#so I just cross my fingers and hope nothing catastrophic happens

[focsle]

I hate websites I hate managing websites so much. I'm always clenching my fists waiting for the day GTW completely breaks. I just wanna draw comics man.

[mad-maximoff]

We Met Again

Part 2 of When We Met since y’all asked so damn much! I just hope this one doesn't get censored too😅

Summary: You were on a 6-month-long mission with Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes only to come back to the compound and face Wanda.

Warnings: G!P reader, angst, making out, unprotected sex, ejaculation , soft sex turned rough, hair-pulling, breaking the bed (literally😂),

Word Count: 3,702

Prt 1 Here

"Welcome back Y/n, how was your little adventure with the boys?" Kate Bishop stood behind the bar making herself a pink alcoholic slush of some sort. You were covered in dirt and soot from head to toe. You just got off a mission with Sam and Bucky. You were in Egypt going about looking for a highly classified terrorist ring. Thankfully you got to them before they started their reign. 

"Adventure my ass. I slept on the dirt while the boys slept in cozy beds like princesses. I tell you what I need is a shower and to take a well-deserved dirt nap in a real bed." You threw your weapons on the table halting at a chair and flinging off your boots. "I'll clean this shit up later Kat, I've been waiting for this." You turned to see Kate pouring herself a tall misshapen glass full of pink slush. "Sure thing Y/n, you and I are the only ones here I think. You want the rest?" She licked the side of her glass where she spilt. "Why not, might help me crash harder." You reached around Kate grabbing the whole blender. There was more than a mouthful left. You thought maybe it was strawberry daiquiri, so you thought nothing of it and chugged it. The first sip made you gag.

"Jesus Christ Bishop! Paloma? Really? What are you 40? You've been around Potts too long. Good lord.." You hated tequila, especially grapefruit. You polished it off not backing down leaving it on a table in the middle of the hallway. You knew there were empty beds not touched by any of the other Avengers. Basically new. It was funny really. Everything to you looked new but it was just the same as the last time you were down this hallway. Maybe it looked new because the last time you were here you were drunk with your pants around your ankles. Come to think of it. That table was new. You pivoted around noticing the table on further inspection. You saw a crack along the wall. Oh yeah, you remember. That was the spot. The spot where you and Wanda...

Yeah...Wanda...

You remember where her room was. You remember you crashed there after you both finished your fun in the hall. Curiosity killed the cat. You noticed the door was slightly cracked allowing light to shine through. But it was almost midnight, it wasn't natural light. It was from a light. Is she there? Did she forget to turn off the lights? Maybe. You pondered. Kate did say after all you two were the two here so it was bound she forgot. It's a common mistake. 

You tip-toed over to her room letting your fingers creep through the part between the door and the wall slightly allowing the length of your fingers to pry the door a bit more. Your strength got the hold of you as it flung open. Wanda was sitting at the edge of her bed in her room, with her leg raised to lean her elbow on her knee, underneath her chin. 

"Kate honey I told you for the third time today. We can drink and watch Sex and The City tomorrow. I don't feel up to it." She huffed watching the news. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes darting back and forth watching the live footage of whatever catastrophe happened. "So you're the one drinking Palomas huh?" You leaned in the door frame crossing your arms. You had to laugh. You never thought she was a cocktail girl. Though..you never thought she was the kind to give blowjobs either but you were surprised by both.

"Oh..it's you...no I don't drink that shit. She found Tony's recipe book for Pepper and his date nights and she's drinking like a fish...When did you come back to the States?" She was genuinely surprised to see me. Her leg fell from where it was prompted. Wanda stood up walking the length of her bedframe around to meet you.

You were shocked also. Maybe she wasn't showing yet? You swore you thought you'd come home and find her pregnant but unless she's super athletic or has it hidden she doesn't look like she's expecting.

"Ah 30 minutes ago. Um..stupid question.." You scratched your head looking down at Wanda then back up at her eyes. She laughed standing in front of you. Her hand reached to your cheek whipping the loose dirt from your undereye. 

"Haha no! Unfortunately, I'm not pregnant. I don't know how. I always thought that first tries always work. I even helped you out a bit." 

"Unfortunately? You wanted me to get you pregnant? Are you insane? You don't even know me and you want kids from me! I'm too young to have a family! Even with my powers...let alone, what gives you the right to choose for me!" You broke her hand away backing away. You had to leave or else there'll be bigger cracks in the wall. 

"Y/n please, I never meant to hurt you. I just got confused that's all. You were so nice to me and after I lost Vis 2 times and lost my boys I just felt you comforted me. That's all." Wanda reached again grasping your bicep. You pulled away again this time hitting the wood casing around the frame with your elbow. The wood casing flew off behind you hitting the hallway floor.

"No! Don’t you dare touch me! All you cared about was yourself! Just because someone showed you comfort doesn't mean you let them cum inside you, Wanda! That's really fucked up! I'm sorry you lost your family but you can't just use me to play house!" You growled noticing your rage was becoming the better of you. Wanda through your eyes was becoming tiny. Her body language was making her small. Curling her fingers into the sleeves of her black cardigan, crossing her arm over to her elbow. She looked down at her bare feet letting out a shakey breath.

"I'm really sorry Y/n...I don't know what I was thinking. I've been so used to having people around me. That it feels weird to be by myself." Wanda's head was bowed letting her newly brown hair almost cover her head. A tiny tear ran down her blushed cheek wiping it away quickly.

All you saw was red. Not by Wanda's magic. But for some reason, you were enraged. How could you be this angry over something you fully did with Wanda 6 months ago? Maybe you do have a tiny bit of an anger problem. Little? In this case, that's an understatement. 

You huffed feeling the hot pressure on your chest cool down to your stomach. You think seeing Wanda so visibly upset may have broken your cross attitude. 

"Get used to it, Wanda." You had to storm off. If the conversation got any more heated; one of you was going to end up in a wall. And it was most likely going to be you. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe if I get some sleep and a good shower I can speak to her more clearly. 

You thought gliding to one of the newly furnished rooms. 

Each room had its own bathroom. Tony is a playboy so obviously the bathroom was soundproof. The entire compound was all technology so a press of a button and the bedroom could be soundproof. You didn't need that tonight. You wished there was a switch to soundproof your head. 

How could I snap like that? I haven't done that in years! What the hell was I thinking to begin with?! You felt like you could stand under the hot water for hours. It took two layers of body wash just to scrub away the dirt from your body and finally feel human. Maybe you were scrubbing off your anger with it in a sense. You had your little outbursts but this one almost made you black out. Your lofa scraped at your skin furiously, leaving little imprints everywhere. Your back flexed in the mirror examining your clean body. Your hips were women but your shoulders and torso were the shape of a man. You had average-sized breasts. They were nothing special, they were nice to look at but nothing that could turn any heads. Perhaps you could say they were bigger than average but you never noticed.

You got out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped around your waistbone, as you inhaled walking to the foot of your bed your v-line showed every breath you took. You thought if someone was to walk in it would be less surprising seeing you topless instead of bottomless. 

"Fuck...you got buff little one.." You gasped in fright hearing Wanda's quiet voice coming from the chair hidden next to the wall. Wanda's makeup was smeared all over her under her eyes. She was sniffling back what little tears she produced. She was crying heavily, using the sleeves of her cardigan. "What the fuck do you want now? Can't you see I'm busy? I'm not giving in to your mind games." You turned to face your back to her loosening the towel from your waist to dry your legs. You reached around putting on a pair of boxer briefs. You heard a creek come from the corner of your room knowing Wanda got up. Her bare feet were quiet on the hardwood but not quiet enough for you to hear. 

"No mind games Y/n. I-I...wanted to apologize...you were right. I need to start learning how to be on my own. I deserve to be alone. I shouldn't have let you do those things to me." She held back a cry making her eyes gloss over. 

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that. I was actually going to apologize to you. I don't know what came over me. I lost my temper too quickly. I haven't done that in years. I shouldn't have taken it out on you." Your hands lifted Wanda's chin to look at you, letting all of her hair fall back behind her shoulders. She looked like a baby raccoon. It was cute but you felt awful that she was crying because of you. "I'm so sorry Wanda." Wanda's hands placed around your hips, sliding herself closer to your body. You pulled her in deeper holding her close. Her head rested on your shoulder letting her finish her cries. Your hands caressed her skull, intertwining with her locs. 

"It's okay..please, please stop crying. You're making me feel worse." You sat her down on the foot of the bed still massaging Wanda's head. She buried her face in your chest noticing her sobs being muffled into silent sniffles. One of your hands dropped placing it on her chest, directly on top of her heart. Her beats were rapid on the first touch, but once you dragged your fingertips along her skin she settled. Your other hand finally dropped rubbing her spine. She was frail in comparison to your body. Every muscle you flexed made it seem more apparent. 

"Thank you," she sniffled, using her sleeve to wipe away her stained makeup. "Thank you very much Y/n. I feel like sometimes I can just go off the handle." Wanda wiped another tear with her sleeve again, the tears glossed in her eyes and made her pupils sparkle as she looked so passionately into your eyes. 

"It's fine Wanda. We all go off the handle some days. I did it on you earlier. We just need to relax a little. The both of us." 

                             ╳°»｡ ∾･⁙･ ღ ➵ ⁘ ➵ ღ ･⁙･∾ ｡«°╳

You and Wanda laid down together in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence however, it felt somehow to you a healing silence. You two didn’t need to talk, that’s what got you two into shit before. Just cuddling together. Wanda laid her head on your bare chest. You threw on a random stupid movie on TV, it was one of those goofy movies that two dudes probably smoked a joint and started filming. You didn’t like it; Wanda found it comical. She’d laugh at the slightest action or joke. 15 minutes later however she was silent. You peered down checking up on her. Her eyes fluttered, she was falling asleep. You twitched which made her jump. 

“Jesus…what’s happened?” She whispered. I knew she fell asleep for a moment. You could hear it in her tone. Groggy and low. 

“Nothing sorry. My leg just spasmed. It’s okay, you can go back to sleep.” Your hand ran down Wanda's thigh. Her skin was soft just like you remembered. 

“Shut up, I wasn't sleeping.” She giggled rolling her head the other way. 

“Oh I'm sorry, I just saw the stucco on the ceiling coming apart so I thought you were snoring.” You joked.

“Fuck off!” She laughed sitting up on your lap. “I do not snore!” Her hands grasped a fist full of your bare breasts in either hand. It felt good to be handled again. As soon as her hands touched you that way, you instantly felt you were getting hard. It wasn't an embarrassment any longer. You had another one-night encounter after Wanda that made feel 10x better about your appearance. 

“No, that's just loudly humming in your sleep isn't it?” Your hands tightened around her hips slowly moving them back and forth. Wanda sucked air through her teeth letting a little gasp. "Ohh-stop!" She laughed biting her lower lip. "You want something else don't you detka?" Her dress grazed the front of your boxers, just to tease you. 

"Perhaps. This time, it's on my terms. This time." Your hands pushed down on Wanda's thighs rubbing your forming bludge on the fabric of her panties. Her brows raised, turning her cheeks into a rose colour. "Really? Would you still want to? Even after everything I did?..."  

“Of course.” You freed your hands from her thighs, swishing a strand of her hair away from her face looking into her emerald eyes. She giggled again looking down at your chest. “You’re tits are huge Y/n.” Wanda’s hands clutched my full chest. "I don't think I saw them last time." She squeezed each handful. You whinced with her nails digging into your skin. 

"Ha! Well, I hope you remember something else's size." You joked lightly tugging at your boxers. “Hmm..I think I definitely need a refresher.” Wanda tugged the hem of her dress; pulling it over her head as her arms whisked it to the floor. Wanda’s hands jerked at the elastic band around your hips. Your fairly large erection greeted both of you with a fair shock as it bounced its way to freedom. “Oh yes, I remember now.” Her tongue folded against the tops of her teeth. Your hands held a firm grip on either side of Wanda’s panties ripping them off. “Seems you don’t need this huh?” She giggled letting out a small whimper. “Fuck-…can we stop all this talking Y/n? I really need you.” Your fingers trailed along her mound going further in her slit. Her inner core was silk. Your finger slipped inside effortlessly. Her little sounds became more low. “Oh…g-god.” Her head dropped down making her lips lay on mine. "Stop fucking teasing me..." She groaned as her teeth bit the bottom of my lip. "Okay, you asked for it." You flipped Wanda onto her back. The bed's feet raised as the bed made a thump. "Did you want condoms?" 

"N-no. No, Wanda, I can pull out." You bent down locking your lips with hers again. "Haha..sure, sure you can Y/n." Wanda's eyes glowed red again briefly. "Fuck no more games. Just let me fuck you by myself." Your fingers slid between Wanda's folds before slipping your cock inside. She gasped curling her fingers into the sheets. Your hands planted on the mattress on either side of Wanda's head. She uncurled her fingers from the bedsheets, moving them around your wrists. Her breaths were choppy trying to get ahold. You thought she looked so beautiful underneath you, the way her skin naturally glowed, her pearly white smile chewing her bottom lip, the way she looked at you. Not in a loving way just yet, in an adoring way? A needing way. 

"Go on. Keep making those pretty sounds for me, sweetheart." Your hips dove in feeling her walls coating you effortlessly. Wanda’s whines grew deafening, her eyes did not stop turning shades of red. 

“Oh shit…y/n…uh-…” Wanda's head rolled back on the mattress. Dropping her jaw open. You began to thrust with a heavy pace. Becoming quick with every moan that escaped Wanda’s lips. The bed frame formed a squeaking noise with each pump into the brunette. Wanda’s leg had a hard time trying to stay afloat around your hips, slipping every movement you two shared. You stopped pulling out briefly. 

“What-..Y/n? Why did stop?! Continuă…” Wanda cried out allowing her hands to fall scratching your biceps. “I will, don't worry. Go flip on your stomach, on your knees and bend over.” Wanda sighed a sly smile flipping onto her knees, arching her back letting her chest lay on the mattress. She glanced over her shoulder with her hair covering her face. Your hand traced her temple softly, leading your fingers into the brunette's long strands. Grasping a fistful of Wanda’s hair. You peered down watching your cock twitch in anticipation with Wanda’s ass sway in the same feeling of suspense. Your other hand grasped Wanda’s thigh sliding your shaft back into her slick folds. 

“Oh…fuck-” Wanda sucked air through her teeth tilting her head down with your hand still tight on her hair. You did begin to thrust slowly as you once did, you began to ram yourself deeply inside the witch as though you were pushing through air. Wanda's hand gave out mid-pump landing on her chest. Her hands gripped the bedsheets as she tried to move her head to a more comfortable spot. "Fuck...you have such a nice ass." You twisted Wanda's hair around your knuckles applying a forceful tug. Her head raised leaving a spot of drool on the sheets. "Uh-huh!" Wanda's head cocked further to watch you. Your hand jerked the fistful of Wanda's hair pulling her hair as hard as you could muster without ripping all of her hair out entirely. Her body lifted off the mattress onto her knees. Her back pressed on your chest laying her head on your shoulder. "Oh god!...Shit!" Your wrist could not take it anymore, you let go of Wanda's hair allowing it to fall behind your shoulder. Your hand relaxed on Wanda's thigh attaching every finger around the softest part of her leg. Wanda's arm flung around your throat holding herself up. "Shit...I'm going to cum..." Wanda's moans were silent as she took a small breath. "Huh? Good baby...me too." You sighed out feeling yourself climbing higher and higher up to your point of no return. "Do it Y/n." Wanda used her knees bouncing her body against you. 

"Do what Wand?" You groaned in her ear smelling her sweet perfume sweat off onto you. "Cum in me...please..." Her cheek heated on yours as you felt her jaw lock open not letting another sound out. "Y-you sure? I don't know." You did not want to take that chance again, you had some rendezvous with a certain green bulky woman in Egypt, knowing you mastered your craft of pulling out. If you did not get her pregnant 6 months ago, hell, you couldn't do it again right? 

"F-fine...you want me to cum inside you huh?" You huffed tightening your grip on Wanda's thighs, the wooden bedframe continued to rattle. The frame began to bell out with your knees ready to cave. "Yes! Yes!" 

"Yes, what?" 

"Cum inside me Y/n! Fill me!" Wanda's voice shrieked out letting go of a low-toned moan. "Oh god! I'm cumming!" Wanda grasped firmly on your neck vibrating her entire body. Her eyes glow red tracing red mists around both of your bodies. "Fuck!" The pressure within you exploded, you could not think if it was you that came or if Wanda had some help to speed it up. You felt your cock throb spewing out your cum in the witch. She tried her best to make her body stay still, her thighs would not stop fidgeting. You bucked your knees forward to have Wanda fall on her stomach as you fell with her. The bedframe finally gave way as the mattress hit the floor. You both hit a thump, Wanda chuckled under your body softly as she took a quick breath. "Well, shit. How do you expect to explain this to Tony?" 

"We'll blame Kate," You sighed wiping a bead of sweat from your brow. "She got too drunk and we found her jumping on the bed. Agreed?" 

"Agreed detka. Let's get out of here. We can go to my room." You arose to see the bedposts still standing but the wood beams holding the bed just fell. "Well, this was a great welcome back." You stretched out your arms above your head hearing the cracks of your shoulder blades. "I'd say so." You stood up from the mattress whisking your boxers off the floor. 

"Y/n? You don't need those." Wanda sat up on her knees running her hands through her hair. You bent over as you picked Wanda up by her thighs and wrapped them around your waist. "Haha! I sure do. I don't want to scare Kate if we run into her." You took hefty strides over to the bedroom door, making your way down the hall to Wanda's room. Wanda draped her hands around your neck giving a sly little smile as she looked over her shoulder. Her wrist flicked a red mist, you witnessed the red mist run down the staircase doing nothing after it left the stairs. "There. She won't bug us. I put her to sleep for the night. Now, we can have more fun." 

"Good. Let's hope I don't break your bed this time." 

"Well, don't promise that. I'd love you to ruin me." Her finger traced along your jaw down your throat. "Ask, and you shall receive." 

[xseekingsaturnx]

slipping through my fingers

A study of "I love you"/"I know" that I found in my drafts. Enjoy, all who are interested. Han Solo/Leia Organa

///

Somehow she’d always known they were running on borrowed time, precarious moments all loosely strung together by the will of luck. 

Or—by the will of the Force. She doesn’t know which. The two most prominent men in her life have such divided perspectives concerning how things come to be. Personally, Leia’s never quite believed in luck. And the Force is a little out of her element. Bygones, she supposes. 

But if either happens to exist, Leia prays one will intervene. Now would be the time. 

Please. 

Leia curses herself for not knowing, not realizing sooner. She curses this star-forsaken gas mine and Lando Calrissian’s crackling audacity. Most of all, though, Leia curses the name of Darth Vader. So help her, she has half a mind to go tearing at him full force, screams rattling her throat. 

But Leia knows better than that. It would only worsen matters. Not that things could get much worse, but she’s not in any mood to risk jinxing the situation. 

Not when Han’s life is on the line. 

“Nothing to worry about,” he’d said, upon their landing in this traitorous sky metropolis. “Trust me.” 

She’d trusted Han, truly. Really, she had. It was Lando who triggered her suspicions and it was Lando who betrayed them. Leia should’ve trusted herself, when have her instincts ever led her astray? 

Now the love of her life is being ripped from her white-knuckled grasp and Luke is most assuredly on his way, moments from tumbling into this mess, just as Vader intended. It’s a disaster, it’s a catastrophe, it all could’ve been avoided if only she—

Leia’s mind is racing faster than Coruscant traffic, there’s so much static between her ears that she hardly notices Chewbacca’s raging tantrum or Threepio’s panicked shouting. She’s lightyears away, she may as well be back in that revolting slug’s throat, that’s how utterly useless she is—

Han’s gaze locks with hers, green and brown mingling, expressions tight with sorrow and suddenly Leia is rendered immobile. The most basic of functions now sit just out of reach. Breath hanging idly in her lungs, heart resting motionless in her ribcage. For one electrifying beat they are a portrait, etched in the shattered passage of time. 

