reaching out a hand to cup his face, a bittersweet twist to your lips as he melts into your touch. “That’s a chapter of my life, of our marriage that can’t be re-written. We can’t rewind that. But the past few months have been so different. I – you’ve shown me you’ve changed. And I think –“

You fall silent. 

He prompts you. “Dearest?” 

You recall the glimmer of light in your daughters’ eyes every morning when he takes their hands to walks them to school. You hear the echoes of their laughter, the lilt in their sweet voices every night when they welcome him home. You think of the tea parties he throws, the blanket forts he builds, the frilly pink apron he wears without shame and the bedtime stories he weaves every night.

“I think”, you say, with a smile that reminds him of the rising sun. “I think we can make this work again.” 

He stares at you until the weight of your words dawns upon him, and he surges forward to fold you into his arms. 

“Thank you”, he whispers into the shell of your ear. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.” 

“Don’t thank me, you silly man”, you nuzzle into his neck sleepily, draping your arms around his waist. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.”

He laughs wetly, cradling you close as you fall asleep against his chest, soothed by his heartbeat and the tenderness in his gaze.  

Fumiko wakes you up unceremoniously before the sun even rises by climbing into your lap, and you open your eyes to Aiko pouting, hands on hips, demanding to know what’s for breakfast, and dada, dada, make a ham sandwich, pretty please with a cherry on the top. 

“You guys are little monsters”, Kuroo teases with dancing eyes. “Can’t even give your papa a break to snuggle up to your mama.” 

The girls shriek in dismay. “Don’t be mean”, you admonish him gently. 

He mock sniffs. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.”

Aiko and Fumiko crowd the sofa, clamouring to give their papa a kiss, but he stalls them with an imperious wave of his hand. 

“This morning, only a kiss from your mama can chase my crankiness away”. His tone is teasing, but his shoulders remain tense.  

“Nonsense. You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine”, you scold, swatting his arm lightly as the girls giggle. 

“Yours do!” he protests, and you roll your eyes as you press your lips to the corner of his lips, laughing when he puffs out his chest and declares his day can now start, that everything’ll be as right as rain.

Some days are full of sunshine, whilst others are full of rain. That’s life – but it’s bearable, enjoyable even, now that you and Kuroo face each day together, thanking the sun when it shines, and splashing through puddles on rainy days. 

Things recalibrate. 

The mornings are his domain now – he’s a master at concocting the most random breakfast items to satisfy your finnicky daughters. Aiko sniffs when she informs you that she’d prefer her papa to braid her hair, thank you very much, and when you shoot a look of death at Kuroo, he can’t even keep his face straight, his trademark hyena laugh erupting from his chest. 

You cook dinner in the evenings, appreciating the times when he can join you at the table, not counting the nights he can’t against him because you know he’s trying his best. The girls clamour for his stories every night, laughing when he teasingly scolds them for yanking on his tie, demanding goodnight kisses from both him and you. 

Now you force Kuroo to take some time to himself, shoo him off for lunches with Kenma, get-togethers with his Nekoma schoolmates. “I know you can manage it”, you tell him archly, “but you need breaks  so you don’t burn out, or worse – you’ll lose your hair and we don’t want that”. When he opens and closes his mouth without a smart retort, you smirk. You get your way. 

Both of you organise parties and playdates, inviting your shared friends – Kenma, of course, is a frequent guest, Bokuto, who brings along Akaashi and his sweet tempered little son (who Aiko always manages to pick a fight with, much to Kuroo’s amusement). You host Kai, who always brings offerings of flowers from his garden, Yaku, when he’s in town with his daughter, son and alarmingly fat cat. The adults congregate in the kitchen with food and alcohol, cracking good natured jokes at Kuroo and his frilly pink apron, watching the children cause a ruckus in the living room. 

But you cherish the quiet moments you share with Kuroo at night when the children are asleep in bed. The chats you have whilst soaking in a hot bath about your day at work, the snippets of stories he shares about his boss, his crazy colleagues, the warmth of his arm around you as you stay up to clear emails late into the night, the heated kisses he presses to the nape of your neck to distract you when he thinks you’re working too hard. 

It’s a good life. You’re happy, and so is he. 

A year slips by. 

The seasons come full circle. You return to the ryokan, finding peace in soaking yourself in steaming pools, watching the bamboo sway, the sun rise over Mt. Fuji. But this time, you’re not alone. You persuade Kuroo that he, too, needs a break - deserves one, truly. So you leave the girls with your mother and take the bullet train down to Hakone. 

He shoots you a smirk as you both emerge from the private bath he’d insisted on booking. You swat at him, pulling your yukata higher up your neck, scowling as he winds an arm around your waist to press you into his side. 

“You couldn’t wait til we got back to our room?” you hiss at him. 

He chuckles lowly in response. “Didn’t hear you complaining”, he retorts. 

“We were in an onsen, Tetsuro!” 

“A private one”, he says with a waggle of his eyebrows, laughing aloud when you try and fail to slap your hand over his mouth. “What d’you think I was going to do with my lovely wife? I’m not a monk, sweetheart”

You try your best to shush him, but his cackling manages to capture the attention of everyone in the lift.  

“What a happy couple”, an old lady remarks, within your earshot. “They must be newly married” 

You think she must be a little senile. Or a little blind. 

Neither of you are in your first flush of youth anymore - there are streaks of grey in Tetsuro’s mop of hair, extra weight in your hips and lines in your faces. No one could conceivably mistake you for a pair of newlyweds.

“Nah”, Kuroo drawls easily into your ear. “Just your regular old, married couple.”

You don’t speak until you’re safely in your room. 

“A regular, old, happily married couple”, you say, as he hands you a cup of tea. “That obaa-san got that part right at least.”

Kuroo chokes on the lump of emotion in his throat as you serenely sip your tea. 

The tea tastes bitter (as it always does), but the kisses that follow are so very, very sweet. 

[gurlwithluvx3]

the blind date | myg

Pairing: (non-idol) bestfriend!Yoongi x reader (feat. Hobi and Jennie)

Word count: ~6K

Summary: one of your best friends had set up a blind date for you but the night takes a turn when you come home alone.

Genre/Warnings: smut, mentions of smoking weed

Masterlist

—

One of your best friends had set you up on a blind date. One of your best friends, meaning the one you recently fell in love with but would never become something more. He was off limits simply because he was one of your best friends.

“Hobi, our dear _____ is all grown up” Yoongi says as he helps himself to the contents of your fridge, grabbing a beer you had bought earlier this week.

“I know it’s been a long time _____ but I I know he’s gonna sweep you off your feet” he says rushing back to the living room where you’re basically showing them your outfits.

“That is too raunchy” Hobi says “are y’all going to the club?” He says as he snorts and laughs. You stick your tongue out as you head back to your room to change for the umpteenth time.

Your room is a hot mess considering all the clothes on your bed and floor, trying to find the perfect outfit. Not that you care about what you look like for the blind date.

“Yoongiiiiii” you begin to whine “I literally cannot find ANYTHING”. You sit on a pile of clothes on the bed. “Can you just tell him I caught the bug and won’t be able to reschedule for the next 6 months?”.

You lay on your bed, pulling out your phone from the pocket of your hoodie to scroll through Instagram before Yoongi comes in with a bowl of strawberries.

“_____ remember, let your yes be yes and your no be no. And you said yes so you can’t take it back” he says as he sticks his tongue out at you before indulging in a bite.

“I only said yes because you basically said yes for me” you whine, dropping your phone to your side as you sit up and stare at Yoongi as you’re now looking and feeling defeated.

“I’m okay with where I am in life Yoongi. All I need is Jennie, you, Hobi, and my handy dandy vibrator” you say as you wait for his reaction.

And you know exactly how he responds “You’re sick _______” you both say at the same time as you mock him.

He looks at you then to the pile of clothes on your bed. He puts down the bowl before grabbing a cute blouse and then throws it on your lap.

“Wear this with your favorite pair of jeans and those black heeled boots” he says before completely leaving your room, taking another bite of the strawberries. He leaves the door open to show that he’s not completely scarred from what you just said.

You bring the blouse to your attention and check yourself in the mirror and you can see that outfit actually working out.

“Thank you Yoongiiiiii!” You yell so that he can hear you. And then you set it aside as you begin to clean up the mountain of clothes.

You have your country music playing because for whatever reason it puts you in a good mood. Hobi quietly walks in as you’re turned around hanging up stuff in your closet.

“So which one are you going with?” He suddenly says, scaring you half to death.

“Hobi, what the hell!” You yell, hitting him on the shoulder. You look at each other before you both start laughing.

You hold up the blouse and pants as you point to the shoes and he gives you a thumbs up in approval. He moves some clothes to one side of the bed as he sits down.

“I can’t believe you’re really going” he says so that only you can hear. “But, I’m also proud of you for actually trying”.

The last time you dated someone was over 2 years ago and if it weren’t for Hobi and Yoongi, who knows where you would be.

They picked up the pieces of your broken heart, along with your actual best friend/roommate Jennie. They helped mend the parts of you that you thought would never heal and you’re eternally grateful for them all.

And you weren’t lying earlier when you said all you needed were the 3 of them. Yet they insisted you go on a date.

It doesn’t help that Jennie and Hobi have been together for the past 5 years. They got together a year after you and Jennie became roommates going into your third year of college. And Yoongi automatically became part of your clique since he’s been Hobi’s best friend since their diaper days.

What you love about your dear friends is the balance. Hobi is the outgoing one of the group, you can say possibly the leader out of the four of you. Jennie is the voice of reason. Yoongi is the unique and spontaneous one. While you were the empath and the motherly one.

You all had roles in the group that it always worked out. And when you and/or Yoongi had significant others it only added to the group’s strength.

Which is why Yoongi had pushed for this blind date because he wanted you to be happy. He wanted the group to feel more complete. He was tired of being the other 3rd wheel to Hobi and Jennie’s dates. He wanted another buddy to drink with since Hobi was tied up.

And although you loved their relationship as well, you also wished for more. But in a different way. You thought that you didn’t need to add to your group. You could see yourself being with Yoongi, truly completing the group.

But he pushed for dates for you consistently as he had brought in some girls throughout the years. And you always said no, often being the 5th wheel. But you didn’t mind. Because you never felt that way, well not with Hobi and Jennie at least.

Some of the ladies Yoongi brought around were nice, but most of them just had no personality to them. But Yoongi couldn’t help it, he was quite the ladies man.

Which was part of the reason why you said yes to the blind date. Because you realized your feelings for Yoongi were getting too deep and you know that sooner or later he’s gonna end up in a legit relationship and you were scared you’d end up alone.

Sure it would hurt when you hear Hobi’s gossip about Yoongi’s sexcapades, but you also knew they wouldn’t last. So you kept Yoongi close, maybe a little too close.

Because sometimes when you catch him staring at you with those captivating brown eyes, or when he smiles from cheek to cheek and starts laughing at your jokes, or when he shows off his gummy smile, it drives you insane.

You’d risk it all if you could but you would never because 1) it would change the dynamic of your beloved friend group and 2) you’re certain he doesn’t feel the same way.

So as much as you’re dreading this blind date, you also told yourself you’ll go with the flow. You take your precious time getting ready while the guys are rummaging through your cabinets and fridge for food.

“_____ you have 20 more minutes!” Yoongi calls out when you’re just about done with your falsies. You sigh as you look at yourself in the mirror. You’re content with everything but the date itself.

“Just one night, so they can shut up for 4 months” you mouthed to yourself in the mirror before taking one final look. You grab the Gucci purse Jennie gifted you last Christmas.

You didn’t see Yoongi leaning against the door post with salt and vinegar chips in hand. “Wow” he says almost inaudibly, but you saw him through the mirror. You turn around to look at him.

“How do I look Yoongs?” You say swaying your body as you slowly turn around. He looks at you in the eyes and then to your figure before he approaches you.

“You look amazing” he manages to say moments after and you can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach from the way he compliments you and the way he’s looking at you.

“I-I-I hope you have fun on your date ___” he stutters as he looks around your room instead of focusing on you, as if he was nervous himself.

“I highly doubt it but thank you Yoongi! What do you have planned for tonight?” You say giving him a not so innocent grin.

“Ehh Hobi and Jennie want me to tag along to meet up with some people at that one bar they frequent, but we’ll see” he says looking your way and down to your figure again.

Since you’ve known Yoongi, you’ve never caught him staring at you, so when you catch him in the act it gets both of you flustered. But you shake it off as you playfully smack him with the purse in your hand and you both laugh it off and head to the living room.

“Wow ____ you look great! If this date goes well you’ll finally end your dry spell!” Hobi says as he takes a good look at you. And for whatever reason you start to feel your cheeks start to blush.

You try to pretend you weren’t fazed and slap him on his shoulder out of spite. “You’re the worst, Jung Hoseok” you say before getting some water before heading out.

“Also, I know y’all are going out tonight but if worse comes to worse, can y’all pick me up?” You blurt out casually, chuckling out of nervousness. But in reality, you’re actually starting to feel nervous.

“You’re gonna be fine _____” Hobi says reassuringly. “We did a background check and everything” he says nonchalantly before opening a bag of cookies. The funny thing is you know he’s not lying. Because you know Jennie would do something like just because.

“Well boys, I’ll see y’all later! Wish me luck!” You say hesitantly, hoping they’d hear your unamused tone and save you from going. But as expected, they’re focused on whatever show is playing and munching away.

—

You quietly open the door to your apartment to see that it’s pitched black and you let out the sigh you’ve been holding in all night.

You instantly take off your heeled boots by the door and take off your coat as you make your way to lay on the couch.

You turn on the lamp before heading to the kitchen to grab some water, and just as you were able to sit you end up jumping, scared out of your mind to find someone laying on the couch.

“What the hell Yoongi!” you said startled as hell as you try to calm down your nerves.

He rubs his eyes a little before adjusting to the light. “Mmmm” is all he manages to say as he tries to wake himself and find the strength to make space for you.

“Wait” he says, straightening himself up and suddenly as alert as ever, “how was your date? Is he coming here? Oh shit” he says sitting up straight to straighten out the pillows on the couch.

“Yoongs, you’re okay” you say chuckling as you pat him on the shoulder. “No one’s coming over at this time” you said in a little more softer tone in hopes that he didn’t hear you.

You finally take a seat before stretching your legs on top of the coffee table and tilt your head backwards to rest on the couch.

“So, should I not ask how the date went?” Yoongi asks as he rests his arm behind you on the backside of the couch. And for whatever reason, he makes you a little speechless at this gesture.

You look at him trying to read his expression. He looks like he’s all ears, but you also don’t want him to be the first person you spill all the tea to, so you try to organize your thoughts.

“You can ask, Yoongi. You can literally ask me anything” you say as you raise your glass up to drink some water. And he knows that you mean that.

