c-119 · 2 years ago
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Do you think Maru pranks the team sometimes by giving them scented air filters
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randonowrong · 4 years ago
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Sir Billiam (Technoblade), Ranbutler (Ranboo), and James (Sapnap) x Servant! Reader [HCs]
A/N: I put it under the cut because it’s so long. I honestly just started writing and unknowingly put so many words into these headcanons. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Lord Billiam III (Technoblade):
You are one of his many employees at the estate.
You were an orphan that was brought (bought) by his parents to serve at the estate since their servants kept dying or leaving.
Growing up you were taught how to do household chores by the older servants.
Seeing as you are in the same age range as their son, your masters decided to make you his personal servant.
With how Billiam grew up into an adult, I would assume that he was taught this during his childhood.
His parents were very critical of the social divide between you and their son.
You never forgot the reminders that you were nothing compared to them.
Billiam kept the act his parents wanted whenever he interacted with you in front of them.
But he was always kind and gentle with you compared to the other servants even his parents weren’t present.
He taught you how to read and write, leaving you with his favorite books whenever he had business to attend.
He loved when you ran to him to ask something about the book that you couldn’t understand, or when you didn’t know what a word meant.
This went on for years until his parents caught you in his room reading while he wrote at his study.
He heard them start screaming profanity at you and he ran into his room to see you being dragged by the hair outside.
He walked forward to help you but his father told him to stay because they had to deal with the “filth”.
Months went by without him hearing or seeing you. He assumed the worst, his parents had you killed.
During the period, he refused to have another servant but you.
He acted out against his parents’ orders and started on his path to independence.
He focused on his studies and work so that he could take over the family business and lands so that he can find you.
After a long time, he finally saw you again.
This was when he stayed up late due to managing some family matters and he stepped out of his room to get some fresh air.
There you were, in the servant’s clothes, on your knees and wiping the floor clean.
“Y/N?” he asked, reaching out to you.
After you heard him you stood up and took a deep bow. “I apologize for disturbing you my lord, I shall leave immediately.”
He had no time to stop you from taking the cleaning supplies and booking it downstairs.
Every future instance where he tried to talk to you was met with profuse apologizing and leaving.
He eventually gave up on interacting with you, as in the few moments that you do, you make it clear you don’t want anything to do with him.
Without his anchor, his tether that kept him humane, he was consumed by the snobbish teachings of the aristocracy.
When his parents finally died, Billiam became the sole owner of the many properties and subsidiaries his parents’ managed.
His cruelty knew no bounds, severely punishing servants who made a slight mistake. Servants...except you.
When the heir became the lord, you had become appointed as the head servant of the estate, in charge of managing and teaching the staff to serve.
Servants would notice the tense air that hung when you and their employer would interact, the casual reports on the happenings at the estate, servants being laid off for mistakes, etc.
The first time you two had conversed without the awkwardness is when a deal he wanted to secure fell through. He was livid, destroying everything in his quarters.
Knowing that any miniscule slight while Billiam was furious would result in severe punishment, you took it upon yourself to fix the room. Deciding to spare the other servants from possible suffering.
When the noise of glass being thrown, tables being flipped, and paintings being torn had ceased, you decided to enter the room and tend to your lord.
Billiam stood by his overturned desk. Shards of glass from the decorations he threw stuck in his bleeding hand. 
“My lord you are injured, please allow me to tend to your wounds.” he tensed after hearing your voice call out to him. 
Turning around he observed the wreckage that he caused, his eyes stopping on your figure holding a rag and setting down a basin of water on the ground.
The room grew silent as you were crouched down and tending to Billiam, no sound threatened to escape from either of you. 
When you finished picking out the shards and cleaning the wounds you stood up with the basin, now colored red, to leave the room when he grabbed your hand “Stop.”
Complying, you stopped in your tracks and faced him. “Yes my lord?”
“I-I...” he clenched his fists, trying to find the right words to tell you.
His mind cleared, he knew what he needed first from you. “I command you to tell me why you were and have been avoiding me!” he shouts, raising his voice.
You sigh, eyes drifting to stare at the floor as your lips open to answer. “It would be best to show you my lord.” you answer, setting down your things, you untie the affixes of your attire.
With the last of the strings untied, you turn around and move your top to expose your back to him. 
His mouth agape, he stared at the lashes on your back, the burn marks, the deep cuts. “Wha-”
“It was your parents, my lord. They did not like it when they saw how close we were.” you added, beginning to fix yourself back up.
You felt him crash into you, pulling you into a tight hug, as his breath fanned your nape. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.” you feel warm tears fall on your bare neck.
You let him be open with his emotions, as the dam that kept all of the pain in for the past years cracks and floods out. You hear him mumble apology after apology to you.
When his tears falter, you turn around and pull him into a hug. Tangling your hand in his hair and nudging his head into your neck to comfort him.
“Don’t apologize for feeling what you feel.”
His breath hitches as you continue speaking.
“And don’t apologize for loving me.”
That night was spent with Billiam being in your arms as he had wanted to be for years, finally feeling the warmth he did when you were both young.
The next day, your belongings were being moved by the servants outside of your quarters. Under orders from Lord Billiam they answered when you questioned why.
“You will no longer be the head servant, (Y/N).” Billiam stated as he walked towards you accompanied by three maids.
“From now on you shall be mine, the spouse of Lord Billiam III.” he smirked, holding out a hand for you.
You reach out and grab his hand “Yes, my lord.”
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Ranbutler (Ranboo):
A fellow servant under the employ of Lord Billiam III.
The both of you were employed on the same day, as your new master needed more servants to manage the happenings around his vast estate.
Ranboo had no time to introduce himself to you as work was immediately shoved upon his shoulders, he would be acting as the personal servant at the side of Lord Billiam.
You, meanwhile, were in charge of managing the storehouse and making sure everything your master needed was in stock.
Life...is hard when serving under an aristocrat, more so under Lord Billiam. 
He was very critical of everything and all he does is done with utmost perfection. Failure wasn’t allowed at his manor.
Thankfully, you were able to adjust easily to your job. Taking walks around the estate to question the denizens of the necessities which were needed. Being able to pick out the most affordable but high quality items.
Which lead to you being one of the few that did not catch the ire of your master. He had even given a sarcastic statement which sounded like a compliment? You were unsure if he was capable of complimenting a mere servant.
When Lord Billiam needed to attend to business away from the city, he left Ranboo in charge of acting in his stead, as one of his closest aides.
Most of the servants breathed a collective sigh of relief when the carriages, carrying your master, had left the confines of the property.
The few servants that stood by the side and watched the others silently knew something.
They couldn’t slack just because he wasn’t here. Lord Billiam has eyes and ears everywhere, so slacking off was something never to be done.
From the corner of your eye, you could see Ranboo walk and stand beside you. “Lord Billiam wants stocks of wine and other refreshments to be present in the cellar by the time he arrives. He specifically instructed to only procure the best, so do not worry about the cost.”
You nod and continue watching the rambunctious bunch of servants. “Of course. I assume Lord Billiam instructed you about that?” you question.
He gives a slight nod and turns to walk back inside the manor leaving you.
The next day, most of the servants had taken it upon themselves to have fun while doing their job. The cooks used ingredients to cook meals for themselves, the cleaners allowing dust and dirt to gather on the furniture.
You took your daily stroll around the place, taking mental notes of whatever the servants you crossed paths with were doing. 
Absentmindedly you bumped into someone’s chest and mumbled a quick “Sorry.”
Looking up you came faced with the trusted aide of your lord. “Would you like to join me for afternoon tea?” he invited, gesturing to the direction of the balcony.
You raise a brow and begin walking with him towards the balcony. In your mind you wonder what his plans may be, knowing Lord Billiam must have trusted him with that.
Arriving at the balcony a gentle breeze blew through your hair as you looked at the table in front of you. An assortment of treats and sweets were laid out, a pot of tea with two cups and saucers present as well.
Ranboo walked to one of the chairs and pulled it out, gesturing for you to take a seat. When you did, he walked to his own and began pouring the hot beverage. 
The two of you sat in silence, the only sound being heard were the chirping of the birds that flew overhead. 
“So...I presume that you are on the same orders as I am?” you break the silence, taking a sip from your cup and staring at him for an answer.
He nods. “Sir Billiam has entrusted me with this job and I must fulfill it dutifully. You must understand so, (Y/N).” he grabs the pot and pours himself another cup. 
“Yes...we must weed out the imperfections that our lord does not need.” you hum, staring at your reflection in the tea. “As our lord’s favored aids, you being publicly known, and I with the others being secret, must serve without fault.”
Your eyes both held a dark gleam, staring at each other with understanding of your orders. “Well, I am thankful for the tea, but I must continue with my work.” you stand and set down your saucer. “I enjoyed our small discussion. I hope to speak with you more in the future, now excuse me.”
The succeeding days were a blur, although your master was absent from the manor, there was still a backlog of work and duties which had to be done. Having to continue observing the other servants, managing deliveries and orders to and from the estate, and making sure your discussion with the butler was kept private.
Oh yes, speaking of the butler. He would be at each of your turns, giving his insight on what sir Billiam would order and keeping the estate running. 
You would catch him in the corner of your eye, staring at you from the shadows. Though this did not faze you as he was just following commands, as was you.
When Lord Billiam III returned a week later all the servants stood outside to receive their Lord. They all stood firmly, heads bowing low, and no noise threatening to escape their lips. “Welcome back my Lord!” you all collectively shout.
You and Ranboo stood at the head of the two lines. Lord Billiam began to stride towards the entrance when he stopped in his tracks. “You two, follow me.” he commanded and continued on his path.
“Yes my lord.” you both answer, raising your heads and following him, keeping a suitable distance. 
Arriving in front of the doors to his quarters, you both took steps forward and opened the double doors and bowing. You could feel the smirk that Sir Billiam held as he walked in, the two of you soon following and closing the doors.
Taking a seat at his study, Billiam put his hands together and set his elbows on the table. “Now, give me a detailed report you two.” he ordered.
You both nodded and gave detailed statements on what happened at the estate in the duration of his absence. Every mistake, every success, every mishap, everything. With him nodding to each explanation.
“I knew picking you two as my personal aides wasn’t a mistake.” he chuckles. “Now leave, I have work to do.” he states, voice turning cold.
In the morning, all the servants were gathered in the main hall. They whispered to one another, wondering about the sudden meeting.
The noises stopped as soon as Lord Billiam stood at the head of the stairs overlooking the foyer, he was followed by two servants, the butler and you. 
“Now, you may all be wondering why I have called you all at such an ungodly hour.” he stated, looking at the servants like ants. “It has come to my attention the problems my estate faces, with regards to all of you.” he continues, taking delight in the looks of fear that some held.
“I hereby relieve you all of your duties, leave at once, I have no need for incompetents who slack around when they believe their master isn’t present.” he seethes, glaring at them, before turning and leaving the room.
You and Ranboo glance at each other as you hear the servants cry, some panic, some running to sort out their departure. No matter, you thought, as the butler put a hand on your shoulder and nodded.
He tugged your arm towards the balcony, a soft smile on his face. “Afternoon tea?”
“I would be glad to have some, Mr. Butler.”
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Lord James (Sapnap):
You are a servant in service to Lord James’ family for a long period.
You were present from the beginning of his marriage to his subsequent divorce. Acting as one of his wife’s personal servants, in charge of dressing her and tending to her beck and call.
Having been assigned to her, you were well acquainted with Lord James. Being the one to inform him whenever your lady was unavailable.
Though the first interaction between just you two, not involving or speaking about anyone else happened quite later.
It happened after an argument with his wife, who promptly stormed out of the manor, leaving you with her husband. You felt awkward being left in the same room without your lady. 
You were ready to walk out of the room when you suddenly heard him collapse as he began to sob. 
You crouched down and held him up, comfortingly rubbing his back. You were about to speak when you were pulled into a hug, feeling tears fall on your shirt. 
You stayed on the floor, letting James cry his heart out. You continued rubbing his back but stayed silent.
Once his tears stopped flowing, you helped him stand and walk to his bed.
Turning to leave the room, you were stopped when he grabbed your hand firmly. “Stay.” he softly spoke, tugging you towards the bed.
“My lord, we can’t, what would my lady think-” you protested, worried for yourself and for him, already thinking of the scale of this scandal if word got out.
“I just...want someone to hold me, please.” he pleaded, eyes downcast towards the floor. 
You relented as he brought you into an embrace and pulled you into the bed. He rest his head in the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning your skin.
Within moments, he had fallen asleep, obviously emotionally drained with all the baggage he’d been carrying. You sigh, running a hand through his soft locks. He stirred in his sleep and moved his head closer to your hand.
You stayed there for a few minutes, a wave of exhaustion washing over you as well. Slowly, you were lulled to sleep with the sound of his breathing...
Awakening, you rubbed your eyes, it was still dark outside possibly nearing daybreak you assumed. Turning your head, you saw Lord James. He still remained clung to your side like a babe.
Although you wanted to stay in the comforts of the soft bed, one which could not be said for your own in the servants’ quarter, you decided to leave before his wife came upon the scene. 
Slowly, you wrung the arm he was hugging from his grasp and stood up from the bed. Fixing your attire you saw as he stirred from his sleep, moving to search for the source of heat that moved away.
You smiled, tugging the blankets over his figure and patting his head one last time before exiting the room.
With a soft click of the door, you scanned the halls, it was empty. You breathed a sigh of relief, it was a good thing no one caught you at this time. You knew what people would assume if they had seen you, a lusty commoner ruins another marriage.
You began your walk towards the servants’ shared quarters, the light of the moon passing through the window lighting your path. 
James awoke the next day, with a blanket draped over him. He smiled, knowing you did this. 
He heard a knock at the door “My lord, breakfast has been served and my lady is looking for you.” a servant called out before the clacking of their shoes indicated they walked away.
Sighing, he began to prepare himself for the day, grabbing a new tunic and fixing his disheveled appearance. 
Arriving at the dining hall, he saw servants running around the place, placing plates and utensils on the table. Some were bringing out the food from the kitchens.
Although his eyes drifted immediately to you. You were stood by his wife and listening to the orders she barked at you. With each command earning a nod of acknowledgement from you afterwards.
With a wave of her hand, she dismissed you and turned to start her meal. You bowed and turned to exit the room when your eyes met James’. You stilled before casting your eyes to the floor and walking out of the hall.
James understood it all too well, once being someone who laughed at the broken marriages of other nobles, caused by them falling prey to their servants’ temptation. He couldn’t laugh, now that he was one of them.
He knew it was wrong though. He was already married, and had a duty to fulfill to his family and wife. While you? You were trying to survive in society, not wanting to be part of any drama.
Snapping out of his trance when his wife called out to him, he sighed and took a seat at the table. Mind still focused on you.
Even though he consummated the marriage and had children with her. His love and yearning for you never faltered. You were by her side every step of their marriage. You took turns with the nannies in watching the children, sometimes being left to care for them when James and his wife went on trips.
Through the years you two did this careful dance. Feathery touches that drifted on your skin for moments before disappearing. Loving glances thrown at each other’s way. The soft tone of his voice when he spoke to you. Though others would think nothing of it, the two of you knew the fragile fantasy going on.
A fragile fantasy that all came crashing down that day.
Screaming could be heard throughout the whole manor, servants stayed quiet and steered away from the room, which you couldn’t really do.
As the personal servant of Lord James’ wife, you stood by the sidelines as they threw words, insults, and the occasional object at each other in their rage.
In her anger she threw one of the decorative stones on the nearby table. Lord James saw it and was able to jump out of the way.
They both stopped when they heard it collide with something else. Turning around, he saw the stone on the floor with blood staining one side of it.
You crouched down from the pain and put a hand on the side of your head, retracting it you could see the red color staining your skin. 
“(Y/N)!” James shouted, running over to help you up when his wife cut in.
“Don’t help that lowly servant! Pay attention to me you bastard! Do you think I wouldn’t notice?!” she shouted.
James paid no mind to her as he caught you in his arms. You had passed out from the blood loss, and probably the concussion on your head.
“Don’t think we aren’t done talking! You still haven’t answered me!” she continued to scream, though her words never reached his ears.
Picking you up he turned and glared at her. “We’ll speak about this tomorrow.” he firmly stated, before walking out and bring you to an empty room so he can tend to you.
You awoke with a headache, it was dark. Sitting up on the bed, you noticed you were one in the spare bedrooms and gripped your forehead as a stinging pain came. Right...you got hit by a rock.
You jumped when you heard the door open. Turning you came faced with Lord James, the upper buttons of his shirt being undone and a hand running through his hair.
He opened his eyes and met yours, then he scrambled towards you. “Are you okay? Is there still pain? Do you want me to call the physician?”
“Please do not worry yourself over me my lord.” you answered, wanting to keep the formality of the situation. Standing up from the bed you put your hand over his, which was placed on the side of your head. 
“I- uh yes.” he coughed, retracting his hand and putting them by his side. “I’m sorry about that, you didn’t need to get caught up in our argument.” 
Your eyes widened, your lady must be looking for you right now. “Excuse me, my lord.” you stated in panic, patting yourself down to look presentable before running out of the room.
“No need, she’s gone.” you heard James state as you stopped in your tracks. “Our divorce will be finalized in a few days, and she doesn’t want anything to do with me or you anymore.”
Thoughts raced through your mind, does she know about the incident, what would happen to you if she did. Your breathing picked up as you stilled.
James brought you into an embrace, your back hitting his chest as he dipped his head into the top of your head and inhaled. Your hair smelled lovely, comparable to that of other noble ladies. He shut the door, wanting to keep the privacy between you two.
“My lord, we shouldn’t it isn’t proper.” you stated, keeping firm on the fact you wanted to preserve not only your reputation but more importantly his.
“I don’t care.”
“But what would others think?”
“I don’t care.” he firmly stated, turning you around and pushing you against the wall.
“For years I’ve kept these feelings inside and now that there isn’t anything stopping me, I can finally express these repressed emotions.” he continued.
“I...I...-” he trailed.
“I command you to love me!” he shouted. trapping you against the wall with his forehead touching your own. 
You sigh in defeat and finally relent, reaching up and cupping his cheek, “I already do, my lord.”
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strawberry--bride · 3 years ago
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DIABOLIK LOVERS Haunted Dark Bridal ー Sharon’s Route [PROLOGUE]
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Monologue
The most painful thing in this world,
is losing your home. Your place-to-be.
No matter how dire the situation,
if you are surrounded by people who love and care for you.
No obstacle is invincible. 
Then ーー Where do I belong?
Having long lost the place I once considered home.
I spent many years in a place which would provide for me. 
I had food, a roof above my head, a warm bed to sleep in at night.
But could I truly call this my home? 
Those doubts would lurk in the back of my mind, keeping me up at night.
Until one day, I was made a special offer. 
If I complied, I would be given the thing my heart longs for the most.
ーー A new home.
Location: Sakamaki Manor ;; Outside
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Sharon: This is the place, right...?
( Woah...Amazing. I’ve never seen a house quite this big. They even have a garden! )
*Knock knock*
Sharon: Excuse meー! My name’s Sharon. I’m supposed to move in here today! 
...
...
( No response...? How strange. They should have been informed through the Church. )
*Knock knock*
Sharon: Hello...? Anybody home...!?
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Sharon: ( What to do...? There doesn’t seem to be anyone home right now. It’s already getting dark. I can’t just stand here all night either. )
*Creaaaaak*
Sharon: ...Huh? Did the...door just open by itself?
( Does that mean I can go inside? I feel a little hesitant just entering someone else’s home butーー I was told I could live here so it should be fine, right? )
She enters the manor.
 Location: Sakamaki Manor ;; Entrance Hall
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Sharon: Just as I thought, the inside is equally spacious. I can’t imagine just one person living in such a large house all by themselves. Cleaning must take quite some time as well.
She puts down her suitcase.
*Thud*
Sharon: Phew...
( ...It’s so quiet. Almost as if the house is deserted. I wonder if the owner is out at the moment? In that case, I should probably wait in the living room. )
Sharon looks around.