The next double-crossing second sends time barreling onward once more and in a desperate instance of impulse, Leia is grabbing his shirt and Han is crashing into her and they’re tangled together in a kiss born of a nebula. 

They’re breathing each other’s air, starved of this closeness, passion rushing through fingertips and fingers brushing through hair and all Leia wants is this. This this this, this forever, until the end of time itself. 

And just as suddenly, Han is pulled away, brute force dragging him farther from her arms, farther from her lips, farther from her, and Leia has never known a pain like this. 

That pain—that hollow, yawning cavern spreading through her chest—is what drives her to the words.

Words she’s never said, words that were always reserved for family, words so powerful that perhaps Leia’s gripping some obscure hope that they might reconcile this tragedy. 

The words leap from her mouth.

“I love you!”

They explode, echoing across the chamber, dancing their way to Han’s awareness and she sees the way his eyes flood with something cosmic. 

“I know.”

He knows.

He knows he knows he knows—

That smart-mouthed son of a bantha, of course he knows, he’s known all along but she’s too late, too late, and the platform is lowering and Han is disappearing and—stars, if the circumstances weren’t so bone-achingly grievous, she might actually laugh. 

He knows. 

That information isn't much but it’s enough, it’s enough to fill the chasm, it’s enough to soften the sharp-edged agony coursing through the tunnels of her veins. Twin tears streak down both cheeks and she doesn’t even care, she doesn’t care about her reputation or her image or anything.

With a final inkling of self-preservation, Leia turns away, burying her face in Chewbacca’s fur coat because she can’t watch anymore. Everyone has limits. She should’ve reached hers years ago. It’s nothing short of miraculous that her knees have the strength to keep her standing, the cold, durasteel floor has never looked so enticing.  

Threepio is rambling on, robotic anxiety rolling from his speakers. Leia hopes Lando feels this anguish, she hopes he’ll remember it for the rest of his back-stabbing, rotten existence in this merciless galaxy. She hopes the torment of guilt will haunt his sleepless nights, she hopes it’s unbearable. 

And when the steaming slab of carbonite is lifted from within, Leia’s eyes have a mind of their own and she risks a treacherous glance. 

There he is. Her whole heart, frozen in a contortion of dismay. Stuck there. Trapped there. She wonders if he felt it. She wonders if he was afraid. 

She shouldn’t have looked.

Vader’s imperious rumble cuts through the air, “Well, Calrissian? Did he survive?”

A question, reminding her how dire these circumstances really are, reminding her he might not have survived— 

Leia’s stomach lurches with anticipation and she’s seconds away from another spiral, but then Lando chimes in. 

“Yes, he’s alive. And in perfect hibernation.” 

Relief. Alleviation rushing across sweat-soaked skin, premature consolation spreading like the sunlight of daybreak. He’s alive. Han is alive. And despite the trials she knows are about to bend her in half, Leia feels oddly renewed. Love has finally found her. She sure as hell isn’t about to let it slip through her fingers.

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2023

Day 08 - Shed

The sun had long vanished beneath the horizon as A'viloh sneaked out of the house trying his best to not wake anyone. It was a clear night and the dark blue sky was filled with millions of stars shining in all kinds of colors. In A'viloh’s opinion this view never got boring, he could marvel at it for the rest of his life and wonder if somewhere up there someone else saw a similar sky and did the same.

Quietly he crossed the Aetheryte square, staying in the shadows as best as he could, alway keeping an eye out for people who could see him. He wasn’t sure if it was really necessary to be this careful but better safe than sorry.

U'laqa had asked to meet him at midnight by the wooden shed at the springs. This had been earlier that day after their archery training session. While everybody else went to retrieve their arrows U'laqa had casually stepped beside him and whispered in his ear. Before A'viloh could reply anything U'laqa had already run after the other boys, not that he would have replied anything dumbfounded as he was.

All afternoon he had been torn between worry and excitement about this secret meeting. A few weeks had passed since Dalamud’s fall and the world hadn’t come to an end after all. That night as the dust started to settle and worried voices called out for them, they had embarrassedly untangled from their embrace and pretended nothing had happened. The oasis had remained relatively unharmed by the catastrophe and so all things had quickly returned back to normal. A'viloh had already began to worry that things between U'laqa and him had also returned to normal. He feared that what U'laqa had said to him that night as the two of them watched in terror as the red moon fell out of the sky had long been forgotten.

Now, as he stepped towards the springs, all he felt was nervousness. A tiny fire burnt in one of the braziers but there was no one to be seen. He looked around, but found nothing. Carefully he peaked into the shed, nothing either. Then suddenly something gripped his shoulders from behind and snarled. He shrieked and spun around only to realise that it wasn’t a monster that attacked him but just U'laqa who had pranked him.

As the other Miqo'te heard A'viloh’s surprised scream he quickly pressed a finger to his lips and gestured for him to be quiet.

"Shhh! They’re going to hear you.", he whispered and because A'viloh stared at him like he just had a heart attack he added: "I’m sorry A'vi, it was just too tempting. By Azeyma! You should have seen your face!" Then he started to laugh heartily.

A'viloh grimaced. "Haha, very funny… So you called me here to scare me to death, is that it?"

"Maybe!", Laqa answered with a cheeky glint in his golden eyes and that kind of wide amiable smile on his face that never failed to make A'viloh speechless.

Silence settled between them and for a few moments neither really knew what to say. Then U'laqa nervously ran his fingers through his bright blonde hair and his face became more serious than usual.

"No… actually I wanted to to talk to you, about… you know... what I said when Dalamud fell…"

A'viloh made an anxious face. So it was indeed how he feared. All of this had been a misunderstanding and now U'laqa wanted to take back what he said.

"I see…", he muttered disheartening.

"What’s with that gloomy face now?", he asked obliviously.

A'viloh forced a weak smile onto his face. "I understand. I know it was a weird situation, end of the world and everything. It‘s alright if you changed your mind. I really shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up…"

"What?!", the other Miqo'te exclaimed. "You thought I didn’t mean it?!"

A'viloh couldn’t believe what he heard.

"You didn’t? No, I mean: You did?"

U'laqa sighed and slowly shook his head, smiling in a way that made A'viloh think he was making fun of him. "Oh, you silly, adorable idiot…"

A'viloh still struggled to understand and just stared at the other boy in confusion.

Finally U'laqa grasped his hands and said: "I meant every word, every single one. I love you, A'vi. I loved you since the day we met."

"You do??"

U'laqa chuckled at his puzzled expression.

„I do.“

Still A'viloh couldn’t quite believe it and wondered if this was just a dream he would wake up from every second now.

After a moment U'laqa raised an eyebrow and quizzically tilted his head. "Please don‘t tell me now that you don’t like me back…"

"No!", A'viloh exclaimed. "I do too!"

When he realised what he just said his face went hot and he quickly looked down in embarrassment. Very quietly he added: "I like you very much. For a long while now actually but I never thought…"

"Shhh…", U'laqa said quietly and A'viloh instantly fell silent, as the blonde boy cupped his face in his hands and made him meet his gaze.

Then he slowly leaned down and kissed him.

[perringwrites]

For @flashfictionfridayofficial​​, thank you!

Just a short story. :) Trigger warnings for global catastrophe, death, and religion.

"This is the well where it goes." The acolyte gestured with a velvet gloved hand the hole at its feet. It was no more than that, a hole within the stone, about four feet in diameter. Inside was a slowly swirling liquid of some sort, with a bit of a purple hue.

The acolyte spoke up. "You seem disappointed."

I shrugged. "I expected something grander."

The acolyte nodded, covered head bobbing up and down. "Shall I leave you then? For privacy?"

I wanted to tell them no, that I would like company, I wanted to tell them that I was afraid. But there was no fear allowed here, and so I simply nodded.

The acolyte closed the door behind them.

I regarded the hole, the well as they had more elegantly put it, with a mild distrust. I had never been so close to a holy artifact, or even something magical. At the moment, it was harmless, or at least seemed so, simply swirling slowly by itself. I sit in front of it, criss-cross applesauce before the magic well.

"So, I heard that you can fix my problems." I heard my sister said that sometimes, prayer meant talking to something you couldn't see. I felt silly, but the advantage of being alone was that there was no one to make fun of you.

"I just. Um. I just had a few things here that I wanted to forget. I hope I'm not um. I'm not asking too much." I take out my bag, and take out the papers. They have become loose on the travel, and I realize that my hands are shaking. I hold on tight to them, my fingers making a dent on the pages. If they had gone in the hole now, it would have been all wrong. After all the time, after all that struggle.

Somewhere else in the room I hear water drip onto the stone floor. I take in a deep breath.

I pull out the first piece of paper. "This one is from Jenna. She's done really well in maths lately, and well..." I am babbling, mostly out of fear. There are twenty one of them in here, the entire class. When I asked them if there was something they wanted to forget, everyone had something to say. The trick was to get them to stick to a page.

No one had ever tried to hand over this many secrets before.

I let the paper go. It floats slowly, down into the hole. It touches the edge of the water, and is dragged by the current, as it slowly sinks, until it is nothing.

"This one is from Dima. I know that she's not the best student, but I think that she still deserves something, and that I heard that you are not one to judge..." One by one, the papers fall into the water, swept by the current, disappears into the hole. There is one page left in my hand.

"I... I wrote something down, just in case I would change my mind." My legs are begin to hurt. "Some people think you are a god. If you were, I would have asked you why all of those bad things were happening outside... You know, we’re running out of space for the bodies.” I stop myself from saying more. I remind myself I am talking to a hole.

"So, I don't know. I think it's just fair for me to keep my own secrets, and for you to keep yours."

I fold up the piece of paper into a little square and return it to my bag. "I suppose it would be just fair for me to try to come back, should the world become better again. But..." I sigh. "Just in case you didn't know what was happening out there. You might want to take a look. Just, you know. If you had the time."

When I exit the room, the acolyte is waiting outside the door.

"How did it go?" they asked.

"It went alright," I mused. "I think that praying made me feel better."

The acolyte nodded. "That's good to hear."

[sserpente]

A/N: That Hyundai ad hit different. *chuckles*

Words: 3097 Warnings: kidnapping, hostage

New York smelled pretty bad, come to think of it. You had almost forgotten the hustle and bustle of this huge city that never slept and if there was one thing you had not been missing at all after spending a few months in Morocco for work, it was the constant traffic jams.

It was hot, unbearably so. You’d been a sweating mess ever since your cab driver had picked you up at the airport and the fact that the air conditioning in the cab was broken didn’t exactly help with that. Your thighs stuck to the leather of the backseat, your forehead glistening and your make-up… well, it used to be make-up.

The cab driver seemed nice, at least and since the long snake made entirely of cars had not moved for at least an hour now, he had offered to park on the side of the road and get you both a bottle of water. Ironically, you were only a few yards away from Stark Tower.

Perhaps you shouldn’t complain about the traffic jam. Half of the city was a mess after the atrocious battle you had been fortunate enough only to have witnessed on the news on the plane. You could only hope that your tiny studio flat was still intact and quite frankly, it was short of a miracle that a cab service had actually agreed on picking you up so shortly after an almost-war—not to mention that the plane had actually landed.

You sighed, brushing a strand of hair sticking to your cheek out of your face. You were unbelievably tired—even more so knowing that you had dodged a catastrophe that would go down in history all thanks to work. Your eyes fell shut and you leaned against the car window when suddenly, the driver’s door was all but yanked open and someone who certainly did not resemble your cab driver, started the car and clutched at the steering wheel as if his life depended on it.

Your lips parted. Shackles and a muzzle, along with a blue glowing cube landed on the passenger seat with a loud clatter, followed by an annoyed groan. It was him. The man who had attempted to take over the entire planet only moments ago, he was here in this car and he was currently kidnapping you with it.

A scream escaped your lips, a mixture of shock and fear spreading in your body and fuelling the rising amount of adrenaline. It was only then the God of Mischief glanced at the rear-view mirror and spotted you there panicking—but by then, he had already stirred the car back on the road, straight towards the traffic jam.

“You… you are… Let me out! Let me out at once!” You screeched, the heat around you—along with your miserable appearance—all but forgotten. Loki rolled his eyes. Great. Another mortal.

“I am not stopping this car,” was all he said. Your eyes widened in utter shock.

“Then don’t! Fuck!” Danger was radiating off of this man like heat from an active volcano; so if necessary, you would jump out of the moving car as well. Biting your lower lip and wondering if you should go through with this risky stunt at the speed he was going, the wheels squeaking over the asphalt with every abrupt turn he took, or if that would be a suicide mission. It was probably the latter, and when you reached for the handle of the back door, it took the God of Mischief only a mere second to lock it, trapping you inside.

“Let me out! Let me out!”

“You’ll kill yourself.” Loki spat. You did not miss the patronising tone in his voice—stupid. He believed you stupid.

“And if I stay in here with you I won’t?” You retorted hysterically. And it was justified, really—for when your gaze drifted back to the road ahead of you, you could see him racing straight towards a long line of cars waiting for the traffic to clear up.

“Watch out! The other cars, watch out! Oh my God…” You screamed, squeezing your eyes shut and covering your face with your arms but the imminent crash never came. When you opened your eyes again, Loki had all but moved through the other cars as if by magic. God, what was this, Harry Potter?

With your heart in your mouth, you brought your trembling hands to your thighs and pressed down on them in a desperate attempt to fight off the panic attack rising within you like the forthcoming eruption of a volcano.

But even when you reached the suburbs, ironically moved closer to your home, and the car finally slowed down to a reasonable speed, making you wonder how a god from another realm knew how to drive a car in the first place, your dread kept growing steadily. What would happen once Loki decided he had reached his destination? What would he do with you? Would you end up as another casualty? You’d know where he was, after all, and only God knew how he had managed to escape after the Avengers reported his capture—not to mention that he was in the possession of that mysterious blue cube you were certain bore even more chaos and destruction in the wrong hands.

“I take it this vehicle is supposed to be a means of transport in exchange for payment?” He suddenly said.

“What?” You gaped at him, swallowing. “Yes! I mean, yes, it’s a taxi. That’s… I was…”

“Where do you live?”

“Excuse me? What, are you going to drop me off and expect me to tip you?”

Loki smirked. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why but he did like your feistiness. “I need a place to hide.”

“What… no! No! I am not giving shelter to a criminal!” You snarled, swallowing your fear of him—and then you made the mistake of peeking at the navigation system the taxi driver had set up next to the steering wheel, with your address on bright display to show Loki exactly where he’d have to go.

The God of Mischief tilted his head. “You don’t have much choice in the matter, my dear.”

You took a deep shaky breath, digging your nails into the backseat. If your lower lip was trembling, you didn’t notice. “P-please… please just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone where you are or where you went. Please.”

“I am not going to kill you if that is what you are worried about.” He replied after a long pause. When you said nothing, too stunned and scared to come up with another snarky comment, silence spread in the car like wildfire.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you closed your eyes, hoping that this was a bad joke, a terrible nightmare and any moment now, you would wake up safely on the plane, yet to land in half-destroyed New York City—but the end of slumber never came. You were wide awake; even more so when, after what felt like hours, Loki finally stopped the car. Of course, you had not noticed him observing you repeatedly through the rear-view mirror, almost as if to check if you were still alive.

Your eyes met and then, finally, he unlocked the doors. Only now, you did not move an inch. You had no idea what to expect if you stepped out of this car.

Naturally, Loki disagreed with your cautious decision. He yanked the car door open when he saw you frozen in place, grabbing your upper arm so fast you didn’t even have a chance to react, and all of a sudden, seeing the entrance door of the apartment building you lived in did not at all look as appealing as it had at the airport anymore.

His grip around your arm was firm but when you whined in pain, the God of Mischief actually softened it—if only a little, barely noticeable.

“Unlock the door, my dear, will you?” He inquired, smiling sweetly at you. Right beneath the surface, you could hear that there would be dire consequences if you failed to comply.

Surely at this point, he could hear your rapid heartbeat. Shaking, you fumbled for the keys in your bag until they were jingling in your palms all the while Loki watched you like a hawk. You had dismissed calling the police on your phone in the car already—for now.

Fuck, you had been kidnapped. You were about to be held hostage in your own flat, or… or… was he just going to enter and kick you out? Had he been lying about not killing you? Would he fling a dagger at you any moment now like you had seen him do on TV?

Loki followed you when you approached the door and unlocked it clumsily. One floor up and to the left. For just a brief moment, you wondered what would happen if you started screaming bloody murder, alerting your neighbours but even when you opened your mouth to attempt it, not a single sound would escape your lips.

Even a little further out and farther away from the centre of New York City, rent prices were horrendous. Your salary was not bad but your apartment was no more than a small studio equipped with a humble kitchen, a separate bathroom with a tiny shower and lastly, your double bed in the centre of the room, posing as your sofa during the day.

Loki looked around unimpressed when he entered. “Well… it will do.”

“N-now what?” You choked out.

Loki raised his eyebrows, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Right—because that was going to be so easy. He sighed and rolled his eyes when you only stared at him in horror.

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

“W-would you? You tried to subjugate our planet like ten minutes ago!”

“And for good reason too. This realm is lawless, your people slaughter each other day in and out and you feel threatened by me? I would have given you a new purpose.”

He had a point… but… “And what is that so-called purpose? Slavery?” Loki’s expression darkened, making you flinch back.

“S-sorry… I’ll… I’ll be i-in the bathroom taking a shower. Please just… I mean… whatever.” Would he stop you? Hesitating, you made your way to the bathroom, waiting for him to yank you back, press you against the wall and threaten you? Threaten you with what, exactly? Could you trust that he wouldn’t kill you? Loki felt like a ticking time bomb in your flat.

But a painful yank never came and when you locked the bathroom door behind you, you exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, trying to process the fact you had a war criminal in your home.

Once you had gathered enough energy to do what you had come to the bathroom for and, an hour later, returned to the main room, Loki was sitting on your bed cross-legged, the Tesseract right before him, glowing away.

“I roamed your ‘kitchen’”, he said without glancing up to meet your eyes, “Do you have anything edible at all?”

“I was away for a whole month.” You argued. “I haven’t done any shopping yet because I was kidnapped by a space Viking.”

Loki smirked. Amused, he finally looked up. “Well, perhaps I should take you back to Asgard with me then. I could use a diligent little servant.”

Your reaction did not disappoint him. Chuckling to himself, he slid off the bed more elegantly than you could ever muster, the Tesseract disappearing into nothingness.

“What I am trying to say is that even gods need to eat and I am, quite frankly, starving.”

“That sounds like a you-problem.” You grumbled. And then, as if on cue, your stomach growled. Damn it.

“Fine. I’ll order some pizza.”

-

Loki had all but watched you like a hawk upon calling the local pizza place. Everything inside of you had screamed to let them know about your predicament, to beg them to call the police and send them to you instead of the pizza.

But as soon as the food was delivered, the mood in your apartment changed so rapidly it left you wondering if the only reason for Loki’s world domination attempt had been his hunger. The man devoured a family-sized pizza in but what felt like two minutes and, upon realising you were done with yours, leaving three pieces in the box, he devoured those as well. And never before had you seen someone eat pizza so gracefully.

It didn’t exactly make it feel like you had been kidnapped anymore. Perhaps… perhaps he hadn’t been lying about not wanting to kill you after all. Perhaps he wasn’t as evil as you… no, stop. He had literally just tried to take over the planet!

“What are you pondering on, little mortal?”

You shivered, the nickname affecting you in a way it truly shouldn’t, especially after he had lost his armour and magically exchanged it for more casual clothes—they still looked like they were from a different time period altogether but it wasn’t nearly as intimidating as before.