He looks at the clock on the wall and his eyes suddenly grow bigger. “Wait a damn minute, it’s only 9?! Why are you home?!” He says checking the time on his phone to make sure he’s not tripping.

“I cut that date short” you giggled right before taking another sip of water.

“But why ______?!” He says basically grabbing the couch from behind you. He looks like he’s ready to yell but holds in his breath.

“I wasn’t feeling it Yoongi, it’s that plain and simple” you say pouting suddenly. “He seemed really cool and I wish I could have tried harder.. but I don’t know..” you said thinking back to the date.

He was attractive. He was a gentleman. He was going somewhere in life. He had dreams and aspirations that almost aligned with yours. But in reality, he wasn’t Yoongi. And for whatever reason, how Yoongi stared at you earlier today replayed in your mind the hour and a half you were out.

But you’d never admit that to your inner circle, especially to Yoongi himself. So you take a deep breath and let out a sigh, hoping he would take the hint you were done with that conversation.

“Wait, if it’s only 9pm why were you KO’d on my couch and not out with our besties?” You say reaching for the bag of chips he was probably munching on before he knocked out.

He laughs and shrugs, “I wanted to nap before I went out with Hobi and Jennie” he says as he steals the chip from your hand.

You were a little sad to hear he was still planning on going out. You wanted to hear that he’d stay and comfort you after your failed attempt at a date. But you also know that would be asking for too much.

“Well, hopefully you have enough energy for tonight” you said, reaching in the bag for another chip or three before stuffing it into your mouth.

“Actually I don’t think I have the mental capacity to be out at a bar right now. But I wouldn’t say no to a nice walk around the neighborhood” he says nonchalantly. “You down?”

You look at him for a quick second and he begins looking at you with puppy eyes and a cute pout you can never refuse. “Fine, let me just change” you say as you head to your room.

Thankfully your apartment complex is gated and has its own park. You and Yoongi start your walk when he takes out a blunt and lights it. It’s something you both enjoy after a stressful day, especially after a day of helping Hobi and Jennie work through their issues.

With you and Yoongi, there’s never a time when it has been awkward between you two, except maybe now. You’re both extremely quiet, which is a first. You don’t know what to say and you feel that he has more questions but doesn’t want to pry.

After walking and sharing the blunt for five minutes, you decided to take initiative, “I appreciate you setting up the date Yoongs, and I’m sorry if this ruins your friendship with the guy” you say, chuckling nervously.

He takes a hit and takes in a deep breath before exhaling. “Was he a dick to you?” He asks, almost as if he was starting to get angry, which surprised you to say the least.

“Oh my gosh, no way. He was a gentleman through and through” you say reassuring your friend. “I swear he didn’t do anything weird or gross”.

He was then quiet again, and you wish you could read his mind at this point. You also wish that you can just be truthful. But you suppress those thoughts down the bottom of the barrel of your train of thoughts.

It was as if he was about to speak his mind, but instead he sighs and takes another hit. And then seconds later, another one.

“What’s wrong Yoongs?” You ask, hearing and seeing his change in demeanor. He straightens his posture up as you two continue on walking.

“I don’t want to say I’m upset because I’m not. But I swear he was the perfect match for you” he begins before he takes another hit. “He’s literally everything you want in a guy,” he says, almost sounding disappointed.

Your eyes widened at his confession. Why is he so affected? You try to gather your thoughts but you’re honestly dumbfounded. You find yourself grabbing the blunt, taking a couple of hits yourself.

“I know Yoongs. I have no idea what’s wrong with me” you admit. You take another hit when you notice that he’s walking closer to you now. And then suddenly he wraps his arm around you.

“Nothing’s wrong with you ____” is all he manages to say. He grabs the blunt from you and takes a hit still holding onto you. Your mind is going crazy but you’re trying to keep it cool.

“I think you’re amazing ____” he continues on as he passes you the blunt. And it’s as if he was suddenly aware of his arm holding on to you because he slowly drops it down back to his side.

“Thanks Yoongi” you say shyly as you playfully bump into him, missing the warmth his arm provided for you. You surprise yourself as you link your arm with his. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

For the rest of the walk, you take turns with the blunt while telling each other your worst dating experiences.

You make it back to your apartment and both of you are pretty high. He makes it back to the couch with the chips in one hand as he motions you to sit next to him with his other hand.

You and Yoongi have cuddled before, multiple times, high as a kite and usually you would think nothing of it. It’s just how your friendship worked, and it’s not like you’ve ever kissed or anything.

But as he’s picking some random documentary on Netflix, your mind starts playing tricks on you. Does it feel different to him as well or are you just too emotional right now?

You quietly sigh as you rest your head on his shoulder and his arm is suddenly wrapped around you. Then you realize that his hand is slowly lowering, from your shoulder to your elbow and now close to your waist.

Stop trippin’ you say to yourself as you try your hardest to focus on the documentary, completely unaware of what’s going on.

Yoongi rests his head on yours, squeezing your side a little more intently and you can’t remember if he’s done this before or if you’re just caught up in your feels. But every single movement, every little thing he’s doing is driving you crazy.

“Hey ______” he says, lifting his head up and moving his hand away from you to take a good look at you. You hold back your sigh from instantly missing the warmth of his hold and look at him.

“Yes Yoongi?” You respond back with half a smile on your face. And as you take a good look at him, it’s an expression you’ve never seen.

“What are you looking for in a guy?” He says after hesitating for a moment. Your eyes grow big at this sudden question and realize you may be too high to answer this appropriately.

“Hmm” you say, placing your index finger on your chin. As you look at Yoongi, you see that he’s watching you very carefully.

“I want a man who won’t complete me but complement me” you say and pause trying to think of more. He shifts his body so that he’s completely facing you and you automatically lose your train of thought.

He leans in closer looking into your gaze, as if he was searching for something only your eyes can answer.

“Do you think we complement each other ____?” He asks suddenly and you swear your heart skipped a beat.

You avoid his eyes for a minute to look past him. You feel the temperature rising and a ball of anxiety form in your chest. Why is he asking you these questions? But before you can answer his question he grabs one of your hand with his.

“I think we complement each other _____” he says and squeezes your hand. “I think we complement each other more than we know”.

You’re speechless and motionless. Is he really telling you this right now or are you dreaming this?

“_______, I set up your date with the intent of helping you find your soulmate. But as soon as you walked out the door earlier, I realized that it was a mistake” he says. He lets go of your hand but keeps his eyes focused on you.

You find the strength to meet his gaze that was full of desperation. What was he implying?

“What are you saying Yoongi?” You ask, holding your gaze on him.

He holds out his hand and helps you to straddle over his thighs and makes you lean closer to him.

“I want you _____. I want you for myself” he says as he rests both of his hands on your waist.

If your heart could explode at any time, it would be now. You look at him and see a whole new side of Yoongi you’ve never seen. His eyes have darkened, and his usual fluffy expression is now replaced with this new sexy look.

“Do you want me too?” He asks, letting go of his hold, suddenly afraid of overstepping boundaries.

You gently lift your hips only to carefully roll them on his lap and wrap both of your arms around his shoulders, leaning to one side of his head.

“There’s only one person I’ve ever wanted,” you whisper into his ear before caressing his hair from the back of his head.

And that was all it took for him to delve his lips to yours. His soft lips meet yours and it sends electricity all over your body.

He grabs your face with one hand as his other hand makes way to your ass, giving you permission to follow his lead. But instead you lean back a little to catch your breath.

“All I wanted was you Min Yoongi” you confess before reeling back into the kiss. And it ignites something in both of you because now you’re both deepening the kiss.

He gently bites your lower lip and you instantly moan. You just want him to devour you. He’s licking your bottom lip with his tongue making you moan once again before his tongue meets yours.

And soon enough you’re rolling your hips, wanting more. He grabs your ass with both hands to help relieve the tension while all focusing on the kiss.

You pull on his hair, making him moan from the sudden gesture and it drives both of you insane.

He moves his hands up to the hem of your sweater and begins lifting it, but you stop him before he can take it off.

“Wait” you say trying to catch your breath. “I want you.. in my room” you say. He licks his lips and nods. He watches you carefully get off his lap. You grab hold of his hand and lead him to your room.

You quickly shut the door behind you before leading Yoongi closer to your bed. You would do anything to be on his lap again. But before you can even do that, you take off your sweater fully exposing your top half to him.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous _____. I swear you’ll be the death of me” he says mimicking your gesture as he starts taking off his clothes.

In a matter of seconds, all that’s left is your panties and his boxers and it is very evident that he’s horny for you. His dick is still constrained yet he looks huge.

You step towards him to help take off his boxers as you’re more than curious to see all of him. But before you can do anything he grabs you and pushes you onto your bed.

“Baby” he says, with a sexy grin on his face, “let me cater to you” he says as you’re sitting on the edge of the bed.

Your mind goes blank for a second, unsure of how to respond, but he takes the lead and begins pulling down your panties.

“So fucking gorgeous” Yoongi whispers as he kneels down. He can’t help but stare at your body. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt about this? About you?” He says, licking his lips as he parts your thighs before locking his gaze to yours.

He caresses your thighs very slightly yet it still sends shivers throughout your body. This man will be the death of me, you think to yourself.

He leans in closer and kisses the inside of your thighs. You can’t contain it anymore as you lean back on your elbows, biting your lower lip to hold yourself back from screaming.

“You’re so fucking wet baby” he says as he touches your folds with his index and middle finger. Your eyes roll back from the sensation.

He begins rubbing your clit and this time you don’t hold back as you moan from the pleasure of someone else’s hand.

“Fuck, that feels so good” you manage to say, which is all he wanted to hear. He rubs your clit a little faster now and you try to grab tight to anything. It feels so damn good you never want him to stop.

But he does. And you can’t help but gasp at the sudden loss of pleasure. You look down and all you see is his dark orbs and a mischievous grin.

“If you want more baby, you need to beg,” he says as he kisses your inner thigh.

“I need you Min Yoongi. I need you right now” you beg. He looks up to you with the most devious smirk before he kisses your core.

He then begins to suck on and lick your clit carefully and you can’t help but moan his name. His dick twitches from hearing you and he begins to fasten the pace.

You can’t help but squirm and moan as you basically thrust yourself onto his face. He’s striking every nerve and all you can do at this point is moan and hold tight to the sheets.

“Fuck, right there” you say leaning your head back. He then inserts his index finger into your core, making your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, fuck, that feels so good” you say as you try to level out your breathing. Your pussy clenches around his finger as he begins thrusting it in and out of you.

“You like that baby?” He says as he adds his middle finger. And all you can do is moan in reply.

“I want you to cum for me” he says as he quickens the pace with his fingers, reaching deeper into you. And he shifts his focus from your core to your clit in an instance.

Your pussy is clenching and your toes are curling and you try to grab anything at this point as your orgasm gets the best of you. Satisfied and pleased in ways you haven’t been, you continue to moan as your orgasm takes over you.

“Fuck you’re so hot baby” Yoongi says wiping off your juice from his mouth with the backside of his hand.

You lay down all the way, trying to recover from your high when you feel pressure as Yoongi hovers over you.

“I’m not done with you yet baby” he says with the same grin on his face from earlier. He grabs your face and gently kisses you and you feel his hardened length by your core.

He adds more weight onto you as he kisses your neck down to your collarbone. With one hand by your head and his focus on your collarbone, you try to reach for his length, making him grunt.

“Lay on your back” you say as you grab onto his shoulders. You both get up quickly and readjust so that he’s resting his head on your pillows.

You waste no time and pull down his boxers seeing his dick in all its glory and you’re basically drooling.

“Fuck” you sigh at the sight of his dick and you lick your lips. You look up to Yoongi’s face and all you see is lust as he rests his hands behind his head.

You move so that you’re in between his legs and grab hold of his length, grabbing it at the base. You begin pumping his length, carefully admiring it when you hear him grunting.

“Fuck baby” he says trying to keep his eyes open. But your touch is driving him insane and you’ve barely begun.

You offer him a smirk before lowering yourself so that your face is right by his length. You quickly look up and you just know Yoongi is about to lose it.

You take in his length inch by inch, licking it as you lower yourself. Your core clenches, wanting to feel him inside you already, but you know that it’ll be worth the wait.

“Your mouth feels so good baby,” he says, biting his lower lip. You quickly look up and you wish you could savor this forever.

You grab his thigh with one hand and take in his length again, slowly trying to take in as much as you can. You gag when you reach your limit, causing him to moan out your name.

“Fuck baby” he says trying to reach for your head. He pulls on your hair while you continue sucking him off.

You fasten your pace, and you’re using one of your hands and the moans that are coming out of his mouth is like music to your ears.

You would let him cum in your mouth, shit, you would let him cum anywhere, but he stops you from going any further.

You sit up to see him out of breath and he motions for you to lay right next to him. But instead you straddle him by his thighs. His eyes lit up for a second as you began rubbing your clit, not that you need to because you’re soaking wet.

You lift yourself up and grab hold of his length from underneath you.

“Baby, you’re so fucking hot” he says as he grabs hold of your hip.

You look up at him as he stares at his length. You hold his forearm and gently lower yourself onto him, making both of you grunt.

You’re both morning and swearing as he fills you up and you try to sit up as straight as you can to maintain the control. You lift yourself up and thrust down to feel him fill you.

“Fuck” he says trying to stay focused. But he can’t help but close his eyes at the pleasure he feels.

You lean forward, as your hands grab hold of his chest and you begin riding him. And fuck does it feel good. You quicken your pace when grabs hold of your hips and begins thrusting himself into you from underneath.

“Damn baby, you have no idea how good you feel” he says as he squeezes your hips tightly. You smirk and let go of his chest to lean backwards, grabbing one of his thighs.

You’re both moaning at this new angle and he grabs one of your breasts, punching one of your nipples, and you can’t help but moan and curse.

“Slow down baby” he says trying to slow you down. “I don’t want to cum just yet,” he says.

You lift yourself off of him and softly kiss him, both of you out of breath. You look at him and say, “I want you to fuck me from behind Min Yoongi” and his eyes lit up again.

You move to the other side of the bed, on all fours, arching your back as he positions you so he can stand on the ground while you’re still on the bed.

“Fuck _______, you’re perfect” he says holding on to your ass.

“So” he says as he smacks your right cheek “fucking” smacks your right cheek again “perfect” he says and grabs your hips.

He aligns his length at your entrance and you moan, missing the feeling of him inside you. But before he does anything else, he leans forward to kiss your back.

He slips himself in and slowly fills you up. Your eyes roll back for the umpteenth time, feeling so full in this new position. You moan into your pillow as he begins thrusting himself into you.

“Oh fuck” you say, screaming into the pillow as he suddenly quickens to a relentless pace. You’re grabbing tight to your pillow and feel pleasure with each thrust.