Sharon: I guess it’s...that way?
*Rustle*
Sharon: ...!!
( I...Did I just...step on something? It felt...strangely soft and... )
???: ーー Oi.
Sharon: ...Kyah!
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Sharon: ( A person...!? Oh my gosh. I just arrived here and the first thing I do is step on someone! )
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???: ...
Sharon: I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t think there would be someone lying on the floor and...!
( ...Speaking of which, what were they doing down there anyway!? ...Sleeping? No way, right? When you have a house this large, you definitely don’t need to use the floor as a bed... )
???: Haah...
Sharon: Oh no! Are you feeling ill, perhaps? In that case, I shall call a doctor right away!
???: ...You’re loud. How am I supposed to enjoy my Rachmaninov when you’re screaming the place down? 
Sharon: Rach...mani...? ...E-Either way, if you’re not feeling sick, then what were you doing on the floor?
???: Wasting his time away listening to music rather than making himself useful, per usual, I would assume. Well, I suppose it is best not to have any expectations of this man in the first place, as he will only let you down in the end.
Sharon: ...!? 
( A voice...? Out of nowhere...!? )
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Sharon: ...Wah!!
( Where did he come from...? )
???: Now, who might you be?
Sharon: Ah...I’m sorry! My name’s Sharon. I’m an orphan at the Catholic orphanage downtown. I was told by our related Church that the resident of this manor has been so kind to take me in. Are you...perhaps the owner?
???: ...I see. It seems you are the next...sacrifice.
Sharon: Excuse me?
???: Nothing. I was simply talking to myself. ...Ahem. My name is Sakamaki Reiji. The second eldest son of this family and one of the residents here. ...The man you had the ‘honor’ of meeting earlier is Shuu. While you may not suspect so given his deplorable behavior, he is - quite unfortunately - my elder brother.
Sharon: Reiji-san...and Shuu-san, was it? It’s a pleasure meeting you both!
Shuu: ...
Reiji: I assume that is your luggage over there? A room has been prepared for you. We will have one of our servants bring everything upstairs.
Sharon: Thank you very much!
( Thank god...So there wasn’t any mistake after all. )
Sharon: Oh! Right! I actually brought a little gift with me! They’re homemade muffins I made this morーー
*CRASH*
Sharon: ーー ning...!?
Startled by the loud noise, she drops the box with muffins.
*Thud*
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???: YOU FUCKIN’ BASTARD!! I swear once I get my hands on youーー! 
???: Ahaha! I can’t believe you actually fell for that one! Lame-o!
Reiji: ...
Shuu: Haah...
Sharon: ( H-Hold on, hold on, hold on! Eh? Eeeeh!? I’m not dreaming, right!? That person just punched a hole through the wall!? )
Reiji: Ahem. ...Allow me to introduce. The one who destroyed the wall is the youngest son, Sakamaki Subaru. Next to him is Sakamaki Ayato, the eldest of the triplets. 
ーー You two, explain this situation at once!
Ayato: ...Che. Reiji. I didn’t do anythin’! Not my fault that Subaru ate those prank chocolates I left out on the kitchen counter.
Subaru: Fuck off! You definitely did that on purpose! ...I can still feel my mouth burnin’...!!
Sharon: ( ...Prank chocolates? I guess he means those filled with mustard and other spicy condiments, right? I didn’t know people actually bought those. )
Ayato: Of course! I was hopin’ to catch Kanato. Can you imagine what kinda face he would make when poppin’ one of those bad boys in his mouth?
???: ...Say, did you hear that, Teddy? ...I hope Ayato sleeps with one eye open tonight. He might just run into...unfortunate accident.
Sharon: ...Eh!?
( Another person just appeared out of thin air!? )
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Ayato: Keh. The lunatic’s here.
Reiji: Sakamaki Kanato, the middle triplet. 
...Kanato, If you wish to commit a homicide, please do so outside of the walls of this manor. It takes forever to remove blood stains from the carpet.
Kanato: I don’t recall having to take orders from you.
ーー However, you’re lucky as I happen to be in a good mood right now. I believe I heard someone mention muffins? 
Sharon: ...Ah, yes! I made these myse...Huh? ...Oh.
Shuu: It’s not blood, but I think the carpet will need some cleaning regardless.
Reiji: Good grief...
Sharon: Oh no...! The box must have slipped from my fingertips when I heard the sudden crash and...
Ayato: Ah-ahー Look what you did, Subaru. It’s always the youngest child causin’ trouble.
Subaru: HAAH!? All of this started ‘cause you left those stupid chocolates out!
Sharon: ...They turned out really good too. What a shame.
Subaru: ...!! ...O-Oi...You...Um...My bad.
Kanato: ...Unforgivable. 
Sharon: Eh?
Kanato: ...HOW WILL YOU MAKE THIS UP TO ME!?
Sharon: ( W-Why is he getting upset at me all of a sudden!? It was obviously just an accident!? )
Um...I’m not sure...I could make some new ones later?
???: There, there, Kanato-kun~ Relax! Even if the muffins were wasted, there’s a delicious snack just waiting to be devoured...
*Rustle*
Sharon: ...!
( Someone wrapped their arms around me from behind!? )
???: ...Right here~ ...Nfu~
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Sharon: ...Eh!?
( I-Is he talking about me!? )
Reiji: ...And finally, the youngest triplet, Sakamaki Laito. 
Ayato: Oi, Laito! No way you’re gettin’ the first taste again! I still haven’t forgotten last time!
Laito: Eeeh~? It’s not my fault you’re so slow, Ayato-kun~ However, if you’re so insistent on taking a bite out of her, I wouldn’t mind sharing, you know? I’m sure it’d make for a refreshing and thrilling experience~
Ayato: Geh! In your dreams, you perv!
Sharon: ( Taste? Bite...? Why are they talking as if I’m their food!? )
Excusーー
Shuu: ...Strawberries.
Sharon: Eh?
Kanato: What are you talking about? I don’t see any strawberries around.
Reiji: Shuu. Explain yourself.
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Shuu: Your panties. They had strawberries on them.
Sharon: ...!!
( When did he...!? Ah! When I stepped on him...! )
Ayato: Pfftー!! Strawberries! How old are you, five? That’s hella lame!
Laito: Hm...~ Strawberries are not bad but with such a lovely body, I’m sure you could pull off something a little more erotic~
Subaru: ...
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Laito: Oh, my bad~ I forgot baby bro was in the room. I suppose talking about a woman’s underwear is still a little too much for him to handle.
Subaru: S-Shut up...!!
Reiji: ...Enough! No more on this topic! ...Haah. Is it really that much to ask for you lot to behave? Just for one day?
Ayato: ーー Anyway, Reiji. Who’s this chick anyway? Tonight’s dinner?
Sharon: D-Dinner...!? I’m sorry but...Why are you all talking as if I’m food or something!?
Ayato: Shut it! Nobody asked for your opinion, Ichigo Pantsu.
Sharon: I-Ichigo paーー!? I have a name...! ...It’s Sharon.
Ayato: Yeah, yeah. I-chi-go Pa-n-tsu.
Laito: Hm~ This Bitch-chan does smell sweet just like strawberries. Perhaps I should call you ‘Ichigo-chan’ instead~?
Kanato: She really does. I’m sure her blood would taste just as sweet...Oh? What’s that, Teddy? You’d like to have a taste? Fufu...Good idea. I was just feeling a little peckish myself.
Reiji: Haah...I shall be in my study room. ...Ayato, Kanato, Laito. Please treat our new resident with some respect. It would be a shame to lose another one so soon.
Sharon: ...Wait, please! I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp the situation yet!
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Reiji: Haah...Good grief. You must not be very smart, are you? Did you truly believe you would be allowed to stay here for free?
Sharon: ...Eh?
Laito: Nfu~ He’s right, Ichigo-chan. Everything in this world comes at a price. In your case...That would be the delicious blood pumping through your veins...
Sharon: M-My blood...? 
Ayato: Heh. You seriously haven’t realized?
Kanato: Teddy...Humans are truly so foolish, aren’t they?
Subaru: Che...Stop beatin’ ‘round the bush already and just tell her.
Shuu: We are Vampires. So the only thing a human such as yourself would have to offer, is your blood.
Reiji: In return, you will be allowed to stay here in this manor. Food, clothes and all other daily necessities willl be provided as well.
Sharon: Vam...pires? That must be some sort of joke, right? It was the Church who arranged this place for me! They would neverーー! 
Besides...Vampires only exist in fairytales!
Reiji: Good grief. This is why I simply cannot deal with humans. Not only are they incredibly foolish, they are horribly naive and trusting as well.
Subaru: In other words, you were set up. Just deal with it.
Sharon: ...
( No way, right...? This has to be some sort of mistake? Or a bad dream...? )
Shuu: Pwaah...Anyway, you guys do as you please. I’m going to my room to nap.
Subaru: I’m leaving too.
Reiji: Well then, if you’d excuse me now.
The three of them leave.
Sharon: ...
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Laito: Oh dear~? Is that despair I see in your eyes? You poor little thing! Don’t worry, Laito-kun wil make sure to comfort you. After all, there is no better cure for betrayal than pleasure.
Ayato: Don’t be so down, Ichigo Pantsu! It’s not that bad of a deal! You get to offer your blood to Yours Truly after all!
Kanato: Fufu...I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. If you’re lucky, you might even make it into my precious collection one day~
Sharon: ...!!
She suddenly pushes them away.
*THUD*
Ayato: ...Woah!?
Laito: ...Aah~ Not bad, Ichigo-chan! I like myself a feisty girl at times!
Kanato: Ugh! ...What are you doing!? I nearly dropped Teddy just now.
Sharon: ...
She runs upstairs.
Location: Sakamaki Manor ;; Hallway
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Sharon: Haah, haah, haah...
( Say, God...? )
( Is this my penalty...? )
( Are you punishing me for my crimes of the past...? )
Monologue
I just kept on running and running.
As said question repeated itself inside my head.
That must be it.
Those guys were exactly right. 
Humans are foolish. I was foolish. 
Foolish to believe I would be given a new home.
After all, people like me.
ーー They don’t deserve a happy ending.
ーー PROLOGUE: END ーー
[ Dark Prologue ] ->
164 notes · View notes
snackhobi · 4 years ago
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pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)
summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.
warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!
--
“It’s time to get up.”
“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”
You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.
“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”
Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”
You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”
You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.
Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.
“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”
“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.
“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says. 
Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.
“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”
Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says. 
“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”
Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.
“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”
You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”
“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”
Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing. 
You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.
(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”
Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”
Why had she ever expected anything different?)
You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.
You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful. 
The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.
(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)
You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead. 
You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.
(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)
(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)
(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)
“Y/n?”
You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”
Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon. 
“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”
“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”
You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.
“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”
Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”
“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.
When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.
This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all. 
You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.
Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.
Stupid. 
You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.
And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.
You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true. 
But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself. 
You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.
You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.
You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned. 
That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.
A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.
You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there— The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.
You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.
There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks. 
There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.
You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.
It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.
He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.
“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”
The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”
Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”
The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.
You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”
This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”
“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”
The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”
A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”
As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.
The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.
“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”
“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”
When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.
“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”
The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”
You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.
“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”
He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—
“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.
His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”
You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”
“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.
“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”
“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.
“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”
He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.
But then.
“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.
“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”
The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”
“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”
He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.” 
--
The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.
Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.
It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.
“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”
“Haha, yeah,” you say. 
Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her. 
“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”
“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”
You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)
You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.
And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)
You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them. 
(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”
“What? Really?”
“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”
Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)
You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.
The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.
When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.
“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”
“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”
He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns. 
“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”
He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.
“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”
You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”
You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.
“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”
“Would you like one?”
“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”
The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”
You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”
“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”
Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”
You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable. 
“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”
“Sure.”
He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.
He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced. 
“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”
“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”
You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”
He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.
“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.
“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”
You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”
The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”
Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say. 
“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.
“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”
The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.
“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”
“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”
“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”
“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”
“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”
He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”
“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”
He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.
“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”
Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.
The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.
(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.
“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”
Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)
--
“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”
You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.
Jungkook pauses. “I don’t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”
“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”
Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”
“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”
Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”
He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.
“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”
Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”
You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”
“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.
“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”
The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.
“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.
“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”
“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”
Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.
There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.
You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.
“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”
The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.
“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”
“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”
Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”
You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”
Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”
You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.
Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.
“It’s so beautiful,” you say. 
Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”
Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”
“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”
Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”
Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”
“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”
Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”
Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.
“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”
“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”
“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”
As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”
“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed. 
Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful. 
These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)
You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.
You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.
(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.
“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground. 
“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)
--
“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”
“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”
Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.
“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”
It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.
“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”
You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”
Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin. 
“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”
You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”
You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.
It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.
He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.
He’s incredible.
Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.
“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”
“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.
Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”
“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”
You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.
Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.
“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”
“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”
Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”
“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.
The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen. 
Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)
Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.
You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you. 
Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.
Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.
A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”
“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”
“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”
You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.
“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.
“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”
There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”
You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”
Jungkook pauses. 
“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”
Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.
“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”
You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before. 
The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.
“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”
“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”
He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”
Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”
You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”
Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”
“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”
Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”
The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.
Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.
“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”
You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”
Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”
He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”
He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit. 
Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.
“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”
“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”
He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”
You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”
Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.
Then you lie face down on your bed.
Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive. 
Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?
You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf. 
To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.
You muffle a scream into your hands.
Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.
(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)
You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.
The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month. 
Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.
He picks up after one ring. 
“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.
“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”
You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way. 
It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic. 
“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?
You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met. 
“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.
“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”
“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.
“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.
“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”
“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.
“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”
You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.
“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”
“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”
“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”
“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”
“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”
“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”
(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.
“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”
Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too. 
As a friend.)
--
“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.
“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”
“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”
The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.
“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”
Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”
You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”
Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”
The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.
“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.
Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.
“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”
You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.
“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.
“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”
“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”
You beam. “Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.
“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”
You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”
For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)
You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.
But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.
When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.
You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.
“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”
He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.
“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.
“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say. 
“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”
“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”
He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.
“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”
“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”
He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities. 
You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.
“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”
He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”
You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.
“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”
“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”
He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.
“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.
“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.
More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay. 
Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.
“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.
“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”
“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”
The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”
Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is. 
The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”
“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.” 
“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”
He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs. 
Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.
You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.
Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you. 
No one’s ever looked at you like that before.
At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.
--
Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.
But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.
You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated. 
Why can’t you write?
By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.
You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately. 
You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.
“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”
“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”
You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”
It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.
“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you. 
You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he’s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.
“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”
You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.
“Kookie! Hi!” 
Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.
“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”
“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”
Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”
You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”
Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.
You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”
Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing. 
“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it. 
Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.
“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”
You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.
“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”
“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”
“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”
Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.
He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.
Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.
“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”
Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.
“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.
“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.
You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.
He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.
(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)
“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”
“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”
“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”
Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.
“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”
Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.
Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”
You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn��t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”
Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.
“What?”
“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”
You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”
Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him. 
It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his. 
His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.
He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.
You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.
You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.
Holy shit.
You’re in love with Jungkook.
The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.
“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.
You’re in love with him.
You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?
“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest. 
Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”
You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.
You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.
“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”
You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.
When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.
“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.
“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”
He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night. 
“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”
Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”
You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”
Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.
(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.
“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”
They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee. 
It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)
--
“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.
“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”
“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.
Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”
You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.
“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”
“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.
“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”
“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.
“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.
Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”
Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.
“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”
You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”
Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.
“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”
“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”
“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.
“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”
Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest. 
You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.
The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”
This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.
You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.
“Jungkook? Are you okay?”
He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.
“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.
“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”
“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.
“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”
Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.
“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.
He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.
Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you. 
(He loves you.)
It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.
No, actually— it’s just the beginning. 
You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts. 
“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”
Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”
How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?
“What made you come around?”
“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”
“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”
Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”
You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?” 
“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.
“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.
(“I love you.”
Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.
Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:
-
How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)
1K notes · View notes
melzula · 4 years ago
Note
hi ! i don’t know if this counts as a whole prompt, but could i request some iroh ii ? maybe their reunion when kya’s daughter went back with bumi to the fire nation and their whole reunion to wedding story ?
a/n: I just did the reunion part of this because it would be hard to cram the whole timeline into one piece aha but nonetheless enjoy!
*based off of these hc’s
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The cool breeze of the ocean air does little to calm your nerves as you fidget with the beads that wrap themselves neatly around your wrist and stare out into the open water. The Fire Nation docks are fast approaching, and you foolishly wonder if everything will be the same as it was when you left it behind all those years ago. You wonder if he is still the same, fearing for a moment that perhaps he has forgotten you after being apart for so long, but you don’t have time to dwell on your anxieties when a firm clap on your shoulder breaks you from your thoughts.
“Why the long face, kiddo?” Your Uncle Bumi grins. “I thought you’d be happier to be back here.”
“I am,” you reassure him, “it’s just I’m a little nervous is all. I haven’t been here in so long...”
“Well I’m sure the royals will be happy to see you,” he says. “You were Lord Zuko’s star student after all, and General Iroh is always asking about you.”
“He is?” You gasp, doing your best to quell the excitement that bubbles up inside of you at the news. You always brushed off your infatuation with the General as a silly childhood crush, but if that were the case then the mere mention of him shouldn’t have made you as cheerful as it did.
“Of course! Why do you think I brought you out here with me? Some good old nostalgia would be perfect for you!”
“Uncle,” you say with a pointed look. Bumi grins sheepishly.
“You could use a friend, y/n. And so could Iroh.”
You don’t get the chance to argue or insist that you’re fine, that you’re perfectly okay with the fact that your best friend is your Gran Gran, as the ship pulls into the docks and Fire Nation guards arrive to escort you to the palace. None of them are familiar to you, most of the men you’d known as a child having retired by now, but they still greet you with the same kindness as always, a perk of being the Avatar’s granddaughter and the Commander’s niece.
“I have to prepare for the meeting,” your uncle says as you reach the front gates and are permitted entry to the palace, “but if you want to head off and look for some old friends or even just explore your old playing grounds go right ahead.”
“Good look with the meeting, Uncle Bumi,” you reply before gifting the man a kiss on the cheek and parting ways with him for now.
You find yourself wandering into the gardens, admiring the blooming fire lilies and enjoying the refreshing breeze that blows cooly against your face as you reminisce on the memories you hold in this very spot. If you look hard enough you can almost see yourself sitting underneath the shade of the tree with Zuko and his grandson studying fire bending scrolls and enjoying cups of tea. Life had been so quiet and simple then, so peaceful. Maybe Bumi was right about needing a friend; you’d never felt lonelier in your entire life than you did now looking upon old childhood memories.
“Y/n?” A voice calls almost hesitantly, void of the confidence he’d always held, and despite the fact that your heart catches in your throat at the sound of his voice you will yourself to turn around and face the man you never stopped thinking about.
You can’t help the way your mouth hangs agape at the sight of him; he’d always been a good looking boy, but over the years Iroh had grown into the handsomest man you’d ever seen. He was beautiful with his strong jaw and shimmering gold irises, and despite how much he’d changed over the years he still held that same boyish grin you’d taken comfort in many times before.
“Iroh,” you finally say, heat crawling up your neck as you smile shyly. He’s rushing towards you in an instant, pulling you into his chest for a tight hug and laughing with pure unadulterated joy.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he admits with a sheepish grin, hands resting on your shoulders as he pulls away and looks you in the eyes. You don’t know it, but he’s just as taken back by your beauty. He was used to seeing you running around in your pigtails with your wide smile and a few teeth missing; you were absolutely radiant, your features maturing with the time that had passed, but your eyes still held that same twinkle they always did.
“It’s so good to you, old friend,” you say, smiling fondly as you rest a hand upon his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”
“So have I,” he replies, and you don’t miss the way he seems to melt into your touch. “I have a meeting to attend to, but perhaps you’d like to accompany me to dinner tonight? I want to hear about all of your adventures.”
“Dinner sounds lovely.”
“Perfect,” Iroh grins, “I’ll see you then.”