“W-why did you really do it?” You found yourself asking. It was a risk—but you were feeling braver now that your stomach was full even though part of you was surprised you had managed to eat at all.

“What?”

“Why did you really try to take over the planet? Did you… do you really want to enslave us all?”

“A lack of freedom does not equal slavery. It offers protection from failure and bad choices.” He said. You frowned.

“You truly believe that?”

“You fight wars over opinions, religions and race among your own species. Your choices are suffocating the whole of Midgard. I would have changed that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

You looked down, reaching for the sweet treat that had come with your pizza to stop your fingers from trembling.

“What is that?”

“Oh, uh… those are marshmallows. This pizza place always packs them with your order, don’t ask me why.”

“What’s that?” He repeated, frowning at the plastic wrapper.

“It’s candy…”

“Well, it doesn’t look very natural.”

Woah. How had this conversation just gone from “humans should not have freedom of choice” to “marshmallows look unhealthy”?

“They’re… I mean they’re not. They’re made of pure sugar and artificial flavouring.”

“Then why do you eat them?”

“Because… because they taste good?”

Loki gave you a taunting look. See? It said. This is what I meant.

But when you opened the package and handed it to him, he took one out nonetheless. It looked tiny between his long fingers—as tiny as you must have looked next to him.

You gulped when it disappeared between his lips. When you reached out to take the package back, he snatched it away from you.

“They are quite delicious, actually.” Your jaw dropped when he popped them all into his mouth at once, winking at you. Not quite sure how to react to this, you averted your gaze, taking a feigned interest in your digital alarm clock on the nightstand instead.

It was only 5 PM but you were positively ready to pass out. Where would you even sleep tonight? Where would he sleep? Would he even sleep?

“You are tired.” He suddenly stated as if on cue. He couldn’t read your mind… right? He did have that weird cube of his, after all.

“Well, yeah… I got kidnapped, experienced a live remake of ‘Fast and Furious’ and I have a criminal in my flat.”

“I only understood half of what you just said but I can ensure you that I will not harm you when you sleep.” There it was again, that frown that almost made it look like he was offended. As if the very circumstance of him hurting an innocent for no reason other than malice insulted him.

“So by all means, retire to bed.” He went on, gesturing to the bed and eventually, standing up to make space for you. The pizza boxes disappeared in but a green shimmer of light and you watched Loki, albeit still suspicious, heading over to the small kitchen table. To be quite frank, it was the last thing you remembered.

-

Loki was gone, no trace of him left. It was as if he had never even been here. It was already past noon—the exhaustion from your flight as well as the racy car drive and last but not least, your shining time as a hostage had worn you out to the point you didn’t even remember falling asleep anymore.

You only realised now that it was your doorbell that had woken you up. Jumping out of bed and moaning when your vision turned black for a moment, you headed over to your speaker and pressed the button. Perhaps it was Loki. Perhaps he had locked himself out but then again… would he not be able to magic himself back in? Why had he insisted on you unlocking the door yesterday in the first place? You shook your head.

“Hello?”

“Hi. This is Henry, I’ve got your delivery.” A boyish voice responded.

“W-what delivery? I didn’t order anything.”

“You did, ma’am, would you come open the door, please?”

You sighed. “Fine, I’ll be down in a second.”

You had fallen asleep in your clothes from last night, so one quick glance in the mirror was all you had before you headed back down and opened the main entrance door.

The delivery boy was holding both your suitcase and a jumbo-size package of marshmallows in his hands. Big marshmallows—the bonfire kind, to be precise.

“Who…” But you knew. You knew the moment you made the connection and knew the moment you looked straight into Henry’s eyes and noticed them glowing unnaturally blue when he handed the items to you.

It had not been a dream then. Loki had really been here. You had been eating pizza with the God of Mischief and now… the gesture was almost sweet. Was that his way of saying thank you? For what? You hadn’t exactly done much except for trembling in fear.

“He instructed me to tell you that you will meet again soon.” Henry announced and then, before you even had a chance to respond, he turned on his heel, hopped back into the delivery van parked in front of the building and left. You only realised now that the Hyundai taxi was gone too.

[harrytpotter]

What’s Happening To Me? — OneShot

Plot: James Potter was starting to feel more and more overprotective towards his friend Y/N and considerably annoyed at the blatant flirting she and one of his best friends were displaying publicly and at the thought she might be falling for Sirius. What was happening to him?

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader.

Word Count: 5,9K.

A/N: I just had revised this long-ass story entirely and was pretty proud at the summary i came up with just for Tumblr to mess up with my post and erase its entire content, only leaving the title behind. Now i can’t remember the previous summary i wrote and am pissed about it. Anyways, I love writing for James and it shows. I won’t revise this again because i really am annoyed at tumblr so apologies in advance for any mistakes! :)

James tried to concentrate on Slughorn’s voice as the professor went on and on about whatever potion they were going to start working on during next week. He was really doing his best to absorb his words, but an extremely flirty pair beside him was making this task nearly impossible. He knew this was just for show since Sirius wanted to make Marlene jealous and Y/N kindly agreed to help him out, but all of this was still bothering him for some reason. Maybe it was because he knew Sirius way too well to know for sure he was enjoying this situation a little too much. Maybe it was because he cared about Y/N enough to bother if Sirius was going to end up hurting her somehow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Merlin, would you two stop? It’s getting annoying,” he hissed at Y/N and Sirius, whom had been all giggly and touchy for the entire class.

“Does it bother you to see a happy couple in love, Prongs?” Sirius teased, barely suppressing a laugh.

“I’m just trying to pay attention to class,” he mumbled annoyed, his fists clenching slightly.

“Don’t be mean to him, Sirius!” Y/N bumped her fist on his arm. “He’s bitter because Lily is still turning him down despite his best efforts,” Y/N looked at James sympathetically as if saying she was sorry for him.

James sighed heavily at the mention of Lily’s name. Sure, it did annoy him that she was still rejecting his attempts of woo her, but, if he was being quite frank, it didn’t bother or frustrate him like it used to. If anything, it just... he didn’t even know anymore. Why he was still chasing her. Why he was still trying to get her to go out with him. It was seeming more and more pointless lately. He wasn’t sure if he was still pinning after her for a purpose or solely for the challenge.

“Earth to James!” Y/N waved her hand in front of James’ eyes. “You there?”

James tilted his head a little so his best friend’s face could enter his visual field. Her y/h/c hair was loose in a messy way that suited her perfectly, matching harmonically her hypnotic y/e/c eyes. She had a natural confidence that seemed to radiate from her body and wrap every single soul in the room. She was truly effortlessly magnetic. James started feeling flustered suddenly, unbeknownst to why.

“You alright there, mate?” Sirius asked with a brow lifted, staring at him.

“Never better, Pads!” James shot a cocky grin his way, brushing off the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

James fell unusually quiet for the short rest of the class, his mind flickering between Y/N and Sirius and Lily. Everything just seemed so... out of place right now. He didn’t even notice Slughorn dismissing the class until Y/N tapped gently on his shoulder.

“Are you coming, Jamesy?” She asked, Sirius wrapping her against his chest. “Everyone else is already gone.”

“Sure...” James mumbled, still a little airy. His eyes wandered from Sirius’ tight grip around Y/N to her hand gently holding his wrist as her thumb caressed his skin lightly.

“Hurry up, Prongs! We can’t be late for lunch, I have a special surprise for my love here,” Sirius lifted Y/N’s chin gently whilst staring devilishly into her eyes.

James once again felt the same unsettling feeling he did before in the pit of his stomach when he noticed a subtle pink tone brushing through Y/N’s cheeks for a split second as she stared dumbfounded at Sirius.

“You two realize Marlene isn’t even here anymore to witness your annoying flirt, don’t you?” James asked his friends grumpily.

“Would you lighten up for Merlin’s sake, Prongs? Love is never annoying!” Sirius winked at him.

“Love might not be but you certainly are, darling,” Y/N retorted teasingly at Sirius, who took his free hand to his chest in mock offense.

“I usually grow on people, do you know that? Don’t you be so quick on biting the hand that feeds you,” he winged his brows at their amused female friend.

“You really are a complete prat, Sirius Black!” Y/N rolled her eyes with a large grin.

They were so invested on teasing each other that they had seemingly forget about James’ presence. The Gryffindor Quidditch captain spat an annoyed goodbye at his friends before storming off the classroom.

Y/N frowned and mentioned to follow James, but Sirius quickly grabbed her gently by the arm, stopping her from doing so.

“What are you doing? We have to go check on him! Haven’t you noticed how annoyed he left?” She lifted a brow at the grey-eyed boy.

“I did, indeed. But I also have noticed that he seems a little too annoyed at us lately, specially at me,” he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

“Your point? He’s probably still frustrated at his last unsuccessful attempt of wooing Lily,” Y/N sighed.

“Oh, love, believe me, this has nothing to do with Lily. I know Prongs way too well, better than he knows himself, if I may add.”

“Are you implying he’s in love with you?” Y/N exploded in a loud laugh. “Of course it has to do with Lily. It always has something to do with Lily.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes whilst a mischievous grin took over his face. Y/N did a pretty good job in hiding her annoyance when she mentioned Lily’s name, but Sirius could read his y/h/c friend like an open book. He noticed it.

“What now?” She frowned at him.

“Nothing, love. Nothing at all. Come, let’s sit by the Black Lake, shall we? It’s too much of a beautiful day to spend it locked indoors,” he winked knowingly at his friend whilst taking her by the hand, another plan taking form inside his mind.

——————————————————————

“Where are Padfoot and Y/N?” Remus asked no one in particular as he glanced around the Gryffindor table at lunch time.

“Haven’t seen them since Potions this morning,” Peter shrugged uninterested.

“They’re probably snogging somewhere,” James said bitterly, his eyes glued on his food.

Remus lifted a brow at James whilst Peter blinked his eyes in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Remus asked him with a furrowed expression.

“There’s nothing to read into it. I just meant what I said,” James shrugged, a grimace on his features as he looked at Remus and Peter.

“But Prongs...” Peter whispered as quietly as he could without being incomprehensible. “We know this between them is just for show.”

“Do we? Please, Wormy. You know Padfoot. We all do,” James said calmly. “It’s just a matter of time until they cross the line, assuming they haven’t already.”

“What if they have? It’s not like it’s any of our business,” Remus narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at the messy-haired boy.

“But it is!” James exclaimed exasperatedly. “Y/N is also our friend, why do I seem like I’m the only one who cares about her wellbeing?! Padfoot is smitten with Marlene, you know that Moony. Y/N is the one who’ll end up getting hurt amidst this craziness.”

“Y/N is a smart girl, Prongs. She’s not naive. I highly doubt she or Padfoot himself will do something as stupid as that,” Remus shrugged before taking a piece of turkey to his mouth.

James bit his tongue and returned his gaze to his nearly untouched plate. He really hoped both Y/N and Sirius were smart enough to prevent what could only be described as a catastrophe, at least in his eyes. Just the thought of his best female friend being hurt by Sirius’ reckless actions made him feel like punching something. Or, more accurately, someone.

A loud sound of giggles snapped James out of his thoughts and drove him to wander his eyes to the big doors that separated the Great from the Entrance Hall. Holding hands, Y/N and Sirius were all smiles as they entered the room and approached their table.

“You almost missed the meal,” Peter scolded them with a motherly tone.

“Worry not, my dear Wormtail! We already ate,” Sirius winked at him.

“How’s that possible? You’ve just arrived,” Remus lifted a brow at Sirius.

“We raided the kitchen,” Y/N shrugged as she took a seat next to Remus.

Sirius plunk down by Y/N’s side and wrapped her in his arms guilelessly, playing with a lock of her hair. Nothing different than his usual behavior — since he and Y/N were pretty close friends themselves — but enough to drive James off the edge.

“You alright there, mate?” Sirius asked him for the second time that day, looking even more amused then he did firstly.

James blinked at the sudden attention as his other three best friends stared at him inquisitively. He only then realized how tense his body was and the tight grip he had around his fork. His knuckles were white due to how much pressure he was putting into it. The Gryffindor boy relaxed with a couple of deep breaths before letting his fork rest by the side of his plate.

“Hey, Prongs!” Peter whispered excitedly, breaking the awkward silence that fell upon the usually-very-talkative Marauders. “Fourth person on your left... look who’s staring at you!”

James gladly allowed his focus to shift from Y/N and Sirius as he looked to where Peter had told him. He lifted his brows in surprise as he’s met by Lily’s eyes, a small and shy smile forming on her face as their eyes locked. James returned her smile, waiting for the butterflies to flutter his stomach as they always did whenever he used to have some kind of interaction with the redhead. But they didn’t come at all. Not this time.

“What the bloody hell is happening to me?” He thought to himself as he forced himself to hold Lily’s stare for what seemed like forever.

“Looks like someone is finally wooing the girl of their dreams,” Remus teased after James broke off the eye contact.

“It was about time! I don’t think I could stand another year of this pitiful chase, it was getting quite embarrassing mate,” Sirius joked, earning amused laughs from both Peter and Remus.

“Would you three stop already?” Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m happy for you, Jamesy. Don’t mind them,” she reached for his hand across the table and gave it a light squeeze. A sweet smile on her lips.

James felt his stomach leaping like crazy inside of him at her touch. He furrowed his brows at the unknown feeling, his hand lingering on hers a while too longer.

——————————————————————

“You’re staring,” Remus pointed out without taking his eyes off his book.

“I’m not!” James denied quickly. “I’m just thinking about what to write on my essay.”

“Is your essay stamped on Y/N’s and Sirius’ faces?” The boy with chocolate eyes teased.

“Don’t you think they’re spending way too much time together?” James asked as he stared at Y/N and Sirius laughing together in a distant corner inside the Common Room. Y/N’s cheeks were flustered due to how hard Sirius was making her laugh.

“Meaning?” Remus’ attention was now solely on James as he studied his friend with a quirked eyebrow.

“Meaning they’ve got other friends outside each other, you know?!” James sounded a lot more harsh than he ever planned to.

The sound of Y/N’s laugh echoed in the room once more. She sounded like a 4-year-old laughing, it was absolutely adorable and completely contagious. James couldn’t help a small smile to spread across his face. He then caught himself wishing he could make her laugh like that. His face fell suddenly as he wondered why this thought would ever cross his mind.

“If it bothers you so much why don’t you just talk to her about it?” Remus shrugged, his focus back on his book.

James reflected on his friend’s advise for a short while until his vision got red again as Sirius trailed his fingers across Y/N’s back whilst whispering something into her ear. James closed his book with a loud bang, startling Remus and other few students who sat close to them.

“Where the bloody are you going?” Remus asked as his friend got on his feet and started gathering his things.

“Somewhere I can actually study,” James mumbled before moving in the direction of the portrait hole.

James wandered aimlessly through the castle, both his mind and heart racing and pounding with questions and emotions. Was he losing his mind? He didn’t know what was happening to him, why or how it started and neither how to make it stop. Y/N didn’t seem nearly as bothered at Sirius’ blatant advances, so he shouldn’t be either, right?!

As James’ feet stopped suddenly on their own, his surroundings came into focus once again and he caught himself staring back at him in a bathroom mirror. He rested his books on top of the nearest sink and took his glasses off, throwing a quick splash of water in his face and leaning over so he could rest his hands on the basin marble.

“What’s happening to me?” He mumbled to his own reflexion.

——————————————————————

“Gather around, kids!” Slughorn said proudly in front of a cauldron as the students started arriving for the Potions class.

Y/N, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter approached the Professor and peeked curiously into the cauldron content. A mother-of-pearl sheen liquid with a spiraling steam lied inside of it. Y/N shifted uncomfortably on her feet as she instantly recognized what the potion with such an unusual shine was.

“Oh...” Sirius whispered not so quietly into her ear with an annoying teasing tone, wrapping his arm on her shoulders.

“Oh Indeed, Mr. Black,” Slughorn grinned amusedly at the raven-haired boy. “Perhaps Miss Y/L/N could tell us what this potion is?”

“Amortentia, Sir. The most powerful love potion in the world. It causes a powerful infatuation or obsession from the drinker. It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from the potion in spirals. It’s also known by its smelling properties. Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what — or should I say who — attracts them,” Y/N promptly answered the Professor’s question.

The room was dead silent as everyone stared at the cauldron with great interest after Y/N’s words. Especially the girls, whom all eyed the liquid furtively.

“Very good, Miss L/N! Ten points to Gryffindor!” Slughorn rumbled satisfied.

“That was hot,” Sirius joked, winking at Y/N.

James clenched his teeth as he stared at Sirius, feeling increasingly annoyed at the ever so blatant flirt and not hearing Slughorn asking for a volunteer to smell the potion in front of the entire class.

“Oh, Mr. Potter!” Slughorn exclaimed, dragging his attention back to the class. “Come here now, don’t be shy,” the teacher motioned for him to approach the cauldron.

Looking around, James realized the entire class stepped back and he was standing considerably afar from them. Gulping, the always-so-brave-and-carefree Gryffindor boy slowly started to walk to the cauldron, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Just go already, mate! We all know you’re gonna smell something Lily-related anyway!” Sirius shouted from behind him, earning laughs from almost the entire student body present at the class.

“I highly doubt he will,” Lily said out of the blue, making James stop suddenly on his feet and turn around to face her.

“What was that, love?” He quirked an eyebrow at her with a devilish smile. There was nothing that turned him on more than a challenge.

“I said you wouldn’t smell me. My bet is on something Quidditch-related. But I’ll tell you what, if you do smell anything that actually has something to do with me, I’ll let you take me out on a date,” Lily crossed her arms against her chest defiantly.

That was it, the moment James had been waiting for ever since he first laid his eyes on Lily. The moment he thought would be the happiest of his life. The moment that would leave him feeling over the moon of joy. But nothing of this happened. Sure, it felt satisfactory to finally achieve a long-term goal and finally convincing Lily, but that was it. Just it.

“Go on, Potter! We don’t have all day!” Someone among the Slytherin students shouted, clearly excited to see the outcome of the proposal.

James then walked to Slughorn and stood in front of the cauldron, facing his fellow Gryffindors and the Slytherin crowd.

“Now, Mr. Potter, close your eyes and take a deep breath,” Slughorn instructed as he stepped aside and left James and the cauldron all alone in the spotlight. “And then let us know what you smelled!”

James did exactly as Professor Slughorn had told him to. At first, nothing happened, and then, suddenly, a powerful wave of the most endearing and hypnotic smell enveloped him and raided all of his senses. The smell was an intoxicating mixture of patchouli, sandalwood and cranberry. His eyes widened open as he instantly recognized where he had already smelled this. It was her smell. Y/N’s signature smell.

James’ eyes searched the little crowd furiously until they landed on Y/N. She was inspecting her nails, weirdly quite interested. He wanted to shout so she could look at him. He wanted to lock eyes with her and tell her what he had just smelled. He wanted to run at her and sweep her off her feet, spin her around and tell her what had been in his heart unbeknownst to him this whole time. He now knew what was happening to him.

“Mr. Potter?” Slughorn’s voice alerted James that he and the entire class were waiting for his answer.

James nodded at the Professor and allowed his eyes to land on Y/N once again before finally answering him. However, what he witnessed made his stomach sink. Y/N was whispering something into Sirius’ ear and his left hand was clutched on her waist.

“So that’s why she wouldn’t look at me,” he thought bitterly at himself.

James’ eyes wandered to Lily, a sudden frustration invading him. The redhead looked at him expectantly, unlike Y/N, who was too immersed on Sirius to notice the longing looks he had been sending her way lately. Sighing, James made a stupid decision in the heat of the moment.

“I smell vanilla and lilies,” he announced to Slughorn, knowing very well Lily smelled like that.

When he turned around to face the class again, Y/N and Sirius were nowhere to be found. Lily on the other hand, was standing right where she was, blinking with a dumbfounded expression.