“You like how that feels baby?” He says while grunting. You let out a loud moan in response.

But suddenly he gathers and grabs your hair, “answer me with your words baby” he says, pulling it tighter and you’re forced to lift your body a little.

“It feels fucking amazing” you say panting in between your words. His thrust reaches deeper making you moan louder. He pulls your hair and helps you lift yourself up without messing up his rhythm.

“Fuck baby” he says with one hand now on your back. You can tell he’s close to reaching his high as his thrusts gets a little more sloppier.

So you rest on one elbow and begin rubbing your clit with your other hand. The increased pleasure causes you to moan even louder which drives Yoongi crazy.

He lets go of your hair and your upper body instantly falls on the bed. He grabs your hips tightly as his thrusts become more stronger.

You’re rubbing yourself at a faster pace as you feel your orgasm approaching when suddenly you feel Yoongi smacking your ass.

“Shit, you’re so tight baby. I’m not gonna last” he says, smacking your flesh once again, trying to maintain the pace.

He spreads your legs apart a little more and deepens his thrust in hopes you’d reach your climax before he does. He slows his pace down as you rub your clit faster.

“Cum for me baby” he says, holding you down and you begin moaning relentlessly feeling your orgasm approaching. Your pussy starts clenching around his dick and  all that you hear are both of your moans and skin slapping against skin. You start backing yourself up into him.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck” Yoongi says, trying so hard to not cum before you.

And suddenly your orgasm crashes over you like a wave. Yoongi pulls out and finishes off all over your back. You both are out of breath but feel so satisfied.

Yoongi steps out of your room to grab a towel for each of you.

You scoot up on your bed before your head crashes into the pillow, exhausted but content. Yoongi finishes cleaning himself and carefully joins you.

“Yoongs?” You ask calmly. You turn to face him, aware that you’re both naked and exposed.

“Yes _______?” He answers back. He leans in to kiss your forehead.

“You complement me more than anyone I know” you say almost in a whisper, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You both can’t help but smile before closing your eyes, and he pulls you closer so that you’re cuddled up closely.

You’re thankful for the failed blind date, because in the end, it led you to the right person, the only person you’ve ever wanted.

[oblxvion]

euphoric | eren jaeger (1)

-> pairing: eren jaeger x f!reader

-> wc: 5.4k

-> warnings: use of marijuana, smut, praise kink, degradation kink, spit kink, oral (f and m receiving), fluff

you were stressed. it was almost the end of the term, and you had spent the past two weeks studying and prepping for your exams because you needed those grades. you had been slipping a lot in your classes but you managed to bring your grades up with the help of your good friend armin. he was extremely smart and honestly, without him, you didn't even want to think about what your grades would be.

“ugh, sasha, i can’t study any more.” you groaned, bringing you head down to into the vast sea of review that you had been going over as per armin’s request. “i need a break, i feel like my brain is going to fucking explode.”

sasha looked over up from her phone and laughed. “it’s gonna be worth it, i promise. once you finish these exams, you’ll be able to relax for a bit. do you wanna smoke later ‘cause we’re all getting together later at eren’s, i forgot to tell you.”

you hadn’t checked your phone in the past few hours so you didn't know that there were plans that had been made. 

you didn’t move your head as you contemplated the thought, it sounded like fun to see everyone and ignore the work you had for at least a bit. exams weren’t for another week and a half, so you should be fine.

“yeah, i'll come.”

“yay! i’ll text the group chat and let them know that we’re gonna leave at around 6.” she squeals as she grabs her phone and starts typing away a text that you soon receive as well.

“ok, i need to nap first. plus it’s like 4 so i’m gonna pass out for a bit.” you got up from the kitchen table and made your way over to your bedroom, beginning to get comfortable. “wake me up at 5.” you yelled so she could hear from her room.

“you got it.” sasha yelled back. you could tell that she said that with food in her mouth. 

“typical.” you chuckled as you felt your body drift off to sleep.

“y/n! hey! wake up! it’s 5:30. i lost track of the time.” sasha tried to shake you awake in which you grumbled in response. 

“ugh, ur so timely.” you joked as you made your way out of your room, and into the shared bathroom. wow i look like shit you thought to yourself as you turned from side to side trying to see all of what you looked like in your oversized sweatshirt and shorts.

there was not enough time for you to get ready to look at least presentable, but you felt gross so you turned on the shower and threw your clothes into your hamper. you put on some music because who showers without music and you made sure to shave because it had been awhile since you had and you wanted to feel clean.

once you had finished, you grabbed a towel and checked the time on your phone. 5:40. perfect.

“y/n, we have like 20 minutes,” sasha called from her room. “do you think you can be ready by then?”

“yeah, i just need to dry my hair and throw on some clothes and i should be good.” you said as you walked into her room, she was pretty much ready to go, and dressed in shorts and a baggy t-shirt. no one really dressed up for these sessions because everyone was already super comfortable with each other.

“ok i’m gonna go change, i don't know if i’ll have enough time to dry my hair though.” 

“you’ll be fine. plus, we can be a bit late, they wouldn’t start without us anyways.” she says with a smile as she puts on a sweatshirt.

you made your way back to your room and threw on a pair of sweatpants, a loose fitting tank top and your favorite pullover. as you made your way back to the bathroom to dry your hair, you found yourself stressing once again about your exams to which you took a deep breathe and reminded yourself that you needed to relax and this was a well deserved break. 

after you finished drying your hair, you quickly ran a brush through it, and put on some deodorant along with your favorite perfume.

“ok sash, i’m ready.” you called from the bathroom as you fixed your appearance for the last time. 

“perfect! i ordered us an uber because i don’t really wanna drive and i know you don't like driving high.” she says as she grabs the last of her things and we make our way out the door and to the bottom of our apartment complex.

“soooo...” 

you look at her as the uber pulls over to the side of the road. “so what?”

“have u been seeing anyone recently?” sasha looks over to you as she gets into the uber after you. 

“how could i? i’ve literally been studying nonstop. i wish though.” you say with a sigh. you had been so preoccupied with studying and getting your grades up that you haven’t had the time to see anyone except friends. “why do you ask?”

“oh, it’s nothing really. i was just curious, you know, being your roommate and all.” somethings up, she’s clearly trying to pick at something and this does not go unnoticed by you.

“ok,” you laughed and shook your head. “whatever you say.”

before you knew it, you both arrived at eren’s apartment complex. for some reason, you felt anxious. you knew the boys that were going to be there but you had this gut feeling that something was going to happen.

the two of you made your way up to his floor and knocked on his door which was opened almost instantly as if he were waiting.

“sasha!” connie exclaimed, embracing the girl into a bear hug. “hey y/n.” 

“hey connie.” you smiled in response. it was really cute how the two of them were so close, it’s almost like they were twins. you made your way into the apartment and saw jean and eren, arguing over god knows what.

“hey guys!” you say as you walked over to the two of them, hugging them both. 

“y/n! it’s been a while. how’s studying with armin?” jean asks as he pulls away from the hug.

“god. don't even get me started. i am in hell. armin’s being so helpful though.” you chuckle as you walked over to eren, who was looking at something on his phone but quickly shoved it away when he saw you coming towards him.

“hey y/n.” he says with his boyish smile as he pulls you into a side hug and you notice that his hand lingers for a bit longer than normal but you smile in response.

“so, can we smoke now that they’re finally here?” connie asks as it was very clear that he was getting impatient. 

“yeah, yeah, let’s go to the deck.” eren’s apartment had a deck with was extremely nice and over time, it had become the signature smoke spot for you guys. it had an outdoor couch and a few chairs along with a small table which was perfect.

you made your way to your favorite spot which was the right corner of the couch so you could be close to the edge of the balcony and look out at the view of the city. everyone had their signature spots, it was like an unspoken rule but everyone followed it. eren next to you on the couch, sasha, jean and connie in the three chairs on the opposite side of the table.

there were some blankets already outside along with a speaker that eren played some music on to set the vibe. 

“since you guys were taking too long, i rolled us a joint so we could smoke sooner.” eren said as he sat down next to you.

“aw, how kind.” you tease him as you nudge yourself against his shoulder, earning a chuckle from him. “dibs on first hit.” 

“aw, c’mon!” jean whined, knowing that you always give the blunt to eren right after you hit. 

“i get priority since eren is my best friend.” you smirk and wait for eren to say anything but he just laughs and shakes his head. 

you and eren had always been close ever since you started school. he even introduced you to everyone, which was the reason why you were here with them now.

eren took out his lighter and lit the joint and passed it to you. you took it between your pointer finger and thumb and took a long drag. 

oh how you had missed this feeling. the feeling of being high with your friends. you passed the blunt back to eren as he took a hit himself and you exhaled the smoke.

the joint was passed around the circle until everyone had gotten a good amount of hits and it was finished. you felt your high and you leaned back into the couch as you closed your eyes.

“tired?” 

you opened your eyes and looked over to eren who’s eyes were red, just like yours. “no, just relaxing. this is nice. i needed this.”

“yeah, i noticed. armin told me that you’d been really stressed lately so i texted asking if people wanted to smoke but you didn't respond so i assumed you were studying,” he says as he stretched his arms and placed them just behind your shoulders.

“thanks,” you laughed as you stared into his turquoise eyes only now noticing how pretty they were. you had looked him in the eyes before but this time it felt different and he felt it too. but your staring was soon broken by sasha’s wails of being hungry.

“there’s food in the fridge, i had takeout last night so there’s probably some leftovers.” eren nods his head towards the inside of his apartment. sasha stood up and made her way towards the food as connie followed her.

“hey! save some for me!” he yelled as he chased after her. all that was left was you, eren and jean. there was clearly some tension in the air but you decided to ignore it.

“ain’t no way i’m gonna be third wheeling right now.” jean huffed quietly and joined the two inside. 

third wheeling? you ignored it because jean obviously knows that you and eren are close friends, nothing more.

oh, how you were wrong.

eren looked over to make sure that there was no way for the others to see the deck and he moved his arm down towards your shoulder. you were shocked by this, but in a way, it was comforting. 

“y/n?” he asked staring off into the distance.

“hm?” 

he didn't respond so you took it upon yourself to look up at him.

“what’s up?”

no response once again.

your lidded eyes becoming heavy as he looked down at you with a tender look on his face. he leaned his face closer to yours until your noses were touching.

“eren?”

his lips connected with yours, igniting a feeling inside your chest that you had pushed away when you first became close. you melted into the kiss and kissed him back in a slow and sensual kiss. eren pulled back and tucked your hair behind your ear as he went back in for another kiss. you didn’t know what to do but the feeling that this gave you, it wasn’t like any other kiss you had before.

“wanted to do this for a long time.” he whispers and rests his nose on yours. 

you didn’t know what to say in response so you pulled him back for another kiss that was interrupted by the three of them coming back out onto the deck. you pulled away quickly, hoping that no one had seen what just happened. eren kept his hand on your shoulder, but no one had asked about it so you just let it slide.

it had been a few days since you had last seen eren. everyone was texting in the group chat about plans for the upcoming days but you had to study, or at least try to study. the kiss that you and eren shared had been replaying in your head ever since it had happened. you knew that he was high and he may not remember it, but it still bugged you and you had to know.

but most importantly, this kiss had sparked feelings inside you that you had pushed away so long ago and it was beginning to get hard to consume them. eren was constantly on your mind, and you couldn’t focus on your work. 

you needed to talk to him but you didn't know how because you didn't know that he had these feelings for you and you didn't know that you still had those feelings for him. you realized that you were ignoring these feelings that you had for him because he was your close friend and you didn’t want that to ruin your relationship.

it was driving you crazy. you needed to talk to him. 

you grabbed your phone and clicked on eren’s contact and called him. it didn’t even finish the first ring.

“hey y/n! what’s up? how’s studying?” he said and you felt your heart swell at him saying your name, which never happened before until now.

“hey, can you come over later? i need to talk to you,” you sigh. this is it, you need to know if he truly had those feelings or he was just playing with you.

“yeah, of course,” he stammered. “is everything ok?”

“yeah, everything's fine, i just wanna talk to you.”

“ok, i can get a ride now if you want me to.” is he eager?

you looked at the time and remembered that sasha was out with connie and jean so she would probably not be coming back tonight.

“actually, yeah, that sounds fine. see you soon, eren.”

“ok, i’ll text you when i’m close.”

“ok,” you ended the call and placed your phone down, taking your head in your hands. you’re overreacting right? he definitely feels for you, why else would he kiss you?

“i need to shower.” you said to yourself, trying to ignore the thoughts in your head.

as you got out of the shower, you heard your phone get a text, which you assumed to be eren. walking back to your room, you heard a knock at the door and you froze. you were still in a towel and debating whether or not you should open the door for him, which you did because you didn't want to leave him standing out there.

“hey y/n, oh,” he stops and looks you up and down. 

“sorry, i just got out of the shower.” you say as you open the door and motion for him to come inside. “can you just wait a sec while i go put some clothes on?”

“oh, uh, yeah. i’ll wait in the kitchen.” he looks around and scratches the back of his head nervously. his hair was tied back into a messy bun like usual and wearing gray sweatpants with a black shirt and his chain peeking out from under it. “you good?” he asked as he took off his shoes.

oh my god, was i staring?

“oh, yeah, i'm fine. i just spaced out a bit, sorry.” you chuckle nervously, tucking a piece of your wet hair behind your ear. “i’ll be right back.”

“take your time.”

you made your way back to your room and threw hung your town on your closet door as you looked for clothes to wear. you opted for a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt that was sasha’s but for some reason, it was in your closet. once you had finished changing, you made your way over to the mirror that was across for your bed to make sure that you looked fine.

“ok, breathe.” you exhaled and opened your door calling for eren to come into your room.

he came into your room, still clearly feeling awkward about your interaction from before. “nice room, i like the led lights you have.” 

“thanks,” you laughed and sat on the bed, motioning for him to come sit next to you, which he did.

“so, what's on your mind y/n?” he asks, leaning up against the headboard and trying to get comfortable. 

“i don’t know, i've just been thinking about some things recently, and i can't seem to get them out of my head.” ok, good start.

“like what?” he looks over at you. oh no, don't look at me like that.

“the kiss we shared a few days ago, it’s been in my head on repeat.”

eren looks confused and looks towards your mirror, “is that a bad thing?”

“huh? i mean no, it’s not, i just don’t know what to do because these feelings have come back that i pushed away from when we became close because i didn’t want to ruin our friendship. but right now, it’s consuming me and i don’t know what to do.”

“well, i wouldn’t have kissed you without having feelings for you, y/n. i don’t know how you didn't notice it. i’ve been kinda bad at hiding it.” he said calmly as his gaze remained in front of the two of you. “but if you didn’t like it, we can just forget about it. i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” he turns to look at you once again. 