He parts from you then with a kiss on the cheek, leaving you with a dazed smile alone in the gardens as you watch him walk into the palace.
“We’re having dinner,” you murmur quietly to yourself, an excited smile pulling at your lips as you rush towards your assigned quarters to prepare.
~~~
“A date with the General, huh?”
“It’s not a date, Uncle Bumi,” you remind him as you sit before the vanity and slip on your favorite pair of earrings, a pair your mother had bought for you once during your travels, “it’s just dinner.”
“Sounds like a date to me,” he teases with a knowing grin. “You know, I always had a feeling about you two.”
“You said the same thing about Uncle Tenzin and Aunt Lin,” you retort only for Bumi to grimace.
“I never said it was a good feeling.”
“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug nonchalantly. “We’re just two old friends who want to catch up with each other.”
Oh, but it actually is a very big deal for you. You can’t remember the last time anyone has taken you out to dinner or the last time you had actually dressed yourself up for someone else, and frankly you don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s Iroh, after all, your childhood friend, why should you be nervous?
“Oh, I’ll walk you out!” Your Uncle exclaims excitedly once you put the finishing touches on your ensamble, and before you can even get up from your chair Bumi is yanking you onto your feet and dragging you out of the room towards the front gates where Iroh is presumably waiting for you. “I only wish your mother were here to see this!”
“Uncle,” you groan in quiet embarrassment, “you seem more excited than I am.”
“What? That’s nonsense!” Bumi scoffs. “Can’t I just appreciate the romanticism that comes with seeing old friends?”
“I see you’re a poet much like your father,” a third voice intrudes, a smiling Iroh startling both you and your uncle. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“No, not at all!” Bumi says before you can so much as open your mouth to reply. “In fact I was just leaving. You kids have fun! Oh, and uh, bring her back home safe and sound and all that protective Uncle junk I’m supposed to say.”
“Of course, Commander,” he says with a slight laugh before turning to you. “Are you ready?”
“I am,” you smile, making sure to give your Uncle a chaste kiss to the cheek before taking Iroh’s outstretched and following him out the front gates. Your Uncle watches your retreating forms with a faint smile and a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Phase one of my matchmaking plan is complete.”
~~~
The royal plaza is beautiful at night. Lanterns hang from the skies and bathe the streets in their golden hue. The restaurants and shops are bustling with customers as lovers, families, and friends all spend their evenings out on the town. No one seems to notice your presence— Iroh had insisted that no guards were needed to escort you both— and for that you are grateful.
“Hungry for anything in particular? I know you were especially fond of dumplings when we were children,” Iroh notes with a chuckle.
“I’d love anything spicy. As much as I enjoy sea prunes and seal jerky, nothing in the south really has that same kick to it that Fire Nation food has.”
“I know the perfect place,” Iroh says, and you have to fight against the way your stomach seems to summersault when he takes your hand in his own and weaves you through the streets.
You end up in a quiet little restaurant together where the food is fresh and the hostess is the sweetest little old lady you’ve ever met, though she brings you way more food than you ordered. You’re eager to scarf down the spicy noodles and steaming buns, so eager in fact that you don’t notice the love stricken way in which Iroh watches you practically inhale your food.
“How’s your family?” He asks behind his cup of tea.
“Good. Gran Gran has been training the new Avatar and my mother helps where she can. My Uncle Tenzin and Aunt Pema just had a new baby not too long ago, a son named Meelo.”
“That’s amazing,” Iroh smiles, “congratulations on your new cousin.”
“Thank you. Our family is certainly growing,” you say with a slight laugh. “And how are things with you and your family?”
“I have to admit, I haven’t really been home much to know,” Iroh chuckles. “This visit is also my first time back in a while. Mother is a gracious ruler and the people love her, my sister is still living her quiet life with her husband out on the farm, and my grandfather comes back and forth all the time. Everyone seems to be happy.”
“And are you happy?”
“I like to think so. I’m the youngest General in the United Forces which is a great accomplishment, and I’m having dinner with a friend I thought I’d never see again, so yes, I’m very happy,” he notes with a wink. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his slyness, a small huff blowing past your nose.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” you tease.
“Really, y/n,” Iroh says, all features void of his previous humor as they morph into a more tender nature. He reaches across the table and rests a hand across your own, a faint smile on his lips. “I’ve missed you, and I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Me too,” you admit with a tiny smile. “It’s been hard without you, friend.”
“Friend,” Iroh repeats with a small sigh, but his smile never falters. He pays for your meal and offers you his arm to guide you back to the palace; you talk about old memories and new ones, your adventures during your time apart, and your excitement to create new ones together. You’ve never been happier, and for the first time in a long time the loneliness that normally gnaws at your spirit is nowhere to be found.
“Can you find your room okay?” Iroh asks as you reach the front doors of the palace.
“I can,” you nod with a smile. “I’m actually staying in the room I had when I was a kid.”
“Go figure,” he laughs softly before gracing you with a sweet smile. “Thank you for accompanying me to dinner tonight. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“You will.”
“Good. I look forward to it,” Iroh says. “Sleep well, y/n.”
“Goodnight, Iroh,” you utter with a small smile, making sure to gift him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing inside. Stunned, the General stands frozen in place with a dazed smile on his face. He hasn’t felt this way about anyone in such a long time, hadn’t felt such genuine excitement and joy, and he had to admit that it somewhat intimidated him. He’d always seen you as the girl he’d grown up with, the one he’d spent his time with stealing desserts from the kitchen and running through the hallways, but now...
“Spirits,” Iroh exclaims with a breathless laugh. “I think I’m in love.”
In the gardens sits the trio of adults who watch the scene unfold before them, knowing looks exchanged among them as they sip their tea and watch Iroh disappear into the palace.
“They make a handsome pair, don’t they?” Zuko notes offhandedly to his daughter. “I give them a month.”
“A month?” Bumi snorts. “No way! Three weeks maybe, but not a month.”
“I have more faith in my son than that,” Izumi says with the shake of her head. “One week.”
“One week?!” The Commander exclaims with a laugh. “Oh, you’re on!”
“Betting over the love life of my grandson and my former student was not how I pictured spending my retirement,” Zuko sighs, but there’s a smile on his face as he considers his grandson courting the granddaughter of his best friend. Life has a funny way of working out sometimes.
And it was going to work out for you and Iroh.
| iroh/atla tags: @nataliahaslosthershit @zukh03s @rainteslerrrr @simpinforsukka |
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nose-bandaid · 4 years ago
Text
the moon told me so ☾~
Wonwoo x (gender neutral) Reader | soulmate AU angst | 4.5k words
synopsis: in a world where you and your soulmate share a special marking that appears on one’s body at the age of 18 or later. you were wonwoo’s, but wonwoo was no one’s, and you were the fool who didn’t say a word about it. alternatively:
you are in love with jeon wonwoo, but jeon wonwoo isn’t ready to love yet.
a/n: i uh, feel kinda shy posting this lmao but i hope you enjoy:))
sequel: the little flower on your wrist and the epilogue: kairosclerosis
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=====
“When are you going to tell him?”
“Tell who?”
Seungkwan sighed and gave you a knowing look. “Wonwoo, who else would I be talking about?”
“I don’t have anything I need to say to him.” You muttered into the warm knitted scarf wrapped around your neck. The snow fell gently around you in large clumps — the kids on your street were sure to be delighted when they wake up to that. It wouldn’t be long before you started seeing snowmen pop up one by one, all with little carrots and hats decorating them, giving them life. However, to you, the snow only added to the weight in your heart. The peaceful, yet lonely atmosphere made you want to curl back into your bed and sleep your sadness away. And then you could hope that maybe when you woke up, all of your problems would be solved.
Yes, that sounded like a much better option, compared to standing around in the cold weather, waiting for a late taxi. But you promised him that you would show up today. As much as you didn’t want to, you weren’t one to break the promises you made. Promises were meant to be kept.
And so, you woke up at a horrid 4 am today and dressed yourself with the best outfit your sluggish mind could think of. All to make sure that you were at the airport on time, just for him.
“Y/n... this might be your last chance. I mean, this is already terribly last minute for you to do so, but we also have no idea when he’ll come back.” Seungkwan’s voice softened when he noticed your stressed demeanour.
“Listen, I know, okay? I’ll tell him today, I’ve been preparing what to say for the past week. I just... I just need to get myself together, that’s all.” The words spilled out of your mouth as you tried to get him to stop nagging.
Before you could get a response, the taxi pulled up in front of you, and you busied yourself with getting a seat in the back while Seungkwan relayed the destination to the driver. He then took a seat in the passenger’s side, leaving you alone in the back with the little present you brought with you by your side.
The whole car ride was silent, minus the soft music that played from the radio — some kind of ambient jazz that only made the atmosphere even more awkward. You fidgeted with the bracelet dangling on your wrist and looked out the window, the yellow beads clinking against each other to add some noise to the silence. The buildings passed by with a blur, and every so often you would come across a location that prompted a treasured memory in you.
The mall that you and Wonwoo would visit almost everyday during middle school. Your parents weren’t the fondest of the idea that you guys were going there so often, but you went either way. There was ice cream to be eaten, game demos to be played, outfits (that you could definitely not afford) to try on, and snacks to be bought.
The arcade that you so daringly visited when you were supposed to be in class. It was Mingyu who had suggested the idea, as a joke, but everyone started getting on board with it and soon you were roped into the adventure too. None of you guys were really the type to skip school, the thought just never visited your mind, and you had other things to worry about. On that day though, you decided to let yourself be just the slightest bit free, and with a little convincing, you got Wonwoo of all people, to come along too.
That day was a blast, the thrill of rebellion, the refreshing taste of freedom, even the stuffiness of the arcade was bearable — your uniform was far too warm for the environment. Miraculously, there was no big punishment for your absence when you returned, just a light scolding, and that simply heightened the excitement of the day. You never pulled such an act ever again, but you most definitely held that memory dear to your heart. Because on that day, Wonwoo’s smiles were almost a thousand times brighter than usual.
Your eyes flickered between the trees that trickled their way into your view, and they steadily grew in numbers to paint a forest in front of you. Though their leaves were barren and their branches were heavy with snow, all you could think of were the lush green forests that surrounded the cottage you visited almost a year ago. The one that you and your friends rented out, the one that housed some of the happiest moments in your life, the one that echoed some of the loudest laughs ever, the one that kept you warm under the cool night, as you snuggled into each other’s arms.
The one that witnessed your life fall apart.
-----
You remembered that dreary day, when Wonwoo pulled you aside from the others and into a little alcove in the forest nearby, a nervous look painted on his face. Your friend group had decided to spend the warm weekend at the cottage to celebrate Wonwoo’s birthday and new soulmate mark. They all insisted that it was tradition to host an all-out celebration for the occasion, despite the boy’s refusals. If they celebrated for the others, they had to celebrate for him as well. 
You were all about to head to the beach for a swim before barbecuing some dinner, the weather was a comfortable mix of the warm sun and the cool breeze. It should’ve been perfect.
Let’s put an emphasis on should’ve.
When you finished changing, before you could catch up to the others who were already dunking themselves into the frigid water, laughter getting lost in the vast forest, Wonwoo stopped you at the front door with a gentle grip on your arm. From the looks of it, he’d been waiting for you for a while.
“Hey y/n... could we talk for a minute?”
And that question brought you to a wooden bench in a small clearing, hidden away from the others’ sight. The sunlight filtered through the leaves above, casting a delicate pattern around you. The air of uneasiness between you two was so contrasting to the mood a few moments ago, that you were immediately filled with worry. The last time you saw Wonwoo, he was laughing his head off with Mingyu and Seokmin over a stupid dad joke that someone made. Now, there was no trace of that former carefree personality.
“Wonwoo what’s up? Is something wrong?”
He bit his lip, clearly deep in thought. “You know how I’m supposed to be getting my mark tomorrow?”
You nodded. “Yeah, that’s why we all came here to celebrate right? Is it too much for you? I can tell the others to cool off on the partying, I know they can be overwhelming.”
“No it’s not that, I don’t mind it. It’s just... I’m honestly not so sure about this whole soulmate thing.” His voice was small and his shoulder tensed as he awaited your response.
“Like, you’re worried about the mark not showing up tomorrow?”
“No, I’m worried that I won’t be able to love my soulmate the way I’m supposed to.” He clarified, a bit firmer now.
Your heart stopped.
“Well,” You you pursed your lips as your mind raced to gather the best way to respond. “You could always just tell them right? That you’re not ready for a relationship, I’m sure they would understand.”
“But what if I’m never ready?” His confidence had suddenly disappeared, and you could feel that he was getting panicky, so you rested a gentle hand on his thigh to calm him down. “That feels so unfair to them. Like I’m going against fate.”
You swallowed back the emotions building up in your throat. You were hoping for the already low chance that he would be your soulmate, that maybe the stars would be in your favour and offer you an easy happy ending of some sort. After all these years together, you felt that there was almost no way that you couldn’t be paired together in some way. But now, even if you were soulmates, Wonwoo had just denied the only possibility for you to get together. Romantically, at least. Which was unfortunately, what you’ve been hoping for all this time.
“You could always just be friends right? There’s some people out there who just decide to be friends and there’s nothing wrong with that. Soulmates aren’t always about romantic love.” It was the best you could offer. You were fine with pushing back your feelings for him if it meant that he’ll be happy with his decision. The last thing you wanted to do was force your love onto him. 
“Yeah but do you really know anyone who’s done that? Y/n, everyone around us started dating their soulmate the moment they found them. They’re going to come to me with that mindset and I’m going to have to shut them down.” He paused. “The person that they’ve been searching for all their lives will be shutting them down. Don’t you think that’s harsh on my part? That I should just suck it up and get together with them?”
“Wonwoo, I can’t speak up on behalf of your soulmate,” You choked back the pitiful laugh building up in your throat. “but if they’re supposed to be the perfect match for you, I think they would try their best to understand your feelings, because you deserve to be matched with one of the kindest people in the world.”
He didn’t take his gaze off the pebbles his shoes prodded at, and you took that as a sign to continue.
“With that said, let’s just enjoy today, and all the other days to come as we wait for your soulmate. And when they come along, we’ll take things one step at a time, and work through the problem as it plays along. Worrying about it beforehand isn’t going to do you any good, don’t you agree? That’s what you told me before right?”
Wonwoo slowly nodded and slipped his hands back onto his lap. “You’re right, I’m worrying too much about something that hasn’t happened to me yet. What if I don’t even get my mark this year? I won’t be able to totally forget the problem, but I’ll try my best to put it aside for now.” He smiled softly to himself, and you patted his shoulder.
“That’s the spirit! So you wanna go back to the others and go for a swim? If you’re up to it?”
“Yeah, I think that would be nice. Thanks for listening, y/n.” He got up from the bench and offered you a hand which you gratefully took. Silence settled between you too as you made your way out of the forest and back to the beach. The others were quick to notice you and began eagerly calling for you guys to jump in. Before you gave in to their persistent requests, you paused for a moment and started talking again.
“Oh, and Wonwoo?”
He stopped a few steps ahead of you and turned around. “Yeah?” He looked much lighter than he did a few moments ago, but for some reason, your heart broke a little at his happiness.
You gave him a downcast smile, and if he sensed the dismal tone in your voice, he didn’t say anything about it. “Just know that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to love your soulmate platonically. I have a good feeling they’ll understand.”
Maybe you had gotten a bit ahead of yourself that day by assuming that you were going to be soulmates. No matter how much you felt that connection in your heart, Wonwoo himself never showed any signs of feeling it too. This whole thinking-that-he-was-your-soulmate-before-it-was-even-confirmed thing could’ve just been your mind being a mix of delusional and hopeful. But you said what you said, and it’s not like he noticed any of your hints anyways.
And it’s not like he ever will notice.
------
The next day, you woke up with a tight arm wrapped around your waist and the sun shining on your face. If it was any other day, you would’ve simply closed your eyes and fallen back asleep without caring so much about what time it was, but thankfully you had enough sense in you to remember the date.
July 17th.
Lifting your head fully off the pillow, you followed the arm hugging you to find Chan, buried underneath a soft blanket, still snoring away. Nudging him lightly, he stirred and moved his arm to rub his eyes, freeing you.
“Morning, Chan.” You poked his nose.
He let out a few incoherent mumbles before opening his eyes and looking at you. “What?”
“It’s Wonwoo’s birthday we gotta wake up and get the others.”
“Can’t we do that in a few minutes?” He whined, and tried to return to his pillow, but you were quicker, and pulled him into a sitting position.
“No we can’t, silly, we have things to do before he wakes up.” After a little bit of bickering between you two, you finally managed to convince him to get up and he left to go take a shower. You let out a quiet sigh. One down.
Turning to the couch nearby you looked at Jun who was still sleeping soundly.
11 more to go...
By the time everyone woke up and the celebration kicked off, it was already late morning and you all settled on ordering some pizza for lunch and a couple of the boys left to pick up the food (being located in a remote cottage made it a little difficult for a pizza guy to come here out of the blue). As you waited for the food, everyone went about and did their own things to kill the time, and you found Wonwoo sitting alone on the porch. Joining him, you gave him a playful punch on the shoulder and smirked.
“Hey there, birthday boy.” 
He returned the smile with little enthusiasm and you could tell a lot was on his mind.
“Everything good? You’re not worrying about your soulmate are you?” You asked.
Wonwoo averted his eyes from your gaze. “I’m just thinking about it a little bit.”
“So...” You tried your best to play it cool. “I guess what we’re all wondering is whether you’ve gotten your mark or not?” 
You could’ve just dropped the topic and not asked him, more for your own good than his, because you would surely lose it if you spent another minute thinking about your soulmate. On the other hand, it would’ve been a little selfish if you chose to completely ignore the whole getting your mark on your birthday thing, but let’s be honest — what were you going to do after seeing it? Some things are better left unknown, and yet, you asked him anyways.
He hesitated for a moment before rolling up the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing. The sun was bright outside and the humidity was definitely at a high, he must’ve been absolutely melting in that outfit, but now you knew why he dressed so conservatively today. “Yeah, I did.”
He angled himself towards you and you stared at the moon crescent just below his wrist. In place of the stars usually found in the sky, small flowers were scattered here and there. It was a beautiful, yet simple design. 
Unconsciously you crossed your legs and rubbed your ankle, where the exact same design sat, hidden underneath the socks you always wore.
“That design really suits you.”
It was all you could choke out without giving anything away. No matter how hard you tried, nothing could stop the rush of emotions building up in your throat. You wanted to scream out loud, you wanted to cry out to Wonwoo, because what the hell did you do to deserve this fate? Out of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be you? You were losing it. 
And so you fled. Like the fool you were, you fled.
Giving him a gentle pat on his shoulder, you excused yourself and went straight back into the cottage and into the bedroom. You didn’t leave until Chan came in and asked if you were alright and to that, you spilled everything. You didn’t care about Wonwoo’s secret at that point, because you just needed to have someone to confide with. Someone to understand you.
Though some of the story was quite a shock to him, especially considering the fact that you’ve been keeping your soulmate mark hidden from all of them, Chan listened to you with all seriousness. In the middle of your rambling, Seungkwan also walked in to see what was taking you so long. The tears on your cheek probably weren’t the best thing for him to see, but deep down, you were happy to have another person to talk to. And as you did, he looked at you with empathetic, almost pitiful eyes.
It was terrible, but still relieving.
You promised each other to keep your secret between the three of you. The others didn’t need any extra drama in their lives, and besides, they weren’t supposed to be aware of Wonwoo’s secret until he decided to tell them himself.
You spent the rest of the vacation distancing yourself from him, and instead, you stuck by Chan and Seungkwan’s sides, and they made sure to take care of you, which was something you’ll forever be grateful for. Whenever Wonwoo made his way towards you, one of them would create some sort of distraction or pipe up a new conversation to drag you away from the man in question. Eventually, he seemed to get the message that you didn’t want to be around him and didn’t try to approach you for the rest of the time there. 