——————————————————————

“Please, Sirius, don’t make me go in there,” Y/N begged Sirius as they approached the Three Broomsticks. She knew exactly what she was going to witness once they went into the establishment.

“Come on now, Y/N! Marlene is going to be there with Alice, please?” He gave her his best puppy eyes as he implored.

“How long will we have to keep up with this?” She asked, pointing back and forth between the two of them.

“Until she admits she has the hots for me,” he winked at his best friend, who simply rolled her eyes at him.

When they entered the pub, their eyes instantly fell on the table where a certain couple was having their first date. Sirius squeezed Y/N’s hand as he noticed her gaze lingering on James’ back.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” She mumbled, pulling Sirius by the hand to a distant table where Remus, Peter, Alice and Marlene sat chatting happily.

“Finally! Where the two of you were?” Remus exclaimed as Y/N and Sirius approached them.

“We were a little... busy, Moony,” Sirius winked suggestively at his friends. “Seems like I’m simply irresistible to my sunshine here.”

Marlene rolled her eyes at them, clearly beyond annoyed at Y/N’s and Sirius’ presence.

“Y/N, tell me, how can you possibly tolerate him, darling?” Remus teased as he noticed Marlene’s annoyance and Sirius’ proud grin.

“I usually keep my lips on his for as long as I can so he can’t speak. That’s the key,” Y/N shrugged, getting into character.

Remus, Peter, Alice and even Marlene laughed at Sirius’ shocked expression at Y/N’s comeback. She forced herself to laugh as well even though she was feeling everything but joy right now.

Stealing a glance in James’ direction, their eyes locked for a while before he drove his attention back to Lily and Y/N felt the sudden need of fresh air.

“I have to use the loo. Be right back,” Y/N mumbled at her friends whilst getting up.

The chit-chat ceased quickly as three of the Marauders and the two girls observed the y/h/c girl shy away from them.

“So, how’s our plan going, babe?” Marlene asked excitedly to Sirius as soon as they couldn’t see Y/N anymore, linking her arm in his.

Before Sirius could say anything, Remus cut him off asking with a much shocked tone of voice: “What plan are you two talking about? Didn’t Marlene despised you like you told us when you’ve asked Y/N for help to make her jealous? Why is she calling you babe? What is going on here?”

“Hold your wolves, would ya Moony? We’ll explain everything,” Sirius grinned. “I did tell Y/N that but Marlene and I had already been sneaking around unbeknownst to general knowledge.”

“Was that supposed to enlighten me?” Remus quirked a brow at him.

“Let me explain, for Merlin’s sake!” Marlene lifted a hand in front of Sirius as he opened his mouth to start talking. “We were snogging in an empty classroom under James’ invisibility cloak this one time when he and Y/N suddenly sneaked in as they ran away from Filch-“

-

“Oh, Sirius,” Marlene mumbled pleasantly at the raven-haired boy who was brushing his lips against her neck teasingly.

“Do you like that?” He asked softly.

“Ye-Yeah,” she muttered in response amidst a heavy sigh.

The couple was suddenly startled as the classroom door clicked open and was quickly closed again with an explosion of giggles. They quickly parted as they stared confusedly at Y/N and James, whom were out of breath and leant against the dark and old rock-wall, hands clutched together.

“Merlin, did you see Filch’s face?” James asked with a laugh.

“I honestly thought he’d spit fire,” Y/N answered with a snore, her face completely flustered from all the running.

James stared at his friend in a comfort silent for quite some time, as if he was engraving her every feature in his mind. “Godric, you’re beautiful.”

Sirius gasped at his friend’s words. Marlene’s mouth fell open.

It was only when Y/N’s eyes widened that James realized he had said that out loud.

“I-I mean, you’re quite alright for a girl and everything, mate,” he added quickly, making even more of a fool out of himself.

“Yeah... thanks, mate,” Y/N answered with a furrowed expression. She was clearly embarrassed as well. “We should probably get going before Filch comes back. Where did you leave your bloody cloak anyway?”

“I’m not sure, I couldn’t find it anywhere. Sirius must’ve borrowed it,” he shrugged, opening the door and checking the outside surroundings for any sign of Filch. “Let’s go!” He grabbed Y/N by the hand and led her out of the classroom, closing the door behind them.

“Did he just say what I heard?” Sirius checked with Marlene just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating as he tossed the invisibility cloak on the floor.

“He actually did,” she answered, a little shocked herself. “Not that it was surprising in any way, I mean, it‘s quite obvious he has it bad for her, I just didn’t think he’d ever notice, he pinning after Lily and everything,” Marlene shrugged.

“I don’t think he reckoned his feelings just yet, James can be a bit of a thick-head sometimes.”

“A bit? And just sometimes? The lad has been chasing after the same girl - who wants nothing to do with him if I may add - for almost six whole years. He definitely is a big time thick-head,” Marlene quirked a brow at Sirius.

“You’re right...” he mumbled thoughtfully. “We have to do something, they’ve got too much pride to ever admit their feelings for each other.”

Marlene shot him a grin as the perfect idea crossed her mind, “have you told anyone about us?”

“Not yet.”

“Good, here’s what we’re going to do...” Marlene started to explain him how he’d tell everyone she didn’t want anything to do with him and then ask for Y/N’s help to make her jealous in front of all of his friends. She made sure to let him know he was supposed to flirt hard with Y/N when James was around.

-

“Did you really have to make the beginning so... graphic?” Alice asked with a grimace once Marlene had told them the entire story.

“Agreed!” Remus quirked his brows at the secret couple. “But I have to say, this idea was quite... clever.”

“It really was,” Peter nodded excitedly. “Padfoot definitely stroke a nerve by flirting with Y/N in front of Prongs.”

“And so did Lily by pretending she was finally interested in him,” Marlene smiled proudly at herself.

“Wait... what?” Sirius looked utterly shocked as he asked her.

“Yeah, sorry about that, but I thought it’d look more... realistic if you didn’t know that. You care about Y/N, you wouldn’t bare seeing her hurt without letting her know the truth,” Marlene shrugged at her boyfriend.

“Woman... you are the love of my life,” Sirius grinned devilishly at her, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.

-

“That prick...” James mumbled at himself as he clenched his fists at the sight of Sirius flirting and touching Marlene. Didn’t he have no respect for Y/N? He literally just waited until she turned her back to be a complete prat.

“What?” A bored Lily asked.

James realized he had been staring at their friends table basically ever since Y/N and Sirius first showed up, leaving Lily hanging. But, truth be told, the date sucked even before that. He and Lily had zero chemistry, zero common ground, zero... everything. They definitely didn’t belong together.

“Look Evans...” he started after a heavy sigh, looking for the right words.

“This date sucks,” Lily completed as she shrugged in relief. “I know.”

“Well, I’d probably be way more gentle than that, but... that’s what I was trying to say,” he laughed.

“You didn’t smell vanilla and lilies when you inhaled Amortentia, did you?” She quirked a brow at him.

“No...” he furrowed apologetically. “I smelled patchouli, sandalwood and cranberry. As in-“

“Y/N’s artisanal perfume,” she cut him off with a smirk. “Why did you lie you idiot?”

“In my defense, I was gonna tell the truth but then... I saw her and Sirius flirting and, well, you know what I did,” he shrugged.

“Your stupidness never fails to amaze me, Potter,” Lily rolled her eyes at the hazel-eyed boy. “Sirius would never get himself involved with a girl his best mate fancied.”

“Please, he could never know I fancy Y/N,” he furrowed his brows in disbelief. “I’ve only realized it myself a couple days ago.”

“Potter, you oblivious daft, everyone knows you have it bad for her for ages and the other way around,” she rolled her eyes at him once again.

“Are you saying-“

“That the entire school already realized you both long for each other? Yes. Now, let’s go,” Lily stood up and motioned with her head for him to follow her.

“Where are we going?” He asked confused.

“You are going to tell Y/N what Amortentia really smelled like to you and I am going to watch it alongside all of our friends and tease the two of you later,” she said as if it was obvious whilst they crossed the pub.

-

“He admitted his feelings towards Y/N out loud,” Lily announced amused as they approached their friends, taking Y/N’s vacant seat.

“Bloody finally!” Sirius and Remus shouted in unison as they both lifted their glasses in mock celebration.

“I have to say I thought I’d have to kiss her in front of you so your blind self would finally realize your own damn feelings,” Sirius grinned amused at James.

“Please, this is Prongs we’re talking about! He’d probably punch you in the face and still not have a clue as to why he was so angry at the whole situation,” Remus teased with a smirk.

“Sod off, would you?” James flashed his middle finger at them, his eyes scanning the entire place. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She said she was going to use the loo, let me go look for her,” Alice answered James with an excited smile.

James stood there full of hope whilst Alice went looking for Y/N, his heart pounding against his chest and his hands sweating as he thought about finally telling her how he felt.

Alice reappeared again a few minutes later, but there was no sign of Y/N as she walked back to their table.

“She wasn’t there,” she told James, a furrowed expression on her face.

“Where the bloody hell can she possibly be?” Sirius asked with a confused look.

“The castle...” James mumbled at himself before taking off hurriedly.

Marlene stood up as quickly as she could and mentioned to run after James.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked with a scrunched face.

“Well, I’m definitely not gonna miss the pathetic scene of him finally confessing his feelings to our Y/N, will you?” She quirked an eyebrow.

The little crowd exchanged looks among them before getting up recklessly and take off on James’ trail.

——————————————————————

“How do I do that? How do I tell her I have feelings for her after saying in front of the entire class I smelled lilies as I inhaled Amortentia?” James asked breathlessly as he stopped suddenly in front of the Fat Lady portrait, turning on his heels so he could face his friends.

“Preferable with your mouth, although I suppose you could use your hands as well, you know, to make it more... intimate,” Sirius suggested with a devilishly grin, winging his eyebrows.

“Merlin. I don’t even know what to say about... that,” Lily looked disgusted at Sirius, turning to James afterwards. “Just... do something meaningful for the both of you. Use something that the two of you have in common to make it special. I’m sure it’ll earn you extra points.”

“I’m with Evans on this one,” Remus shrugged. “Sorry, Padfoot.”

They kept throwing suggestions at him, but James wasn’t paying attention anymore. Lily’s words were hammering inside his head as he was thinking about what to do. And then, suddenly, as if it was magic, a brilliant idea popped inside his mind.

“Fat Lady, has Y/N came in already?” James asked the portrait that guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor tower.

“Yes, Potter, she came in a while ago in fact. She didn’t have the best of looks on her face if I may add, I’m assuming she went straight upstairs to her dormitory,” the portrait answered promptly, gladly giving away the juicy details in hopes to gossip a little bit.

“Perfect!” James grinned at the painting. “Thanks, love!” He shouted before running through the hallway.

“Should we follow him?” Peter asked Remus and Sirius.

“What if he comes back?” Sirius shrugged.

“I don’t think he will,” Lily smiled, realizing what he was about to do.

“Mind sharing the why?” Marlene quirked a brow at her.

“Think about it. What’s the one thing they both equally love fiercely?” Lily asked the little crowd with a grin. “Despite each other, of course.”

“Quidditch...” Remus answered slowly, realizing James’ intentions as well.

Before anyone could say anything, James came back and flew by them on his broom, a large grin on his face, “well? Are you lot coming or what?”

Taking off as fast as he could and with his friends on his trail, James flew around the hallways of the castle in the direction of the sloping lawns in the school grounds.

As James proceeded on his flying, he started to draw more and more curious students returning from the Hogsmeade trip, that way, by the time he had approached the exterior walls of the Gryffindor Tower, he had quite a crowd standing underneath him.

Touching the ground slightly, James gathered a few little pieces of rocks and hopped on his broom again, flying up until he reached the same level of the girls dorm’s window.

Before James could execute his plan, a loud shout from Minerva McGonagall startled him.

“James Potter, get off this broom immediately!”

Before James could answer and beg for her to let him do what he had come here to in the first place, the window cracked open. As his eyes shot in the direction of the sound, James spotted an utterly confused Y/N staring at him.

“James what the bloody hell are you doing?” She asked with a frown.

“Well, I was planning on throwing these rocks softly at your window until you opened them up, but I guess there’s no point in doing so now,” he shrugged, showing her the rocks he had clutched into his palm.

“And why would you do that?” She giggled at him, causing butterflies to flutter inside James’ stomach.

“Because I have something rather important to discuss with you, love,” he grinned.

“Why didn’t you just shout my name from the Common Room then, you mental?” She quirked her eyebrows.

“‘m afraid that wouldn’t be as nearly as romantic.”

“Romantic? What are you talking about?” She asked, a disrupted look on her face. “James, what’s going on here?”

“POTTER!” McGonagall shouted once again.

“Could you give a smitten boy a second to confess his feelings for Merlin’s sake, Minnie?” He shouted with a wink at the Professor.

“Well... I suppose I can,” she shrugged with a discreet side smirk. “And Potter?”

“Yes, Minnie?”

“Glad to see you finally build up the courage,” she smiled at the dumbfounded look the boy gave her.

Y/N was still staring at James in shock as he drove his attention back to her.

“So...” she said.

“I lied at the Potions class last week,” he said out of the blue, gliding trough the air.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I didn’t smell lilies or vanilla when I inhaled Amortentia.”

“And what did you smell?” Y/N asked and James could notice she was holding her breath back.

“Home,” the messy-haired boy answered with a gentle smile, his hazel eyes lingering on Y/N’s. “And it smelled like patchouli, sandalwood and cranberries.”

Slowly realizing he was describing her scents, Y/N’s cheeks heated up furiously as she stared at the boy she has been fancying for so long, her eyes widened in shock.

“James is this one of your jokes? If it is, I swear to Godric-“

“No, love. I’d never joke about something like that. I’d never do something like that to you,” he smiled gently. “I’m in love with you, madly in love with you. I have been for years. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”

“In that case, would you get off this broom already so I can kiss you?” Y/N said with a lovingly frown.

“Gladly!” James’ face lit up as he hurriedly closed the space between his broom and the window, hopping inside the girl’s dorm.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Y/N shook her head with a smile.

“About you? Definitely!” James grabbed Y/N by her waist and crashed his lips into her, finally tasting what true happiness was like.

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

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

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

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

Something about last summer sucked. 

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

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

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

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

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

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

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

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

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in love with you.”

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

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

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

“Me too.”

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

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that would be me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Some things never change, you suppose. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

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

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

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

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

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

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

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

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

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?”

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

“Is this your first year at camp?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

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

You want to be honest?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Try what?”

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

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

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

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

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

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

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

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

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

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

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

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

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s getting easier. 

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

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

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He means that part, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

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

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

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

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

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

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. 

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

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

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

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

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do? That is news to you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It can’t be. 

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place will never not remind you of him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you want to do.”

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

You nod. “Five minutes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Needed for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

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

You didn’t know that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

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

(Can it be?)

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

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

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

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

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

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No matter what, that will never change. 

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

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

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

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

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

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

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

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

“Send what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anytime,” he promises. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re next, right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

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

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

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

And you know that you two will be alright. 

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

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

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

[froggie-recs-fics]

Fic Roundup (up to 9/26/21)

I'm gonna start collecting fics I've read recently to recommend them, because making trope lists takes too long and many fics fall by the wayside. Let me know if you like this new format!

The fandoms in this list are as follows: Marvel (SamBucky, HTP, SpideyPool, WinterHawk, WinterIron, Stony, Stucky, SpiderShield), DCU (Bane/Blake), Inception (Arthur/Eames), Teen Wolf (Sterek).

A * signifies a particular favorite (though I love all these fics)

Marvel

Sam/Bucky

double back by flowermasters (E, 12K, Post-Endgame, Time Loop, Time Travel)

Sam gets stuck in a time loop. In 1943.

Things could be worse, but they could certainly be better.

Companion piece here: quick time

I'll explain everything to the geese by napricot (Post-Endgame, E, 50K, Sam can talk to birds)

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Rumlow/Bucky

**blueprints for a better world series by itallstartedwithdefenestration @astralhux (CATWS, Post-CATWS, Noncon, E, 115K, Dark Main Character)

When Pierce discovers the asset is no longer capable of getting himself hard during recreational use, he tells Rumlow to figure out what the problem is, and to fix it. The solution turns out to be more complicated than anyone expected.

I can't recommend this series enough

Peter/Wade

*Dead Men Walking series by doctorestranged @lazystrawberrymilkshakes (E, 235K, Identity Porn, Slow Burn)

When a series of murders take place, Peter Parker goes undercover in Sister Margaret’s to get intel on Tony Stark’s prime suspect: Deadpool. Peter goes in hoping to get enough information so that Spider-Man can save the day, but like everything in Peter’s life, it becomes a bit more complicated than that and it soon becomes apparent that he might not be the best fit for the job.

All About Chemistry by TwiceBakedPotato @sedatedkoala (No Powers AU, M, CNTW, 74K, Teacher-Student Relationship, Slow Build)

After serving his 20 years in the Marine Corps, Wade Wilson is cashing in his GI Bill and going back to college. He feels like the old man on campus, but that doesn't matter. He likes his classes. He likes learning. And he especially likes his Chemistry professor with the messy brown hair.

Clint/Bucky

Making Me A Habit by Kangofu_CB @kangofu-cb (No Powers AU, T, 20K, Pet Store, Slow Burn, Pining, Misunderstandings)

Bucky is a disabled vet struggling with reintegrating into civilian life. He has a routine and a rhythm, and he doesn't like to let anything - big or small - disrupt it. That all changes the day Bucky finds himself inside CATastrophe, the local pet rescue, recovering from a panic attack in the back room of the shop.

He’s used to walking by the place, not visiting, but the next thing Bucky knows, he’s hanging signs and being used as a climbing tree for a bunch of freshly-acquired kittens. And he just...keeps going back. First for the kittens, then for the disaster shop owner who rescues actual kittens from actual trees and teaches archery as a side-gig, and eventually because he’s hopelessly in love.

(Clint was in love before Bucky ever walked in the door.)

*Nameless by AvaKelly (Post-CATWS, M, 101K, Time Travel, Time Loop, Slow Burn)

A gun is pointed at him before he can even move from his position, the Soldier's metal arm steady in its aim. Clint sighs.

"Nemo," Clint says. "It's tattooed on your wrist, right here," he lifts his right hand and taps his left index finger where his palm ends.

The Soldier's eyes widen. "How do you know this?"

"I put it there."

Glitter, G-Strings and Other Mission Hazards by flawedamythyst @flawedamythyst (T, 16K, Undercover, Stripper Clint)

“Which is why you need me to shake my booty for cash,” said Clint.

“Precisely,” said Coulson. “You’re the only agent we have who wouldn’t need additional training in the skills of an exotic dancer to take on the mission, and we want to get someone in there as soon as possible.”

Clint nodded, shutting the file. “Okay, awesome. I’ll dig out my sequined g-string.”

“You’ll have full access to requisition any costumes you might need,” said Coulson.

A mission requires Bucky to be Clint's back-up as he goes undercover as a stripper, which gets more difficult with every new costume he comes out in.

Paternal Error by EVVS @skylarkevanson (Post-CATWS, T, 33K, Kid Fic, Established Relationship)

Bucky has never once thought of being a parent. Not since the Winter Solider happened.

Until he falls in love with Clint Barton. And that idiot just keeps collecting children for his flock.

Now Bucky has to pretend like he's good at parenting.

Bucky/Tony

Forms of Love by bear_bell (Post-CACW, E, 33K, Split Personalities)

Months after the Avengers' dispute in Germany, the team returns to the US and moves back into the tower. As always, everyone pretends that nothing happened. Tony is just fine with this. He's used to pretending, and he'll be damned if he lets any of them see him flinch.

Tony's the bad guy, after all. He's used to it. He's fine with it. He's good at it.

Only now, there's something far worse loitering around the tower - The Winter Soldier. No one notices the guy at first, but when they do, Tony figures that he should have the soldier's back.