“no, i enjoyed it actually, but...” you trail off nervously, feeling your face becoming hot. you tried to turn away but his hand grabbed your chin and turned you back to face him. 

“but what?” he says softly, looking into your eyes which caused your heart beat to pick up. he thought it was so cute how you were getting so flustered by him.

“but i don’t want to be played...” you averted his gaze.

“y/n, i would never play you.”

you look back at him, now knowing the answer that had been bothering you for the past few days. it took all your strength to not kiss him right there but he beat you to it, closing the gap between the two of you. in that moment, all your worries had washed away, feeling content and glad that you had this conversation with him. the kiss soon escalated into you and eren sliding your tongues into the others mouth. you felt yourself getting hot once again but this time, a completely different reason. eren brought his hand that was on your chin behind your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss as you melted into his mouth once again, whimpering at the feeling. eren could feel it go straight to his dick that was now straining in his pants, trying to contain himself because he didn't know whether you wanted this or not.

“let me show you how much i care for you, yeah?” he says as he pulls away for a brief second. 

“eren, please,” you whimper as his lips met yours once again but this time with more passion. eren then moved so he was on top of you, caging you in his arms as he continued to kiss you. “i want you.”

“’want you too, baby.” the pet name going straight to your core. eren moaned as he moved from your lips down to your neck, gently kissing and sucking to leave a mark. he then placed his hands at the bottom of your shirt, looking at you as if he was asking with his eyes for permission to undress you, you nodded your head vigorously and lifted your hands up so he could take it off. 

“no bra? it’s like you’re begging me to fuck you, angel.” he then brought his lips down to your left nipple, gently sucking on it while taking the other between his fingers, moving it around earning a moan from you at the feeling. he then moved over to the right and did the same action. “you’re so beautiful.”

“ohmygod please, please,” you knew you sounded desperate, but you couldn't help yourself. you had been denying the fact that you had wanted this for so long.

“use your words, tell me what you want.” he groaned and came back up to kiss you, relishing in the feeling of your lips against his.

“’wanna feel you,”

“where, pretty girl?” he sat up at looked down at you with a smirk on his face, he knew where you wanted him but he wanted, no needed to hear you say it. 

“’want you inside me eren, please,” you whined arching your back so he could get the message. he chuckled and brought himself back down towards your sternum, placing wet kisses as he made his way down to the waistband of your shorts. 

“can i?” he looked up at you and immediately saw the approval in your eyes. “you don’t know what you do to me, do you?” you whimper at his remark, lifting your hips up in the process so he could take your shorts off easier to reveal your thong and the painfully obvious wet spot. he placed a finger on your slit, dragging it down slowly, teasing you.

“stop teasing me,” you whined, trying to prop yourself on your elbows but to caught up with the euphoric feeling that you couldn't. eren slowly took off your panties to tease you even more, and threw them behind him onto the floor.

“fuck, baby. this all for me?” he looked up at you with his jade green eyes meeting your e/c ones. he could feel the precum running down his shaft, struggling to keep his composure.

“yes eren, all for you.” your breath hitched as he spit onto your needy heat, bringing his tongue down to your clit, giving it a few kitten licks before he quickened his pace and wrapped his left arm around your leg to keep you in place, not once breaking eye contact. “fuck, keep doing that, holy shit!” you could feel him smirk against your core, and if it couldn't get any better, you felt a finger at your entrance before sliding in. “eren!” he felt so embarrassed to be rutting his cock against the bed but the noises you were making were sinful and he couldn’t help himself.

you began to feel your stomach tighten as he added another finger into your hole and picked up the pace. the sensation was incredible, the feeling of his tongue on your clit and the pace of his fingers going in and out of your pussy. your slick was dripping down his fingers, it was driving him crazy. he felt you tighten around his fingers, you were close.

“’gonna, ‘m gonna cum eren, please,” your release was so close, you just needed one more push.

“c’mon baby, cum for me.” he groaned against your pussy, sending vibrations throughout your whole body and you felt the coil snap. the moan you let out was pure sin and eren thought he was going to cum on the spot. “that’s it baby, good fucking girl.” as you got down from your high, you realized that he didn’t stop, you were sensitive, eren knew that but he needed one more from you.

“eren it’s too much, fuck,” you cry out as he brings his mouth back down to your heat and you can already feel yourself getting close again, and he could tell. you came even quicker this time, your juices gushing all over eren’s tongue. he lapped all of it up, not letting a single drop go to waste, and then taking his fingers covered in your slick into his mouth.

“you taste so good, i couldn’t get enough of you.” he whispers as he comes back up to kiss you. you could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. you reach down towards his throbbing cock, but he shook his head. “this is about you, baby.”

“please?” you look up at him and he couldn’t say no. he knew that he would not last long if you did as much as place your tongue on his tip. noticing that he didn't say anything, you took this as your chance. you flipped him over so that you were on top, and you could feel how hard he was. you grabbed the bottom of his shirt and helped him take it off, revealing his perfectly toned chest with chiseled abs. he threw the shirt to another place in the room, pulling you into another kiss shortly after. you moved from his lips down to his neck and down his chest stopping at his sweatpants to pull them down along with his boxers, revealing his swollen tip leaking with precum. he was larger than average and it excited you every bit. you smirked to yourself, and placed your lips on his tip, his breath hitched at the feeling.

you began to slowly drag your tongue down his shaft, maintaining eye contact with him, just like he did with you. you then took him in your mouth seeing how his legs tensed, you began to go even further. 

eren was trying so hard not to grab your head and push you onto his dick, afraid that he was going to ruin the moment with you and be too aggressive. you then took your mouth off with saliva connecting from his tip to your lips and then went back down taking him all in your throat before bobbing your head up and down, coming up for air while jerking him off. the sounds he was making went straight to your warmth, making you wetter by the minute.

“keep doing that, fuck y/n,” he groaned as his will vanished and he took your hair in his hands beginning to help guide you on his dick. he ran his hand through his hair and looked back at you, knowing that this image will forever be imprinted in his head. his legs tensed and you felt it, he was close. “fuck, i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna fucking cum.” he groaned as he shot thick white ropes of cum down your throat, you gladly took all of it and opened your mouth to show him that you did. 

“fuck, you did so good, so good.” he pulled you up towards him as you laughed into the kiss, and suddenly you were back on the bottom. “but now i’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy, yeah?” he aligned himself with your entrance and your mind became fuzzy with the feeling of his tip right where you needed him most. he slowly pushes himself in but you didn’t need to adjust, and he began to move at a steady pace.

“oh fuck,” eren threw his head back at the sensation of finally being inside of you, the way your walls grazed his dick, pulling him back him. it was addictive, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “you feel so fucking good y/n.”

“fuckfuckfuck, ’m gonna cum eren.” the feeling came back embarrassingly quick but you didn’t care, the feeling was amazing.

“yeah? you’re gonna fucking cum? cum on my cock. cum on my fucking cock.” eren growled as his chain was in your face. hearing him be so demanding and aggressive set something off and you felt yourself release but this time it was different, arching your back at the feeling. eren was taken aback by the fact that he made you squirt, it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

“that’s it, squirt all over my fucking cock.” he rode you out of your orgasm and continued to plow you into the mattress, picking up his pace. he was close but not quite there yet. you had taken into account that eren was aggressive in bed but he was being gentle with you at first, and you loved every bit of it. you wanted to make it more interesting. before you could even think, your hand met his cheek, and eren looked at you with a shocked expression but his eyes grew dark with lust. 

“fuck me like you mean it, jaeger.” you growled, hoping to get a reaction out of him. and oh boy, did it get a reaction.

“yeah? fuck you like i mean it?” he slapped you across the face, and then grabbed your cheeks and spit into your mouth. “swallow it.” if you thought you couldn’t get turned on anymore, you were so wrong. you rutted your hips against his, moaning at the sensation. this side of you was so different, and eren fucking loved it. he grabbed your throat, squeezing it and making you look him in the eyes as he fucked you with force.

“look at you, never knew you could be such a slut.” the name made you clench around him like a vice, earning a groan from him. “taking my cock so fucking well.” the feeling of you tightening around his cock for the 2nd time that night was making him lose his mind, he wasn’t going to last any longer and he knew that you weren’t either. he brought his hand that was around your neck down to your neglected clit and began rubbing circles as his pace became erratic. he was so close and so were you, but he needed you to come with him, he had to feel that feeling again. 

“fuck, i’m so close baby. fucking cum with me,” he moaned as he brought his head to your neck, you brought your arms and wrapped them around him, bringing him closer to you. before you could even comprehend, you released your juices, spraying all over his pelvis as he came shortly after you, painting your insides white. he stilled, trying to catch his breath but to his shock, you flipped him so that you were on top once again.

“not done yet.” you moaned as you began to grind yourself onto his cock. eren still so sensitive from his past orgasm that he was barely holding on by a string. seeing you on top of him, the way your breasts bounce and the way you look from this angle is driving him insane. he knows that he’s not going to last like this, the way you’re riding him, he grabs onto your hips and guides you.

you’re so overstimulated, you can’t even think straight. eren is trying so hard not to cum before you, but your pussy is milking him dry and before he knew it, he came inside you once again, legs shaking from the overstimulation. you lifted yourself off him and began to frantically rub your clit as you squirted all over his chest and pelvis. eren stared at you in awe, the way you looked like when you came and knowing that it was from him was a huge boost to his ego.

you finally collapsed onto his chest, trying to calm your breathing as he wrapped his arms around you. the both of you basked in this silence, thinking about the sex you just had.

“hope i wasn’t too rough, i kinda got carried away.” eren chuckled as he ran his fingers down your back, earning a laugh from you.

“no not at all, i really liked it actually.” you looked up at him, placing your chinos his chest. 

“I'm glad, been wanting to do that for a while,” he paused, as if he was looking for the right words to say. “i really like you, y/n.”

your heartbeat quickened, and you gave him a quick peck on the lips. “i really like you too, eren.” you blushed, “stay the night.” you didn't have class the following morning, so it was fine.

“ok, will do.” he squeezed you tighter, and you utterly being exhausted, you felt yourself drift off to sleep. eren gently moved you over and walked into the bathroom, finding a small towel and cleaning you and himself up. he grabbed you a new pair of underwear from your closet and the his shirt on the floor, dressing you before he put his sweatpants back on.

you felt the bed dip and a pair of arms bring your back to his chest and press a kiss to your cheek.

“’night y/n.”

© all content belongs to oblxvion 2021, do not repost or change.

[stressedoutcanary]

Hold On - Jason Todd x Batgirl!Reader

Summary:

"Hey! I see a vent inside, maybe if we get to the roof-"

BAMMMM

"Of course, just shoot open the lock and alert whoever's inside. What a great strategy! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh I know, because it's dumb!"

Warnings: Language, Canon typical Violence, Occasional Angst lets be real it's Jason we are talking about, Kidnappings..?

Word count: 1.6k

A/N:- I...should be studying right now buttt I had fun writing this and yes, I took the title from the song Hold On by Chord Overstreet, I think it fits this perfectly.

I wasn't going for a series but here we are.

Part 2, Part 3

•°•°•°•°

It was a quite night for Gotham. Every person was busy with their own work and so were you, even if it was a little different from what people down below on the streets were doing. As of yet, you had stopped two muggings, busted a few armed two-face goons trying to rob a bank and were currently running across rooftops.

'Maybeee I can get off easy today, go home, microwave the pizza that has been waiting for me in the fridge, get a nice, warm shower and then straight to bed'

You hummed to yourself at the delightful thought as you sat on a gargoyle overlooking the city. You were enjoying the feeling of the light breeze on your face. It was soothing in a way. Not long after, you were startled by your comms crackling to life out of nowhere as you heard Oracle's automated voice in your ears.

"Batgirl I am going to need you to check out the area near Gotham Central Park for any visible strange activity. There are several missing persons reports filed this week that I have tied up to that particular region."

'So much for a warm bath and a good night's sleep, way to jinx yourself (Y/N), you dumbass'

"Isn't that park under construction or something? You know after the whole Justice League fiasco last month?", you questioned.

"Yep but people still go there, in the mornings for walks and at the nights for certain activities."

"Of course they do, I swear, people here are on a whole different level." You sighed. "Alrighty then Babs, I am on it."

•°•°

After climbing up a couple of fire escapes and swinging off of numerous rooftops you finally reached your target destination. There was a deafening silence when your feet landed on the damp grass. You took in the misted surroundings and decided to look around for something out of the ordinary. There was a broken bright neon sign by the corner of the street which caught your attention, you could only make out the last bit, it spelled Parlor.

'That seems awfully familiar. Something about it is odd but I can't quite place my finger on it'

You were lost in thought when you felt someone move behind you, there was rather little time for you to react so you choose the 'hit first ask questions later' option. You clenched your fist, twisted your upper body and delivered a quick, staggering blow to the shady figure lurking behind.

.

"OWW!! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

.

"HOOD?!"

Sure enough, Jason was on the ground clutching his ribs looking like a hurt puppy.

You moved your hands up and massaged you temples. You do not want to deal with him. Not today and if possible not ever. Even though you never let it show, you always avoided a run in with him. He may have become a part of the family again but you were far off from forgiving him.

You watched with narrowed eyes as he got to his feet and and dusted off the grass from his jacket.

"So on a Scale of one to Demon brat, how much do you hate me?", the smirk on his face and the way he wiggled his eyebrows at you almost made you want to smack him with a crowbar yourself.

"What? Dami?! I don't-- I don't hate Damian, he just gets on my nerves sometimes, something you do all the time.", you enjoyed, maybe a little too much, the way Jason's smirk turned into a small pout. You smiled a bit as you shook your head at his childishness.

"Before you start chucking batarangs at me I want to make this clear; No, Oracle did not send me here to be your backup or whatever, I just happen to be investigating the same thing which obviously led me here to you. So how about we work on this together and watch each other's back", Despite the uncertainty of your rejection, he sounded hopeful. It seemed as if he was ready to build the old, worn out bridges of your relationship back up again. It sent an unexpected warmth through your chest.

"Just like old times?"

"Just like old times.", Jason repeated as you both did a rather unsuccessful fist bump and grinned like idiots.

•°•°

You walked up to the seemingly abandoned building, Jason examined the door for traps whereas you decided on taking a look through the glass window.

"Hey! I see a vent inside, maybe if we get to the roof-"

BAMMMM

"Of course, just shoot open the lock and alert whoever's inside. What a great strategy! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh I know, because it's dumb!", you whisper shouted with a scowl. Jason just shrugged and tilted his head to the side, pointing towards the now open door.

"Ladies first, so lead the way, unless you're scared.", it was a playful challenge on Jason's part, one that you were more than ready to accept.

"Oh you're on Red."

You stepped inside and it was all business from there on. You took in the condition of the room; dusty desks, broken glass, oddly placed mannequins and footprints leading up ahead into a long hallway.