You felt bad. So bad for ignoring him. It was his birthday for God’s sake, and you — his best friend — were ignoring him on his birthday.
It wasn’t his fault. It totally wasn’t his fault for not wanting to be in a relationship. Just like how it wasn’t really your fault for falling head over heels for him. For loving the wrong person. But it happened against your will, and now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. 
If you had said just one more word to him on that day, would things have turned out differently? Maybe you would’ve gotten together? Maybe you would’ve come to terms as just friends?
Maybe, at least, you wouldn’t have drifted.
-----
“Happy birthday y/n.”
Wonwoo slid a neatly wrapped present across the table and you ripped it open without much hesitation, too excited to see what was inside. 
It was the sweater you’ve always wanted, a soft royal purple that was decorated with constellations along the sleeves and a moon on its chest pocket. Honestly, you were interested in the sweater because it reminded you of a certain someone, and you wanted to wear it because it made you think of him. You hadn’t told him about it though, and you silently wondered how he found out.
“This doesn’t make up for anything though.” You muttered childishly and took a sip of the cool drink in front of you. You were referring to the news he dropped on you just moments before giving you the gift.
He nervously adjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry. Even I’m unhappy about moving across the world, but at the same time... y/n... this is my dream.”
You sighed and put down the drink. “I know. I’m just upset that we won’t be able to see each other for who knows how long.” You paused to think for a moment. “How long are you going to be gone for anyways?”
“At least 4 years.” He said in a small voice. “4 years for school and if I can get myself a job...” He let out a sigh in defeat.
“I don’t really know how long I’ll be there for.”
“Wow.” You breathed out. “So like I’ll really have to say goodbye then, right?”
“There’s still time, it’ll take a few months for everything to be planned and settled so don’t worry. But let’s just ignore that for now,” He swatted his hand int he air as if it would get rid of the gloomy mood settling over the table. “So much for a birthday gift right? I’m sorry for bringing this up today of all days, but I thought you deserved to know.” He smiled sadly.
“It’s fine. I appreciate you telling me right away.” You fiddled with the tag of the sweater in your hands. Ah, what the heck. Ripping off the tag entirely, you slipped the sweater on top of the clothes you were currently wearing. It was comfy, albeit a little bit stuffy with all the layers you had on, but you didn’t mind. “Thank you for the sweater by the way, I really like it, how did you know?”
“I had to do a little bit of digging to find that out.” He laughed. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been really close to Chan recently so I asked him if he knew anything about what you wanted for your birthday.”
“Ah.” 
You couldn’t tell if he was hinting something about being jealous of your friendship with Chan, or if he was simply stating what he saw. You also didn’t bother to ask. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes.
After your time at the cottage, things had fallen a little awkward between you two. You didn’t ignore him outright, you still had your usual conversations from time to time, but it was clear that at one point, you fell from best friends to practically acquaintances. Which probably was the opposite of what both of you wanted. While things have slowly been getting better overtime, the awkwardness between you two was still unbearable.
“Also...” He started tentatively.
“Mhm?”
“I was wondering if you got your mark?”
Right. He still doesn’t know. No one knew really, your own mark was still a secret kept between you, Chan, and Seungkwan. And you were planning to keep it what way, especially now that you knew that Wonwoo was literally going to disappear entirely from your life sometime soon. You knew it was a bit of a stretch to assume that. With all the technology that existed in the world, obviously you’d still be able to connect, even if there was a time difference. And surely Wonwoo would visit you guys once in a while. because he wouldn’t completely forget about you... right?
As much as you hated to admit it, no matter how hard the two of you tried, you were bound to lose each other someday. The man you loved, and still love, so dearly, will ambitiously pursue his dreams on the other side of the world while you, the lover, will miss your only chance to set things right.
You were being given another opportunity to tell him about your mark. Life was being kind enough to let you make up for your mistake at the cottage. And yet, you still looked into the eyes of your soulmate, and lied through your teeth, plastering on that same polite smile you’ve used over and over again, whenever someone asked you about your mark.
“No, not yet.” 
“Oh,” His eyes darted away from yours. “I’m sorry for asking.”
“No, no, it’s alright. I guess I’m just one of those rare cases, maybe I’ll finally get it next year.” You gave him a sad smile, which really wasn’t too hard to muster.
“You’ll find your soulmate soon, y/n. Don’t worry about it.” He gave you a reassuring smile and put his hand on top of the one you had on the table.
Yeah, I won’t worry about it.
=====
The taxi jerked to a stop and you gazed into the windows of the busy airport. All kinds of people were bustling about, carrying their luggages, making frantic phone calls, corralling their kids, reuniting with loved ones. The door in front of you opened, and Seungkwan held out a hand to help you up.
“C’mon, let’s go.”
You took his hand and he gently held onto you the entire time he guided you through the winding hallways. People brushed against your shoulder but you were too focused on your racing heart to bother with an apology. When you saw Wonwoo along with a few others in the distance, your fingers nervously tightened their grip on the small gift bag in your hands.
You weren’t ready to see him yet.
There wasn’t enough time for you to create some sort of plan B, because plan A was really starting to sound stupid to you now. When Seungkwan nudged you to go say your goodbyes, you hesitantly shuffled up to him, opting to stare at his sneakers instead of his face. You felt kind of pathetic, to be honest.
“Here, this is for you.” You placed the small box into his hands and gingerly clasped it before finally letting go. He opened it and pulled out a bracelet, its intricate pattern matched the one on your wrist, except his beads were painted a deep navy blue and white. 
“A bracelet?” He questioned as he slipped it onto his wrist, the small bell attached chimed along with its movement. It fit him perfectly. “Thanks y/n, you didn’t have to.”
“How could I not give you something before you go?” You countered.
“Hey, why are you acting like I’m leaving for good or something?” He joked lightly and ruffled your hair, which was rare coming from him. Usually it was the other boys who did that to you, but it’s not like you were going to refuse it. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Well that was a blatant lie. Though neither of you knew when he would be back, it was guaranteed that he would be gone for at least a few years. And if he ended up getting a job there, you might as well kiss goodbye to any chance of seeing him until you can manage your own work life. Maybe one day, you would be able to gather enough money to pay him a visit.
“I just want to make sure you have something to remember me by.” You answered softly, still refusing to look in his eyes. “In case we don’t get to see each other again.”
In case we drift apart like we already have.
“I’ll make sure to stay in contact, I promise.”
You opened your mouth to reply as the first tear dripped onto your cheeks.
I’m your soulmate Wonwoo. Since day one, I’ve always been in love with you, so please come home soon and we can figure things out. I can wait for you.
That’s what you were supposed to say. Your mind screamed at you to say the words you so diligently rehearsed all morning, but instead you asked him in a shaky voice. “Do you think you’re going to meet your soulmate there?” 
He must’ve mistook the regret in your voice as sadness over his departure, because he didn’t question your tone.
“I just might meet them, y/n.” You hated the way he sounded hopeful saying that. And then you proceeded to hate yourself for thinking that way. 
“I really thought my soulmate would be someone here, but I guess not. The world works in funny ways.” He laughed a little, and it just added to the awkwardness between you two. 
But it’s me, I’m your soulmate Wonwoo, do you not feel it too? 
“I also still don’t know if I’m ready to do anything romantically yet.“ He added.
You simply nodded and looked straight into his eyes, vision was blurry with tears, but you still gave him the warmest smile you could possibly muster.
As of today, you’ve finally made your decision. If you were going to say goodbye to him like this, you were also going to say goodbye to the feelings you had for him. You’ll learn to move on. Like any other problem you’ve faced in life, you’ll eventually move on. And if you were going to say goodbye to him like this, you wanted to at least send him off with the best version of you.
He’d always told you he liked your smile.
“I see, well, I won’t keep you any longer and say goodbye then, Wonwoo.” You squeezed his hand firmly for the last time.
He returned the smile. “Goodbye, y/n. We’ll meet again soon.”
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certifiedskywalker · 5 years ago
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Hopes and Dreams - Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)
80s90steen
The Mandalorian x reader. She’s literally a pure angel and they’re in love with each other. She holds the baby and he says mama and inside his helmet he’s thinking about marrying her.
AN: Fem!Reader
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Din didn’t know much about relationships, but he understood that stability planned a crucial role in maintaining them. A state of consistent contact needed to be established; something that, with Din’s lifestyle, was difficult to foster. He only had a few scattered allies in the galaxy. A few were just enough for him. Or, so he thought.
Then Din met you and everything changed. Family was something he had never thought about before, never even considered. Then you came into his life, opening his eyes to a solar system’s worth of possibility. Well, you and the Child. 
“Do you think he has a name?” Your voice was sweet with the question and heavy with thought. Yet not even your voice was as sweet as the scene that met Din’s eyes when he turned in the pilot’s chair. You had moved the Child’s ship-seat to sit there yourself. In your lap, the little green creature played with your fingers.
Din struggled to find his voice. In the silence, you looked up and peered at him. It felt like, somehow, you could see past the mask. Exposed, Din managed to piece some words together. Even after knowing you, loving you, you still managed to take his breath away.
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“He must have one,” you wondered aloud, “whoever his parents ar-were, they had him for fifty years.” Din nodded and turned back to the console. He set a course to yet another Outer Rim world and let autopilot take control. 
“Probably,” Din agreed. He stood up from the chair and turned to watch you once more. You were smiling at the Child who, squealing, began climbing up your chest. His little fingers curled into the material of your jacket as his climb turned more into a strange embrace.
Din shook his head at the sight. Still grinning, you met the eyes of his mask and stood. The Child was grasping tightly to you; like an Ewok to a redwood tree. You shifted a bit, trying to worm your way to a better position to direct the Child’s climb. But the creature kept going, giving you no chance to get a tighter hold on him.
“Here,” Din reached towards you, “come to me, little one.”
Carefully, Din plucked the Child from your chest. A small whimper fell from its lips as Din took him in his arms. You frowned and fixed your clothes from where the Child had dug in its claws. Even with messed attire, Din couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was thankful that you couldn’t see through the dark viewplate. 
“Mmma,” the Child cooed. You looked up and smiled.
“What is it?” Your eyes widened suddenly, making Din smile. “Are you trying to tell us your name?”
“Mmaa,” the Child looked from you to Din.
“Does that mean anything in Mando’a?”
“Not that I know of,” Din replied as he lifted the Child to meet his eyes.
You leaned in close. So close that Din could feel the heat from your skin and smell the soap you bought from a trader on Tatooine. Sweet Bantha milk and desert plum; staple scents of the sand-planet aside from sweat and desperation. 
Din watched as you reached out towards the Child. Your thumbs brushed against his green cheeks, eliciting a giggle from the creature. A similar laugh fell from your lips. Din felt his chest tighten at the sound. He longed to hear you laugh more often. 
“You’re good with him,” he said. 
His voice brought your gaze to the helmet. Your eyes were soft, light with a gentleness Din thought never existed. However, you had shown him that even in this galaxy full of darkness, there was always something bright to hold on to. For Din, you were his bright thing and he wanted to hold you as tight as he could.
“No better than you are,” you replied, lifting a free hand to the side of Din’s helmet. Maker, he needed to take it off. He needed to feel your skin on his.
Almost as if he were jealous that your attention was elsewhere, the Child reached for your arm. With its little hands, he pulled on your sleeve and your hand fell from Din’s helmet. Dark, squinted eyes met Din’s then the Child turned its pointed gaze on you. A whimper fell from its small mouth and it reached out towards your face. 
“Mmm-mama.” 
Your eyes widened. “Did he just…”
“Mamaaa,” the Child cried out. He began waving his little fists in the air and Din let out a scoff. Extending his arms, Din handed you the Child.
“He did,” Din sighed.
You took the green creature up in your arms, cradling it as if it weren’t half a century old. With his now free hands, Din pushed up on his helmet. The cool air of the Razor Crest hit his face and Din took in the sight of you without the shades of tactical red of his visor. How refreshing, relieving it was to see you; truly see you.
“Hello there,” you teased, meeting Din’s dark eyes. The Mandalorian felt a smile tug at his lips. The feeling of joy in his chest only intensified as you stepped towards him and leaned up on your tippy-toes. Your lips brushed against Din’s before he, not able to help himself, captured them in a full kiss.
His gloved hand reached up and cupped your cheek. The rough fabric tickled your sensitive skin and sent shivers down your spine. For a moment, Din swore he felt it too. That near-electric jolt from your body to his. It was like you were one. It was a feeling so real that it made Din’s stomach twist. 
Then it felt like he was being pushed away. Din’s lips parted from your own and he opened his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell on the Child who held out a splayed palm. Din wasn’t entirely sure what the Child’s powers were, but whatever it was doing was alarmingly strong. You shook your head at the creature and shot Din an apologetic look.
“I’m going to get him to bed.”
“Mama,” the Child repeated, bringing your eyes to his. 
“Yeah, I’ll be-”
“Mama.”
“Alright, alright,” you sighed. Before you walked off, you leaned up once more and peck Din’s cheek. “I’ll be with you soon.”
Din hummed lightly and watched you walk towards the ladder that led down into the hull of the Razor Crest. He watched the top of your head disappear before he began to shed his beskar. First, his shin guards, then chest plate, followed by shoulder pauldrons and, finally, his gloves. Weight literally fell from his body and all he could think about was you.
You and the Child and him. What kind of life could the three of you have on the run? Would it be like this, these stolen moments between fueling stops and bounties? Din cherished this time; it was so easy to forget about the reality that awaited you all. 
Din slumped in the passenger seat as he thought. He rubbed his scruffy chin and sighed. All he wanted was to keep you and the boy safe. It grew harder to do that with each planet you stopped on; whether the system was under the New Republic or not. Din only hoped that, soon, any remanents of the Empire would flicker out entirely.
“What are you thinking about?” Your voice was like meiloorun nectar in his ear; sweet and full. “It’s dangerous, you know.”
Din looked up from where you stood behind him. “Is he asleep?”
You nodded in reply and gave Din’s shoulders a tender squeeze. He watched as you moved from behind to in front of him. Instinctually, Din scooted up in the seat and you smiled; he knew that smile, loved that smile. You wore it as you moved to straddle his lap and Din’s hands immediately went to your hips to hold you as close to him as possible. 
“He spoke,” you said softly as you rested your arms on the chair’s headrest. “Well, a little, anyway.”
“He got jealous too,” Din pointed out curtly. You beamed and moved one of your hands to brush against the side of his face. 
“Maybe you did too, huh?” Din fought a scoff and pressed his face into the meat of your palm. You smiled and Din met your gaze once more.
“No.” There was an edge of humor in his voice that told you it was a lie. Din had never been good a lying; especially to you.
“Uh-huh, I see,” you leaned towards him, “then what were you thinking about?”
“You,” he whispered softly, “and the little one. About what to do.”
Your brow furrowed. “What to do?”
“We can’t keep running,” Din admitted, “we’ll run out of supplies, land, get hunted, fight...get hurt. Then we’ll run again.”
“And get tired,” you agreed. You rubbed your thumb along the peak of Din’s cheekbone. “Are you saying you want to settle down?”
Din gave you and sheepish smile; an expression rare for him and Mandalorians in general. You remembered then, what he had told you the first time you asked about his armor.
“Once we take it off, we can’t put it back on,” he had said. Although, when he did eventually take it off, Din put it back on without second thought. He had put his love for you and the Child before those who saved him. But maybe that Mandalorian teaching was still ingrained in his mind. Maybe he felt guilty.
“With that womp rat, I don’t think we could settle down,” Din sighed lightheartedly. You bit your bottom lips to hide your smile. Din lifted a careful hand and pulled the flesh free. He traced the tip of his thumb along your now-flush bottom lip. He was looking to distract himself in you and it was much too easy.
“Din, I can’t speak for the Child, but I would never want to keep you from your work.”
 Work, bounty hunting. Din hadn’t collected a proper bounty since you both had picked up the one set on the Child. The little green creature had done more than break down his walls; he made Din realize that there was so much more he wanted. That included you.
“You’re more important,” richer than any bounty, Din wanted to add, but he bit his tongue. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours. He took a grounding breath and you melted into his warmth. “We are one…”
“Din-”
“Together or apart,” Din pulled his head from yours as he recited the words he had heard said only once before. Vows, Mandalorian, but still as true to him as your love. Sensing what he meant, you started to nod. Your hand on his cheek pulled his lips back to yours.
We will share everything, Din thought, completing the vows. Everything: your worries, your love, your hopes and dreams. Even the dreams Din didn’t know he had before he fell in love with you.
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kuromantic · 4 years ago
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Daishou and Mika’s New Year (with the cats)
Here is a reupload of the novel translation, where Daishou and Mika go on a date for new year and end up meeting the Nekoma students.
“Then, how about the shrine near the school?”
“….Eh, no.”
Yamaka Mika hung her head, slightly sulking.
They were in the fast food shop beside Nohebi Academy, and the boy sitting opposite her across the small table was her boyfriend, Daishou Suguru. Friends at their school often commented that he seemed like he had a bad personality, but that wasn’t true. Mika thought that it was a shame, just because he had a mean look in his eyes.
With Daishou being the captain of the volleyball club, he had nothing but practice on weekdays and weekends, every day until he lost a big match in November and retired. Because of this, they were able to stay together during winter break.
He lost the last match, but he was cool, with a serious expression Mika had never seen on him before. But that story didn’t matter now. Their current topic was the new year’s shrine visit.
Seeing as the shrine in their local area was boring for something as big as new year, Mika wanted to stretch her legs and go somewhere further away. The shrine visit was their first date of the new year, and only elementary schoolers would go to the shrine just behind the school. Mika pouted. Why were guys so flaky when it came to this kind of stuff?
“Why not? Isn’t it the same wherever you go?”
Mika persisted against her boyfriend, who didn’t understand at all.
“It’s not the same! If we go to Meiji Jingu, we can drop by at the Harajuku sale. If you want a charm to give to your friend, Yushima Tenjin is the place to go. Oh, the one at Nezu has a power spot for romance. And what else…”
Mika researched other shrines on her phone and glanced at Daishou, but he carried on eating his fries, as if to say that he didn’t care where they went.
“……”
Horrible, Mika thought. This was why girls said he had a bad personality. He was lazy at times, but his personality wasn’t that bad…  
Mika began to get annoyed at her friends as well as Daishou, but she carried on without giving up.
“Then… how about Senso-ji? It’s not a shrine, but everyone goes there. Oh, the Skytree’s around there too.”
“Eh?”
Daishou’s sudden interest surprised Mika, although she was the one to suggest it in the first place.
“Uh, what? Do you not like Senso-ji?”
“Ah, no. I just realised I’d never been to the Skytree.”
Mika was even more shocked at Daishou’s words.
“What, really? Why?”
“Why? Even if you have a reason to go, there’s no reason to not go. I just haven’t gone there yet.”
Daishou said, with a hint of tiredness in his voice. He carried on eating his fries, and Mika frowned. It was really annoying to deal with Daishou’s argumentative side. He just had slightly better grades than her. If he was worse at sports and study than her, he wouldn’t be able to beat her in anything. And it was annoying how he could eat more fries than her and not gain weight at all….
But it was the one spot that he had shown interest in. Mika knew she just had to push and push from there. Lose the battle and win the war, as the saying went. Well, maybe that wasn’t it.
“Then let’s go to Senso-ji! Come on. It’ll be fun!”
“If that’s what you want… I’ll go.”
“Yes!”
And so, the two decided to go to Senso-ji. Mika had won by persistence.
The new year came, and the day finally arrived. The train they got on at Moyori station was spacious at first, but more and more passengers were in each train they took. When they arrived at Asakusa by the yellow Ginza train, they got off from the train by being practically pushed out by the other passengers.
“So many people.”
The station was crowded with people going to their first shrine visit of their new year. Feeling that she wouldn’t be able to see Daishou ever again if she got lost, she held his coat tightly.
“Uh, what is it, Mika-chan? Are you okay?”