Birds of a feather should flock together, and the bad guys should start a book club.

Steve/Tony

While You Were Sleeping by betheflame @betheflame (No Powers AU, M, 65K, While You Were Sleeping AU)

It's been years since Steve Grant Rogers Drysdale has spoken to his twin, Ransom. So it was quite a shock when he was summoned to a hospital and found out that Ransom was in a coma.

Even more shocking? That Ransom is engaged. To Tony Stark.

Steve/Bucky

The Road Goes Ever On And On by PipGraham (Omegaverse AU, M, Noncon, Graphic Violence, 20K, Road Trip, Pre-Serum Steve, Past Domestic Violence)

When Brock's continued domestic abuse puts not only Steve's life in danger, but also that of his unborn pup, he flees into the night with just a small backpack of clothes and almost no money to his name.

Steve quickly runs into trouble as he tries to embark on a 3-day cross-country bus journey back home to New York City.

He meets a kind veteran when he most needs a helping hand.

Just Words by LadyRazzle (crimegimp) @ladyrazzle (Pre-CATFA, Soulmate AU, T, 2K, Fluff)

Inspired by that now legendary post: "soulmate AU where you wake up on your 18th birthday with the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body so you’ll know them when you meet them." Well what if they appear the moment you turn 18, rather than just the day? And what if by the time you turn 18, you'd already fallen in love?

Bucky wasn’t eager to discover what the words said. He already knew what he wanted them to say. He always had.

Peter/Steve

Forgetting It's There by spinstitcher (stygian) (NR, 8K, Crack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn)

“You’re Captain America,” he blurts out.

“What?” says Captain America, looking a little wide-eyed. He casts a nervous glance at the girl at the counter – he has nothing to worry about there, she’s rocking out to her iPod and could care less what they’re talking about – and says, “No, uh, Steve, it’s just, I’m Steve.”

“Right,” says Peter, and then because his brain-to-mouth filter had apparently been completely destroyed in the fight on Oscorp Tower: “Hey, your butt really is as tight as it looks on TV.”

DCU

Bane/Blake

7 Deadly Ass(as)sins by teacuphuman @teacuphuman09 (AU, E, 23K, BDSM)

Bane and Barsad own a sex shop and John needs a job.

Straws by Menirva (Bane/Blake/Barsad, AU, E, 38K, BDSM)

John works in a smoothie shop.

He has a knack, a second sense if you will, for being able to look at a person and know what they're going to order. It's not the most spectacular gift in the world but he likes being able to figure people out and he's never wrong.

Except for this scruffy asshole who is clearly just ordering the wrong thing to fuck with him.

How is he even finishing an extra-large?

Inception

Aurthur/Eames

Rough Trade by Whisky (whiskyrunner) @whiskyrunner (AU, E, 23K, Internalized Homophobia)

Arthur is an investment banker. He is professional and efficient. He's a halfway decent cook. He's totally independent and has been since the age of eighteen. Maybe he's tired all the time because he works about ninety hours a week which is twice what normal people do, but he's rich and he's competent at his job. He's almost thirty, and already a success.

And there are some things Arthur is not. For instance: Arthur is not gay.

Lucky by earlgreytea68 @earlgreytea68 (M, 37K, Kid fic)

Arthur finds a baby.

Teen Wolf

Stiles/Derek

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress (Omegaverse AU, E, 112K, Secret Relationship, Enemies to Lovers kinda)

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?”

The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.”

Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Cornerstone by Vendelin (Human AU, E, 83K, Marine Derek, Blind Stiles, Friends to Lovers)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach (AU, Graphic Violence, E, 76K, Captivity, Feral Derek)

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf." An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

The Payoff Pitch by Leslie_Knope (Sports AU, E, 83K, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers)

Derek is on the cusp of his second season with the LA Dodgers, and as the reigning runner-up Rookie of the Year, the pressure’s on him to become the team’s star pitcher and lead them to the playoffs for the first time in five years. He’s trying to deal with the burden of expectations and really has zero desire to spend any extra time or energy on anything that isn’t baseball.

But then he meets Stiles.

[violetlilysunshine]

No More Secrets

Boyfriend Harry Holland x Actress Reader

Summary: Harry finds out about a history between you and Tom, making him doubt himself and your relationship.

WC: 2,486

Warnings: a little bit angsty, kinda sad for a second, swearing, mentions of sex, mostly fluff 

A/N: I like to put the “keep reading” bar on all my posts (not just 18+) because I prefer it that way on mobile, if y’all don’t like it, let me know!!

MASTERLIST

Somehow, Harry had convinced you to go on a camping trip with Tom, Sam, and Harrison. You, not being the outdoorsy type because bugs, agreed and now here you were in the woods trying to set up a tent with Harrison. 

“No, it goes this way, Y/N,” Harrison barked at you in exasperation. 

“Well, that’s not what the picture looks like, Harrison,” you sassed back. 

“Well, I don’t care what the picture looks like!” he argued back before Harry came over to help you out.

“Why don’t you go help Tom unload the kitchen stuff, darling, and I’ll handle this,” he spoke against your ear, gently wrapping his arms around your waist and placing a short kiss to your temple. 

“Yeah, alright,” you answered breathily, slipping out of his grasp and walking back towards the cars.

“Alright, how do we do this?” Harry questioned Harrison.

“Mate, I have no idea, she was the only one reading the directions,” he answered. 

“Then why were you yelling at her!?”

“Because I’m sure my way will work just fine!”

“Well, she knows what she’s doing! She’s always right!”

“Just because she’s your girlfriend, mate, doesn’t mean she’s always right.”

Harry glanced down at the instruction manual laying on the ground at his feet, then glanced back at the tent in his hands. “Well, in this case she was,” he said shoving the manual in Harrison’s face before pulling the poles out of the tent to start over. 