"They seem recent enough", Jason gave a slight nod at your discovery.

Considering the darkness of the hallway, you and Jason shared a look and switched on your night vision lenses. You both started taking cautious steps, the occasional soft thud of your boots being the only sound in the vicinity.

The end of the hallway was forked up and there were two rooms at the end of each passageway.

"How is this place so big! it didn't seem this huge from the outside", you could hear the exasperation in Jason's voice. You figured not getting to hit someone might be getting to him or that he was just bored.

"Look I will take the right, you take the left, our comms are already connected, if any one of us finds anything we tell the other and remember we do not engage in a fight alone. Am I clear or do you want me to write that down for you"

"Yes ma'am, but just so you know you are starting to sound like The old man", you rolled your eyes at his comment and went on ahead towards the right as he went the other way.

•°•°

You scrolled through the torn down bookshelf kept in one of the rooms and you were making a mental note in your mind that there were a lot of medical journals in the bunch, when your comms buzzed.

"I am sorry", Jason whispered in a soft voice and you froze for a spilt second, eyes widening.

'No (Y/N) don't listen to him, he doesn't know what he is saying, just focus on finding those missing people and get this over with'

With that thought you tried continuing your investigation as if you had heard nothing.

"I said, I am sorry (Y/N). I know you heard me. I also know you've been avoiding me, cutting me out and you don't have to reply if don't feel like it but...I just wanted you to know..."

"Now is not the right time for this Hood and...for what it's worth I am not looking forward to a forgiveness session with you...", you felt awful for cutting him out the way you did, your heart clenched at the harshness of your words as you clicked off your comms, but you refused to have this discussion right now. If you were being more honest to yourself you just couldn't bear the emotions it would bring, so you chose the easiest way; completely shutting him out.

It was few minutes after the highly uncomfortable talk with Jason that a wall poster had caught your eye. You moved your hand over it, somewhat wiping off the dust, there was something scribbled on it making it harder for you to read the actual text. You squinted, trying to make out the words

"The people need...perfection...and that is what Pretty Dolls Parlor strives to achieve."

You scanned the area near poster for fingerprints and clicked your comms back on.

"Hood, get over here, I found something and I think this is the make or break kind of information", you were waiting for scan to complete, concern creeping up your mind when there was no reply from the other end.

"Red Hood? can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Red?! Answer me Damnit!!"

A whole lot of Nothing.

As soon as you heard the chime of the scanner signaling its completion, you sped the other way towards the left corridor, towards Jason.

'Jay please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.'

By the time you reached Jason's location you were panting from the lack of breath and were already cursing yourself for bringing Jason along. To say that the man can take care of himself might be an understatement, he is basically a lone wolf, but still the thought of something happening to him while he was with you hurt like hell.

You looked around frantically and almost jumped out of your skin when you stepped on a gun. You heart almost stopped, it was Jason's. To make matters worse, there was no other sign of him or of were he went. You picked up the gun holding it securely in your hand. You could literally hear your heart pounding in your ears.

Suddenly, through the reflection from the glass window in front of you, you caught a glimpse of a man wearing a blank white face mask, you turned around, immediately switching to a fighting stance but that only did so much for you. A flashlight was switched on and shoved near your face, the night vision of your lens intensified the light, blinding you completely.

Before you could react, a metal pole connected straight with the back of your head and just like that you were lights out on the ground.

°•°•°•°•

Author's cute little extra Note:

*wiggling my eyebrows rn*

I might be a little too obsessed with the Arkham Knight game hehe.

Well that ended well for you, didn't it?? Jason's gone missing and you get a nice concussion to garnish your anxiety level? No? Okay I will stop talking now.

Tell me if you want to be tagged for the next parts.💕

[y0itsbri]

5 times Ian and Mickey eat ice-cream/popsicles together - shameless summer series 🍨🍦🥄

inspo from @ianandmickeygallavich's summer prompt list

moments from s2 - post-finale

words: 1.4k

the first time ian and mickey ate ice cream together was at the kash & grab. they had just finished helping lip stock up his ice cream truck with goods from the store. mickey focused on tuning out linda's obsessive ranting.

"you ever get anything from the ice cream truck when you were little?" ian asked out of nowhere, after a lull of silence had passed over them.

"the truck never ran in our neighborhood, numbnuts."

ian paused, considering, "oh, i guess maybe fiona took us to the parks sometimes. maybe that's where it was."

"probably." a pause.

"what would you get?"

"a joint."

"no, no, like from a legit truck!" ian rolled his eyes "i always got the bomb pops. carl always got the spongebob. he liked ripping the face apart."

"'course you would get the bomb pop, army."

"doesn't answer my question, mickey."

mickey flipped him off. "how about those little chocolate cones? those bitches always looked good."

ian smirked his dumbass smirk that mickey couldn't look at for too long without his cheeks heating up.

"what?" he asked, adverting his gaze.

ian headed towards the freezer. yeah, mickey could go for another round. he followed him until he saw that ian had stopped in front of the open door for a moment before turning around with two chocolate covered ice cream cones in hand. he handed one to mickey, cold fingers meeting hot for a brief second.

"i'll have to take it out of your pay check, of course," ian teased.

mickey simply glared his way, but softened when he realized the tone. "yeah? well i'd ring ya neck for even considering it, but it's hot as balls so i'm saving my breath."

"sureeee you are." ian smiled again.

it was quiet in the store except for their obnoxious slurping as the ice cream melted faster than they could lick it.

---

ian's been having a difficult time adjusting to his new med change. he was tired all the time, his usual go-getter motivation put on hold.

fiona usually only bought popsicles at the beginning of the summer. it wasn't the beginning of summer. it was almost fall. so no one knew how bomb pops were stocked in the freezer.

mickey knew.

carl wretched open the freezer, shaking the popsicle box upside down, the remaining three falling out. he took one for himself, passed one to a zombie-like version of ian sitting at the kitchen counter, and tossed another to mickey, who was reading a magazine at the kitchen table.

mickey furrowed his eyebrows. "i didn't ask."

"yeah, but you wanted one." carl shrugged and leaned against the fridge for a moment.

"thanks, kid." mickey mumbled after maybe somewhat of an awkward length of time. carl took that as a dismissal as he bounded up the stairs.

ian had been quiet, not even muttering a thanks. he managed to unwrap it, but not much else.

"'s your favorite, man," mickey nodded towards the bomb pop sitting idle in his hands.

ian half nodded and gave a sorry excuse for a fake smile. his popsicle dripped.

mickey frowned. patient, he got up from the table and sat next to ian, wiping the melted popsicle with his jacket sleeve.

they sat there quietly, eating their popsicles together, tongues cold and red.

mickey was trying.

---

ian and mickey had been in the car for hours now, heading further south with every passing minute. conversations fell anywhere from their past, their present, and their future. ian tried to keep his focus on their present.

"didn't you say there was some ice cream around here we gotta try?" ian wondered, memory flickering with something mickey had said a few hours ago.

"paletas de crema," mickey enunciated in a put-on spanish accent. he smirked. "yeah, man, we'll make a pit stop for it pretty soon. damon said it was to die for."

"wonder if damon's got himself arrested yet?" ian mused.

"nah, fuck him."

they stopped at some ma & pa shop down in texas near the border. somehow, mickey had a family discount.

mickey ordered pineapple, claiming to be a slut for piña coladas. he ordered a strawberry for ian, claiming to know what ian would like. he wasn't wrong. they switched ice creams for a couple licks and ian definitely preferred his strawberry.

mickey got a little on his chin and ian wiped it off without thinking, they both paused and stiffened for a moment, before acting like that didn't just happen. the uncharted territory scaring them both a bit.

---

"what's your favorite ice cream flavor?" franny asked, kicking her feet absentmindedly in the backseat of the new gallagher-milkovich van.

"really, kid? ya had a whole day of school you could be tellin' me about, but you wanna know about ice cream?" mickey argued with the six year old.

"mhmm," she nodded before staring out the window again.

"chocolate ice cream's my fav. what's yours?"

"strawberry!"

"'course it would be, strawberry shortcake. should we go get some, just the two of us?" mickey asked, pulling out of the school lot.

franny chanted for ice cream until the physical cups (not cones) were handed to them through the drive through. she frowned when she saw a third cup. there were only two people in the car, right? and this ice cream was green.

"what's that?" she asked incredulously.

"ice cream?"

"but it's green, uncle mickey!"

"'s pistachio. it's your uncle ian's favorite."

"we gotta wait for him before we eat ours then!"

mickey snuck a spoonful of his chocolate ice cream when fran wasn't looking.

mickey may have also broken several traffic laws to get them home before their ice cream could melt.

as soon as they were parked in the street, franny bolted towards the house, pink and green ice cream in hand.

"uncle ian, uncle ian! look!"

mickey slammed the car door behind him and picked up franny's backpack from the back seat. he glanced up to see franny nearly tackling his giant of a husband. he looked so enthusiastic about everything franny was telling him before he directed her inside.

mickey made his way over to ian's side, tossing franny's backpack at his feet with a thud before giving him a quick smooch.

"mmm," ian hummed. he smacked his lips together. a pause. "chocolate?" he asked, picking up the backpack.

"what about it?" mickey's eyebrows raised, somewhere between a threat and a tease.

"fran told me you were waiting for me."

"told ya i'm not good with rules," mickey smirked at him before following franny inside.

they all ate at the dining table while franny told both of them about her drama-filled day at first grade.

---

it was a hot ass summer and the AC in their apartment was on the fritz. they thought that moving to the west side would guarantee working utilities at all times, but apparently they were wrong because it was sweltering inside their bedroom.

ian couldn't help but lay on the bed and groan. he was shirtless, hair still a bit wet from his most recent shower, and he was utterly uncomfortable.

mickey had left to go to the corner store in a fucking jacket like a crazy person. so ian closed his eyes and waited it out.

he opened his eyes again to the sound of a wrapper being ripped open. mickey sauntered over to the bed, tossing his jacket in the corner. ian was distracted by just how good mickey's arms looked today that it took him a moment to realize what was in his hands.

a cold, cold popsicle in all its glory.

ian reached for it, but mickey moved it out of reach, instead dramatically teasing ian when he licked it.

ian didn't know if the heat or his taunting husband would be the death of him.

it looked like mickey finally had his share of fun fucking with ian. he brought the popsicle close to ian's mouth, hovering above his awaiting tongue. at the last second mickey dipped the popsicle below his mouth, messily dragging it down his chin, neck, chest. ian shivered at the chill, and then again as the sticky trail was covered with mickey's tongue, still cold from the popsicle.

ian would have to shower again, but he couldn't care less.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

this is a continuation of the other one

Y/N stares at him for a long moment, arms crossed and poking her tongue into her cheek. “Why do I feel like I'm Ariel and you’re the sea witch trying to get me to sing into a shell?”

Harry blinks once. “Sorry, what?”

“Oh, right, that was—that was ‘89, wasn’t it?” Y/N bites back a laugh at the scowl that rolls over Harry’s expression. “After your time, I suppose.”

But Y/N isn’t laughing when she has to spend the next two weeks braless. And although she spends the first day being petty under Harry’s keen eye, by the third day, she’s turned the predicament around in her favor.

“Hey, Harry.” She says one night, stirring her pot of pasta on the stove as she sips her eleven dollar wine. “I have a question about our arrangement.”

Harry, who has been leaning over the counter to soak in the aromas of the food that he longs to taste (and also to get a look at Y/N’s cleavage in the v-neck t-shirt she’s wearing), cocks his head to the side and clicks his tongue. “If you're trying to reduce your sentence, don’t even try it.”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Y/N murmurs, trailing her lip around the rim of her wine glass as she leans against the counter. “I was just wondering if it has to be only braless with a shirt on top, or if I could wear just a bra or bralette.”

Harry blinks once, his mouth falling open in surprise. “I—what?”

“Like, I have this little cotton Calvin Klein bralette, and it’s super comfy, and still gives me some support, but my cleavage and such is still decently on display.” Y/N clarifies with a smug grin, setting down her glass against the fake marble counter as she stretches to reach the spice cabinet. “I think that could fulfill our agreement, no? You know what bralette I’m talking about, right? You’ve probably seen it when you’ve been snooping around.”

Harry looks at her carefully, trying to catch the trick behind her all-too generous offer. He replies in a measured tone, leaning against the fridge as his eyes glue to the way her chest heaves as she teeters forwards on her tiptoes to grab a condiment. “I know the one, yes. Peachy pink, right? With a thick band and slightly ruffled fabric at the center?”

“That’s the one, yup.” Y/N pops the last letter of the word, wiggling her fingers to try and grab the oregano from the highest shelf. “It’s a nice number, I think, and going around braless for so long does my back in sometimes.”

Harry pushes off the barrier he’s using as support, drifting towards Y/N as she stands before her cupboards, one hand propped against the counter to boost herself up as the other fishes for the small container a few inches from the tips of her fingers. He stops right beside her, looking down at her with that same calculating gaze he had across the room. He’s still trying to sus out her angle, but little does he know that what she’s trying to implement is going to work out for both of them.

She’s grown quite fond of the extra attention he’s been giving her, and for some odd reason, she feels a deep sense of pleasure every time she catches him staring at her chest. Maybe it’s the way his eyes glint longingly as he ogles, or the way he’ll chew into his cheek or along his bottom lip or into the side of his finger as he follows the outline of her cleavage, or maybe it’s that when she catches him gawking, he’ll hold intense eye contact with her for a second before casting his gaze away to some other unimportant object.

Maybe it was that one time yesterday where she’d managed to pull an actual reaction out of him. They had been watching a rerun of a Scooby Doo movie, and she could feel his ghastly eyes pinned to her bust, probably because she had lied down on her stomach across her sectional sofa as he had sat on the floor in front of it, so when he turned his head, her chest had been less than a foot away. And as if that wasn’t enough, she had purposefully flushed it against the couch cushion below to make it seem extra plump and appealing, which would have knocked the air from Harry’s lungs if he still had them.

He’d released a soft whimper so broken and needy, Y/N had to fight off a conceited grin to avoid letting him know she was doing this to him with actual intention. She’d pretended not to hear it, but she had allowed herself to indulge the flare of satisfaction that rose from watching him shift his sitting position a bit, as if something were growing heavy between his thighs. His actions had vaguely made her wonder if ghosts could even feel arousal, and if they could, she hoped he was. It was the perfect revenge, because she at least knows that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not with anyone else, at least.

Y/N watches as Harry reaches an arm up, easily reaching the bottle she’s attempting to retrieve. He swipes his hand across the container, the motion managing to knock it off the shelf and into her awaiting palm. She’s learned that in order to touch objects, he has to put in quite a bit of energy and concentration to succeed in breaking through the dimensional barrier that separates the living from the dead. Garnering the slightest contact can sometimes drain him a great deal, so when he does make it his mission to touch something, he does it with as little impact as possible to save his energy for later, in case he wants to grab something for an extended period of time, or grasp a heavier weight that would require more exertion.  