Daishou was flustered and turning red, but Mika replied with a “Yeah. I’ll try and follow you as best as I can,” in complete seriousness. They got through the gates as they were pushed by the waves of people, but from there, the area was packed so tightly that they couldn’t move.
“Maybe we should have just stuck with the one in our area…”
Mika yanked the complaining Daishou’s coat. “This is nothing! So, which exit was the one near the Skytree?”
Just as she stood tall, a shout came from somewhere in the crowd.
“Ah! The number one from Nohebi!”
Daishou, having been called his uniform number, lifted his head.
Nohebi Academy High School, uniform number one.
The number he bore on his back for a year had blended into him completely, and it wasn’t something that disappeared just because he moved away from the gymnasium for a month or so. It was still the same as his name.
Daishou found a small girl from middle or elementary school at the back of the crowd, pointing at him and jumping about.
Mika’s expression stiffened slightly. “Who’s she?”
“I don’t know…”
Daishou didn’t recognise her. Maybe it was one of his teammates’ sister. He cocked his head quizzically, but remembered who she was with an “Ah,” when he saw the tall, beautiful blonde girl by her side.
“That beautiful girl, I think she was at the sidelines of Nekoma…”
As soon as he murmured that, a deep, guttural voice came from behind them.
“A date, huh?”
Fearing for themselves, the two whipped around. There was a Mohawk man exuding a dark aura behind them, and a western-looking, tall man behind the Mohawk man.
Mika let out an “eek,” and jumped away, stepping on the foot of a stranger nearby. The stranger grumbled “Be careful,” which was completely justified, but became silent and frozen after being surrounded by the Mohawk man and the tall man- Yamamoto Taketora and Haiba Lev from Nekoma High School- and Daishou, the captain of Nohebi Academy High School.
Yamamoto stared at the pair from Nohebi, letting out a low, hushed whisper. “A shrine visit date from the start of new year… that means your parents have already approved…. I see how it is. I see…”
“What, aren’t you guys with your girlfriends too? Over there…”
Before Daishou could continue, the girl from earlier on- Yamamoto’s sister, Akane- slipped in between the two like a cat and corrected him.  
“I’m his sister.”
Her eyes staring up scared Daishou.
“See? Now my sister has those scary eyes of hers because of you!”
As Yamamoto began to panic at his sister’s attitude, Lev explained to them calmly. “We only had practice in the morning, so Taketora-san and I are just being made to come with our siblings. Oh, this is my sister.”
“We went shopping at the Skytree! I bought matching accessories with Akane-chan, too!” Alisa, the beautiful blonde girl, held up her shopping bag with a smile.
“Ah, I see.”
“Who are they?” Mika asked the fatigued Daishou.
“The guys from Nekoma.”
As soon as she heard that, Mika let go of Daishou’s coat that she had been gripping. “Volleyball again, huh?” She muttered forlornly, pushing her way through the crowd and heading over to the stairs at the exit.
“Huh? Mika-chan, wait a sec!”
“It’s kinda refreshing. They don’t seem to be getting along!” Yamamoto said cheerfully, as Daishou chased after his girlfriend while bumping into others in the crowd.
“Hey, that’s horrible, bro.”
“What? You’re the one who talked to them first! …Hey, stop looking at me that way!”
“Why are you angry?”
Daishou finally got a hold of Mika’s arm, after getting up the stairs and inhaling a breath of fresh air at last. But Mika shook away his large hand.
“…I’m not angry.”
“But you are. Sure, it’s volleyball again, but that was because they were there, and I didn’t…”
Mika stared coldly at her boyfriend, who was making excuses without looking her in the eye.
“…You called her a beautiful girl.”
“What?”
“You called that person a beautiful girl, earlier.”
“Oh.”
He said that, he definitely said that. She remembered. The colour drained from Daishou’s face, but he had to make it up to her somehow. He did say that, but he didn’t say it in that kind of way. He doesn’t know what kind of way he meant it in, but it wasn’t in that kind of way.
“Uh… it’s not in that kind of way. Anyway, Mika-chan, you’re much more of a beautiful girl!”
“That’s not true! She’s more of a beautiful girl!”
Mika felt stupid and pathetic that she was getting angry over a such a trivial matter, and she really knew that Daishou didn’t mean it in that way. She doesn’t know what kind of way, but she knows he didn’t mean it.
But still, it was irritating, and it annoyed her that Daishou kept making excuses instead of apologising. She felt like crying from anger, but she didn’t want to cry while she was on a date. She stayed silent and stared at the ground, because the tears would come out if she spoke.
“…..”
Daishou sighed, not able to do anything for Mika. He started walking.
“The shrine visit doesn’t matter anymore. We should change our mood.”
The two passed Kaminari-mon, which was flooded with people coming for shrine visits, walking along the street. On the road, rickshaw workers called out to people energetically, and women wearing kimonos were getting on, laughing.
All of the shops were open, even though it was New Year’s Day. It was elegant, and it looked like fun. The passers-by all had sweet sake, coffee or dango in their hands, and it looked so delicious, so warm. Mika was jealous of everyone that caught her eye.
Horrible.
It was their date, and they were fighting again. They’d made up after that match, why did it have to come to this? Was she the one at fault? But it was Daishou’s fault too. God, if only the Mohawk guys hadn’t come…
Yamamoto’s face popped into her mind, irritating her. Right, it was their fault. If they hadn’t come, she would have been visiting the shrine with Daishou right then. Wait, that meant that it maybe wasn’t her fault or Daishou’s fault. It was the Mohawk guys’ fault, perhaps?
A single beam of light shone through Mika’s feelings.
Yeah, it was that Mohawk’s fault! Why did she have to fight with Daishou because of that Mohawk? Why was he wearing a Mohawk, anyway? It was total nonsense!
When she concluded that it was all the Mohawk’s fault, her irritation towards Daishou disappeared, and she wanted to make up with him as soon as he could. Mika cast aside her embarrassment and talked to Daishou’s back.
“…Hey, maybe we should… turn?”
“Eh? …Ah, sure.” Daishou replied awkwardly.
They turned right at the intersection and went into the shopping street. As they walked around aimlessly in the street full of old-fashioned coffee shops and Japanese sweetshops, Mika pointed to something.
“What’s that…? Oh, it says Kabuki.”
It was the building standing at the back of the shopping street, Asakusa Public Hall. Elegant banners were lined up there, and many wine-casks and posters with “New Year Asakusa Kabuki” written on them decorated the walls.
“Guess that’s Asakusa for you.”
“Yeah, it’s Asakusa-like.”
The two started to talk a little while walking to the end of the street, peering into the paths to their left and right. Beyond the T-junction, the streets were Edo-fashion, as if they had been swept into a historical drama. Mika looked around the refined streets curiously.
“It’s kind of a cute street. Hey, look, there’s Nezumi Kozou on that roof over there!”
“…Mika-chan, you’re like a tourist. You’re from Tokyo.”
“Well, I haven’t really been to Asakusa…”
Mika, embarrassed, turned her back to Daishou after being teased, who began to laugh at that.
“I haven’t really been here either, so how about we explore around here a little?”
And so their Asakusa quest began. Enticed by a nice scent, they moved their legs along to a street packed with red lanterns. Every izakaya pub had chairs and tables laid out on the road as well as inside, and the bustle was just like a festival’s.
“It’s so lively even in the afternoon, huh.”
“Is this meant to be… an open deck seat?”
There were young couples and families in seats with wind-proofing vinyl sheets around them, in high spirits even before it was dark out. Mika and Daishou nervously walked past Hoppy Street, getting to the front of the white fence and tiled roof just like a mansion’s.
“Is this a temple?” “No, it’s…”
Inside the fence, there came laughing and screaming. The building wasn’t a temple nor a mansion.
“Oh, I know what it is! It’s an amusement park! What should we do, Suguru? It’s an amusement park!”
“What do you mean, what should we do? Should we go in, Mika-chan?”
“Let’s go in!”
As they ran into the amusement park psyched-up, a rollercoaster roared past above their heads.
“Whoa! It’s so close to us! That’s scary!”
“Look, there are pandas! Let’s get on the pandas!”
Mika pointed to the panda-karts that moved when a one hundred yen coin was put into them. They seemed fluffy and soft, like a huge moving plushy. The pandas were popular, getting their pictures taken and pointed at as they clunked around dangerously in the crowd.
“Uh, I’d prefer the stuff more like roller coasters, or the ones that spin, or the ones that fall…”
“I want to go on the panda! Let’s get on after those people!”
Mika was completely enchanted by the pandas as she dragged the unamused Daishou over to them. They were going to wait until the people on it got off, and then get on in place of them.
When they looked closely, two boys seemed to be racing each other in the panda-karts, getting all excited over a vehicle slower then their walking pace.
“If I get in from the inside…”
“I won’t lose!”
A tall boy and a boy with a small frame. Perhaps they were brothers, Mika mused as she gazed at them.
The panda-karts eventually stopped with a bump, and the boys got off. “Oh, there’s someone waiting,” they said as they caught sight of Mika. “Ah!” When they saw Daishou, they let out an exclamation and trotted over to them.
“Inuoka-kun, look! They’re from Nohebi!”
“Eh? Wow, you’re right! Um, happy new year!”
The larger one gave them a new year’s greeting and bowed energetically. They didn’t seem to be brothers, after all.
“Oh, you’re the backup libero from Nekoma!” “Y-yes!”
The smaller one, Shibayama Yuuki, bowed his head too. The two of them were strangely polite. And the larger one, Inuoka Sou, was making assertive attempts to keep the conversation going for Mika and Daishou, who was having trouble dealing with them.
“Isn’t this place great? It’s open from the new year!”
“Huh? Well, yeah…”
“There was shaved ice that had seven colours earlier on! Did you eat it? My mouth’s turned into such a weird colour! See!”
The larger one opened his mouth to show his tongue with seven colours, as if he were a relative’s child.
“Yeah. That’s… pretty amazing.”
Mika began to feel uneasy. If she let it continue on, she would be dragged into his pace, and end up eating yakisoba in the food court, riding the rollercoaster and taking photos with the illuminated lights. If she was pleaded with that genuine smile, she couldn’t possibly say no.
“Oh, actually, we’re about to go home! Right, Suguru?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Daishou nodded hurriedly.
“I see, that’s a pity! I was thinking we could have all eaten yakisoba together. Well, see you then!”
Inuoka waved to them, and Shibayama bowed his head. Mika and Daishou broke into a run, as if they were escaping them.
The two ran out of the amusement park and along the road a little, facing each other and laughing after they finally came to a stop. “I guess we can stop now.”
“That was pretty surprising.”
“Yeah. We’ll have to come back for the pandas sometime else.”
“Yeah… Let’s come again.”
Mika found herself reddening, glad that Daishou promised her to take her there again. In the end, he always put her first. She had always thought he only thought about volleyball, but perhaps he really thought about her the most, it was just that she didn’t realise.
Her boyfriend’s sentence made her footsteps lighter as she walked through the cloud. Shops, big and small, were lined up freely, making the whole street seem like a maze. Everything that caught her eye was something rare and interesting, making her excited. She wouldn’t be surprised if a circus tent or a freak show appeared right before her eyes. Mika stared around the street as she walked, making sure she wouldn’t lose sight of a sign of somewhere she didn’t know. It was an exploration, after all. When she was with another person, doing anything anywhere was fun.
“…Oh, there are many banners here too. Is it a Kabuki again?”
There was a building with many colourful banners, along with red and white lanterns and cocoon balls that intensely gave off new year vibes. Daishou looked into the billboard, checking the photos of the faces of those performing.
“No, I think… it’s a rakugo.”
When they looked at the building, it said in big letters, “Entertainment Hall”. They had walked Rokku Broadway south from the amusement park, up to the corner of the entertainment hall.
“Look, there are spinning tops and magic tricks, too.”
“Seems kinda suspicious, but it’s new year’s. Guess we’ll go in.”
They bought the tickets at the reception, and entered the dimly lit entertainment hall. When they opened the door, it was packed to the aisles. The humidity was so extreme that it made Mika take off her coat.
“Oh, they’re already at it.”
“There are more people than I expected. It’s standing room only.”
On the stage adorned with red and white decorations, a young man wearing a kimono was talking. I guess they’re not all old men, Mika thought. “Huh?” Daishou looked over at Mika, furrowing his brows.
“Uh, what? Is it… weird?”
As Mika tried to check her white knitted dress she bought for the date, she realised that Daishou wasn’t looking at her.
“What?”
Mika followed Daishou’s glance, and Daishou whispered, “You’re from Nekoma!”
The man with a buzzcut sitting beside Mika turned around.
“Hm? ….Oh, yes.”
The buzzcut man looked surprised for a moment, and then greeted them with a smile.
“Nohebi’s captain, huh? Happy new year. Fukunaga told me there’d be a comedian that he recommends coming here today, so the two of us came. Right?”
Beside the buzzcut who talked gently, a silent boy stared at them. The boy called Fukunaga wasn’t one for friendliness, and didn’t say anything.
“Y- you guys, it’s almost Spring High! What, you have time to spare?!”
Daishou exclaimed loudly, and the members of the audience around them warned him with a “Shh!”
“Oh, s-sorry…”
Daishou’s voice behind her back, Mika ran out of the hall alone.
Crouching through the red barrier, Mika paced through the new shopping street that had appeared. She didn’t know where she was walking, or where she was heading to.
It was just pathetic and frustrating, and she was about to cry.
After all, Daishou didn’t look at her, he only cared about volleyball. He could have just left the kids from other schools alone, but he went up and talked to them. So stupid. He lost to them.
A sneeze escaped her. She realised she had taken off her coat, and put it on. The white knitted dress she had just bought became hidden by her coat.
“So stupid.”
She’d bought the dress by borrowing her new year’s money off her mother earlier, but he didn’t notice at all. It was fun buying clothes. Would he like these kinds of feminine looks more? Would he prefer white or pink? There had been no point even thinking that at all. She should have just bought some delicious cakes instead of clothes. The ones at the underground floor of the department store that cost about 500 yen apiece, lots of it.
As she thought such things, the back of her nose stung and tears started to appear. As she held back her tears, the flamboyant banner was still waving about in front of her, but it didn’t matter anymore. Kabuki or Rakugo, it didn’t seem fun anymore, like a spell had been removed. But when she glanced at the sign, it read “Rokyoku”, neither Kabuki nor Rakugo. It was even more frustrating.
She couldn’t take it anymore. No more.
Her makeup would be washed away, but she didn’t care anymore. She was going to cry, and she didn’t care about it.
Mika decided so, and stopped walking. She glanced up at the sky, and let out an “ah” sound. In the blue, pure new year’s sky, the large, large skytree towered.
“It’s so big…”
Her tears disappeared.
Beside the road she’d been walking, there had been the skytree all along, pointing up. Of course it was, it was always in the same Asakusa. But she had been walking hunched forward, running as if she were escaping from something, looking around as if looking for a secret in the alleyway. She hadn’t noticed at all.
Forgetting that she wanted to cry, Mika started to walk straight ahead. When she got out of the shopping street, it was Senso-ji. The place where they were meant to come for their first shrine visit. When she carried on while staring at the skytree, she could see the amusement park from earlier to her left, and if she listened carefully, she could hear the rollercoaster too. It felt like she had been walking around a lot, but really, she had just been going round and round the same spot. It was rather funny.
“I didn’t notice at all, either.”
As she walked at the back of the five-story pagoda to the main hall of the temple, Mika realised she hadn’t completed her new year’s shrine visit yet and joined the queue for worship. Daishou ran there, out of breath.
“You’re there… I’m glad… What’s wrong, all of a sudden, Mika-chan?!”
“Sorry.”
“Huh? No, it’s… you don’t have to apologise.”
Daishou averted his eyes, for some reason. He had a tendency to become flustered and nervous at weird moments, Mika thought. She undid the buttons on her coat, showing Daishou her dress inside.
“I bought this a little while ago.”
“Huh? Oh… I think it is cute.”
“Why’re you being polite all of a sudden?”
Mika burst out laughing a little. She couldn’t wait around, hoping to be noticed, she thought. If she didn’t talk to him and show him, they wouldn’t be able to reach an understanding. It’s embarrassing and hard, but even so, they would talk, bit by bit.
The line they queued up at moved slowly, and they finally started to talk quietly. When it was their turn, they threw their coins in and pressed their hands together. And they held hands and walked down the steps.
The sound of shaking the oracle box, the sound of a mobile phone’s camera. Many sounds and many words from different countries rained down. A selfie stick popped out somewhere, too. They walked under Hozomon gate where the two Deva gods stood, and walked the shopping streets to the Kaminari-mon.
“Hey, what did you wish for earlier?”
“Huh? Well, nothing really...”
Mika glared lightly and elbowed her boyfriend, who was mumbling for some reason. “Tell me.” She couldn’t know if he didn’t say it.
“Ow. Well, so… In the Spring High, I wished that they- Nekoma would get at least one win.”
“What, why?” Mika stopped walking.
“Why? …Well, I kinda want them to win for us, as well.”
“What…? I wished I could go shrine visiting with Suguru next year too, but now I just look like an idiot!”
“What?!”
Daishou was dumbstruck by the unexpected words, but Mika couldn’t be stopped now.
“You weren’t even enthusiastic about shrine visiting, Suguru. You just made it seem like you didn’t care where we went!”
“…No, I was looking forward to it! But I said wherever is fine, because it’s embarrassing to act like I’m excited for the date…”
“What’s that mean? I don’t get you!”
It wasn’t just Daishou and Mika that stopped and stood in the crowd. Behind them, two guys stood whispering quietly, but loud enough to make them hear what they were saying.
“It’s a shoujo manga.”
“It is, indeed.”
Mika turned around, surprised. There was yet another tall guy and a shorter guy, but they were nowhere near as pure as the two she’d met at the amusement park. Before she could wonder who those guys were, Daishou shouted.
“Kuroo, you bastard, why are you here?!”
The duo behind them were Nekoma’s third years, Captain Kuroo Tetsurou and Libero Yaku Morisuke. They paid no attention to the red-faced, yelling Daishou and nibbled on ningyo-yaki while arguing.
“See? There are these types of pain-in-the-ass people. This is why we should have just gone shrine visiting in our local area. Kenma won’t come if it’s far away. He’ll say he’s too tired.”
“Shut up! The bigger it is, the more advantage you get!”
“God isn’t that much of a simpleton.”
As if to lash out at the loudly bickering duo, Daishou screamed.
“Oi, Nekoma! You ignoring me?!”
“Hm? Oh, it’s just shoujo manga-kun.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Daishou tried to appear intimidating to hide his embarrassment, but Kuroo continued to smirk.
“I already know you’re a good guy. Never would have guessed you were praying for our victory.”
“Never would have guessed.”
Yaku crossed his arms and nodded too.
“Were you guys eavesdropping…?!”
Embarrassment and humiliation turned Daishou a deep red up to his neck as he glared at Kuroo. But Kuroo merely tapped Daishou’s shoulder lightly.
“Don’t worry. We won’t just win once.”
The words made Daishou momentarily confused, but as soon as he locked eyes with Kuroo, who was smirking with the corners of his mouth, he smiled lightly and retorted.
“You’ve said it now.”
They made a strange face that could have been a glare or a smile, but soon burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.
“Lose, lose! Lose already, you shitty cat!”
“Sadly for you, we’re definitely not losing!”
“Nekoma has me, after all.”
“Well, we won last time without needing Yaku, though.”
“Huh?!”
“That’s it, fall out amongst yourselves!”
“Nope, not falling out anytime soon!”
Mika dropped her shoulders as she watched the three argue childishly.
“Guys are so stupid.” 
They seemed so stupid, but they fought many times, won and lost, and still could argue like this. She was a little jealous. Maybe, she thought, maybe playing a volleyball match instead of talking and hanging out made people understand each other more. It was pretty neat, she though as she waved at Daishou under Kaminari-mon.
“Come on already! Let’s go!”