“Ugh,” Harrison groaned, “this is going to take forever!” 

~~~~~~~~~

After dinner, so graciously cooked by Sam, you were gathered around the fire pit, under the stars. You were cuddled in Harry’s lap, sharing a blanket while everyone else was situated in their own chairs; yours had become the snack chair - featuring the s’mores supplies. 

You were all slightly tipsy, having cleared through the single case of beer you’d packed. The boys were arguing about who would have to go into town the next day to get more, not that you cared. You were content being sober, never having been a big drinker.

Harry wasn’t paying much mind to the conversation either. Instead he was focused on your fingers tracing patterns on his thigh, your hair tied up in a bun to avoid a marshmallow-chocolate catastrophe, and the way the firelight lit up your cheeks. 

You glanced down at him sweetly, feeling his eyes lingering on you. You breathed deeply before asking, “what’s up, bub?” 

“Nothing, babe, just looking at you,” he answered.

“Like what you see?” you asked cheekily, chuckling lightly.

“Oh yeah,” he answered quickly, “how did I ever get a girl like you?”

“I don’t know, Holland,” you answered, laughing breathily once more and planting a kiss on his lips.

“Would you two knock it off?” Harrison groaned from across the fire, “no one wants to see that!”

You pulled back and chuckled, slightly embarrassed because you weren’t used to attention like this. You’d hardly spent time with these boys as a group, mainly opting for solo-time with Harry.  

“Oh leave ‘em alone,” Tom answered quickly, “I think it’s cute.” 

“Yeah, only because you didn’t want her,” Harrison grumbled out, much louder than he’d anticipated. 

“What?” Harry piped up quickly. 

“Oh no,” Sam sighed, knowing the full story, and the secret you’d vowed to keep from Harry.

You had met Tom on a red carpet once upon a time, greeting him quickly before being ushered off to the next interview. You didn’t think anything would come of it, but hoped that you’d cross paths again another day. To your delight, you did on your next project. 

You ended up filming a small movie with the Russo Brothers and Tom came to set for a few days to visit them. The two of you “reconnected” and ended up getting on pretty well, hanging out casually while he was around.

The night before he left, the two of you had a night in at your apartment; you had take out together and watched a movie, during which you had gravitated closer together. You were talking a little and felt the smallest spark in the room. The two of you were looking at each other, a pause settled in the conversation. He glanced down at your lips, and you at his. In this moment, you silently agreed that you wanted to try something more. He leaned in and pressed a sweet, short kiss to your lips. You didn’t feel anything and neither did he. He pulled away and let out a breath. The both of you agreed that it didn’t feel like anything; not that it was a bad kiss, but it didn’t set either of your hearts on fire. 

After that you agreed to stay friends, keeping things simple, and nothing more ever came of it. You didn’t know that he’d told any of his friends, as you’d never told anyone yourself. If you were ever asked about your relationship with Tom, you always said something along the lines of, “it’s just not like that.”

A few months later, you and Tom ended up in Atlanta; he was filming Spider-Man and you were working on another project. This time he had Harry with him, who you got to meet. Instantly, something sparked between the two of you. You ended up hanging with Harry a lot on this trip; the two of you found ways to be alone together, even if you’d started the night out as a group with other friends.

Quickly, you and Harry built a relationship; everything with him felt easy, comfortable, harmonious. One night, you were bar hopping with the gang, Harry and you leading the pack, and Harry kept bumping his arm against yours. You got the hint, and let him tangle your fingers together, very much like the Far From Home airport scene with Peter and MJ. Things progressed from there with more time being spent together and quite a few dates. A few weeks later, you slipped up introducing him to one of your friends, calling him your boyfriend when you’d hadn’t had that talk yet; but he was smooth, instantly reaching his hand out saying, “yeah, I’m her boyfriend, nice to meet you,” before winking at you and cooling the blush rising to your cheeks.

Now here you were a year later, and your secret from oh so long ago was about to come out. You wanted to tell him about your kiss with Tom, but didn’t want to hurt him or make him doubtful of your relationship, so you let it slide. Not worrying about it and just letting life happen.

You immediately looked at Tom, knowing what Harrison was referring to, now also knowing that Tom had told people. You weren’t mad at him for this, but obviously everyone knew that Harry didn’t know, and should’ve been keeping their mouths shut.

Harry had always been a little beaten down; he felt he was living in Tom’s shadow and thought that girls wanted Tom more than him. Meeting you was different, you seemed to see him. He never thought that you and Tom might’ve had something before he came along.

Silence passed between you all, no one willing to break the tension except Harry.

“What did you say, Harrison?” 

“Nothing, I didn’t mean anything,” Harrison quickly stuttered out.

“No, you said that Tom didn’t want Y/N. What does that mean?” He questioned, looking at Tom first and then up at you.

You blinked quickly, eyes locked with Tom, urging him to speak. Thankfully he got the message, “Y/N and I sort of kissed once. It was nothing, just a peck.”

“You..... you what?” Harry asked, his face falling as you turned to look at him quickly. You pressed your hands to his cheeks trying to make him listen to your explanation as you began to sputter, “it was nothing,” and, “it didn’t mean anything.”

Harry nudged you off of his lap and stood up before stalking off to your shared tent.

You looked over at Tom, to which he quickly whispered a “sorry,” his face softening at you as well, before you locked eyes with Harrison sternly. 

“What the fuck was that about?” You seethed at him. He knew he messed up and he was genuinely sorry, but right now in this moment there was no fixing it with you so he chose not to say anything at all. His eyes looked remorseful; deep down you knew he was sorry and that he wouldn’t do anything to break up you and Harry, but he had really messed up. 

You turned around and began to walk slowly to the tent, wanting to give Harry a little time to cool off before you tried to explain. When you made it to the entrance, you slowly unzipped it and found him laying on top of the sleeping bag with his arm thrown over his eyes.

“Bubba?” you asked quietly, not wanting to push him too far, but desperately wanting him to speak to you. 

He sighed deeply. You knew he’d heard you and that he was processing, so you sat down next to him quietly, waiting for him to come to you. Tears started to well up in your eyes because you hated hurting him and you didn’t want to lose him. 

He slowly sat up and removed his arm from his face. He turned towards you and looked into your bloodshot eyes; his were red too and he already had streaks of tears down his cheeks. 

“Yes, darling?” He asked; he wanted to hear what you had to say. He didn’t want to lead the conversation yet, hell, he wasn’t sure he was even ready to have it. 

“Bubba, it didn’t mean anything. I promise. It was so long ago,” you breathed out, not really knowing where to start. You’d been so focused on him that you didn’t think about what you were going to say.

“What happened exactly?” he asked lowly, wanting to know the whole story. 

“Well, he visited the Russo Brothers on our set and we hung out and then thought maybe we could be more and kissed once. It didn’t even last a second and it didn’t feel like anything and I don’t want him at all. He doesn’t want me. We agreed that it was nothing and I didn’t even know that Harrison and Sam knew and I’m so so sorry I didn’t tell you. I know how much it hurts to find out this way,” you quickly rambled out. 

“When?” 

“A long time ago. Before Atlanta. Before we met,” you stuttered out.

He looked up at the roof of the tent, breathing deeply. He felt like sloppy seconds. 

“You couldn’t land him, so you came to me?” he spoke into the sky.

“Not at all,” you hurried out as you clambered over to him and straddled his lap, grabbing his cheeks and bringing his face down to meet yours, “I don't want him. There’s nothing between us, we’re just friends, you know that.” 

You paused, giving him time to add something if he wanted. You breathed for a few seconds before continuing, “I know that you feel like you live in his shadow, but trust me when I say that when I saw you, my world shined a little brighter. You’re not in the shadow with me at all, baby,” you whispered to him, both of you now crying heavily.

You peppered little kisses on his chin as you continued, “I looked past Tom and saw you, Harry. It’s always been you,” your voice breaking. 

“But you could have had him, why would you ever want me?” He questioned insecurely.

“Because you’re you, bub. You’re different people. You see me as I am. You appreciate me. You’re an incredible person with the kindest heart. You’re an amazing human being. You care for people so much. You’re an amazing photographer and you’re gong to make an amazing director someday. Hell, you already are with Roses for Lily,” you breathed quickly, squeezing his cheeks a little tighter, trying to make him believe you. “God, Har, I love you so much, it hurts,” you added before thinking.

You pulled away quickly, your tears stopping and eyes widening immediately. His widened as well, neither of you had said that yet.

Your brain kicked into high gear, immediately trying to talk your way out of it, but no words were coming to your mind so you were left stuttering a series of “um,” and “I didn’t mean to say that” and “what I meant was,” before he cut you off.

“I love you, too,” he said simply. 

“Yeah?” you breathed out.

“Yeah,” he said before gently grabbing your waist and pulling you forward to connect your lips. 

After separating after a few seconds, you asked him, “does this mean we’re okay?”

“Yeah, love, we’re okay,” he answered, calling you ‘love’ for the first time. Your heart beat a little faster at that before he added, “I just wish you would’ve told me sooner.”

“I wanted to, babe, but I didn’t want to hurt you, especially when it was nothing.”

“I understand that, darling,” he breathed out, “but no more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” you answered before kissing him again.

He poured his whole heart into the kiss, wanting to show you just how much he loves you. Your tongues tangled for a while before he started to tug at your hips a little harder, trying to grind up into you. You felt him beginning to get hard and pulled back chuckling.

“I am not having sex with your brothers and best friend sitting right there.”

“They’re pretty far away, love,” he laughed, trying to pull you in with his charm, “I don’t think they’ll hear, but if they do, they’ll really know you’re mine,” he added peppering kisses down your neck and sucking on your sweet spot just above your collar bone. 

“Harrrrrrrrry,” you laughed out, pushing him away from your neck and pulling his face up to yours to plant a quick kiss on him, “no.”

“Later?” he asked cheekily, quirking up an eyebrow and smiling at you.

“Maybe, bubba,” you answer slowly, “if you’re lucky, very late tonight after we’re - and by we’re I mean I’m - sure everyone is asleep we can maybe go have sex in the car where no one will hear us.” 

He plants a kiss on the corner of your mouth before saying, “man I can’t wait for them to go to sleep tonight,” with a laugh and a final kiss to your lips. 

“C’mon tiger,” you say standing up and dragging him with you back to the group. 

“All better?” Tom asks quickly once the two of you came into view. He glances down at your entwined hands before smiling.

“All better,” you assure him settling back into Harry’s lap and pecking him quickly. 

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Tagging @thegirlintheswivelchair because she heard all about this as it was being written (and she brought up the s’mores) xoxo

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury @nahthanks@perseusannabeth@queenestarcheron@silvernesta

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[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part 13

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem! Reader Warnings: Talk of parent death Length: 2.1k words Notes: Okay bitches here we go. I’ve got 3 kids doing online schooling, a desk chair that just broke while I was halfway through typing this out, a raging headache, and couldn’t be fucked to edit. I love you al, thank you for sticking with me and this little brain baby of mine. My guidance counselor from high school can suck my dick, “You’re not a creative writer, Cher, you should considering taking Home Ec as an elective instead” I digress....

Series Masterlist

"No." You glared at him and squeezed his hand harder, "You're doing that thing again.

Frankie's head whipped over to stare at you, shocked by your assertive tone.

"You're pulling away. You're stressed, out of your depth, don't know how to deal with it and so you're pulling away again-"

"You don't understand," Frankie interrupted you, shaking his head and trying to pull his hands out of your grasp. This only served to strengthen your resolve, and your grip on him.

"No." You declare again, trying to stay calm and have a mature conversation despite the tension and running emotions. "You told me to give you time to get your thoughts straight and vocalized. I can't do that if I'm not here to hear them. I can't understand your predicament if I leave. So," You moved so you're sitting cross-legged in front of him, making eye contact in an effort to show him he had your full attention. "Why don't you tell me what that phone call was about so we can start figuring it out, together."

The situation was more complex than you ever could have imagined. Frankie's ex-wife, Karla, had died. Her car had been hit by a drunk driver. Annie, thank the gods, hadn't been in the car at the time. Before she'd died at the hospital, Karla had managed to say a few words to the paramedics. At the time they didn't make sense, however, the paramedic had taken the time to write the words down and included the scrap of paper with the patient's chart. This evidence, as it turned out, had been monumental during the resulting legal battle for Annie, all of which took place without Frankie even being notified.

Child services, lawyers, extended family, and even doctors had been involved in the court proceedings. All arguing over the future of the six-year-old girl. All believing that they knew what was best for her, most believing that she should live with them, some having the gall to pretend that they weren't aware of the sizable life insurance payout she was about to receive.

Eight words. Eight simple, beautiful words whispered through the broken, bloody lips of a woman who knew she was about to die. A young girl's future was being held in suspense, and as fate would have it, a wise and sentimental judge was overseeing her case. Eight words were all it took to convince him that Annie's mother knew what was best for her own child.

"Francisco Morales. Trust with her, he's ready now."

From the time Frankie had received the phone call from Karla's family lawyer, the two of you had two days to prepare for Annie's arrival. Frankie worked his magic and erected a wall across the bedroom portion of his loft, allowing for the little girl to have some privacy but not feel like she was being closed in. 

He had fretted for a least twenty five minutes over colour swatches at Hank’s Hardware before coming to the conclusion that he should leave it white and have Annie chose her room colours once she had settled in. He bought himself a new couch, as well, that would convert into a bed and serve as his bedroom for the time being.

The conversation you never had a chance to have with him was still in the back of your mind, but you understood that moving in together as a couple was hard enough. Moving in together with a kid neither of you knew, whose life had just been turned upside down against her will, would be catastrophic. Instead, you focused on being as much of a rock for Frankie as you could.

You made a trip to the city and bought girls bedding, some stuffed animals, and a few little decorations to help Annie feel like the new space was special for her. You also thought to pick up comfort food that a kid might crave, knowing that when you were six the best way to your heart was chocolate. Just before you left the city, a sign caught your attention and had you swerving to change lanes, normally you'd feel slightly bad about your obnoxious driving but today you just waved your middle finger at the rear window in a mock salute.

The flower shop had so many bouquets and you had no idea what kind of flowers the little girl might like. You also had the morbid realization that bouquets might remind her of all the flowers she surely saw at Karla's funeral. Just as you began to second guess yourself, a stand near the back caught your eye and made you smile.

The day of her arrival came quicker than you felt prepared for, never mind how Frankie must be feeling. He hadn't had too much time to worry about how having his daughter would change his life, but once the two of you were standing in his driveway doing nothing but waiting, the nerves had finally settled in. You could see deep, calming breaths he was taking as they condensed into little clouds in the freezing air.

Grabbing his clenched fist, you felt his fingers relax enough to allow your gloved ones to slide through them.

"It's going to be weird for everyone, she's probably nervous too." You weren't sure if the words were reassuring or not but nervous talking seemed to be your forte so you ran with it. "I mean, she's probably sad that she's leaving everything and everyone she's always known, excited about moving to a new place, then feeling bad that she's feeling another emotion besides grief. It can be hard to juggle loss and hope. Just show her how much you love her and be honest about why you couldn't be with her before. Kids are smart and are aware of way more than adults give them credit for."

A few moments later a black sedan slowly crept up the driveway. You wanted to stay, to meet the little girl but had the feeling that Annie and Frankie were going to need time to figure out their relationship without another person in the mix. Suddenly having a new parent was going to be hard enough on the little girl, you were afraid that she might see you as trying to replace her mom and push you away.

Rubbing Frankie's back for one last show of reassurance, you kissed his shoulder then took a few steps back. You figured this was the best way to be there to support him but also staying in the background for the time being. Before the car could fully come to a stop, the rear door was flying open and, in a blur of movement, a little body was flying out of it towards Frankie. You know how people will say that there are times in their lives where important moments fly by so fast they barely have time to enjoy them? Well, this wasn't one of them.

As Annie barreled her way towards Frankie, you saw in slow motion how his handsome face went from being creased with worry, to eyebrow raised shock, to breaking out in a teary smile. He had just begun to crouch down and open his arms in anticipation of holding his little girl when instead she ran right past him and locked herself in one of the sheds.

Time continued to move in slow motion, making it all the more heartbreaking watching your boyfriend's face crumple, the tears of joy turn to tears of pain as he recovered from his initial excitement and realized that his child didn't want to see him.

Tiny, muffled sobs broke the moment and brought time, and the horrible situation, back into focus. The Child Protective Services worker who had accompanied Annie from California was calling apologies to Frankie while running after the little girl, trying not to slip in the snow in her hurry.

You wanted to go to him, to lend him some form of comfort, but you were also aware that some types of grief don't appreciate witnesses. Deciding to stick around and be helpful in the background, you made your way into the loft and started making coffee and sandwiches, foreseeing a longer stay for the caseworker than initially thought.

Nearly forty minutes had passed before you emerged again with food and drinks on a tray and the two adults were still talking to Annie through the cracks in the door. She had stubbornly refused to come out, demanding that she be returned to her home at once and that she hated snow.

Once you had set down the tray and cleared the snow off a picnic table, Frankie thanked you with a kiss to your temple and introduced you to Sharon after he convinced her to take a break from the negotiations. Sharon, who had been with Annie since the day of the accident, began filling Frankie in on what had happened to his daughter in the past month between sips of coffee. He was given a folder with notes from child psychologists, doctors, a letter from her maternal grandparents, and a journal Sharon had kept that described the ways Annie had been processing her grief.

While they talked, you decided to walk over and sit next to the door of the shed, laying a wool blanket down to protect your butt from the cold. You had no idea what to say to the girl but you figured she might like to be reassured she wasn't alone. Settling down, you dug into your own sandwich and hummed quietly to yourself.

You nearly choked on your next bite when you heard a soft voice singing along with the tune you'd chosen.

"Lavender blue, dilly dilly. Rosemary Green, if you are king dilly dilly, I'll be your queen."

After you'd repeated the song twice more, you stopped the tune and said softly,

"I've never heard those lyrics before, they're different from how I learned them."

A long pause followed, making you worry that you'd offended the child back into silence.

"How do you sing it?" Came the sweetest little voice, made all the more adorable with the barest hint of a lisp.

"We always sang, 'Lavender green', for one. Which never made any sense to me so I really like how you did it-"

"Yeah, cause lavender is another name for purple," she interrupted you with a matter-of-fact tone, "saying it's green is just weird!"

"Hmmm, it might be different," you conceded, seeing the opportunity for a lesson. "But either way you sing it, it's still a really pretty song, isn't it? Things can be different but it doesn't mean one is only good and one is only bad. Each version just had different good things."

Annie went silent again but this time you didn't worry about it, you knew she was thinking about what you said and needed time to apply it to what was happening right now. You eventually heard the shifting of metal and the creak of wood and had to will yourself to sit still and calm. The way you had let her approach you had worked so far, jumping up out of excitement could possibly erase all the progress you'd made so far.

Your patience was rewarded when Annie stepped out of the shed and lowered herself so that she was sitting on the blanket right next to you. Turning your head just enough to see her in your peripheral, you noticed how dull her eyes looked. Her hair was a mess and her skin looked pale for a kid who had been living under California's sun.

"My mommy is dead."

The way it was stated as a fact, with very little emotion, broke your heart. She was so little, so young, and so unable to fully grasp what kind of future had been ripped away from her.

"I know, I'm sorry that that happened to your mom."

"That man is my daddy." She was pointing at Frankie now, who was still engrossed in his conversation with Sharon.

"He's a pretty lucky guy to have you."

"That's the lady who has been taking care of me, she's been nice."

You were a bit out of your comfort zone with the conversation but there was no way in hell you were going drop it so you cautiously trudged on. Maybe verbalizing relationships and titles was helping her process?

"I'm very happy to hear that you've been staying with someone nice. Your dad is a really nice person, too, ya know? You should see the nice bedroom he's set up for you! I even helped him bake you an apple pie. Do you like apples? Or pie?" Her eyes went wide and a spark of happiness suddenly lit her face, making her appear more childlike than before.

"Is this an apple farm?" She practically squealed. “Like in My Little Pony?!”

Her outburst had finally drawn the attention of the other two adults, who were now only realizing that Annie had exited the shed. Frankie's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his two girls, beaming at each other. The twinge of jealousy from knowing that it had been you to draw her out was quickly squashed by how proud of you he was. He had been a little worried, although he hadn't voiced it, that his kid wouldn't take kindly to having a woman around but those fears were obviously for naught.

Part Fourteen 

[theeslytherinslut]

A Shit Tutor (1/4)

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x reader, Draco Malfoy x slytherin!reader, 

Word Count: 1,903

Warnings: language, Draco’s an ass (surprise)

Request: “Can you write a fic where draco is asked by a professor to tutor a fellow student but he falls for her? Thank you and I absolutely LOVE your work!!”

A/N: This is just the first part of what will likely end up being a 3-4 part-er! Hope it’s intriguinggg :) Also this is clearly a sort of alternate universe in which there’s no war, no Slughorn, and Snape still teaches the N.E.W.T.s class 

Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With an exasperated sigh, you shoved the cauldron away from you, pulling your hand back as it spilled and destroyed the table beneath it. 

“Oh, come on!” you hissed, more colorful words longing to leave your mouth. 

“Y/L/N? I don’t recall instructing to burn through the table,” Snape sneered, coming to stop at your table as he swept through the room. Snickers could be heard from the other side of the room, and you seethed in your chair. 

A Slytherin who couldn’t make a simple decaying drought to save her life. 

A Slytherin who seemed to be in the wrong place in Potions. 

“It was an accident, sir,” you breathed, forcing yourself to bite your tongue. 

“I should hope so. This is your,” Snape paused and thought for a moment. “fourth try? Is it not?” 

“It is,” you said through clenched teeth. It seemed his House favoritism only extended to those who excelled in his class. 

“How you managed to scrape an O and squeeze into my N.E.W.T.S class I’ll never understand,” Snape shook his head, his voice drawling. 

“Me neither, Professor,” you said--really, it had been luck. The potions you had been tested on you just happened to be actually decent at, that, paired with intensive studying and an aptitude for testing, you’d scraped an O. 

“Malfoy!” Snape suddenly barked out, causing you to jump. 

“Sir?” he called from the other side of the room--the side from which the snickers sounded. 

“Come and help Ms. Y/L/N before she burns through this very floor,” Snape sneered before, thankfully, whisking away to another table. 

Draco then began packing his things into his bag, and seconds later, was sliding into the seat next to you, his smoldering pine-like scent filling the air, making your head spin. 

“Sweet Salazar, what the bloody hell did you do?” Draco laughed, peering into the cauldron. 

“Evidently not the right thing,” you grumped, struggling not to enjoy the light sound of his laughter as it was at your expense. 

“Clearly; I mean, I’ve seen mistakes, but that is just embarrassing,” he scoffed. Shocked at his blunt curtness, you were stunned silent.

“Scourgify,” he said, and with a wave of his wand, your cauldron was cleared of the bubbling goop you’d managed. 

“Y/N? Right?” he asked, pulling out his scale and setting it on the table. 

“That’s right, only been in the same house for 6 years,” you said scornfully. 

“There’s a lot of people in Slytherin, can’t expect me to know everyone's name,” Draco shrugged, looking unbothered. You just rolled your eyes at him, not wanting to speak with him any more than necessary.

“Here, split these vertically,” he said, pushing a pile of caterpillars at you. Pulling your onyx blade from your bag, you did as he asked. “If you can manage that without fucking it up.” 

“Oh, that’s nice,” you sneered at him, narrowly avoiding slicing open your finger as your hands shook with anger. “I did manage to get into this class, you know. I’m not completely helpless.” 

“I’ve no idea how. Longbottom could do better than that mess.” he sneered.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” you hissed. 

“Whew, language, Y/L/N,” he grinned. Rolling your eyes and gritting your teeth, you resolved to silence for the rest of the class unless absolutely necessary. The next few minutes were quiet work, Draco pausing to give you instructions every few minutes, his long fingers working quickly. And before you knew it, it was over; the massive bell reverberating throughout the castle, signaling the next period. 