“Thanks.” She smiles up at him innocently, blinking her lashes with a slightly sultry air as she closes the cupboard slowly.

Harry swallows heavily, glimpsing down at where her chest is still heaving from when she’d made a grand effort to collect the ingredient she needed. He hates how his little cheeky plan had recently become the bane of his undead existence, given that Y/N had recently begun using it to her advantage. But he can’t complain, because he’s getting exactly what he asked for. He just wishes he could get more.

His voice comes out low and strained as his eyes coast back up to meet her own, which are dancing with smug amusement. “You’re welcome.”

“So what do you say?” Y/N asks, uncapping the spice and sprinkling a liberal amount into her sauce. “Think we could tweak our deal?”

Harry pulls himself back onto the counter, tapping his fingers against the surface without making a sound. “I suppose.” He replies after a moment, eyes flickering to Y/N’s chest once more as she leans down to taste the sauce. “The bralette should be fine, as long as it’s not too padded.” He shoots her a cheeky grin. “I like a bit of nipple, you know that.”

“You’re gross.” Y/N scoffs, shaking her head as she sets down the wooden spoon on the stove. “I'm gonna go change, then. Watch this for me, will you?”

And Harry does rather diligently, inhaling the flavorful aromas rising from the stove. He wishes, for the billionth time in his thirty odd years of death, that he could taste food. He knows he doesn’t need it, but even just having its essence pass over his tongue would be enough for him. He misses pasta, he thinks, staring longingly at the noodles boiling away on the stove. And pizza, and fish, and steak, cooked perfectly with a delicious side of mashed potatoes and gravy, just pink enough in the middle that it’s still tender—

“You didn’t burn down the kitchen. Good job!” Y/N’s voice calls from behind, and the ghost turns around with a retort on his lips that quickly falls away once he sees her.

She’s put on the bralette just as she said she would, and it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of. The cotton is thin enough that he can see the clear outline of what he wants through the article, and the halter neckline lands low enough that he can see every dip and curve of her breasts. A band of her stomach is exposed beneath the labeled elastic lining the bottom of the fabric, and the soft skin seems to call to Harry, making him desperate to touch it. Y/N’s decided to swap her sweatpants as well, it seems, as she’s now dressed in a loose pair of heather grey shorts that sit above her belly button and barely cover the curve of her ass. The loose legs flutter up with her every movement, and if she were about to bend over just a smidge, he could—

“How’s this?” The girl asks, flicking her loose hair over her shoulder with a simper. “Does it meet the requirements?”

Harry clears his throat, his words coming out as a pained groan. “God, you’re a fucking bitch, you know that?”

Y/N sputters into a round of airy laughter, coming to stand before him with her hands perched on her hips. Her tone is innocent, but her true intentions are written clear across her face, obvious in the way her lips twitch with evil delight. “How so? I’m abiding to our terms!”

“You’re giving me the world’s worst case of blue-balls, is what you’re doing.” Harry bites back, his sharp jaw clenching and full lips pressing into a bothered grimace. “And you’re doing it on fucking purpose.”  

“You made your casket, now lie in it.” Y/N states brightly, shrugging her brows with finality.

“Harsh.” Harry mumbles, but he can’t fight off the amused grin that tweaks his dimples into place.  

Harry slips off the counter again onto his feet, not being able to stay still. There’s a peculiar buzzing sensation coursing through each of his ghostly limbs, and anytime he stays put, it intensifies to the point where he feels like he’s going to explode into a shower of static.

He saunters up behind Y/N, looking over her shoulder as she regains her previous activity of mixing the contents in the pot while they simmer their way to completion. Despite not being able to touch her, he can still smell her just fine, and her homey scent of chamomile and jasmine are ever welcomed. She just smells so much like a girl, for a lack of a better explanation, and Harry hasn’t been this close to one his own age since before he passed. It’s driving him to the brink.

“I’d give you a taste if I could.” Y/N's soft, teasing voice echoes against his ears as she cranes her neck to look at him. “It’s a family recipe.”

“Yeah...” Harry locks eyes with her for a moment, and his hand instinctively reaches down to grasp at her waist. Instead of being met with the warm sturdiness of what he knows would be her silky skin, he’s met with the typical icy fizzing sensation that constantly haunts him whenever he tries to make contact with a living being. His digits pass right through her hip, though she barely seems to notice, the only palpable indication of his attempt being a cold breeze wafting across her flesh.

He knows it’s something that is extremely easy to brush off, usually as a simple draft from the air conditioning, given the similarities between the two experiences. And that’s exactly what she appears to do as she gives a light, dismissive shiver, not paying it any mind.

The ghost tries his best to keep his disappointment from registering in his mood, and his tone instead fills with an unreadable emptiness that only he can truly interpret. Below it lies a double meaning, and it has to do with way more than just the general desire to be able to experience the taste of good again; it holds a certain longing that pertains to a deeper type of hunger, but again, only he can truly decipher it. “Yeah, I can only dream of it.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s 2021 Birthday R&S

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an R&S which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This was released on 24 July 2021 ]

[ Chapter One: Model Aircraft Competition ]

The cicadas outside the window are clamorous, and the dark green trees cover the blazing sun, casting shady and cooling patches.

This is an incredibly ordinary late afternoon. The summer vacation is about to arrive, and the classroom is filled with the buzzing chatter of students, as rowdy as usual.

Gavin is asleep on the seat next to the window. Sunlight passes through the crevices of leaves and linger on his shoulders, bright and indolent. However, he isn’t actually sleeping, and the conversation between his deskmate and the student in front of him drift to his ears clearly.

“Hey, are you going for that model aircraft competition the teacher mentioned a few days ago?”

“I heard all the middle schoolers in our city will be participating. Those who get prizes will have extra marks, and the person who gets first place can visit the Aviation Headquarters!”

“Then again, you’ll need the capabilities to win. If you're participating, I’ll watch.”

“Hehe, you speak as though the person who lags behind in every subject can bag a trophy.”

The two of them attack each other with taunting remarks. After lapsing into a moment of silence, they suddenly turn their gazes to Gavin simultaneously.

Gavin’s deskmate pokes his arm and calls out to him.

“Gavin, you aren’t asleep, are you?”

The figure wearing a blue and white school uniform remains plopped on the desk, unmoving. A slightly muffled response drifts from him.

“What is it?”

Gavin’s deskmate and the student sitting in front of him look at each other, then speak excitedly.

“Do you know about that recent model aircraft competition?”

Gavin lets out a “mm”.

“Aren’t you going to participate?”

“We had a discussion about it, and felt that in the entire class, you’re the only one with the capabilities to win a prize. The others are just a bunch of useless troops, and they’d be of no use even if they went.”

Gavin stirs slightly. His deskmate looks at him with anticipation. In the end, he simply cushions his head using the other arm.

“Not interested.”

“Huh?”

His deskmate stares at the back of his head in utter disbelief.

“Your dad’s a military officer, and you’ve seen more real planes since young as compared to the number of models we’ve played with. This competition is basically made for you.”

Gavin doesn’t respond. In the sunlight, a few strands of hair on the back of the youth’s head stick up disobediently, clearly showing that he isn’t in the best of moods.

At this moment, the dismissal bell rings. Along with the cheers from students, the classroom erupts into a state of chaos.

Gavin finally sits up. After stuffing the English book he used as a pillow into his sling bag, he turns around and leaves the classroom.

After the figure vanishes at the door, Gavin’s deskmate turns to the student sitting in front of him, expressing puzzlement.

“Why do you think Gavin doesn’t want to participate? A few days ago, I saw him at the bookstore outside school buying an Aeromodelling Atlas.”

The student in front of him shrugs, signalling that he has no idea.

“Maybe he got bored.”

[ Chapter Two - Proof ]

When Gavin reaches home, his mother has yet to return.

Placing his bag down, he suddenly notices a new post-it note on the fridge. On it, there’s a menu written in delicate handwriting: Stir-fried tomato and scrambled eggs, fried stuffed tofu, stir-fried duck with pineapples.

There’s a smiley face drawn on the last line, and the words “The dishes Little Gav loves to eat” are written at the side.

Only then does Gavin remember - his birthday is coming.

Every year, his mother would start preparations way in advance. It’s as if in her eyes, this particular day is even more worthy of celebration as compared to all other festivals.

And this year is no exception.

The post-it note is a little crooked. Gavin uses a fridge magnet to straighten it, then returns to his room.

The small room is covered with traces of youth. There are posters of basketball celebrities on the walls, and there's a globe and a few books on the desk.

After hesitating for a while, Gavin pulls open his bag and takes out a pamphlet. On it, there’s information pertaining to the model aircraft competition.

He reads the information seriously. A breeze blows the the white curtains, and the lights and shadows of dusk outline the youth’s straightened back profile, casting specks of light on a book. The words “Aeromodelling Atlas” can be vaguely seen. 

While reading, he suddenly recalls the words his deskmate said-

“Your dad’s a military officer, and you’ve seen more real planes since young as compared to the number of models we’ve played with. This competition is basically made for you.”

His grip on the pamphlet abruptly tightens. Gavin rolls it into a ball and tosses it on the table, getting up in frustration and leaving the room.

Everything in the living room is clean and tidy. The school uniform he had changed out of is drying in the balcony. The large uniform drifts with the wind, and the air is filled with the fragrance of soap.

Even though there are clear traces of diligence and attentiveness, certain things can still be seen.

Model robots and clay crafts are displayed neatly on the left side of the built-in cupboard. However, there’s nothing on the right side.

All the cups and plates form a complete set. However, one cup is placed upside down on the cup rack. Although it has been a long time since it was last used, its owner wipes it spotlessly every day.

It’s as if the person she’s waiting for has always been around. Disappointment has repeated itself in endless cycles, but she continually harbours hope.

Gavin ignores such traces. He walks over to the fan in the living room, furrowing his brows as he squats down.

This fan has been spoilt for several days. Each time it’s turned on, it releases a strange clacking sound, akin to a heavy wooden door being pushed open with great effort.

-

When Wardia steps in with a bag of groceries, she sees Gavin half-squatting and studying that fan which has been broken for numerous days.

She calls out to Gavin.

“Little Gav, the fan is spoilt. I’ll ask a worker to fix it tomorrow. Don’t mind it.”

“When you called yesterday, the worker said that he wouldn’t be free these days. He probably won’t be able to drop by tomorrow either.”

Gavin pushes the outer shell of the fan lightly, and the white netted cover stirs gently, letting out a muffled buzz.

“No need to call for a worker. I can fix it.”

Wardia is stunned for a moment. Then, her eyes crinkle into a smile.

“When did our Little Gav become so incredible?”

Gavin stands up, his tone very certain.

“Leave it to me.”

Wardia casts a contemplative glance at Gavin. He’s going to be 14 soon. At this age, children tend to think about a lot of things, and may be exceptionally sensitive in certain areas.

Since a particular point in time, he had already been working hard and learning how to become a man with an indomitable spirit.

She can only nod.

“Okay. Mommy bought green beans today. I’ll prepare you a cooling soup later to alleviate the summer heat.”

With this, Gavin responds by heading to the kitchen to get a bowl to soak the beans for his mother.

The green coloured beans are immersed in water. Some float and some sink, and their colours are clear.

Wardia looks at Gavin. After a moment of hesitance, she speaks in a light-hearted and leisurely tone.

“Little Gav... Daddy took up an urgent mission recently and was sent to a very faraway place. He might not be around for your birthday this year again...”

“Mm, I’ve got it.”

Gavin’s tone is very indifferent. It’s as though whether that person returns or not has nothing to do with him at all. Wardia wants to say something, but after opening her mouth, she turns around, forcefully suppressing her emotions. 

Gavin carries the bowl with both hands. When he sees his mother’s back, he suddenly grows quiet.

Why harbour hope when one clearly knows the ending?

After dinner, Gavin returns to his room. The pamphlet is still on the desk. He pauses for a moment, then reaches out to pick it up.

He’s going to be 14 years old soon.

Becoming one year older is something his mother looks forward to even more than he does. Because of this, she feels even guiltier with every year of his father’s absence.

Even though he knows he doesn’t need that person to wish him a happy birthday, he hopes that his mother can be a little more genuinely happy on his birthday.

Gavin makes a decision.

He smoothens the pamphlet on the desk. In a serious manner, he fills up the registration form on the back with his name. When he sets down the pen, his eyes sparkle with a certain determination.

He wants to participate in the model aircraft competition, and he wants to get first place.

He wants to use something he likes to prove to that person that he has already grown up, and has become even more incredible than he imagined.

“I’m going to prove to you that I can still do it without Evol.” He repeats resolutely once more.

If that person left this house back then because of how small and weak Gavin was, he’d definitely have a slightly different answer when he sees the current Gavin.

He’d definitely want to... return and see this family.

[ Chapter Three - Wings Waiting To Fly ]

Aeromodelling books and scattered materials are piled up in Gavin’s room. When Wardia enters while carrying chilled green bean lily bulb soup, she sees Gavin sitting cross-legged on the floor, using a vernier calliper to measure the wingspan.

Wardia carefully steps across the spare parts, placing the bowl on the desk.

“Little Gav, why are you so diligent in this competition? You’ve been fiddling around in your room for several days.”

Gavin wipes sweat off his forehead.

“This is a really large-scale competition. The teacher says that the person in first place will get to visit the Aviation Headquarters. I want to have a look.”

He’s determined not to tell his mother the true reason.

Wardia nods, giving him a “work hard” gesture.

“In that case, Little Gav must continue working hard and strive to be a guest at the aviation base.”

Wardia pauses, then looks at Gavin seriously.

“But Little Gav, even though this is a very rare opportunity, you must remember that no matter what happens at the end, Mommy will be happy for you. Because I know that you’re doing something you like, that you’ve worked hard, and have obtained happiness in the process. And that’s enough.”

Gavin nods.

“I know.”

“Oh yes, Mommy also wants to use this chance to discuss your birthday plans with you.”

Wardia grins while posing a question.

“What does Little Gav want as a birthday present this year? And what kind of pattern do you want your birthday cake to have?”

“Do you want to invite your classmates over to celebrate with you?”

Wardia prattles on endlessly as she counts the plans she has for his birthday on her fingers. That pair of beautiful eyes are layered with gentleness, but also hide a twinge of guilt.

It’s as though she’s exerting her all to ensure that other aspects are done even better to make up for that guilt.

After Gavin ponders for a while, he shakes his head.

“I’ve already grown up, so there isn’t anything I specially want as a birthday gift.”

“I just want Mommy to always be happy.”