They couldn’t go to the Sky tree after all, but she would go another time. Take her time, when Nekoma’s guys weren’t there. But if she were to encounter them again- she’d like to eat anmitsu or ice cream wafers with them, together. Even with that Mohawk.
236 notes · View notes
x0401x · 4 years ago
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Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #17
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Play of Color
Shaved ice.
A summer that everyone, from kids to adults, knew about. But how to say this in English? I’d never been taught that. Could I even say it to begin with?
The beautiful man responded clearly to my offhand doubts, “‘Shaved ice’. Other options such as ‘ice frost’ and ‘snow cone’ also go into the category, but if you are to to regard the context of ‘ice that was shaved’ as important, then I believe ‘shaved ice’ is appropriate.”
“I see, so it’s a direct translation for ‘ice that’s been shaved’. Got it... A-Aaah! Didn’t you put too much syrup? Ah—”
“I will add more ice.”
A rattling sound echoed through the jewelry shop, where there was nobody but the shopkeeper and his employee. Sitting on the tabletop was an ice shaving machine. As one would expect, we couldn’t commit the barbarianism of placing it directly on a glass table, so three cloths were stacked under the machine’s legs. It wasn’t the manual and nostalgic type but an electric one.
A customer had come over with a paper bag from a famous home appliances mass retailer and bought a glittering yellow diamond that they had reserved, but on this occasion, they ended up forgetting the bag from the electronics retail store. The shopkeeper immediately noticed it and contacted them by phone, but they were in the Narita Express, going straight to Bali for vacation. Apparently, they would only be coming back in the beginning of autumn. What luxury.
The customer who was heading to the southern island had casually said, “You can use it if you’d like—actually, please use it and tell me how it went”, then bid goodbye to Richard with a lighthearted voice and hung up. Inside the paper bag was a brand-new ice shaving machine. It also came with small syrup bags. Seven types of them. The mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones were a shock to me, as lived in a world of strawberry, melon and lemon ones. So people could enjoy even things like the pleasure of actually visiting stalls at home nowadays?
That was how we decided to choose at our own discretion a time on the following day when there were no reservations, and began holding a shaved ice party for just the two of us. However, when I said in a joking tone that I honestly never thought we’d really get to be the first ones to use something that a customer had forgotten, Mr. Richard Ranashinghe de Vulpian sighed grievously.
“After what happened yesterday, he contacted me to inform that he had arrived in Bali. He posted on social media, ‘I forgot my ice shaving machine, so I asked an acquaintance to try it out. I’m looking forward to it’, so it seems we need to take a video of the shaved ice as fast as possible. Think of this as also a kind of service.”
“There’s all sorts of jobs out there these days.”
Marketing that introduced new products on social media wasn’t something uncommon these days. But I heard that this sort of business was strict about many things, such as obligations and deadlines, so it might be serious stuff in its own way. I thought up until this point, but then my head whispered, “No, hold on” to me. If this was really the case, then bringing along an ice shaving machine immediately before going to Bali didn’t make any sense. Could it be...?
“Did that person leave this here on purpose? It’s clearly something that you can’t bring into an airplane and would get in the way during the trip.”
“That is possible. But it is not something for a single jeweler to judge. There is a possibility that they thought they would be able to enjoy shaved ice at a beach resort but were mistaken, and are now feeling down. Oh... oh, mgh...”
“Ah, the ice turned into water. Didn’t you put a tad too much syrup?”
“Nonsense. From the market price, it is obvious that the more syrup, the merrier.”
“You told that wholesaler who came to buy a ring with lots of decorative diamonds the other day that ‘more doesn’t equal better’, though.”
“Those are two different things,” he said in an eloquent, beautiful Japanese that sounded like it had been cut and trimmed, at which I prostrated myself with a “hahaa”.
Despite the force in his eyes being certain, he seemed to be having trouble putting an appropriate amount of syrup. When he put an abundant amount of the mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones all together, the ski slope-like white canvas turned into a color that looked like that of Shinjuku’s gutters during a downpour. Richard would surely call this shade of gray “smoky quartz” or something like that. The fluffy pile of ice was gone, leaving a sleet – or just plain water – in the glass bowl. It would’ve been fine if he had added them little by little, but on second thought, I was thinking this way because I was Japanese, so I was used to the way we added shaved ice syrup to some extent.
As the jeweler, not discouraged, put his bowl under the ice shaving machine, pressed the button and added more ice with crunchy noises, I called out to him, “Hey. Can you lend me that for a bit?”
“I do not mind.”
I took the bowl of water in my hands, adding the syrups of each type little by little. I felt like the jeweler was staring fixedly at me, like, “You’ll only use that tiny little bit of them? Seriously?” but I ignored him. As they said, the last drop makes the cup run over.
The result was...
“Tadaaah.”
A snowy mountain had changed its form into a richly colored shaved ice. I thought it was pretty good, if I could say so myself.
His eyelashes fluttering as he blinked for a moment, the gorgeous jeweler whispered, “Hoo. Excellent. Beautiful.”
“Well, being told that by someone who’s like an incarnation of the concept of beauty is flattering.”
“Ahem. Anyway, this color is extremely tasteful. It bears a close remembrance to ammolite.”
“‘Ammo... nite’?”
“Not ‘ni’, ‘li’. ‘Ammolite’. Ammolite is a gemstone that derivates from living creatures, of which the components obtain an iridescent effect during the many years of fossilization.” Saying this, Richard opened a video on his phone and handed it over to me. I exchanged it for the bowl of shaved ice as if it were an assembly-line system.
What appeared on-screen was a cross-section view of the ammonite. It was split vertically like a CT image taken at a hospital. The contents were a rainbow-colored stone that sparkled brightly. A gradation of red, green and yellow. It changed depending on what angle you looked at it. A while ago, when I heard about the opal, it was revealed to me that this kind of effect was called “play of color”. Still, to think that the inside of a shell could go through such a transition. There was too much depth to the things that happened in nature, and they were immeasurable.
“So can this be called... a stone too...?”
“This would be something that happened about forty years ago, but it was classified as a ‘gemstone’ by the Gemological Society of America. Of course, I do not think it should be pushed through, even if the costumer themselves happen to say that ‘this is a fossil’.”
It apparently depended on how you thought of it. Thinking back, this applied even to the general idea of gemstones.
I flicked the phone’s screen, head-over-heels for the prism-like shells that showed up one after another. Some people used them as pendants or brooches by processing the glittering part with gold.
“How pretty. Hey, do we also have ammolites here in Etrang... eh?”
“There is a possibility that we will one day. Something the matter?”
The beautiful jeweler had been scooping the shaved ice with a tiny spoon and eating it. He wasn’t eating it in a rushed way at all, but half of the iceberg was already gone. With perfect moderation, so that the proportion of the colors of the syrups that I had added one by one wouldn’t crumble.
“D-Did you like it that much?”
“I have never eaten shaved ice at Japanese stalls. Having a frozen desert in a refreshing place like this has a nostalgic air to it.”
He had never waged shaved ice at a stall. Did that mean he had eaten shaved ice at some fashionable shop? Probably not, I thought. A normal Japanese person wouldn’t eat shaved ice at that pace. The reason went without saying. This pace was – how should I put it? – dangerous.
“Richard, hey, listen well. Shaved ice is—”
“Why are you coming close?”
“I’m telling you something important. You have to eat shaved ice at a high pace.”
“But why are you shortening the distance between us? You are too close.”
“Don’t get hung up on minor stuff. More importantly, you already ate a lot of this shaved ice, right? Aren’t you tired of it? I can eat the rest.”
“It is terribly disconcerting to hear this from the father of this work of art, but I do not see any reason for that whatsoever, thus I humbly decline.”
“Aah! Don’t gulp it down! I said don’t gulp it down!”
“I am not. I do not eat that way.”
“Like I said, that’s not what I’m talking about...”
“It is impolite for me to eat by myself. Hurry and make yours to eat as well.”
“Whatever happens got nothing to do with me...”
Glancing backwards at the jeweler as he gave me an aloof nod, I began making my own shaved ice.
Later on, after Richard pleased the customer by sending them pictures of the shaved ice, he reported back to me. He probably reported because the pictures he had sent to the customer was of the shaved ice that I had made for myself, on which the colors were scattered in the form of a whirlwind. I smiled back, replying that I was glad, and not saying anything else. I also didn’t tell him that, by the time he remembered we had to do a photo shoot of it, the beautiful jeweler was making a face that looked like a boy having a worrisome migraine due to some anguish towards the meaning of life and death.
Summer was not yet over. We also didn’t know yet whether or not the customer in Bali would come to retrieve the ice shaving machine. Etranger wasn’t that big, so Richard was probably troubled that it was left there. But if they didn’t come to get it, I might be able to enjoy eating shaved ice with Richard in the summer every year for a while, I thought. And each of these times, I’d be sure to make a shiny mountain of ice in the colors of a rainbow, just like an ammolite. Just like the sparkly smile that Richard showed, I thought that it’d be great if such a summer came around and was looking forward to it.
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k-hiphopshit · 4 years ago
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You Are A Goddess (Jay Park x Reader)
 hey guys... what’s up? how’s it going? let’s just cut to the shit, i felt nostalgic and started reading the imagines i used to port and I want to start writing again so...here goes nothing, this was requested by anon probably years ago i’m sorry baby for taking this long but I hope they see this and like it
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Jay was a very handsome and charismatic man, you met him when you had gotten a job as Joon Kyungs a.k.a Dok2 personal assistant, so that meant you had to make a tons of phonecalls to other artists and people in the industry to confirm, arrange or cancel and inform about all types of things.
Jay was a bit stunned when he heard your voice over the phone, he could hear your smile, you sounded like you were really happy and excited for something and since he was drowning in responsibilities it was a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk in such a soothing and positive way. When he found out you were calling on Kyung’s behalf he got in contact with him and asked him about you
“Oh (y/n), she is my star right now, she is on top of everything and i’ve never met a person that is smiling genuinely so much”
After a few weeks joon kyung hosted an event for his birthday which meant you were in charge of pretty much everything and had to make sure everything went smoothly and exactly how your boss requested it. You saw Joon Kyung waving you over, he was with Dong gab and two other men you hadn’t personally met but you knew of them, well it wasn’t that hard since it was the infamous Jay Park and Simon D
“(y/n) let me introduce you to my good friends Jay Park and Kisok”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I am a big fan of your music and achievements”
“Thank you, that means a lot. We’ve been also hearing a lot of good things about you as well”
Jay took the lead and tried to stall the conversation as much as he could. As soon as you walked over to them he felt your positive aura that was so addictive, you seemed so grounded and so effortlessly put together it was fascinating for him, since in his industry they were so many people that tried so hard to seem like something they aren’t and were never meant to be it was a nice fresh tone to be around someone that seemed authentic.
“I’m sure he is exaggerating as always, but i’ll gladly take any compliment I can get”
-
After that Jay pursued you, he wanted to be around you, listen to you talk, he craved that comfortable and inviting aura you exude, not too long after that you started dating and not too long after that you were puking like you had been possessed by a Demon.
Jay was so excited about the baby, of course he was shocked at first and very scared since he had so many people depending on him that he was on call 24/7 with everyone and a child is a big responsibility, however in his eyes he couldn’t wait to be blessed by you with such gift, you would bring a life into this world, a beautiful combination of him and you and how could he deny himself such heaven?
He made sure you had everything you needed at any time, he was there at every doctors appointment, he was there when you needed some help to put your shoes on, baking and making all kinds of crazy recipes that you craved and of course he was there when you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl named Kyung Mi.
Yet not everyone shared his excitement, the media were ruthless and the fans were not pleased to say the least, their idol and a well known bachelor was suddenly not only in a relationship but also was having a baby. Your face was plastered all over the tabloids and of course they started digging up your past. While you were still pregnant Jay made sure to hide as much as he could, after you gave birth not only you started seeing more and more of it what also did not help was the extra weight you had gained and it seemed to be very stubborn,
“What are you doing? it’s 3 am?”
Jay had just walked in after a concert, expecting to find his girlfriend and baby girl sleeping, on the contrary he found you exercising and doing crunches at the living room with the baby monitor right next to you.
“Exactly, which means is the only time I can work out without Mi needing something”
He had noticed how you started eating less, always talking about new healthier recipes and it wasn’t the first time he had caught you working out in the middle of the night. He huffed and walked towards you as he sat down on the floor while you kept going with your work out
“Baby you’ve been staying up late to work out more and more”
“Don’t start Jay, you just got home as well”
“I had to work”
“Yes, so did I Jay. But now I have a family to take care of”
He bit his lower lip in a settle way to hold back his words. He knew how much it hurt you that you were staying home since you loved your job so much, of course Kyung understood and told you that when you feel ready to come back the spot is yours. Still, you felt in complete, nothing was the same anymore, you didn’t fit in your clothes, your breasts were swollen and bruised since Kyung Mi was starting to bite and of course the waking up in the middle of the night from the crying did not help either. Jay tried to help as much as he could , unfortunately he couldn’t drop everything and stay home so he understood your frustration.
“How about we take a shower together? We are both sweaty and we can... help each other”
“You can go first”
That also was a part of your new life, you wanted to have sex with Jay... who wouldn’t the problem wasn’t him it was you, you felt fat and ugly and just wanted to cover up and go to bed.
Jay was of course very supportive and expressed his feelings for you every day, that didn’t change the way you saw yourself even when you wished it did. Jay sighed and got up from the floor, leaving you be and getting lost in his own thoughts.
He had to do something and he had to do it quickly. Some how some way there was something he could do that would help you, of course that meant he needed advice from a woman and preferably someone that knew you.
-
“What’s going on big papa?”
Jessi teased as she picked up the phone. You and Jessi had gotten closer over the years and she was someone you used to go out with very often, so Jay thought maybe she had any good ideas.
“Hey, I need your help with something”
“I hope you didn’t hurt my baby (y/n), you owe her after pushing a baby out of her”
“No i didn’t do anything. She’s been very distant lately, she seems to be kind of sulking because of the baby weight and it has taken such a big toll on her”
“Well yeah i’m sure it did, have you tried like having a conversation?”
“yes but she is shutting me out, blaming me about not helping her and missing her job”
“Oh man, Let me see what I can come up with”
-
Jessi was a Saint sent straight from heaven. Her plan was brilliant, she went over the house at 10 a.m and pretty much kicked you out and send you at a well known spa and resort as a “god mother gift” where she had planned a full boy massage and a facial, as well as a sauna and yoga. You haven’t felt this relaxed in a while, letting someone take care of you and not having to worry about the baby crying and if she needs a diaper change was something she desperately needed. 
After everything she was led to a room that had a big package with a beautiful pink bow and a letter. As she opened it she immediately recognized the hand writing.
“To my baby mama,
Take a sweet nap and in 3 hours a hair and make up artist will come to get you all dolled up for our dinner. 
I love you,
your baby daddy”
You smiled and chose to not open the box yet, you left it to the side and laid down on the bed smiling brightly at the letter he had left you. You knew he cared but it was still nice to see that he really did try.
As the letter promised a hair and make up artist came and hooked you up with the good stuff, they made you look like a person you hadn’t see in a while. You went for a nice soft gold eye make up and a red lip and you hair just a nice blow out but it was just so refreshing to finally look like your old self. Then came the the time to finally open the box and of course what was inside was absolutely stunning
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It was tight around your stomach which you did not love and it did put you down a little bit but since you had nothing else to wear you just pushed it in the back of your mind, he had even bought your favorite perfume to wear and of course you noticed the lack of undewear in the box.
As you walked in the hotels restaurant you noticed nobody else was in here other than the servers and Jay. He got up and offered you a single red rose
“Milady”
You giggle as you took it and gave it a little sniff. You couldn’t hold back and went in to hug him, which he wanted to do as well.
“You look ravishing baby”
“Thank you, you look handsome as well”
He pulled back your seat and as you sat down he placed a gentle kiss on your shoulder right on top of the extremely thin spaghetti strap of your dress before taking a seat directly in front of you.
“Tonight is not about me beautiful, tonight is dedicated to you. The sexiest woman on the planet”
“Oh please, maybe after I love half of what I weight”
“Baby why are you putting yourself down? You know I would love you no matter what you weight right?”
You bit your lip. You knew Jay loved you, it was just you that felt insecure and almost like you were holding him back from everything, his career, his friends, everything had changed now and you felt responsible for it, the reason that you were so good at your job was that you took responsibility for everything so naturally it happened now as well.
“I know it’s just, I feel like I’m holding you back”
“What? What do you mean?”
“You were supposed to have a world tour this year and you cancelled it, as well as many other performances cause you wanted to come to doctors appointments”
“Exactly, I chose to cancel them baby, I wanted to be there”
“Yes but... I don’t know I just feel like I’m a burden, also I’ve gain weight and I feel... ugly”
There was a silence after that, since the waiter came and placed the food in front of you. You looked down at your feet, embarrassed and also a bit nervous of what Jay would say, after the waiter walked away Jay got up from his seat and kneeled in front of you, placing his one hand on top of yours and the other reached your chin so you can meet his eyes.
“You are one strong woman you know that? You loved me unconditionally and you gave me a beautiful child, sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve such a person in my life, you are no longer a woman to me... you are a Goddess. That’s why I don’t think i’ll find a more perfect time to do this”
“Do what?”
He reached for his pocket and pulled a small red velvet box. As soon as you saw it you started tearing up and your breathing stopped. Jay looked at you once again, he was saving it for the end of the meal but now it just seemed such a perfect moment.
“(Y/F/N) will you do me the absolute honor and let me your husband?”
“yes”
you whispered as you bot got up and went for a passionate kiss letting your feelings flow and the tears roll down your cheek. You were so happy, finally after so long you felt the connection you had with him before the baby, you missed this pure raw bond you shared, the passion flowed after so many months of complete drought.
“You are so pretty even when you cry”
You laughed once again as you gently wiped your tears not to mess your perfectly applicated make up. He slipped the ring on your finger and kissed your hand 
“Let’s eat and then I can take my dessert in the bedroom”
“Can’t wait mister Park”
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katymacsupernatural · 4 years ago
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The Proposal Chapter 8
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Jensen Ackles x Reader
Story Summary:
Catch Up Here: Masterpost
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After the proposal from Jensen he was pulled into welcoming arms, congratulations floating through the air. You stood there at first, awkwardly watching as he was patted on the back. About ready to turn and get a drink, he surprised you when he reached out, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you against him.
“These are for you as well,” he insisted, smiling so deeply down at you that for a moment you could imagine that this was real and you were actually his fiancee, not just a woman paid to pretend.
You stayed snuggled against his side, smiling wide as all the guests came up and offered their well wishes. A glass of wine was given to me, and I sipped at it, watching in awe as Jensen laughed and seemed to turn into a completely different man than I had become accustomed to. It was refreshing to see him away from his acting.
Your phone buzzed in your purse, and you pulled it out to see your brother’s name on the phone. “I need to take this,” you whispered to Jensen and he nodded, releasing his hold on you. 
“Hurry back,” he insisted, creating a whole new round of ooh’s and aah’s from the crowd. Wanting to roll your eyes, you made your way through the smiling crowd, stepping out into the muggy Texas air. “Hey buddy, what’s up?” You said as soon as you answered, knowing something had to be up for him to call you this late at night. 
There were tears in his voice when he spoke up, his voice barely a whisper. “They’re talking of sending me away,” he whimpered. “They said I’m too much of a headache and they’ve heard of this military boarding school that will whip me into shape. Y/N, I don’t want to go!”
The news broke your heart. You knew that your Aunt and Uncle hadn’t taken in Luke because of the kindness of their heart. They had taken both of you in, quickly going through all of the tidy little nest egg your parents had saved. You had been able to skip out as soon as you turned 18, but Luke was still under their control, and broke your heart. “No, they can’t. They promised,” you exclaimed, a tear slipping down your cheek. “They said they’d keep you with them as long as I needed them too.”
“They’ve changed their mind,” he cried. “I’m not supposed to know, but they were talking about it at dinner tonight.”
“And where were you?”