“Alright, that’ll be the bell. We’ll pick back up here tomorrow. Leave your cauldrons. I’ll deal with them,” Snape commanded. At his words, Draco began packing quickly, looking back at Zabini, who seemed to be mouthing something at him. 

“What?” Draco said quietly, leaning forward and looking intently at Blaise, evidently trying to read his lips.  

“See you tomorrow, then,” you said, turning to him. But Draco was already halfway across the room, having left without a second glance. Stung, but knowing you were ridiculous for expecting any less, you shook your head at yourself and quickly left the room, your emerald-lined robes billowing behind you in your haste. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the dungeons the next day, your foot anxiously jumped up and down, dreading Draco’s comments about your ineptitude with this potion, and dreading Snape’s snide remarks. You watched him as he jostled Crabbe across the room, grinning about something. His pearly teeth gleamed against his pale skin, lit sparingly by the fire bubbling beneath the cauldron in front of him. 

“Wands away, Goyle,” Snape snapped, pulling your attention from Draco. The paper airplane Goyle had been supporting with his wand fell pathetically, and with a wave of his own, Snape set it ablaze and it disappeared in seconds. “Well, go on—no need to wait for instructions. I gave them at the end of last class. Get your cauldrons and get to work.” 

Draco rose from his spot next to Blaise and strutted his way over to your table, smirking as he did so. 

“Hello,” he said, almost politely. 

“Er, hi,” you said cautiously.

“Didn’t manage to develop some actual talent overnight, did you?” he sneered, pulling out his things. 

“Not really. Didn’t manage to develop some decency either, I see,” you tossed back--determined not to let him get at you again. Sure, he was a Slytherin, but he wasn't the only one. 

“Ooh, touchy today, are we?” he grinned spitefully. 

“Just tell me what to do,” you spat, wanting to get the class over with. 

“How very submissive of you, I do like that in a girl,” he said thoughtfully, winking at you. 

“Godric, you’re an ass,” you breathed. “If you’re looking for submission, perhaps you should go back to your goons; I’m sure the both of them are utterly lost without you. Or Pansy, I know the simpering slag could think of nothing better than being bossed around by you all day. Personally, I can’t think of a more proper hell, but we all have our differences, I suppose.” 

“I think you just managed to insult four people at once,” Draco said, looking thoughtful. 

“I’m pleased you can count. Now, what am I supposed to do?” you sneered, crossing your arms. 

“Whatever I say, love,” he grinned, winking. “Chop these up, finely, and stir them into the potion, stirring counterclockwise five times.” 

“Alright,” you said, taking the pile of seedlings from him. His pale hand stopped yours and held it still. 

“Ah, ah,” he chided, shaking his platinum blonde head at you. “Repeat it back to me.”

“What?” you scoffed, incredulous. 

“Repeat what I said back to me; should I say it slower?” he said, cocking his head to the side. You were so angry, a hysterical laugh bubbled from your lips; your chest positively on fire with anger. 

Seconds from exploding, you saw the knowing smile growing on his face and closed your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, willing yourself not to take his bait. A surely insane smile on your face, you opened your eyes. 

“Chop these up, finely, and stir them into the potion, stirring counterclockwise five times,” you repeated word for word. 

“Excellent, you might have hope yet,” Draco taunted, meeting eyes with Blaise from across the room and grinning. 

Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin, what a complete and utter sodding wanker. It’s no wonder the little shit didn’t have any true friends; who the hell could stand him? Catching your friend's eyes from her seat across the room, you mimicked stabbing yourself in the throat with your knife, earning a snicker from her. The little interaction with a friendly face calmed you immensely. 

“Now what?” you asked, turning to Draco and steeling yourself for another smart remark. 

“The last step. I’ve ground up the moth wings already,” he said, standing to tip a container of fine, shimmering dust into the cauldron. With a whoosh, it turned an inky blue, and he smiled. It was rather nice, his smile. He was almost handsome--alright, he was downright gorgeous--when he wasn’t being an absolute prick. 

“Staring, Y/N?” he grinned, his grey eyes flitting to yours and winking. A flush of embarrassment flooded your face, and you dropped his steely gaze, your silence answer enough. 

“S’Alright, if I saw me, I might stare as well,” he shrugged, grinning cockily at you. 

“You’re disgusting,” you whispered, seconds before Snape appeared soundlessly behind you.

“Ah, much better, excellent, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape praised suddenly, causing you to jump slightly. 

“Thank you, sir,” Draco simpered, smirking proudly. Several sets of eyes rolled around the room, and you found comfort in that you weren’t the only one he caused to do this. 

“Do you see how it’s an inky blue? How it’s not corrosive? How it isn’t burning through the table?” Snape snided, turning to you with a malicious glint in his eye. 

“Yes.” you seethed through clenched teeth, unable to trust yourself to not mouth off if you opened your jaw. 

“So, what did you do wrong? What catastrophic mistake did you make to produce the most abysmal potion I’ve yet to see in my N.E.W.T.S class?” he asked, eyes alight in your anger.

You could feel every eye in the room on you, and to your complete horror, you felt angry tears pricking at your eyes. Blinking rapidly, determined not to show such weakness, you tilted your chin up and glared into the blank, black eyes before you. 

“It was the moth dust, sir. It wasn’t ground fine enough, and she only stirred 3 times,” Draco answered for you. Despite your shock, you held your ground and glared up into Snape’s eyes. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, but I believe I asked Y/N. If she can’t make a proper decaying drought, I should hope she’s at least intelligent enough to recognize her mistakes,” Snape said, his voice icy. 

“If I knew my mistakes, sir, I wouldn’t make them. Would I?” you seethed, unable to hold it back any longer. As if you were going to let Draco Malfoy protect you. Surprised hisses and gasps sounded throughout the classroom, and you knew you’d fucked up. 

“Detention. 3 days. With Filch,” he sneered, getting closer to you as he spoke, daring you to say anything else. 

“Delightful,” you quipped back, a fake smile on your face. 

“And 10 points from Slytherin for cheek. Making me take points from my own house, disgraceful,” and with a billowing wave of his cloak--he was heading back up to the front of the room.

“Tuesday, we will begin working on a lovely, tricky little potion known as Felix Felicis; you’ll be in partners,” he said, looking around the room before stopping on a pair of tittering Ravenclaws, “And I’ll be choosing the partners.” 

The small class visibly deflated at the prospect of Snape choosing partners, causing Snape to grin lightly, and with that ominous note, he ended the class. 

Desperate to get away, you left everything on your desk, only ensuring you had your bag before racing from the room, the frustrated tears falling freely now. 

“Y/N!” you thought you heard Draco call--but surely you were mistaken, unless he wanted to further embarrass you or rub it in. Before he could do either, you burst into the girl's restroom and out of sight.

[writer-panda]

Hit on the groom and what became of it - chapter 1/I will keep missing you (if you don’t stop running)

Disclaimer: I don’t own DC or Miraculous. I’m just playing with some crazy concept. 

Chapter 1 (here)  -|-  Next

-------------

Ladybug landed on top of the Eiffel tower with practiced grace. An agitated worry roiling in her chest about the message Chat Noir left her. The urgency was one thing, but he sounded… pained. Like the weight of the world dragged him down type pain. 

Marinette knew Chat’s home life wasn’t perfect. Skilled at hiding it, maybe, but details leaked through the cracks. An offhand comment here, a muttered accusation there, a sour face yet again here. He lived in pain and tried so hard to work through it. 

She tried to help him whenever she could, both as Ladybug and Marinette. She may not return his feelings, but she always listened. For months during their third year as heroes, she left food on the rooftop when Chat’s suit revealed too many ribs. She wasn’t sure the reason and didn’t dare to ask, lest she learned too much, but she did try to help. There were times she thought she imagined the pained looks, and thin frame, and thinly veiled comments; maybe overexaggerating the situation in her mind, as she often did. After all, he always acted so cheerfully.

Then, Lila happened. 

The first strike landed swift, almost deadly, but she survived. It was what followed that made her reconsider. A prolonged fight, where Marinette chose to retain a cheerful mask to hide the pain. Along the line, she considered confiding in her parents. But what could they do?  Maybe take her from school, but that would mean Lila already won; the Liar would rule unopposed.

Which left Adrien, her last bastion of friendship. 

She still harbored a bit of a crush on him, but it was justified! Like a knight in shining armor, he stood, always ready to defend her. He always ensured her inclusion in class activities and saved her from several catastrophes. 

She still stumbled over her words with him, but when it’s minor stuttering or not talking to anyone, she forced herself to adapt. It was nowhere near as bad as it used to be. 

With the ability to spend more time with Adrien without acting like a spaz, Kagami also appeared more often, and proved to be a good friend. Marinette found a home with the two awkward rich kids ridiculously clueless and unaware of how the real world functioned. In the end, she even grew to accept Adrien might not be destined to be hers but chose to support him nonetheless. 

“My lady?” She was broken out of her musing by a familiar voice.

“Hello, Kitty-cat. I got your message… what’s wrong?” She turned to see Cat Noir slumped over the railing, with his ears tweaking nervously. She didn’t even know he could do it. 

“I… I’m sorry my Lady, but I can’t… I can’t continue to be your partner,” he declared.

“What?!” she squeaked. “What happened? What’s the matter?” 

“I’m… I’m getting married,” he announced, his ears drooping and tail tucked between his legs.  

Oh, that’s… not what she expected to hear. “Married? Congrat…” she drifted off, noticing his sour face. “Chat? What are you not telling me?”

“It’s… I… My…” He struggled to figure out how to say it, but ultimately remained silent for a moment. “There is nothing to be happy about. It’s a… business marriage,” he spat, his eyes narrowing.  

“But… those are illegal!” Ladybug protested.

“Not when you make it look like a love match. Especially if you insinuate at a scandal.” He sneered, jumping off the railing and pacing along the empty rooftop. “My father holds all the cards and I… I’m in no position to oppose him.”

“I’m sure we can…”

He sighed, walking over to her. “Please… M’lady. Don’t try to give me hope. I accepted what I must do.” With that, he reached for the ring, but she stopped him.

“Chat. We can try… You’re my friend. You can’t… We will figure it out. Together.” In all they’d endured, suffered, and triumphed - Marinette had never seen him this despondent… this broken. 

He sighed, his eyes flat and dull. “There is nothing to figure out,” he said, forcing the ring off his finger. 

The transformation fell, leaving Adrien Agreste materialized in place of her long-time partner. Plagg’s sharp cry cut off, as he’s sucked into the ring the second he popped out of it. She stood there, too stunned to notice the blond boy pushed the ring into her palm and closed it. 

Marinette wasn’t sure what thoughts decided to rampantly rage through her head, but the train of thoughts probably broke the collective speed limit everywhere in the world at the same time. 

“M’lady?” Adrien’s soft voice brought her to earth when she was one step from panic.

“A-Adrien?” She choked on the word.

“You heard about me?” He looked dumbfounded. Ladybug, too shocked to say a word, gestured over to the building line. Even from so high and far away, his most recent billboard advertisement stood visible. “Ah… right.”

“Who… who’s the lucky girl?” Inside her mind, she wondered if Kagami right now faced a  similar problem. It was the most logical…

“Lila Rossi,” Adrien admitted, his shoulders hunching. 

Marinette.exe stopped working. 

A moment passed.

Another.

“Um… M’Lady?” The boy tried to prod his ex-partner to respond by waving his hand in front of her face.

“That… that lying…” Ladybug saw red. This could not be happening.

Adrien nodded, the despondent look on his face growing worse every second.“My father deemed her a suitable heiress to the Gabriel brand… I tried to warn him she was a liar, but he… I think he actually admires her skill…” Tears built in his eyes, and Adrien covertly tried to wipe them away. 

“Maybe… maybe you could… I don’t know!” she screamed in frustration. Marinette had several ideas about what Adrien could do, but none of them would help. 

Running away would be a problem. Leaking the story to the press would lead to his home life growing even worse. After dealing with Gabriel Agreste’s parenting, she held no illusion Adrien could win a court battle. The rich too often got away with whatever they desired. She could try to sicc Uncle Jagged on the case… or maybe Clara Nightingale… Nadia Chamack would probably love the news-breaking story, but it would all put Adrien in danger. Who knows what would happen before they could obtain results or protection against Gabriel’s extensive reach. 

Adrien sighed as if knowing exactly where her thoughts took her. Chat was no dummy, he probably scoured over his options more times than he could count. His resignation, the last resort in a long line of failed plans.  “I appreciate you trying, but I already told you I accepted it. Just… take me down, please. I… I didn’t really plan the location well…” He let out a weak chuckle. 

“Fine… I’m sorry kitty...” She grabbed hold of him and swung to the ground. Despondently she watched her best friend, her partner, walk away into the night; resigned to a life of suffering and isolation. 

There must be something she could do, she thought. She closed a gloved fist around the ring. She was Ladybug, and if she put her mind to it, there was nothing she couldn't do.  

-----------

A week later the press learned about the upcoming wedding. Adrien and Lila both left school for home-school. The press and the general public ate up the news story about star-crossed lovers that met in school and became inseparable. It didn’t help that the class kept commenting about how good they were for each other. 

Marinette resisted an urge to gag whenever she caught the sound of the vicious lies and propaganda.  She was asked for comment only once but chose to refuse. It didn’t earn her any popularity in class. Luckily, she convinced Nadia to stop a nasty side-story about her jealousy from being published. 

No closer to a plan, she despondently continued to push through her life without her friend. She, unsurprisingly, hadn’t received a single text or call. Marinette didn’t blame Adrien; his position couldn’t be easy. A month after Adrien departed from her class, Marinette convinced her parents to also home-school her. Without a single friend, the school became a burden. Of course, her reasoning to her parents leaned into her focus on her fashion business. Which wasn’t untrue. It was starting to pick up. 

The only upside to this whole debacle was near-lack of akuma attacks. It seemed Hawkmoth found a hobby. Maybe he wrote poems? 

Nah. Not his style...

Two months after the announcement  Marinette woke to surprise guests: Adrien, his father, and Lila knocked on the bakery’s doors. The bride-to-be in an especially sour mood, as much as she tried to hide it. Gabriel appeared to be devoid of any emotions, as usual.

She seated them on the couch and asked if they would like a drink. She didn’t bother to offer food, not wanting to waste good cake on the likes of Lila and Gabriel. Although, Adrien’s thin cheeks and haunted eyes made her regret the decision. 

All of them declined the drink.

“Madame Marinette, I assume you have heard of the Wedding?” The capitalization clearly discernible in his voice. 

“Yes… Yes sir!” she corrected herself. Trying desperately to mask her disgust behind a layer of nervousness. She couldn’t risk a glance at Adrien, even if this was the first time she’d seen him since that night on the roof. Making it through the meeting would be hard enough without watching him suffer.  

“While initially, I planned to prepare the dress and suit myself, my son convinced me to give a chance to someone else to shine.” Clearly, whatever it was Adrien said, it didn’t include a polite request. “I have seen the dress you made for Rock Star Jagged Stone’s wedding, as well as the suit worn by Nadia Chamack.”

“They are designs I’m particularly proud of, sir.” 

Play the part. Play the part. Don’t send him to the hospital. Papa and Maman would be disappointed. Well, Maman would probably join me… 

Her homicidal train of thought ended as she forced a smile to appear on her face. Contrary to Lila’s stretched thin lips;  Marinette’s smile shines bright and could’ve been mistaken for genuine.

“Indeed… I’ve come to commission you to design and make the gown and the suit for the sweet couple.” He announced like it was the highest honor, but there was an amount of bile in his words Marinette used to think was reserved only for Nino.

“I… I’m… I’m honored, sir!” She beamed. The excitement only half-forced. Her moral compass told her even entertaining the proposal was wrong, but at the same time, her brain furiously flitted crafting possibilities. 

Gabriel nodded imperiously as if her acceptance merely added to a foregone conclusion. “Good. My assistant, Nathalie, will sort out the details. Lex Luthor agreed to pay for the pieces as his wedding gift, so do not be afraid to ask for full price.” He informed her t as if he believed she would give him a discount. 

For a moment, a singular reckless moment, Marinette entertained the temptation to voice her thoughts about Gabriel being cheap. 

She sighed, no, there would be another day for career suicide. The group rose to leave, and Marinette finally glanced at Adrien; his model-trained smile paper-thin. He caught her eyes, and if he radiated sadness two months ago, it didn’t hold a candle to the devastation swimming in his eyes. The exchange broke when Lila gripped a hand tight around his arm and dragged him to the door. 

Gabriel handed her a card, and the group departed. Marinette collapsed onto the couch, the makings of a headache building in her skull. 

This would be awful.  

------------

A week later Marinette held a separate meeting, consisting of Nathalie, Lila, Lila’s mother, and Adrien’s aunt. And her, obviously. 

She first asked what kind of dress Lila wanted.

Lila’s eyes lit up in an unholy glee; and she started talking. 

And talking. 

And talking. 

And talking. 

After the long and painstakingly thorough description, Marinette felt faint. Several reasons contributed to that, although the most prominent were the materials, the design, and the way she spoke. Obviously Lila had feelings, the kind likely to trigger an oncoming Auma attack if Hawkmoth hadn’t pranced off to who knows where, about Marinette designing her dress. 

Marinette was happy Adrien’s aunt pointed out the request’s complete madness, but Lila’s mother waved it off, quick to declare only minor adjustments to the request would be needed. 

In the end, Marinette presented several dozen designs, both hers and foreign to have a basis on which she could work. Lila, of course, chose the one that would be hardest to make.

“I’m sorry none of your designs were good, Marinette…” The liar cooed with faked sorrow. She hid a smirk the designer could clearly see. 

The notion was born because it was a picture and not a sketch. 

Marinette smirked, and rose from the couch, ignoring Lila’s irritated scowl at her non-reaction.  

She liked it even less when the girl brought in the ready-made dress. 

“I made it as the first design for Penny Rolling’s wedding, based on Uncle Jagged’s suggestions. I should’ve known Penny didn’t approve of his idea, but…” she waved it off.

Lila, now actively glaring at her, sat back on the couch. All of which was mistaken for amazement by the adults.

Marinette ignored the girl’s dramatics, it was the only way she’d survive this meeting intact. “Of course, there still needs to be several adjustments and personalizations. I will also need to order the amber you requested. And the platinum thread. And the white gold. And probably an industrial-grade 3-D printer… Is that covered by the expenses?” She looked at Nathalie, who nodded. “Great! I will need just a moment.” 

The women watched as Marinette practically leaped at her notebook and added in adjustments to the sketch. Fifteen minutes later, when she presented a new design, impressing them all (sans Lila, obviously) with the flowing lines and intricate details. They praised her talent (even Natalie), and Marinette played the bashful young designer role to a tee. The liar kept glaring though. She couldn’t back away easily, since she already made a scene about wanting that specific dress. Marinette informed them beforehand she would need to know about her specific wishes before she made any adjustments. 

The final design looked pretty much exactly what Lila wanted though, but she didn’t want to give her nemesis the satisfaction. Her entourage did enough of this. 

Under the cover of being too emotional, they ended the meeting. Nathalie remained to finish the deal and sign the contract. 

After all of them left, Marinette collapsed onto her chair. An hour later a notification from her bank came. She received the first half of the payment. When finished, the dress would officially be the most expensive wedding dress to date. Blessed be Lex Luthor and his deep pocket. She chuckled, remembering how much the billionaire got kidnapped because of his money.

Then, an idea shined in her head.

Oh. 

Oh...

She took off her earrings and dismissed Tikki, promising she needed a quick chat with Plagg about a new potential holder. When Marinette put on the ring, the Kwami of destruction popped back into existence. 

“So… figured out how to help my chosen?” he asked. 

What Tikki didn’t know was when Marinette said she intended to discuss potential holders for Plagg, they really worked on a way to save Adrien. It was their secret since Tikki would most likely disapprove. They didn’t want to risk her disappointment in them. Not until they crafted a fleshed out full-proof plan. 

She nodded. “I have an idea. Let’s hire someone to kidnap him!” 

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Did they hit you on the head, pigtails?”

“No. But look, the problem is whatever we come up with, Adrien ends up blamed or we land ourselves in jail, right?” The Kwami nodded. “So… if we make sure it’s a very public kidnapping and he disappears, we can stash him away until the heat dies down. After we dye his hair and apply fast-tan, he will look different enough no one will connect the two. I’m pretty sure I could get my hands on fake documents if I tried hard enough…” she trailed off thinking of all the minutiae to coordinate to pull this off. 

It would be hard. 

But it would be worth it. 

Plagg slowly nods. “Okay… Somehow, that both makes no sense and seems perfectly legitimate. It’s also your most chaotic plan to date, Pigtails. Let’s do it!” The Kwami cheered, happy to be soon reunited with his chosen kitten. “But what about the costs!”

Marinette already had an answer in mind for that question. “Even after I subtract the costs of materials and other supplies, the payment for the dress, together with my savings, will be more than enough. Now… let’s go wake Tikki up.”

That… ended with the Kwami of Creation vomiting a pile of handcuffs and other police gear at Marinette. 

“Um… Why?”

The little red Kwammi placed her paws on her hips. “Because you should familiarize yourself with those if you plan on going to prison for that plan. It’s no longer just a phone theft, Marinette! You’re talking about breaking more laws than I can count!” She dropped to the pillow below, bemoaning about where she went wrong. 

Marinette scooped up her wayward friend and tried to reassure her. “I just need to be careful. I’m pretty sure I can do it without detection. Maman taught me how to not be seen on the internet. Or in general. Come on. I need to order a secure laptop.”

“I will help!” Plagg offered. “I can cataclysm the internet after you do your thing.”

“What?! No! Think of the cute cat pictures!” Marinette protested. “And video games.” 

“Relax! It’ll just remove any trace of you doing anything online in the several hours or so…” He calmed her.

Tikki trailed after them, a bundle of nerves and worry. “Plagg! It’s irresponsible! You can’t possibly…”

“Pigtails and I have it all under control. What’s the worst that could happen?”

---------

Turns out, a lot. 

Before Marinette put out the hit (kidnapping, she made sure that it was plain as day), she needed to set a price. That one was harder. It wasn’t like you could Google how much you needed to charge to kidnap a celebrity. At least, not without attracting a lot of unwanted attention. 

She asked her mother, under the guise of pure curiosity. It was a normal question any teenage girl asked her mother. How much does it cost to have someone killed, how much cheaper/more expensive a kidnapping is, how to acquire fake documents, that kind of stuff. Not suspicious at all. 

So absorbed in her rant, she missed a merry glint in Sabine’s eyes. She also didn’t question how her Maman knew those prices. 

Finally, she needed to fill the form. 

Assignment: Acquisition and Delivery

Asset(s): Adrien Athanase Agreste

Value: 

Here, Marinette paused. 

Her mom gave her a lengthy lecture about pricing and all. According to her, a professional would take up to fifty thousand dollars for kidnapping and bringing the target to her. Marinette decided, since Adrien was a celebrity, she should double the price. More risks involved, more reward, right? 

But, she also wanted to ensure she hired the best of the best. Compare her work to Gabriel Agreste’s, she came to the conclusion ten times the price was reasonable to ensure only the best in the field would take the job. 

Then, there was the matter of safety and so on and so on. By the end, she settled on two million dollars, as her asking price for one Adrien Agreste. Plagg sagely nodded, agreeing with her assessment. Tikki didn’t comment, as she wasn’t speaking to the two, but also seemed more accepting after spying on Adrien and Lila’s home life. Not that she revealed that tidbit to either of them, lest they drop the plan and directly go at Gabe and the Liar. 

After a few more details and boxes in the form Marinette filled until she came to the end. Only one more detail remained: 

Sponsor:

Marinette stared at the word for a moment. After a quick race of thoughts, she typed slowly. 

Sponsor: The Seamstress

Perfect. Nothing about this could go wrong.

Of course, how could she predict just how big of a mess she would make? 

----------

[yolkyeomie]

After the Bloom | Kim Sunwoo

summary — a flower cannot bloom without sunshine, but maybe too much sunshine could be just as bad. After all, sunwoo feels like he’s been withering away since he met you.

word count — 2.9k words

pairing — sunwoo x female!reader

genre — fluff with a little bit of angst, high school au, friends to lovers(?), sunwoo pines the entire fic I’m so sorry

disclaimer — this was a request that actually got a little out of hand once I actually started writing it 🧎🏾‍♀️ I had fun writing it though so I hope everyone enjoys :D

A large majority of Sunwoo's friend group already knew about his hopeless pining for you, he stopped trying to hide it after a few months. Though it’s not like when he was keeping it a secret that no one had any clues of his feelings. He wasn’t exactly the best at hiding the very obvious burning of his ears and the way his usually sly and know-it-all gaze would soften when he was around you.

They’d often find him hanging around somewhere near you as well, usually a little farther away so you couldn’t hold a conversation with him, and he’d just watch you. Not in a disturbing way or anything, he just liked the way you looked when you were with people you felt comfortable with.

The two of you were friends, don’t get him wrong, but there’s only a sense of moderate friendship with him. You were a close friend of his, but not close enough for you to show all your true colors to him. It made him upset every so often, but he could completely understand why you weren’t as open with Sunwoo as you were with others. He was the same way and his awful little crush on you made it harder for him to willingly open up more as well.