When Wardia hears Gavin’s words, she’s taken aback for half a second. Her eyes stir slightly.

After this, she walks over to hug Gavin gently. Gavin has no idea why his mother is suddenly doing this, but he puts down the blueprint of the aircraft wing, reaching out to return his mother’s hug.

Wardia speaks softly yet resolutely.

“Little Gav, even if you become an adult in the future and become a man with an indomitable spirit, your birthday is still an important thing.”

She pauses.

“Because this day doesn’t just belong to you. It also belongs to everyone who loves you, and the people who have prepared and looked forward to this day for a very long time.

After his mother leaves the room, Gavin looks at the blueprint of the plane which is just beginning to take shape. He repeats what his mother said softly.

“It also belongs to everyone who loves you, and the people who have prepared and looked forward to this day for a very long time...”

Those clear eyes seem to be filled with an even greater determination to win the prize. He picks up the vernier calliper and continues measuring the wingspan.

[ Chapter Four: Heading In Another Direction ]

There’s only one week till Gavin’s birthday.

That huge pile of materials in Gavin’s room has turned into a beautiful white plane with blue wings and smooth lines.

At the competition venue, that white aircraft model ascends, spins around, flies upside down, and lands under Gavin’s control. Everyone is astonished at how perfect it is.

Without any reservations, Gavin wins first place.

The person handing out prizes is a certain officer from an aviation base. He places a small plane-shaped badge into Gavin’s hand.

“You referenced the air freighter Y2251 for the style, didn’t you? I could tell from a glance.”

Gavin nods, and the officer pats him on the shoulder.

“You reconstructed it very close to the original. Being this outstanding at such a young age, I believe your father will definitely be proud of you when he knows about this.”

Gavin lifts his head sharply, staring at the officer.

“Do you know him?”

The officer who handed him the award chuckles.

“I met him at an international meeting in the past. He’s a very outstanding soldier.”

Gavin doesn’t speak further. He lowers his eyes, tightly gripping that badge which symbolises the sky.

-

At night, Gavin sits at the edge of the window, lifting the small aviator badge to his eyes, staring at it meticulously under the moonlight.

The badge isn’t large, but the wings on it have been engraved vividly. It’s as though in the very next second, it could break free from the heavy fetters of metal, flying freely towards the horizon.

Gavin looks at it for a very long time, then reluctantly shifts his gaze away from the badge.

The summer evening breeze passes by his lapel, bringing with it a cooling and refreshing scent. The trees in the courtyard are very tall, and the sprigs of blossoming plants stretch to the edges of the window, touching his ankle.

This is the first time he has attained honour based on his own strength. Does this mean he now possesses the strength to be acknowledged by others?

He looks at the badge. Finally, his eyes crinkle into a slight smile, unintentionally revealing the wilfulness and pride that a youth should have.

Using his hands to support himself on the edge of the window, Gavin turns around and leaps back into his room. He locates a plain white envelope from his drawer, then picks up a pen. On the address line, he fills in his father’s current location, then stuffs the badge into the envelope solemnly.

After hesitating for a while, he scrunches up the envelope slightly. A few creases immediately appear on it.

Only after he leaps over the wall and heads out to slip that envelope into a mailbox at the corner of the street does Gavin release a soft sigh of relief.

This is a proof of pride, and it’s also an invitation from a youth. 

An invitation for the person whom his mother cares about to return to this place, and spend a birthday together which could constitute a “reunion”.

Gavin stands in front of the mailbox, lifting his head to look at the star-studded sky.

Tonight, the Milky Way seems to be brighter than in previous nights. Sagittarius emits a resplendent light, and the bow formed by stars points towards an unknown, faraway place.

[ Chapter Five: Indentations of Growth ]

On the early morning of Gavin’s birthday, Wardia cooks him a bowl of longevity noodles, and there’s even a soft-boiled egg burrowed underneath the noodles.

“Happy birthday, Little Gav.”

“From today onwards, you’ve grown one year older.”

His mother smiles as she says her well wishes to Gavin. After he’s done eating the noodles, she holds out a measuring tape.

“Shall we measure how much taller our Little Gav has grown this year?”

“...okay.”

Gavin is slightly resigned but accustomed to it as he stands next to the pole in the corridor. 

Right now, he has already grown much taller. In a serious manner, Wardia uses a pencil to draw a mark near the roof of his head.

“Our Little Gav has grown much taller. Wow, one, two, three... four centimetres.”

His mother keeps the measuring tape and Gavin steps away from the pole. There are numerous deep and light indents on the white body of the pole - traces that witness one boy’s growth each year.

"Looks like I won’t need to measure you next year. Little Gav has already grown taller than Mommy.”

Gavin immediately cuts in, his tone extremely certain.

“I’ll protect Mommy.”

Wardia taps Gavin’s forehead lightly.

“Mommy doesn’t need to be protected by Little Gav. Mommy will protect Little Gav. I’ll celebrate your birthday with you every year until you grow up.”

“What will happen after I grow up?”

His mother grins as she turns around and enters the kitchen. Her gentle voice drifts to Gavin’s ears, and sounds a little hazy.

“After you grow up, you’ll meet someone like Mommy who is willing to celebrate a lifetime of birthdays with you.”

While his mother starts busying herself to prepare Gavin’s birthday feast, Gavin decides to fix the fan in the living room.

With the successful experience of aeromodelling, Gavin picks up the instruction manual and fixes that clanking fan very quickly.

The fixed fan starts rotating to and fro in a leisurely manner, releasing a cooling wind. Gavin closes his eyes to feel the breeze, and his hair is blown up, fluttering messily.

“It’s fixed.” Gavin opens his eyes, turning his head to look at the time.

Noon passed not too long ago, and it’s still very early.

Gavin thinks for a moment, then heads into his room to retrieve the model aircraft. He sits on the steps of the courtyard.

A chunk of paint on the model aircraft cracked a few days ago. Gavin holds a small brush, slowly giving a fresh coat of paint to the tailplane.

The cicadas on the trees are noisy as always, and the brilliant sunlight filters through the leaves, falling on Gavin’s face.

While using the small brush to mend the plane with layers of paint, Gavin occasionally lifts his head towards the nearby door.

Judging by the time, he should still reach today, no matter how late it is.

Birds soar in the sky, and the sun continuously shifts to the west, until it brings twilight with it, turning into a semicircle about to be swallowed up by the horizon.

Gavin sits on the steps for a very long time, from noon till late afternoon, and until the beautiful lines on the model aircraft have been mended, laying beside him quietly.

Yet, that door doesn’t get pushed open.

A few leaves are blown by the wind, and they fall on the wings of the model aircraft. Gavin reaches out to pick the leaves up.

He grips the leaves in his palm, lowering his eyes and thinking about something unknown to anyone else.

With a sudden creak, the sound of a door opening drifts from afar, and footsteps land on Gavin’s ears.

Gavin instantly straightens up, but he quickly faces away.

The tender dusk envelops him, illuminating the slightly upturned corners of his lips.

[ Chapter Six: A Heart of Well Wishes ]

The people who pushed the door open are his maternal grandfather and grandmother.

Carrying a birthday cake, they brim with smiles as they walk towards Gavin.

His grandfather grabs Gavin into a hug.

“We wish our Little Gav a happy birthday.”

His grandmother lifts the cake, waving it at Gavin.

“Grandpa and Grandma specially bought a cake to see you, and to celebrate our Little Gav’s birthday.”

“Thanks, Grandpa and Grandma.”

Gavin receives the cake from his grandmother and heads towards the living room with them. Before walking up the steps, Gavin casts another glance at the door.

The door remains quietly caged in twilight, waiting alongside Gavin.

But even until the evening grows dark, it is never pushed open again.

Wardia notices Gavin’s abnormal silence. When she follows his gaze and looks at the door outside, she realises something.

However, Wardia doesn’t say anything. She simply pauses, then is full of smiles as she opens the cake box.

“Here’s wishing our birthday boy a happy 14th birthday!” His grandparents grin while singing the birthday song.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...”

After singing the birthday song, his mother looks at Gavin, speaking gently.

“Go on and make a wish, Little Gav.”

Gavin stares at the cake and remains silent for a while. Then, he speaks quietly in his heart.

It’s fine if that person doesn't return. It’s fine if he isn’t acknowledged. Anyway, he has celebrated his birthday today, and has grown one year older.

He can fix a fan for his mother, and can use his strength to protect this home.

So-

It’s fine.

-

After dinner, the family sits in the courtyard to enjoy the cool air.

Hearing from his mother that Gavin won the first place in the aeromodelling competition, his grandparents are extremely surprised.

“Little Gav is truly incredible. Isn’t it really difficult to build models? What reward would you like? Grandpa and Grandma will give it to you.”

“There isn’t anything I want as a reward.”

However, his grandfather is very stubborn.

“You’re still so young. How can there be nothing that you want? Just suggest something, and treat it as a gift from your Grandpa and Grandma.”

At this appropriate time, Wardia cuts in. “This is a well wish from your elders, so just accept it.”

Gavin lowers his eyes and thinks for a moment. Then, he lifts his head and responds softly.

“In that case, I want our family to be like this every year in the future.”

He pauses, his eyes carrying within them slight warmth and ease.

“We’ll eat cake together, talk together, and sing the birthday song together.”

"That’s such an easy feat. Every year in the future, Grandpa and Grandma will bring a cake and celebrate Little Gav’s birthday with your Mommy.”

“It’s a deal.”

The evening breeze blows past gently, blowing up stray hairs in front of Gavin’s forehead, revealing a pair of clear amber eyes. He turns back to the courtyard and watches as his grandparents and mother engage in small talk and laughing to their heart’s content.

This is a complete family which has been mended with love, and it has much warmth and many things to look forward to.

It encases the youth’s heart, enabling him to not feel lonely at this moment.

The Milky Way is as magnificent as always. Beneath the brilliant star-studded sky, the tree which has been growing in the courtyard for a very long time stands quietly, as though it would remain this way every year.

Cheri’s Reflections:

Imagine if the letter wasn’t sent because Gavin forgot to put stamps LOL T^T

Not-so-fun fact: Wardia died when Gavin was 15, so this is the last birthday they spent together...

And MC not reading his letter back in Loveland High and leaving him waiting for hours hurts even more now because it probably reminded him of how he waited for his father to no avail

✈️ Spreading Wings Date: here

✈️ Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[amyreadsandstresses]

AMY'S DAILY FIC REC

Or, fics I've read recently that were nice. Today ft. BBC Sherlock

*See Recipe for Details - pandoras_chaos

4k, 1/1, Johnlock, PWP, Lasagna

John knows Sherlock’s mouth will never water over the sweet smells of baking chocolate biscuits or a lovely roast chicken, but he’s watched Sherlock nick mince pies out of Mrs. Hudson’s fridge often enough to deduce that the man does have taste, albeit confusing and obscure. So John makes a list: Things Sherlock Likes

*John Watson (Broken) - That_brunette_in_red

1k, 1/1, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Panic Attacks, Hurt/Comfort

John has a panic attack and Sherlock, unusually clueless, tries to help him through it.

*The Roof - bellarke_and_the_grounders

2k, 1/1, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, First Kiss, Panic Attacks

Please...no...not the roof...not again...

*What Use Is Our Work? - KittieHill

1k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Angst, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Gen

“Blood,” he whispered, startling John and making the doctor look towards Mrs Hudson. Sherlock noticed and shook his head, “My hands. I have blood on my hands,”

Unsure if Sherlock was speaking metaphorically or figuratively, John turned to look at Sherlock who held up his streaked red hands in the bright light of the room.

“It’s not hers,” John whispered, taking Sherlock's wrist firmly and pulling it down so it rested on his lap. “It’s not hers.”

*Monsters Among Us - Dovahlock221 (re-read)

1k, 1/1, Johnlock, Mycroft Holmes, Panic Attack, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD Sherlock

I would love to believe everyone has a good heart, but I've seen monsters walking among us that learned to live without one. -Andres Fernandez / The Man Frozen In Time

[snackhobi]

pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)

summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.

warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!

--

“It’s time to get up.”

“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”

You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.

“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”

Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.

Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.

“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”

“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.

“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says. 

Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.

“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”

Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says. 

“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”

Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.

“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”

You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”

“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”

Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing. 

You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.

(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”

Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”

Why had she ever expected anything different?)

You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.

You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful. 

The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.

(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)

You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead. 

You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.

(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)

(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)

(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)

“Y/n?”

You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”

Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon. 

“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”

“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”

You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.

“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”

Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”

“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.

When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.

This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all. 

You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.

Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.

Stupid. 

You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.

And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.

You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true. 

But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself. 

You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.

You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.

You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned. 

That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.

A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.

You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there�� The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.

You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.

There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks. 

There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.

You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.

It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.

He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.

“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”

The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”

Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”

The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.

You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”

This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”

“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”

The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”

A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”

As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.

The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.

“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”

“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”

When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.

“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”

The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”

You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.

“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—

“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.

His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”

You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”

“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.

“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.

“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”

He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.

But then.

“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.

“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”

The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”

“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”

He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.” 

--

The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.

Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.

It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.

“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”

“Haha, yeah,” you say. 

Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her. 

“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”

“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”

You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)

You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.

And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)

You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them. 

(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”

“What? Really?”

“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”

Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)

You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.

The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.

When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.

“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”

“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”

He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns. 

“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”

He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.

“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”

You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”

You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.

“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”

“Would you like one?”

“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”

The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”

You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”

“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”

Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable. 

“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”

“Sure.”

He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.

He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced. 

“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”

“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”

You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”

He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.

“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.

“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”

The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”

Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say. 

“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.

“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”

The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.

“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”

“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”

“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”

He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”

“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”

He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.

The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.

(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.

“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”

Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)

--

“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”

You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.

Jungkook pauses. “I don’t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”

“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”

Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”

“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”

Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”

He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”

You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”

“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.

“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”

The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.

“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.

“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”

“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”

Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.

There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.

You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.

“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”

The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.

“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”

“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”

Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”

You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”

You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.

Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say. 

Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”

Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”

Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”

“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”

Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”

Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”

“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”

As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”

“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed. 

Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful. 

These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)

You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.

You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.

(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.

“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground. 

“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)

--

“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”

“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”

Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.

“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”

It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.

“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”

You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”

Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin. 

“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”

You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”

You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.

It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.

He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.

He’s incredible.

Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.

“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”

“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.

Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”

“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”

You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.

Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.

“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”

“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”

Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”

“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.

The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen. 

Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)

Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.

You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you. 

Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.

Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.

A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”

You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.

“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.

“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”

There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”

You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”

Jungkook pauses. 

“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.

“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”

You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before. 

The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.

“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”

“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”

He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”

Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”

You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”

Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”

“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”

Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”

The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.

“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”

You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”

Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”

He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”

He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit. 

Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.

“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”

“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”

He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”

You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”

Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.

Then you lie face down on your bed.

Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive. 

Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?