“In my room,” his voice was tiny. “They said I didn’t do all of my chores, so I went to bed without dinner.”
You wanted nothing more than to head over and pull him away as soon as you could. But there was paperwork, and a court visit. And that all cost money, more than you had saved at the moment. “Luke, promise me you’re doing everything you can to placate them.”
“I am. But Y/N, I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be with you,” he pleaded, breaking your heart. “When?”
“Soon,” you assured him, hoping it was true.
After hanging up, you leaned back against the wall, taking a deep breath, another tear slipping down your cheek. “Here I thought you would be ecstatic. After all, you were just proposed to. What’s up?” Jensen’s grandma said as she came to stand next to you.
“Just a little overwhelmed with everything,” you spoke carefully, not wanting to give anything away that would ruin this facade with Jensen. 
“I can see that,” she handed over a tissue. “After all, you’ve just snagged one of the hottest bachelors in the country. But I think it’s something more than that. Am I right?”
“You’re right,” you admitted. Jensen’s grandma was just so easy to talk to, and you needed that. Even if you didn’t tell her everything. “I just miss my brother.”
“Aww, that’s sweet. I take it he’s younger,” she seemed genuinely curious. 
“He’s ten. So sweet, so kind. He’s with my aunt and uncle, but isn’t very happy with it.”
“And your parents?” She asked.
“Gone. Car accident. But I think I need to get back in before I’m missed. Thanks for the shoulder,” you smiled at her before heading inside, hoping that you hadn’t said too much. But it had been so nice to finally talk to someone. 
“There you are,” Jensen exclaimed as soon as you stepped back in. One glance at your face and he stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you assured him. “Just a little overwhelmed by everything.”
“I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, the comforting touch surprising. “Just a little bit longer before we’ll call it a night.”
You walked in with him, immediately offered another glass of wine and you sipped it, already feeling the alcohol mix with your nerves. Much more to drink and you would come to regret it in the morning. Jensen kept you by his side, always making sure you had a fresh drink in your hand, introducing you to so many people you lost track. 
Finally, you slipped away, perching at the bar, watching as he did his thing. You could hear a group of girls at the far end of the bar, trying to hush their voice but failing miserably. They were talking about you, how you didn’t seem to be Jensen’s type at all. You had expected the backlash, but it was still hard hearing it.
Jensen came over just as you were getting ready to stand up. “Everything okay?” He asked, and you nodded, trying to keep a smile on your face.”
“Listen, I’ve said our goodbyes. I think it’s time you and I head back to the house I think,” he explained, narrowing his eyes and searching your face, making you realize that maybe you weren’t doing the greatest job hiding your emotions.
“Are you sure?” You felt guilty for pulling him away from his party.
He nodded. “Yeah. I saw friends and family. Introduced you and proposed. I think that’s enough for tonight. Oh and we’re doing breakfast with the family tomorrow before we fly back.”
His hand was low on your back as he guided you through those that remained, smiling and waving before you were outside. It was raining lightly, but you didn’t mind. Jensen opened the door for you, and you slid into the car, leaning your head back against the smooth leather.
“So, what did you think?” He asked once he had the car on the highway.
“Everyone was so nice,” you answered, your eyes still closed. “I loved your grandma. And I think they bought the proposal.”
“You did great,” he assured you. “My Mom loves you. So does my grandma. I think we’ve accomplished everything we needed to this weekend.”
The rest of the ride was quiet, and as soon as he was parked in the garage you were out of the car, your shoes in your hands. “Goodnight,” you said, ready to head up and fall face first into that soft mattress upstairs.
“Wait!” He reached out, grasping your arm and pulling you into his chest. You stared up at him, wondering what he was up to. You didn’t have to wait long before his lips crashed down on yours, his body warm and tight against your own. 
Moaning, you let him take control, wondering what brought this on, but not caring. You had wanted to feel his lips against yours again, and it was happening. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered against your skin, stepping back as if you had burned him. 
“It’s alright,” your voice was soft, your lips swollen from his overpowering kiss.
He shook his head. “No. This is strictly professional. And we need to leave it as that,” he insisted before leaving you standing there in the garage, your mouth hanging slightly open.
Part 9
Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney​ @akshi8278   @bi-danvers0  @cap-just-said-language @colette2537​   @deansgirl215​  @flamencodiva​ @hamiltrash1411​ @its-not-a-tulpa​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @justanotherwinchester​ @just-another-winchester​ @karouwinchester​ @keikoraventeller​  @krys198478 @librarygeekery​ @magssteenkamp​ @misspygmypie​ @mlovesstories​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​  @mrspeacem1nusone​ @nothinbuttrouble2​ @ria132love​ @ruprecht0420​  @screechingartisancashbailiff​   @sortaathief​ @superseejay721517​ @squirrelnotsam​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @torn-and-frayed​ @tricksterdean​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @woodworthti666​ @beabutterfly987​
The Proposal Tags: @supraveng @vicmc624 @lottieellz101 @impala-dreamer @maddiepants @emilyshurley @tonystark-makes-me-cry @starryeyeseunbyul  @rach-12 @spnfamily-j2 @ima-be-a-mongoose @flamencodiva @compresshischest09 @parinarain  @stoneyggirl  @tftumblin @massivelycreepypineapple @posiemax @traceyaudette @peacedolantwins2 @eliwinchester99 @deans-baby-momma
Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove   @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498  @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280   @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice   @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93  @nanie5   @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25   @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing  @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman   @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek   @thewinchesterchronicles @voltage-my2dlove @vvinch3st3r  @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen
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peppersonironi · 4 years ago
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Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype Chapter Four
For my @dukethomasbigbang fic, we have the third prank, and fourth chapter! I hope y'all like it! Yet again a huge thanks to betas @queerbutstillhere & @theycallme-ook
Summary:
Everyone was suddenly shaken out of their stunned staring when the Cave’s sound system flared up, blasting dramatic choral music. It was the perfect track for the perfect moment, building up tension to an uproar as the lights dimmed slightly, and all attention was brought on the crackling of lightning arcing across a new figure, who was rounding the bend.
Duke grinned at his crowning achievement.
Read on Ao3
Ah, Cheerios, the best kind of breakfast cereal. Duke just didn’t get why people seemed to hate them so much. They weren’t bland, they just had a nice even subtle oat flavor which was refreshing compared to all the intensely sweet sugary crap that Dick kept attempting to sneak in past Alfred. And they were so delicious with milk! Of course, they were also fantastic when you added things to them as well, like a light drizzle of honey, or a small handful of granola. If you were feeling especially adventurous - or if Damian was the one to go shopping with Alfred and therefore got the choice in what was bought that week - you could even have it with some unsweetened vanilla oat milk.
“But does that count as a subset of cannibalism?” Duke wondered aloud between bites of cereal.
He took another bite thoughtfully and hopped down from the island in the middle of the kitchen to make his way out the door and down the hall. Alfred was away for the weekend (Tim had mentioned something about regaining his honor in a pie baking duel with Ma Kent? Duke wasn’t sure.) so he wouldn’t get in trouble.
Not that he ever got in trouble. For some reason.
Duke angrily crunched down on another spoonful when a sudden banging around came from the ceiling above him. Duke froze, suddenly terrified. What was it? Aliens? Did Alfred (The Cat) finally figure out how to phase through walls? Were some of the skeletons (which Jason had warned Duke he stored in the drywall) finally reanimate and were slowly crawling out, in a slow determined quest for revenge?
As the opening to the air vent just a few feet ahead banged open, releasing a lone figure, Duke was dismayed to find it was not, in fact, some fantastical being or occurrence.
It was just Steph.
Duke quickly finished eating the spoonful of Cheerios and chewed as he waved a greeting with his spoon.
Stephanie, who was completely covered in glitter and carrying a feather duster, glared daggers at Duke and slowly, methodically, drew the duster across her throat.
Duke swallowed heavily and cringed. Ah, it probably would be in his best interest to avoid blaming the purple clothed bandit for any of his pranks in the future.
*****
For the second time that day, Duke found himself in the kitchen of Wayne Manor. Though this time, instead of pondering the moral and psychological repercussions of eating his cereal with oat milk, the teen was having a pre workout snack with his younger brother.
“Add more whipped cream, Thomas,” Damian advised, passing Duke the can. “Dairy is protein, and protein is essential to proper nutrition.”
Duke took the can with a grin, and added a more generous than necessary squirt to the top.
“Alright Dami,” Duke said as he set aside the can, “But you need to be sure to add more than one cherry. Fruit is good for you, you know.”
Damian sniffed superiorly and delicately pulled out three maraschino cherries from the fancy jar than Alfred kept in the pantry. He then placed them precariously on top of the summet of his ice cream sundae mountain.
Duke held up his spoon in front of Damian. “Shall we dig in?”
Damian grinned - a rare occurrence which took the years off of his face, allowing him to truly look like a child. Duke quietly celebrated, ever since he first saw Damian smile at him, he had made it his mission to make his younger brother happier more often.
They clinked their spoons together, and dug into their huge deserts. It was a good thing that Alfred wasn’t home at the moment, or the old Butler would have an aneurysm at the amount of sugar they were putting into their bodies. But oh well, they deserved it for the training session that they’d be taking part in later that afternoon.
It wasn’t often that Bruce had enough time to do a full workout session with any of his kids, let alone something smaller like a one on one thing, or him and a few others. Duke had only gotten this privilege during his first year of staying with the Waynes, and at the time, when he was futilely trying to kick down trees in the yard, he hadn’t understood why such a thing was coveted by his siblings.
But now he did, so he completely understood Damian’s excitement when the thirteen year old had animatedly informed him that because all the others were gone from the city that day, only he and Duke would be present for the training session. So of course Duke suggested making a special treat in preparation.
They were at the very bottom of their large bowls of ice cream when Bruce walked into the kitchen carrying his large jug of water.
“Are you boys ready for today?” Bruce asked, and Duke and Damian grinned.
“Of course, Father. We have been preparing extensively for the past half hour.”
Bruce eyed the empty bowls in front of each of his sons, and grunted. “And sprinkles helped you do that?”
Duke scoffed. “Of course, B. Didn't you know that?”
Bruce looked skeptical, so Damian butted in. “Father, Pennyworth is always informing you to eat your colors. You americans eat such bland food, all tans and grays. Surely compact fluorescent bites are the best way to remedy such a problem.”
Bruce squinted, but didn’t seem in the mood to argue, so he turned around and began to leave the kitchen. “Just be in my study in twenty minutes.”
Behind him, Duke offered a fist bump to his partner in crime. Damian accepted with a smirk.
*****
“Please tell me I’m not late!” Duke exclaimed as he rushed into Bruce’s study.
Bruce and Damian were over by the clock, looking as if they were about to input the time. Duke heaved a sigh of relief at that. Being late to a training session was a mortal sin in the Manor. Or at least, that’s what Jason told him. He said it was the reason he had died (something about Bruce kicking him out, which made him go to Ethiopia for some money an old rich uncle of his had left him, and then the Joker catching wind and tried to rob him, which somehow ended in with him, a warehouse, and a crow bar).
Suffice it to say, Duke made it his mission to never be late to a training session. Ever.
“Tt, Thomas,” Damian remarked, turning back to the clock. “You were cutting it close.”
Bruce sighed. “You’re fine Duke.”
Duke nodded and took his place right behind Damian. The boy huffed in a satisfied manner and crossed his arms.
“Any day now, Father. Unlike you, my time is precious.”
Translation: Damian was excited, and tired of waiting.
Bruce frowned as he spun the arms of the clock again. “The clock is broken.”
Duke raised his eyebrows. “Wow, that couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that it’s really just a door, right?”
Bruce frowned back at the face of the grandfather clock, not bothered by Duke’s incredibly funny remark.
A few seconds later, Duke tried again. “Bruce, what’s wrong?”
Bruce’s eyes were narrowed to slits by now, and his brow furrowed in concentration. “The entrance is malfunctioning. I want you boys to go around and check the others. Including Stephanie’s smuggling tunnel.”
Duke blinked. “Stephanie’s what now?”
Bruce made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Yes, I know about that. Now go.”
Duke and Damian looked at each other, shrugged, then left the room. Might as well do what Bruce says. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they could work out. Plus they were sort of curious to know what was going on. Neither of them knew, they were innocent! Especially Duke.
Fifteen minutes later, and the trio reconvened in the study once more. Bruce looked angry, Duke looked confused, and Damian was positively fuming.
“This is outrageous!” He cried, as soon as he entered after Duke. “None of the entrances are working! I even attempted to use imaginative means to enter, and nothing worked!”
Bruce’s grim look receded for just a moment. “I’ll let Barbara know she did a wonderful job shoring up the security if even my children can’t get in.”
Damian scowled. “What’s the point of making security that we can’t get into?”
Bruce closed his eyes for three long, tired seconds.
“Anyway!” Duke said, “They aren’t allowing access. Any theories? Or should we just get Tim?”
Damian looked appalled at the idea. “Father!” he cried, “you can’t call Timothy! He will be unable to operate at maximum capacity if he does not complete the weekend of so-called relaxation with the clone at the Kents’ farm.”
“So second best option?” Duke asked.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t let Barbara hear that when she gets here.”
*****
“Hhmmmm.”
Duke, Bruce, and Damian cringed in unison at Barbara’s contemplative noise. The young woman was typing on a laptop plugged into some kind of control panel in Bruce’s office. She hadn’t spoken to them more than first greetings  when she had arrived, so they were left in the dark while she rifled through the Cave’s security system.
Finally, Babs closed the computer and set it to the side. Duke and the others held their collective breath.
“The Cave is registering you as already present inside,” Barbara explained, “Actually, it says that everyone is in the Cave right now.”
Bruce was still and silent, considering Barbara’s words. Damian, on the other hand, seemed to be an inch away from having a meltdown.
“This is preposterous!” He blustered, whipping about and glaring, not having any particular target. “The system is trash, I said we should have fixed it ages ago! And now look at the outcome! I must remain at peak physical capacity, and I am not able to if I miss even a single session! Father, I demand you fix this!”
“Woah, dude, chill,” Duke soothed, resting a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Thankfully, the kid didn’t bite him. “I know you're frustrated, but we work more effectively when calm, right?”
Damian blinked, and glared at Duke for a long moment. “You are not incorrect, Thomas.” Damian finally allowed, turning away.
Barbara smiled. “Well, good news: I can get you in. It’s probably a good idea to call for back-up and wait till you have the forces to-”
“That won’t be necessary,” Bruce interrupted, his eye twitching at the glare Babs threw his way. “We can handle it - right, boys?”
Damian sniffed proudly and produced some knives from who knows where. Duke nodded confidently.
Bruce grunted, and motioned for them to fall in line behind him. Barbara watched with her precise gaze as Bruce, Duke, and Damian made their way down the stairs. They didn’t turn the lights on, going for optimal stealth as were, and moved slowly downward.
“Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious,” Duke sang under his breath a little ways after the halfway point down the stairs.
“Making noise is very suspicious, Thomas.” Damian muttered.
“Quiet, Boys,” Bruce snapped before Duke could make a comeback, “We’re almost there.”
As soon as the doors to the Cave opened, they scattered and melted into the shadows. Duke just managed to see Damian crawl up the side of the cave wall, but didn’t see where Bruce went. He didn’t have much time to worry about that, though, as he was hiding himself among equipment that lined the sides of the space.
The path he had chosen gave him an easy pass to circle the main platform, and gage the situation. And boy was it a situation. Because, you see, like Barbara said, they were not the only ones in the cave. They were just the only sentient ones.
The elevator dinged, and Barbara rolled out and into the light. “Are those Manikins?” She asked, incredulous.
*****
Duke smirked proudly at the sight before him, the same sight that left the others outraged and confused
Someone, somehow (It was Duke, and through much hard labour during some time while the bats were actually asleep - he got someone to cover his patrol, this bright young girl called Maps to do it. She said she was a friend of Damian’s, and quite skilled with a grappling hook. Tim had mentioned her before, so Duke wasn’t surprised.) managed to get dozens of manikins - those hyper mobile ones that you can personalise their positions - and spread them out across the cave.  And not just that, they had managed to stylize them after each member of the family.
The manikins also seemed to be moving around at preset speeds, through some mysterious robotic means (Duke mentally thanked the stars that Bruce didn’t bat an eye at someone purchasing thirty roombas with his credit card.).
The first manikin, the one that caught everyone’s eye, was clearly meant to represent Stephanie. It was doused in complete purple, the exact shade of her suit and automated to throw the glitter bombs stored in a sack by its side at seemingly everything - though apparently mainly at the nearest authority figure.
Said authority figure was obviously Bruce, who was moving slowly in wide arcs around the chaos. It was wearing one of those ghost costumes, (you know the ones with just a sheet and cut out holes? Yeah, that’s Bruce.) except with a black sheet. And two plastic forks taped to either side of the head to imitate Bat ears. Though by this point it was also covered in purple glitter, thanks to Steph.
Somehow, the figure right next to Bruce was completely untouched by the purple sparkles, despite wearing the exact same outfit as Bruce’s manikin, plastic forks and all. (Although to be fair, this one was significantly shorter.) Though this mystery could easily be solved by the fact that it was Cass. Well, that explains pretty much everything, actually.
Nearest to Bruce and his mini-me at that point in the rotation was a toddler sized, bright green manikin that represented none other than the current Robin. And if that weren’t enough, think of Edward Scissor Hands. Now imagine those knives and blades and such taped over the whole body. Now you have an accurate picture of Damian Wayne in Manikin form. Honestly, it wasn’t that far off.
Humans weren’t the only things replaced in the Cave, as just by Damian were little dog, cat, and cow statues. And a giant bat stuffie colored red.
Bruce’s manikin had to stop it’s wide arc and jerk suddenly to the side to avoid the next member of the family. Tim Drake’s stand-in was barely visible underneath the six foot tall pile of bulk coffee bean bags stacked around it.
Right behind Tim was a large manikin painted blood red, wearing a faux pink leather jacket with sparkles and rhinestones glued it. It looked like it was meant for a six year old girl. What didn’t look like it was meant for a child, though, were the strips of ammunition draped across its shoulders like a fancy scarf. The look was completed by a large red bucket dumped haphazardly over the head of the manikin.
To the side of the Cave, just barely out of the war path that was The Red Bucket, was something different. Instead of a manikin like you would find in the clothing store, a halloween decoration was set up. And not just any decoration: A life-sized recreation of Dracula that looked so cheap, it was probably bought at Party City for ten bucks. (Hey, it was on sale! Duke wasn’t one to ignore such a spectacular bargain!). The only thing customized about it was the cheap, long, cherry red wig perched precariously on its head. Hey, everyone always said Kate looked an awful lot like a vampire!
The simplest manikin was somehow one of the most recognizable. Painted plain white, it was mostly unadorned with the exception of “007” painted across the chest in big, black, block letters. Now who could that be? It wasn’t like the Bats casually knew a british spy.
But all of that is fairly sane, compared to the … others.
In one corner of the room, a manikin was on fire. Completely on fire. The blaze was huge. Somehow, the manikin itself wasn’t on fire, though. One got the impression that it was supposed to be reminiscent of the burning bush story, or perhaps a phoenix. Ha, phoenix. Flamebird. Duke hoped he wasn’t the only one who found that funny.
Dick’s was on a complicated zip line pulley type system thingy. It was upside down and twisted into a pretzel for a bit, then it reached a checkpoint and was replaced by a new “Dick” in a different position. It looks like Dick’s doing mid air acrobatics. Oh, and he’s wearing a crop top that said “I’m A Dick.”
There was yet another all-green manikin seated on a hover chair that looked suspiciously like alien tech taken from the Watchtower. There was a face drawn on, and it was emulating the Oracle Symbol.
Hidden amongst the shadows in the corner was another manikin, barely within sight. It was resting luxuriously in a clawfoot bathtub, which was filled with jewels of all kinds. Upon its shoulders were multiple cat stuffed animals.