He wished you would take the first step into getting closer to him though, but it was only a matter of time before Sunwoo did it himself. Your grand and wide smile, your light and fluttering laughter, even the mere sound of your voice floating along the air were enough to make Sunwoo urge himself to stop being so hesitant when it came to you. It wasn't like him to stop dead in his tracks and refuse to push forward, but he was nervous. Nervous that when he did take the step over the boundaries the both of you had put up that you'd want nothing more than to be just friends.

Sunwoo didn’t want to be just friends when he crossed those boundaries, but it was more likely than not that you were going to reject him no matter how hard he’d try. There was already someone by your side, Changmin, that you felt comfortable with. He didn’t have mountains and mountains of walls built up around them and allowed you to be as genuine and true to yourself as you wanted. That was something Sunwoo couldn’t exactly do at the moment.

He could see it in your eyes, your smile, your body language, everything. You were set on delivering your heart to someone that wasn’t him and if he confessed now, he’d have the truth blasted in his face stronger than before. Sunwoo didn’t know if he could handle the rejection of such a long time crush.

While Sunwoo understood the situation he was in perfectly, pulling back and away from his slightly brash nature to not make an embarrassment of himself in front of you, his friends didn’t seem to catch the note. In fact, they were probably ignoring it completely.

That’s how he had gotten here, standing outside the venue door where the school was holding their annual formal dressed in an uncomfortable suit and tie and anxiously holding flowers in his hands. It was Kevin’s idea to make Sunwoo go to the formal after learning that you would be attending and it was Chanhee’s idea for him to dress up and sweep you off of your feet. He was so adamant about not going yet here he was, nervously standing outside the door.

“This is stupid, why am I doing this,” he realized, just inches away from grabbing the door handle and walking towards his doom. His friends were setting him up for disaster! You probably weren’t even at the formal anymore, you were rather flaky when it came to gatherings with lots of people. And even if you were you were probably hanging out with your friends and wanted to be with them! You wouldn’t drop everything just because Sunwoo was there, there was no—

“Sunwoo!” The boy snapped his head up, breaking out of his trance to find Eric staring back at him with a wide grin on his face. His eyes dropped to the boy’s hands before letting out a gasp, “how cute, you brought her roses!”

Sunwoo had forgotten about the small bouquet he had brought with him, how he scurried as quickly as he could towards the nearest florist and received a bouquet full of red roses just for you with the last bits of money he had on him. He should at least give these to you so that running all that way wouldn’t go to waste. “Shut up,” he rolled his eyes, ignoring Eric’s teasing smile as he pushed past him into the venue. “I’m just gonna give these to Y/N and leave, that’ll be enough to satisfy Kevin and Chanhee.”

“What? That’s all?” Eric pestered, speeding up so that he could walk side by side with Sunwoo (who was actively trying to lose him). “No talking, no dancing, no nothing? You’re just gonna drop these off and leave?”

“That’s the plan,” he nodded, shooting finger guns at Eric as he turned on his heel to walk backward. “It’s not like I wanted to be here anyway so I’m just going to complete my mission and then I’ll be on my way. Those two can’t yell at me for not doing what they asked when I’ve technically—“

One wrong misstep led to Sunwoo tripping over his own to the feet, losing his balance, and nearly toppling over the unsuspecting person behind him. Eric covered his eyes at the catastrophe, too embarrassed to watch what would happen next, and turned around so he wouldn’t be able to see at all.

Fortunately, Sunwoo isn't the clumsiest of people so he had a rather easy time regaining his balance and keeping the bouquet in his hands from being ruined. Though whoever he had crashed into wasn’t so lucky.

“Sorry I wasn’t watching where I was— Jesus, Y/N!” He yelled, immediately dropping to his knees to help you up. Though you only laughed at his reaction, gratefully taking his hand as he pulled you back onto your feet and off of the ground.

“Surprise,” you grin, the quick turning of your lips making Sunwoo’s heart do flips. “I wasn’t exactly watching where I was going either, so there’s no need to apologize. I was actually looking for you though, Kevin said you’d be here and honestly didn’t believe him so I had to go see for myself and… here you are! You look good.”

“Of course I do,” He replied, trying to ease himself into the casual banter the two of you usually indulged in. Any normal person with a crush would have complimented the person back, but Sunwoo was so obsessed with making his crush not obvious that he wouldn’t even dare to try. After all, who knew what words would fall out of his mouth if he allowed himself to flatter you. “What are you doing out here alone, though? What about your friends?”

“Hm? Oh, I came with Changmin,” you nonchalantly smile, unknowing of the amount of dread and disappointment that filled Sunwoo’s chest at the thought. “He had stepped away for a moment when Chanhee had called him over, so I decided to come search for you then. And look at what he got me!”

You searched around the two of you for a moment before picking up something off of the ground, turning toward him to display the red and pink flower bouquet that had been gifted to you. “Camellias! Aren't they pretty?”

The roses in Sunwoo’s hand began to slide out of his hand as he loosened his grasp, replying with a weak, “yeah, they are.” Why didn’t he think about the fact that Changmin would be at the formal? Why didn’t he think about the fact that he’d be the one to bring you flowers? Why didn’t he think about the fact that you were probably with him and no one else, because you liked him?

Everything that was being said to him was falling on deaf ears, his entire plan to hand you flowers (and maybe even muster up the courage to cross your boundaries) now withering away in his self pity. Sunwoo knew it wasn’t a good idea to attend the formal, he knew he didn’t want to attend at all. This was just as bad as a word for word rejection to him.

“Oh wait, let me go get Changmin!” You gasp, breaking out of your trance of the flowers and smiling at Sunwoo. “I’m sure Changmin would love to see you actively participating in a full event. Wait here, okay? I’m serious, don’t move!”

A bittersweet smile crossed Sunwoo’s face as he nodded. “Of course, I’ll be right here.” He strained the smile on his face for as long as you were looking at him, waiting till you had turned around and turned deeper into the venue to go find Changmin for his smile to drop. Sunwoo was so foolish, letting Kevin and Chanhee fill his head with little fantasies he already knew wouldn’t happen. “I’m going home.”

“What?” Eric piped up, trying to salvage the situation as best as possible. “But… the flowers! You haven’t given them to Y/N, you didn’t even mention the fact that you—“

Sunwoo didn’t listen to him, sliding past the boy without another word and a disappointed expression twisting his facial features. There was no point in staying no matter what anyone would try to convince him otherwise, not when you were with him at least. He had nothing against Changmin personally, but just knowing that he was an active part of your life that Sunwoo wanted had thrown him off. He could feign happiness for as long as he wanted, but Changmin would probably be able to tell when Sunwoo wasn’t enjoying his presence.

He didn’t want to handle that situation, not now, when you were supposed to be having fun with Changmin at the school formal. It wasn’t his place to tread where he didn’t belong anyway.

He pushed the door of the venue open and felt a gush of cold air hitting him immediately, sending shivers down his spine as he closed it behind him. He wasn’t going to enjoy the walk home, the cold temperatures of the night time weather, and the swirling thoughts in his head of how naive he had been prevalent in his mind.

“Ah… I guess I should get rid of these, huh?” Sunwoo mumbled to himself, anxiously ruffling up his hair as he stared at the red roses in his hands. “What a waste of money.”

The boy glanced around before his eyes settled on a steel garbage bin that sat not too far from him. Carefully watching his step, he approached the bin with the roses in hand, ready to trash them away and pretend as he had never bought them in the first place. A little symbolic if you asked him, throwing away flowers like he had to push away his feelings.

“Sunwoo!” His name was called, throwing him off guard and clutching the roses to his chest. He turned around to meet your gaze, watching as you struggled to catch your breath as if you had run all the way here to find him. You leaned up against the door for a moment before finally meeting his eyes, “where are you going? I told you to wait for me to come back.”

“Home,” he admitted, finding no use in lying to you. “There was nothing for me to do here anyway, so I’m going home.”

“Still,” you insisted, pushing yourself off of the door and walking towards him. Your eyes darted between the frazzled bouquet of roses in his hands and to Sunwoo’s lowered gaze, sighing to yourself as you tried to figure out the situation at hand. “You had just got here, you can’t make an appearance and then leave without telling anyone. You could have at least waited till I got back.”

When Sunwoo didn’t respond, you smirked at him, lightly hitting his shoulder as you jeered, “what? Did you get your heart broken by a girl or something?” He held his breath at your question, his brain beginning to run on emergency mode as you slid the roses out of his hand and examining them for yourself. “Woah, you brought flowers and everything… it must have been really embarrassing when she rejected you, huh? Is that why you’re leaving so early?”

Sunwoo hesitated for a moment, “in a sense… yeah, you’re not wrong.”

You gasp at his reply, your eyes going wide as you spoke, “are you serious? You really got rejected? That’s crazy, and at the school formal? Who was it? I’ll go and teach them a lesson for you, don’t even worry about it.”

“Really?” He questioned, leaning up against the bin behind him as you eagerly nodded your head as an answer. “Okay, I tell you then.”

“Perfect!” You exclaimed, ready to defend Sunwoo by any means necessary. “Just wait till I get my hands on her, she’ll wish she never rejected—“

“Y/N.” You stopped in the middle of your sentence, slowly meeting his eyes as confusion crossed your face. He nodded his head again and pointed to you as he spoke, “it’s you, Y/N.”

Instinctively you smiled at him, a strained smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m following?”

“The roses,” Sunwoo explained, gesturing toward the bouquet that threatened to fall out of your hands, “they were for you, I bought them on my way here and I was planning on giving them to you. But then you said that Changmin had brought you to the formal and got you camellias, and you were even hanging out around him. I didn’t want to intrude.”

You were struggling to comprehend the words coming out of Sunwoo’s mouth, resorting to the awkward laughter to fill up the silence between you as you spoke, “what would even you be intruding on, Sunwoo? You wouldn’t be—“

“Do you not like Changmin?” He asked, his eyes growing wider with every second you didn’t answer him. “I thought you liked Changmin, you two are always around each other and are super close to each other so I assumed—“

“—you assumed wrong,” you clarified, “Changmin is like a brother to me, Sunwoo. The only reason we hang around each other so often is that we live near each other and take some of the same classes together.”

“But… the camellias—“

“—are a gift,” you finished, playing with one of the rose’s petals as you tried to understand the boy’s thought process. “They were a gift because yesterday I passed a really big exam I had been studying for weeks. The flowers weren’t for the formal, they were given to me as congratulations.”

Sunwoo stared at you blankly, slowly processing the correct answers to his assumptions. Was that why his friends were so adamant about pushing him towards you? For him to finally shoot his shot with you? Because you didn’t actually like Changmin the way he thought you did, because he had misinterpreted your relationship with him? If that was the case, why didn’t they say anything sooner? It would have saved him so much more time!

“Do you get it now?” You asked him, “we’re just friends, I don’t think I could ever see myself dating Changmin in the first place.”

Sunwoo snapped back into reality upon hearing your voice, “seriously?”

“Seriously,” you nodded, picking a rose out of the bouquet and holding it out to him. You urged him to take it out of your hand and spoke, “now can you please come back to the formal? Everyone’s waiting for you and we wanted to have a fun time together. I was really counting on your arrival too.”

You were waiting for him. You, Y/N, were waiting on Sunwoo to attend the formal after Kevin had opened his mouth and spilled his potential appearance? “Sunwoo?”

“Sorry,” he blurted. You were going to question him on why he was apologizing as there was no need for him to do such a thing when Sunwoo took a hold of your face, pulling you toward him and leaning in to kiss you out of the pure adrenaline that had built up within his body. However, he stopped before your lips could even touch, his breath fanning across your face and freezing in place. You only stared at him wide-eyed, closer to him than you’ve been before.

If only the two of you weren’t so close, crossing the boundaries you had both set in place for each other when you first met, maybe he wouldn’t have caught the way you flushed at his actions or heart how hard your heart began beating against your chest.

“Sorry,” Sunwoo repeated, letting go of you and taking a step back. You weren’t the only one shaken by the sudden turn of events, the boy felt his body tremble against the thought of kissing you right then and there.

He didn’t have the confidence to do that, not here at least, it was only the adrenaline making him move. “I’m sorry, I’ll see you in class or something tomorrow. Bye, Y/N,” He quickly excused himself, not even giving you time to answer him as Sunwoo dashed as fast as his legs would take him. At least he knew now that if he were to ever pull something dangerous like that, you wouldn’t exactly stop him from doing so.

[diavolodigitale]

Dream Sequence. Lucio

It’s been a while since I had so much fun writing something. No plot, really, it’s a pretty light read and I am proud of it.

All parts of the trilogy: Lucio - Asra - Julian - All stories in PDF

A part of the "trilogy" about dream encounters dedicated to Lucio (because I love him, apparently). Nothing special, just You (or the Apprentice, or the Reader, however you view it) and Lucio spending some time together (if you know what I mean, which you probably don't, so go ahead and read it, it's pretty short, I promise). My character was male, but you are free to imagine whoever you want since there are no references to it in the text.

Genres: Romance, Fluff, Humor, Dreams, POV First Person, One-shot, Light-hearted

Pairing: Lucio/Apprentice(or Reader or You or Whatever)

Characters: Lucio, Reader/Apprentice/You

Rating: G for Geez that’s a good story

Size: around 2500 words

I open my eyes and look around. The room I am in is quite spacious. Despite barely containing any decorations or even furniture, somehow it still feels inviting and cosy. It is dimly lit, the only light sources that I can spot are a few candles standing here and there.

Suddenly, I hear a loud thud, as if something heavy fell on the floor, and I hastily turn around to investigate. I immediately spot an empty decanter lying on the ground at the leg of an old wooden table and a figure crouching beside it. The figure looks like it’s glowing in the darkness of the room because everything about it is so brightly white.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” says Lucio awkwardly and stands up, cradling the decanter in his arms. “Or did I?” he immediately proceeds to ask, roguish smile plastered on his face.

I smile in return and shake my head. This is probably another dream we’re sharing. It happened a few times before. There is no logical end to it, no specific purpose, nothing. We just seem to linger in an accidental place, surrounded by whimsical decorations or nothing at all, until one of us wakes up and cuts the ties to this place rendering it forever lost in time and space. I suppose it has something to do with our connection as the spirit of Lucio seems to be drawn to me whenever I slip out from the deep slumber and see dreams.  

“And why would you want to do that?” I ask and cross my arms, raising my eyebrow inquiringly.

“Isn’t it obvious? If you’re scared, you will seek my protection and want to hold hands. Maybe, even more than that,” he responds without even a hint of embarrassment and casually puts the decanter back on the table.

“Oh, you would need to do more than that to scare me, don’t you know?” I say playfully. This encounter doesn’t seem to differ much those we usually have, so I decide to behave as I always do around him.

“What a shame…” he says and pouts, hardly being able to supress his impish smile. “I was hoping I could find a reason to hold you.”

“Since when do you need a reason to do that?” I ask as he slowly approaches, his walk as gracious as ever.

“Huh, true,” he says and grins, now standing much closer to me. There is not enough light in the room for me to see the features of his face clearly, but I am nevertheless able to spot the playful glim in his eyes.

“What do you feel like doing this time?” I ask more seriously. We’ve been on quite a few thrilling trips in my dreams as they are often filled with peculiar apparitions and location, but right now I cannot find anything that could interest Lucio with his insatiable appetite for adventures.

“Hm…” He puts an index finger to his lips and musingly looks around. As I expected, nothing in the room is able to pique his curiosity so his gaze wanders back to me.

“I have an idea,” he says mischievously and immediately covers my eyes with his hand for a second. When his hand is removed, the only thing I can see is complete darkness.

Intrigued, I summon a small glowing orb to light up the place. To my surprise, we are in a completely different room that resembles a closet more than anything else. The place is a tight squeeze, with Lucio standing right before me and the orb hovering above us. Though we’re not actually close enough to be touching, there is hardly enough room to move around at all.

The room quickly fills with heat and I feel my head spinning. The feeling of almost tangible warmth around me reminds me of the time I first met Lucio. His presence had the same effect on his surroundings, which seems to be the sign of him being agitated or excited about something. My gaze is wandering from his jawline to collarbone and back since I don’t want to stare him directly in the eyes. Lucio might be shameless, but I immediately feel flustered in such a situation.

“You are quite a fast learner,” I say nonchalantly, looking up for a split second. He grins even more, flattered by my words.

In spite of his utter incapability when it came to using magic in the real world, he somehow was able to learn to manipulate matter in my dreams quite easily. There was rarely a need for him to resort to this skill, but his still tried to use every opportunity he had to give it a try.

“I can do many more things,” he says and moves closer to me, resting his heavy gilded hand against the wall right above my head and leaning a bit closer. “You know, I am very talented.”

I nod and look down. The orb illuminates every little detail of his face, and I am afraid he is provided with the same sight of mine, so I do my best to hide my flustered expression. I find the position we are in uncomfortable, but I am also curios to see what he has on his mind.

Lucio leans even closer, propped up on his arm, and starts whispering into my ear.

“Have any plans for tonight?” he asks, his eyes narrowed in a cunning smile.

“No, not that I am aware of at least,” I reply. “What are you up to?”

“Well, I was thinking we might find a monstrous beast for me to slay…” he whispers, tickling my ear with his warm breath, “I would look exceptionally good swinging its ugly head left and right, with a few light wounds here and there and covered in its blood. Or we might show up to an extravagant ball and have the time of our lives there. We could demonstrate the public our best, most elaborate dance, and they would cheer and applaud, flabbergasted at our awesomeness and grace.”

I chuckle a bit at how unsurprisingly flashy his suggestions are. But it is usually my job to tease him, so I can’t let him beat me so easily, even if I seem to be much less at ease in such… circumstances.

“Your idea certainly sounds entertaining,” I mutter and slide my hand down his side and onto his waist.

“Wh– which one exactly?” he asks, visibly taken aback by my display of interest.

“Both of them, actually,” I say, as my hand wraps around him and pulls him a tad closer.

Lucio’s face blossoms with light-pink and he lets out his breath with a loud sigh. The air of confidence he always has around him disperses in a matter of seconds every time I unexpectedly agree to play by his rules. He just cannot get used to it for some reason.

“And… which one would you chose?” he asks carefully, moving away from my red ear to steal a glance at my face. He is a bit taller than me and stands so close that it’s hard for me to look at anything else except for his squinted eyes and blond locks of hair framing his face.

I pull him even closer, pressing him to me and squeezing his side, and rest my other hand on his cheek. His face is growing redder every second and he starts to squirm a little, trying to avoid my gaze and the intimacy he seems to still secretly enjoy.

“I believe, I have an even better idea,” I say, smiling, and raise my hand to cover his eyes for a split second.

Before he has the time to protest, we are back in the room we first appeared and it is hardly different from the way we left it. I release him from my grip and give him a light push on the chest. With nothing to grab on his way down, he helplessly falls onto the bed behind him, a startled “Ah!” escaping his lips.

I smile, savouring the look of surprise on his face, and approach the bed.

Lucio is flushed but doesn’t seem to mind losing control over the situation. Invitingly, he reaches out with his hand to me, but I shake my head and climb on the bead on top of him without his help.

The bed is incredibly soft so I doubt he felt any discomfort landing on it. It reminds me of the one I saw in Lucio’s old chambers, only in its pre-catastrophic state. The cover is pleasant to the touch and seems to be crimson, but it’s difficult to discern the colour in almost complete absence of light in the room.

“You’ve got something red on your cheeks,” I say playfully and run my hand over the side of his face. It’s warm, hot even, and I feel the muscles twitch on his face as he smiles at me.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says casually, “when I felt you were here, I ran with all my might to get to you as fast as I could (and had to cover infinitesimal distances, of course) so now I might feel a little too warm.”

I quickly land a kiss on each of his cheeks, pressing him more with the weight of my body, and he laughs merrily, trying to catch my hands in the process.

“There’s something here as well,” I say and kiss Lucio on the tip of his nose.

He tries to escape my touch and turns away, giggling, so I kiss his ear shell which is even redder than his face now.

He struggles playfully a bit, but it doesn’t feel like he really wants to win this fight. I stop to look at him, and he returns my glance without a second thought. His hands are resting on my thighs and he moves them up and down carefully.

“You’re as light as a feather,” he notes, tilting his head, “we need to start feeding you properly. What is your favourite food?”

I take a second to consider my answer.

“Bread. With spices,” I reply, remembering fondly the times Asra and I would go to the bakery near our shop and enjoy the heavenly taste of freshly baked bread.

“Then it’s decided!” says Lucio excitedly and lands his hands on my thighs with a clap. “When I’m officially reinstated as the Count, I’m going to buy you all of the bread I can find! No, the whole stall! No, wait, the whole street! I will buy you a whole street worth of shops with all the bakeries you want!”

I cannot help but laugh at how foolishly he behaves. He pouts and turns away, trying to pretend that he lost interest in me.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say, still laughing. “I am truly sorry, Your Highness. How could I ever make up to what I have done?” I ask inquisitively, observing his face.

Lucio’s eyes spark with mischief again and he pretends to be thoughtful before proceeding to say what has been on his mind, perhaps, this whole time.

“I might forgive you if you lend me a hand for something. There seems to be something wrong with me…” he says worriedly, but I am not buying into his act. “Something wrong…” he repeats, slyness becoming visible through his cracked façade of seriousness. “It’s become so hard to breathe, I am almost suffocating… Could you please help me with this problem? Pretty please?” he says and dramatically rests his hand on his neck. I look into his eyes full of fake innocence and nod with understanding.

Lucio moves his hand away and starts watching me with unhidden curiosity and excitement. I carefully touch his chest which is rising and falling steadily and, to my surprise, notice, that his coat is buttoned up more than usually. It even makes me think that it really might be hard for him to breathe as he is definitely not used to walking around like this.

I go ahead and start untangling the lace that holds his cloak. I feel soft fur brushing against my hand as I purposefully tinker with the clasp much longer than is really needed. Lucio is growing visibly impatient but seems to do his best not to hurry me. I, in turn, try to hold back my laughter.

Having delt with the cloak, I proceed to unbutton his jacket. The fabric is very delicate, and I again take my time to tease him instead of just dealing with it quickly.

Lucio loses what was left of his patience and opens his mouth with a frown of unsatisfaction.

“What’s taking you so long?”

I look up at him as if he was a child with which I had to reason.

“We wouldn’t want to damage your magnificent attire, would we?” I ask and airily brush my finger against his bare chest that is now partly exposed. “Better proceed carefully.”

He flushes again because of my touch and appears to be at a loss for words. In the end, he just swallows loudly and pretends he did not want to say anything in the first place.

I occupy myself with the buttons again, and this time he waits almost patiently until I finish torturing him. Every time I “accidentally” land my hand on his skin instead of the soft fabric, I feel his pulse quickening, and every time I am forced to bite on my lip to hold back my treacherous smile.

Once I am done, Lucio exhales with relief. I don’t know what he expects me to do next, but suddenly an idea flashes in my mind and I already know I just have to do it.

With his eyes half shut and mouth a little agape, he watches as I delicately lay my hands on his sides and stroke him. It looks like he wants to say something, but I don’t give him a chance as I begin to tickle him violently, running my fingers along the skin between his ribs.

Lucio struggles and kicks below me but cannot do anything to escape my attack. He breathes erratically and I hear his muffled giggling when he jerks up from the bed and presses his body against mine to give me no room for movements. I decide to spare him and hug him instead, wrapping my hands around his neck.

“Well, that didn’t help me at all!” he exclaims jokingly, hugging me back and burying his face near my collarbone. His gilded hand is stroking my back and it feels a bit ticklish because of how sharp the tips of his fingers are, but I decide not to complain as it is more pleasant than anything.

I nestle closer and start twirling a strand of his hair around my finger. He has calmed down and I can hear him breathing steadily against my chest.

“I wish we could sit like this forever,” he says quietly.

“And who told you we can’t?” I ask, and he looks up at me, astonished and puzzled. “Show me who said that and I’ll give them a nice thrashing!” I say and it makes him laugh again.

“Not if I do that first!” he exclaims and plops back onto the bed with me startled but still securely held in his arms.

“I’ll be there to watch then,” I say, resting my chin on my arms crossed on top of his chest.

“Of course, you will! Why else would I do that?” he asks with indignation. “You just watch me. Don’t watch anybody else, just me, okay?”

“Oh, I would never…”