You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf. 

To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.

You muffle a scream into your hands.

Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.

(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)

You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.

The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month. 

Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.

He picks up after one ring. 

“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.

“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”

You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way. 

It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic. 

“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?

You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met. 

“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.

“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”

“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.

“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.

“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”

“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”

“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”

“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”

“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”

“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”

(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.

“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”

Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too. 

As a friend.)

--

“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.

“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”

“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”

The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.

“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”

Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”

You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”

Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”

The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.

“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.

Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.

“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”

You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.

“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”

“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”

You beam. “Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.

“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”

You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”

For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)

You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.

But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.

When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.

You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.

“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.

“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.

“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say. 

“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”

“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”

He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.

“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities. 

You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.

“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”

He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”

“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”

He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.

“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.

“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.

More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay. 

Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.

“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.

“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”

The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is. 

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”

“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.” 

“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs. 

Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.

You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.

Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you. 

No one’s ever looked at you like that before.

At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.

--

Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.

But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.

You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated. 

Why can’t you write?

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.

You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately. 

You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.

“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”

“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”

You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”

It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you. 

You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he’s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.

“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.

“Kookie! Hi!” 

Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.

“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”

“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”

Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”

You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”

Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.

You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”

Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing. 

“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it. 

Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.

“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”

You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.

“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”

“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”

“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”

Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.

He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.

Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.

“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”

Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.

“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.

“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.

You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.

He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.

(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)

“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”

“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”

Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.

“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.

Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”

Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him. 

It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his. 

His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.

He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.

You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.

You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.

Holy shit.

You’re in love with Jungkook.

The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.

“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.

You’re in love with him.

You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest. 

Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”

You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”

You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.

When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.

“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.

“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”

He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night. 

“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”

Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.

(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.

“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”

They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee. 

It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)

--

“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.

“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”

“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.

Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”

You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.

“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.

“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.

“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.

Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”

Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.

“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”

You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”

Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.

“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”

“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”

“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.

“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”

Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest. 

You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.

The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”

This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.

You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.

“Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.

“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.

“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”

“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.

“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”

Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.

“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.

He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.

Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you. 

(He loves you.)

It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.

No, actually— it’s just the beginning. 

You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts. 

“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”

Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”

How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?

“What made you come around?”

“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”

Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?” 

“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.

(“I love you.”

Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.

Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:

-

How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)

[calpalirwin]

Better Now

Summary: Putting yourself back out there after a heartbreak is never easy, but you and Ashton are learning that it’s worth it.

A/N: Big thanks to @jessalyn-jpeg​ for listening to me cry over Taylor Acorn songs while I figured out how to combine her latest releases into 1 fic.

Word Count: 2.6k

And away, and away we go!

__

Aside from the composition book that lay open on the coffee table, the recording room was empty. Face contorting in curious confusion, Ashton picked it up, thinking one of his bandmates had left it behind. But as he caught a glance at the words sprawled across the lined pages in black inked handwriting he didn’t recognize he knew he should have closed it. Songwriting was a very personal thing, and he would hate for anyone to find his own songbook lying around and read the contents. But the words jumped out at him, and he found himself taking a seat, still holding the notebook open in his hands.

“And no one comes to save you, you learn to save yourself. The world, it just keeps going on while you’re going through hell. No, it’s not all that it’s cut out to be. ‘Cuz you can’t hide behind the silver screen. Love ain’t like the movies.”

“Jesus…” he whispered to himself.

“Excuse me?” a female voice asked from the doorway, and Ashton jumped, snapping the notebook shut.

“Uh…” he stuttered, staring at the woman with her hair messily thrown up, dressed casually in jeans and a tank top, a tired but wild look in her bright eyes. “Hi. Can I help you?”

She adjusted the guitar case strap on her shoulder. “Uh, I hope so? A notebook? Standard composition notebook. Black and white colored. Probably impossible to distinguish from any other black and white standard composition notebook. I know, super helpful description. You haven’t happened to see one lying around here, have you?”

“Like this?” Ashton asked, flashing the notebook in his hand.

“It would look exactly like that!” she brightened. Then, her smile faltered. “But that one’s probably yours, isn’t it?”

“Uh, actually no. It was on the coffee table when I came in. I, uh, thought it might be one of my bandmates, but it’s not their handwriting.”

“Oh, so you read it?” she asked. No anger or embarrassment. Just clarifying a fact.

Ashton rubbed at the back of his neck. “Sorry… I didn’t read a lot. Just enough to realize the handwriting was different.” He held out the notebook to her for her to take. “It’s uh, good by the way. Whatever you’re working on. Relatable.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the notebook from him and flipping through the pages to confirm that it was in fact hers. “I really need to keep better track of my shit… Thanks for finding it.”

“Yeah, ‘course. And sorry again for reading bits of it.”

She waved a hand at his apology. “Oh, it’s fine. My fault for leaving it lying around. Sorry you can relate to it.”

Ashton shrugged. “Heartbreak: part of the standard human experience. Some of your lyrics actually remind me of a song my band put out once years ago. At the time I considered myself lucky to not be able to relate to it. But seeing yours… which is far more poetic than anything four teenage boys could come up with… I’m glad for songs like that. Makes you feel a little less alone in the drowning.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping this helps me at least start to tread water again. How long ago was the heartbreak for you?” she asked, then shook her head. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I should probably be going anyway. Let you get back to your shit, and go off to deal with mine.”

Ashton chuckled. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s been about four months for me. So still recent enough to sting like a bitch.”

She smiled and laughed a bit at his words, but there was a sadness to both. “Two and a half months for me. So just enough to actually drag myself out of my bedroom.”

“And down to a studio where some jackass reads your most personal feelings. Awesome…”

There was a bit more realness to her laugh this time around. “Honestly, not a problem. It’s meant for people to hear, you know?”

“I suppose that’s true. I’m Ashton, by the way.”

“Y/N.”

“Good luck with the song, Y/N. Feel better soon, yeah?”

“Thanks. You too.” She turned to head out of the room, before pausing and turning back around. “What was that song? The one your band made that you couldn’t relate to at the time?”

Ashton’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh. You don’t wanna hear that one, trust me. Cringey teenage attempt at being emo punk.”

“Damn… Emo punk is my favorite.”

Against his better judgement, Ashton pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Alright,” he gave in, pulling up the song. “But you’re not allowed to make fun of me. Like I said, this was years ago.”

Y/N held out her pinky finger. “No judgement, swear.”

Ashton linked his own pinky with hers, and hit play. For the next three and a half minutes he watched her carefully as she stood there with her eyes closed, nodding her head along with the beat. On one hand, he was glad her eyes were closed because it meant that she couldn’t see him watching her, or see his embarrassment. But on the other hand it meant that he had no clue what she was thinking. He hit pause before it could replay again. “Like I said, some of your lyrics have a similar feeling,” he said with a shrug.

She opened her eyes as she nodded. “Yeah, I see what you mean. About thinking you’re getting the fairytale movie ending one second, and the next the ending is anything but happily ever after. Was one of those solos you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m the drummer. So-”

“Lots of back up,” she interrupted with a knowing nod. “Is it because you don’t sing at all? Or just out of convenience?”

“Mostly convenience. In our earlier days we used to split up singing pretty evenly. And then we all got more comfortable in our roles. But I still sing from time to time in more than a back up way.”

“That’s cool. And I bet it makes recording stuff and everything so much easier. I have to do a lot of borrowing or outsourcing to get all the sounds I want.”

“Not in a band, huh?”

“Nope. Just your regular solo artist.”

“That’s gotta get lonely.”

“It can be. But it also means making things in my vision, and not having to compromise on that.”

“Well, if you ever need someone to lay down some drum tracks, or just some company so you’re not drowning alone, I’m here most of the time.”

She nodded, understanding what he wasn’t saying about an intrinsic need to stay out of the house as much as humanly possible. Away from the memories that haunted every aspect of being awake. “Thanks, Ashton,” she said, once again turning to leave, but found herself turning back towards him, another question on her lips. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”

“Go for it.”

“What’s the hardest part of breaking up? Of trying to move on, and feel like yourself again?”

“Honestly? Waking up, and seeing that empty side of the bed. Hits you like a freight train all over again. That kind of overwhelming sense of dread that you’re never gonna feel normal again.”

“But then you get up, and try anyway, hoping that today it hurts just a little bit less than it did yesterday.”

“But it doesn’t, and you start to lose hope that the pain will ever stop.”

“That’s the hardest part.”

“The fuckin’ worst. But hey. It can’t suck forever. Or, that’s what I keep telling myself anyway. That’s what finally gets me out of bed.”

“And hey! Maybe I'll get a hit song out of it in the process, too.” She feigned a smile, flashing her notebook.

“Oh, that’ll be a hit, no question about it.”

“Thanks. For uh… well everything, I guess. See you around, Ashton.”

“Good luck, Y/N.”

~~~

Y/N eventually did get the courage to ask Ashton for both his company and musical help, on a day when she found it harder than normal to get up out of bed.

She trudged her way into the studio, spotting him watching a coffee pot in the common living area. “Oh, hey,” he smiled warmly as she pulled open the fridge. “Making a fresh pot if you want any.”

She shook her head, grabbing a water bottle and taking a few sips from it. “Can I get your help today?” she asked in a low whisper, hoping to hide the wobble in her tone.

“Yeah, of course. Everything alright?”

She shook her head again, then wordlessly left for her recording room.

“So, what’s up?” Ashton asked when he found her a few moments later, cup of coffee in hand.

“You’re not allowed to judge me for any vulnerability today.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Because this verse is gonna be really hard for me to record.”

He nodded, taking a seat while she set up behind a microphone. A soft guitar track started playing, and when she took a breath, Ashton prepared himself for lyrics of her most recent break up. So when her soft voice started singing, “ ‘Cuz after my dad died, even though she never let us see her cry, my mom was broken inside, ‘cause she just lost her best friend. Why don’t they prepare you for that? When the picture perfect life you had goes black,” to say he was shocked was a bit of an understatement.

There was a click of the track, and the guitar stopped, the headphones settling around her neck. “I’m sorry about your dad,” he spoke up softly. “I- that’s gotta be rough.”

“Most of the time it’s a dull ache. A small hum I can ignore if I don’t focus on it. But there’s a few days where the pain is all fresh, like I’m learning the news again for the first time. A shock to the system.”

“I like the juxtaposition of it all. Most of the time when people think of love gone wrong, or ending before we’re ready, it’s the break up. Because the alternative… it’s…”

“Unfathomable.”

“Yeah. It’s a pain that I can’t imagine, that’s for sure.”

“Lucky you.”

He chuckled slightly. “Nah. Not in the way you think. My own experience is fucked, but in the other direction. He left and never gave a shit.”

“That’s rough.”

“It was, yeah. I guess the small benefit is that I was too young to remember him leaving. So for me, he’s always been gone. Haven’t ever known anything different.”

“See, I’m grateful that I at least have my memories of my dad. Even if he’s been gone longer than I had him. But it’s like a double-edged sword. The memories bring some peace. But it also fuckin’ sucks that they’ll never be anything more than that. That I don’t get new ones.”

“Well, I dunno if talking about him helps you at all. But if you want to, you can.”

“You don’t mind? I don’t wanna bore you, or make you jealous.”

He patted the empty spot on the couch next to him. “C’mon, you asked for my help. Let me help.”

She gave a small laugh before moving to sit next to him. “Remember, you’re not allowed to judge me for being vulnerable.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He listened as stories of her childhood fell from her lips. He offered her up the box of tissues on the coffee table when her words got choked, and would gently prompt her into continuing when she stopped to apologize. He provided her with stories of his own childhood when her own stories grew too painful to share, confiding in her the way she was confiding in him. And when the sun started to cast long shadows across the room, maybe not a lot of work had been done when it came to her song, but Ashton had helped her nonetheless, and both of them felt a little lighter than they had been in a while.

~~~

Help in the form of company was given with much less hesitance after that, with Y/N and Ashton seeking each other out with regularity. Some days would be spent with the two barely exchanging a word as they played out various melodies, or wrote new lyrics. Other days were filled with endless chatter as they shared ideas they had, and provided ideas on how to overcome any blocks in creativity, or just swapped more stories. And other days still, he would help her work on her song.

When Y/N finally finished her song, Ashton was the first person she thought of to share it with, dragging him excitedly into the room with her. “Jesus, this is the happiest I think I’ve ever seen you,” he teased with a giggle.

“Do you wanna hear the song or not?” she asked.

“It’s done?”

“It’s done!”

“Well, hit play! C’mon!”

For three and a half minutes they stood in the middle of the recording room while her song blasted from the speakers. 

“Well?” she asked expectantly when silence overtook them once more. Then, more quizzically, “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He had an amazed smile on his face, dimples cratering his cheeks, and a soft shine in his eyes. “Staring at you like what?” he asked in response.

“Like you wanna… I dunno… kiss me or something…”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Then the soft look was melting away into confusion. “Cuz sometimes I think I want to.”

“And other times?”

“I talk myself down because I’m not sure what I want, or what I feel. We’re both still getting over people who caused us a lot of damage. And I don’t always feel like I’m ready to think about starting a relationship with someone new. But I also know that I’m never going to be ready until I actually start doing it. And I really like the friendship we’ve built the past couple of months. I feel more like me when I’m around you. Like, not only am I no longer drowning, I can actually feel the bottom. But I don’t know if those feelings come from being around someone who can relate to what I’m going through right now, like some weird trauma bond. Or if it’s real “I like you’ feelings. And it’s not fair to you for me to not know.”

She nodded, both understanding what he was saying, and what he wasn’t saying. “What if I kiss you instead?”

“Please, don’t.”

“Because you’re scared we’ll hurt each other? Ash, if we don’t at least try, then we’re never gonna know what’s real and what’s not.”

“It’s partially that. But also… If we end up kissing… I’m not going to want to stop.”

“Then you better not be a lousy kisser.”

~~~

7 Months Later

Ashton got a small flash of deja vu as he saw the black and white composition book lying open, the beginnings of a song scribbled across one of the pages. “Just another hopeless broken heart cliche. And all my fairytale ambitions, I just watched them wash away.”

“Y/N?” he called out, curious to learn where this song was going, and also where his girlfriend could be hiding. “Babe?”

“But it’s too late for sorry baby, even if you’ve changed. I’m not letting myself break down, count me out. Oh, I’m better now,” her voice sang softly as it came down the hallway with her, a black pen twirling between her fingers. She paused as she spotted him standing there with her notebook, a smile lighting up her face. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” he matched her smile, handing her the notebook and pressing a kiss to her head. “That’s nice. Whatever you were just singing. What inspired this one?”

“Just reflecting a bit on this past year,” she told him, as she quickly wrote what she’d been singing in the notebook before the lyrics left her head.

“Feeling a lot better these days, huh?”

“Better than I’ve ever been.”

__

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