Everyone was suddenly shaken out of their stunned staring when the Cave’s sound system flared up, blasting dramatic choral music. It was the perfect track for the perfect moment, building up tension to an uproar as the lights dimmed slightly, and all attention was brought on the crackling of lightning arcing across a new figure, who was rounding the bend.
Duke grinned at his crowning achievement, the one that is easily the most terrifying. The one that is undoubtedly the Taser Girl herself: Harper Row.
What made this one different? Well, that’s because Harper was not, in fact, a manikin. Instead, the figure was not unlike a stick figure made completely out of metal pipes. The bottom was attached to an encased roomba which was currently going in wide, swooping arcs. The arms are raised triumphantly overhead. (Duke may or may not have spent three hours in front of the Hellmo meme, making sure that it was perfect). And, of course, it was conducting bright blue crackling electricity. (Duke had gotten the idea from one of those science experiment things that is made of lightning, and will every so often shoot a bolt and light something on fire. Minus the fire part. He didn’t have a death wish .)
It was just then that some lightning arced out and set an extra manikin that had been lying about on fire.
Duke cringed internally, but his mood wasn’t dampened for long. He took one look at the other Bats present, and muffled a snort of amusement. They were positively shocked - even Babs! That in and of itself was an utter victory for Duke. It got even better when they slowly separated and began to wander the Cave in wonder and horror. Duke split off as well, and hid behind the Dinosaur.
He almost tripped, however, on one of the babies. Yeah, Babies. Around the legs of the dinosaur, on their own roombas, were inflatable versions of the giant T-Rex. Somehow (maaaaybe with a touch of fiddling with controls), they were even faster than the moving people. They were zipping around and crashing into each other. When Duke hit one, though, it activated a system he had put in place which suddenly unleashed a gigantic roar throughout the Cave via the soundsystem.
The Dinosaurs weren’t the only extra addition to the native wildlife, though. Bats, hundreds of them, were replaced with stuffed animal versions of themselves, and painstakingly hung from string to the stalactites at the top of the cave, like a giant mobile.
Duke peaked out from the side of the wide space where he had been inspecting his own work to gage the situation with the other members of his family. The shock seemed to have worn off by that point, replaced with mixed reactions. Bruce was growing increasingly frustrated, Babs was trying not to laugh, and Damian was secretly pleased, enjoying the look on his father’s face.
Duke chuckled to himself as he went back to looking around in the nooks and crannies where smaller details - like the glow sticks representing glow worms - are set up. He had to admit, when he had set all of this up in two-days-without-sleep haze, he hadn’t actually been sure if it actually looked good. Two minutes later, and Duke was absolutely sure that this was in the top fifteen best Bat-Pranks, He’d have to petition for it to be added at the next meeting.
A sudden clamor came from the Batcomputer, and Duke grinned before practically skipping over to see what was the matter. This will be fun, he thought.
Upon his arrival, he knew it was true.
“Holy shit!” He crowed joyfully upon catching sight of the one manikin that had been missing earlier: his own.
Duke’s manikin was draped in gold curtains - clearly from the South Wing’s Music Room - to look like a toga, and sitting on a throne. Literally. (Bruce just had one lying about in the Attic) The throne rested on a huge platform covered in jewels (also taken from the treasure chest in the Attic). A light setup in the crannies of the Cave’s ceiling shot out beams of ‘disco’ light. Thin black vales hang from the ceiling to give the ominous feel of shadows. And, in case there was any confusion, a golden plaque rests at the base, and is engraved with the words “The Duke of Gotham. Bow Before Your Ruler.”
It’s beautiful, Duke thought ecstatically, so much better than I could have ever dreamed!
He promptly burst into laughter.
Bruce growled in frustration. “This is not funny, Duke.”
“I dunno, B,” Duke shrugged, “I sure think it is!”
“It is not. This is a defacement of the cave, plain and simple. And a poor use of resources to boot. This space is supposed to be efficient, a place that aids in the mission - and are those my Great Aunt Matilda’s emeralds?”
Duke shrugged again as Bruce was set off onto an even longer rant about wasting everyone’s time and abilities since they were going to have to clean it all up. Duke was mostly tuning Bruce out by that point.
“-if you are being flattered by the prankster, that is a clear sign of them trying to get you on their side.”
Duke froze and did a double take. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I didn’t train you to be so easily manipulated.”
Duke coughed. “Uh, I think you got this mixed up, B. See that? That’s me on the throne. Clearly this whole prank was organized by me.”
Bruce stared at Duke for a solid three seconds. Babs was covering her mouth to avoid a giggling fit, or maybe just out of shock. Damian was frowning at Duke.
Bruce’s right eye twitched. “Duke, no need to be sarcastic.”
Duke opened his mouth to argue some more, to explain just how wrong Bruce was, when said Dark Knight whipped around and stalked towards the elevator. He froze, though, when he stepped in front of Damian.
There wasn’t even a moment's pause before Bruce was glaring down at his youngest son with resigned, tired eyes. “Damian, how many times have I told you that more knives are not better? You gave yourself away.”
Damian screeched in indignation, and raced to follow Bruce out, demanding for Bruce to see reason.
“Father, you are being ridiculous!”
But his cries were quickly silenced by the closing of the elevator doors, leaving just Duke and Barbara in the Bat Cave.
Babs pivoted to look to Duke and shrugged. “Sorry kid, but he’s just stubborn.”
Duke blinked in confusion as she wheeled away. Had she always known? Scratch that - she was Oracle. Of course Barbara knew.
Duke collapsed at the foot of his throne, and put his head in his hands. Next time, he promised himself, no one else is gonna be there. No one else can take the credit.
*****
“He’s really trying, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this will be fun to watch.”
“Yes.”
“Should we just tell Bruce and be over with it?”
“…”
“Yes, you’re right Cass. We wait and watch.”
17 notes · View notes
uwua3 · 4 years ago
Note
hi bunnie! can i first just say that your name and blog are both so dang cute aaaa 🥺 can i request a best friend!izumi hc? 🥺👉👈 thank you so much 💛
THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! YOU ARE THE CUTEST PERSON EVER~ i am in Love With You !!! also omg IZUMI ♡u♡ she is the Best Girl ever but #AllGirlsAreBestGirls !!! i love her so much, i’m so glad this was requested!!! i am so happy to write this ♡ PLEASE LOVE IZUMI!
summary: together, you and the currian are unstoppable! watching the cooking channel with your best friend just got even better
author’s note: i hope you love this 🥺 i am genuinely so soft over izumi she deserves the whole world
count how many times i say curry, it isn’t even Funny at this point T___T anyways, i was a bit nervous over this because i hadn’t watched the anime, so i didn’t know izumi well as a character! if all else fails, use the traits you know to the best of your ability! i love our curry queen regardless, though~
word count: 2,001
music: good as hell – lizzo ft. ariana grande
my best friend.
🍛 tachibana izumi
you, funny enough, met izumi at the grocery store in the spices aisle
you were unable to decide between which spices were necessary for the curry recipe you were about to attempt, staring at your phone screen with obvious confusion
what was the difference between each type of curry? which one was better? you scrolled down, reading off the countries,
“india, thailand, malaysia, china, south africa, japan...” you mumbled inaudibly before you heard a very distinct crash in the next aisle over. someone must’ve just hit their cart into a display or—
you saw a girl with long brown hair and pink eyes with... wait... were her pupils heart–shaped? you stumbled back as she approached like she was on a mission, standing a mere few feet from you as she smiled pleasantly at you like the situation wasn’t out of the ordinary at all
(oh no... was she one of those pyramid scheme scammers?)
“are you making curry?!” she questioned, leaning forward to glance at your screen only to squeal in excitement at the confirmation. you gulped, nodding with a tinge of doubtful fear
if you said yes, were you about to be attacked right here and now in the middle of a grocery store? you just wanted some curry...
“i’m so happy for you! do you need help? i know the perfect combination of spices for any type of curry! i can make a different curry for each day of the year!” she offered to help, putting her hands together with a pleading look like she was dying to talk about curry
you nodded again and her entire face lit up again, going off on a rant without taking a moment to breathe
she was so knowledgable on all types of curry! you took notes diligently, deciding on japanese chicken katsu curry as the meal for tonight
when you told her, she clapped her hands and giddily jumped up and down. it was honestly refreshing to see someone so enthusiatic about food!
“i’m sorry for randomly talking to you, but i just love curry! do you need help looking for the rest of the items?” she offered to help, already with an armful of the spices you needed and dumped them into your cart
you pondered, thinking as you looked at the girl. she was nice enough, and clearly wasn’t much of a threat if she was willing to approach a stranger without any discomfort
why not? you smiled, offering your hand out to shake as you introduced yourself. she took it quickly, enthusiatically shaking it up and down as she giggled
“izumi! glad to meet you!”
from that point forward, you two became best friends for life!
izumi was the life of the party and brought happiness wherever she went. not only that, but she was incredibly polite and kind! it wasn’t everyday you met a girl that was full of life and always determined to overcome any obstacle in her path!
izumi would go through anything and everything for her friends despite how busy she was 24/7. she juggled being the mankai director (which was babysitting 20 boys), helping other acting troupes, and cooking at night but still made time to see you at least every week
you weren’t surprised when you were encouraged to come over for a company dinner one night and saw so. many. variations. of curry set up at the table. like the other boys, you attempted to hide your grimace (but very poorly, you weren’t a trained actor like the rest of the entourage was)
“what’s wrong? are you okay?” izumi’s motherly instincts kicked in as she hurried to put her hand against your forehead. you had to pretend like you were coming down with a cold the rest of the week and forced the curry down your throat
(the boys secretly gave you water under the table, whispering advice on how to bear it and grin as they made up fake situations to pass your chair)
(the high schoolers just looked relieved to not be the victim that night)
(seriously... so. many. variations.)
(every time you were invited to a meet–up, you texted the groupchat named “stop the currian” to see if izumi was making curry)
(she always was. you still ate it because you loved her too much to say no)
but other than curry, izumi loved cooking! she was subscribed to sooo many culinary and baking channels on youtube. she loved sending you links with a follow–up text that said: “wanna make this tonight? i know you want to eat it! ;)”
(you complained about how it always ended in a minor food fight you had to clean up. you still let her in when she knocked on your front door with bags of groceries)
(after so many visits, izumi was beginning to be proficient at other forms of culinary like baking since you enjoyed it so much)
one time, you even convinced izumi to make her own youtube channel. you had set up a camera omi loaned on a tripod, acting as the best cameraman ever of course
(you had a clapperboard that had the production titled, “izumi is replacing bon appétit’s claire” with take 1 freshly written)
“you got this, izumi!” you encouragedly put a fist in the air, “fighting!”
izumi nodded cutely, wearing her favorite striped shirt with a pastel pink apron. she held a automatic whisk in her right and was already posing with a mixing bowl in her left, ready to demonstrate how to make your favorite dessert
(maybe you suggested the idea because you wanted food, who knows?)
counting down vocally, you watched as your fingers dropped down to a zero and the red light on the camera started blinking. it was go time, and izumi immediately got into action
“hello, everyone! my name is tachibana izumi and today we will be making—”
the camera fell off the stand as izumi’s whisk flew out of her hand and smacked the lense directly in the middle. a sickening thud echoed through the apartment as you two stood in shock, staring at the expensive camera with unease. it didn’t look... uh... functional?
you quickly put your finger on your nose since it was an unspoken rule that touching your nose automatically meant opting out. you were a second earlier than izumi as she gasped like she was offended
“i am not telling omi!” izumi freaked out, running over but the damage was already done. the camera definitely didn’t turn on anymore
(you and izumi bought the same camera that day and switched the memory cards) (omi raised his eyebrows at the sudden newness of his trusty camera, but didn’t say anything as he just took it and thanked you for bringing it back safe)
(yeah... omi definitely knew. but, he wasn’t too bothered to say anything about it)
(“izumi? what did you spend so much money on last month?” sakyo reviewed her financial statement, watching as she nervously sweat and glanced at omi. he just shrugged like he had no idea)
so you two stuck to mindlessly watching the cooking channel on the tv. it was the usual weekend: becoming insecure over the unreal and extremely talented kid bakers who made a whole 3–tier cake in two hours, making fun of america’s worst chefs when they didn’t know how to cut a chicken, and yelling at cheating cooks who were way too competitive on chopped
it was better that way, anyways. maybe going viral on the internet wasn’t meant for everyone. you still got your dessert, much to your satisfaction
(“yeah, yeah. it’s only because you’re my best friend.” izumi laughed, shoving the plate with extra servings as you stuffed your face. she just fondly rolled her eyes as you tried saying thanks with your mouth full)
(“gross!” izumi squealed, throwing the kitchen mitts at you as you fought back, nearly hitting her with one of the pastries. you already know what happens next. izumi stopped baking for you for a long time [a month] as punishment)
speaking of baking, izumi loved making the most ridiculous cakes you’ve ever seen in your entire life
on random days, she’d make the most creative cupcakes ever with individual designs with meticulous attention to detail
(izumi always had to slap masumi’s hands away from the white box she’d set aside specifically for you. he’d pout, hurt, wondering why she didn’t make any food other than curry for him)
(“masumi... you really need to look at other girls.” you remembered advising him, sympathetically patting his back as he angrily accused you of being in love with izumi, too! to this day, it’s still awkward on your end when you see masumi and he thinks you’re his lifelong competitor)
but on important celebrations like your birthday and anniversaries, her cakes were... something. they’d be the most delicious things on earth, but the design would be comically ugly. she’d put the most bare minimum art ever and write the words way too big and it wouldn’t fit. there were always misspellings. maybe it was a curse for being so well–rounded?
another fun fact was you and izumi were the ultimate power duo! whenever you two went to hang out in public, you always made sure some creep wasn’t staring at her and she did the same for you all the time
as friends, it was your job to make sure you two were as safe and sound as possible
(one time, an absolute douchebag tried to wolf whistle her and izumi had to stop you from getting into a fight in broad daylight)
izumi was way too nice. she was such a selfless person and often acted like the big sister you never had. she was always ready with the most agreeable advice and showed up with her arms open. she was so giving, it was easy to see why everyone loved her
but you liked giving back, too! (much to her surprise) you even tried your hand at making some new form of curry by throwing in random spices and calling it a day, but you realized she was the most critical judge ever for any type of curry
(you stopped making curry for her. she would narrow her eyes and push her imaginary glasses up like an anime character. it was terrifying, she always appreciated it but... you shuddered, izumi was scary)
once, you even rented that curry truck to come by for her birthday! you never saw someone look like they were this close to passing out from maximum happiness
(you even bought a director’s chair for her with izumi bedazzled across the back)
(she now sits in it to get that extra confidence boost before a big show)
but the most important gift that kept on giving was spending quality time with izumi when she needed it most
when the anniversary of her father going missing came back around, you were the first person at her room. with curry you knew she liked from that really one obscure place and all the time that day to make sure she way okay
(she was such a big sister! izumi always claimed she was fine and it was just another normal day, but you were always there to provide comfort she didn’t even know she needed)
you took time out of your day to help her with all her mudane tasks after you saw she once physically fainted from tiredness
(it almost gave you a heart attack the first time, but then you noticed tsuzuru also did that too so it must’ve been something in the mankai dorm air)
you then became a well known figure in the theatre community as “izumi’s best friend”
(you were not upset with that title at all, in fact, you hoped it never changed)
who knew you’d meet your best friend forever at a grocery store? over curry nonetheless?
(yes, you’re izumi’s best friend, but it doesn’t mean you’re exempt from the spices rant)
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ot3tropetober · 4 years ago
Text
Fic: A Bushel And A Peck
AU:  Eliot runs an apple orchard. @aimlessglee  [AO3]
“What the hell is this?” Eliot asked, but he took the folder Hardison was handing him.
“Flavor,” Hardison said. “Background. Worldbuilding. Just read it, okay? I spend a lot of damn time on these aliases. You need to know who you are if we have to deploy them.”
Eliot flipped through the file. “Why is there a picture of me holding a basket of apples?”
“Just read it!” Hardison said.
Jeremiah Atherton, Jem to absolutely everyone or suffer the consequences, stood at the booth at the entrance to his family’s orchard. Momma and Pops had finally taken the plunge and bought a place down in Florida for the winter. The days were still sunlit and warm, but the nights were getting nippy, and they’d headed south a few weeks ago, promising to be back in the spring. They’d earned it, he thought. He smiled at the pretty blonde beside him - he’d known Heather since they were kids, even babysat her a few times when their parents went out and did stuff together. She made the best apple cider doughnuts in the county, and her pies were melt-in-your-mouth good. Their families had worked together a long time. It was a solid partnership, kind of part of his inheritance, and only he knew if he had a couple of soft thoughts about her every one in a while.
“Is that supposed to be Parker?” Eliot asked.
“Yes, it’s Parker,” Hardison said.
“Apple orchard, huh,” Eliot said. “Kinda…not very tough. Why can’t I run cattle?”
“Damn, Eliot, do you know the kind of effort it takes to keep a small operation running in this economy?” Hardison scowled. “Cows take care of themselves. Trees don’t. Also you can’t run cattle like that in New England.”
“Huh,” Eliot said, and went back to the file.
“Think it’s gonna be a good weekend?” Jem asked her.
Heather grinned. “It’s always a good weekend in the orchard.” She gestured around her. “Sun’s out. Nice and cool. People are gonna come pick a ton of apples and eat a bunch of doughnuts.”
“And they’ll drink cider,” Jem told her, hefting a gallon jug in each hand. “Don’t forget about the cider.”
“I never could,” Heather promised.
“It’s farm fresh,” he said.
“Honey, I know,” she said, putting her hand over his. “Why do you think I started making doughnuts? I wanted to get out of cider pressing.”
“‘Scuse me,” somebody said. They looked up to see a very tall, very handsome Black man dressed in a v-neck sweater that clung to the muscles of his chest, an expensive coat, and a scarf.
“Uh huh,” Eliot said. I see you.“
"What?” Hardison asked, all innocence.
“Hey, man, what can I do for you?” Jem said.
“I’m here to pick apples,” the guy said. “I kinda thought that was what people did here?”
“Weren’t you here last weekend?” Heather asked suddenly. She leaned her elbow on the counter and cupped her chin in her hand. “You were. You bought a dozen doughnuts and a half-gallon of cider.”
The guy smiled at her. “Good memory. I was, and I did. But you make a couple of pies and a batch of applesauce and boom, you need more apples.”
“And the weekend before that,” Heather said.
“I…like apples?” the guy said.
“We should make you a punch card or something,” Jem teased. “Tell you what.” He took one of the orchard’s business cards from a rack and scribbled on the back of it. “Come four weekends and I’ll give you a free peck the fifth time.” He held out the card, and the guy took it and looked at it fondly before he tucked it in his pocket.
“Deal,” the guy said.
“Take a doughnut,” Heather urged, wrapping one in a napkin as Jem pulled a basket off the stack and put it on the counter. “On me. You’ll need your energy.”
“Thanks,” the guy said. He smiled at them as he took the basket and the doughnut.
“Hey, man, what’s your name?” Jem called.
“Alistair,” the guy said. “Alistair Weaver.”
“What are you in this fantasy, some kind of fancy city lawyer?” Eliot asked.
“Well, yeah,” Hardison said. “That’s kind of how it works.”
Alistair did come back the next weekend, and then the weekend after that. They had a nice conversation every time Alistair showed up at the booth, which he did more and more often, coming back for a refreshing glass of cider or one of Heather’s sandwiches or a bag of cinnamon almonds. Jem found he was looking forward to seeing him. This time, Alistair was in a more casual outfit: a fleece and fitted jeans. He looked good, sophisticated in a kind of way Jem couldn’t pull off.
“Can’t resist that free peck, huh?” Jem teased.
“Not when you’ve got the best apples in the state,” Alistair said, and grinned.
“Did you know a peck can also be a quick kiss?” Heather said suddenly. “Usually on the cheek, but sometimes on the lips.” They both looked at her.
“She’s just kind of like that,” Jem told Alistair. “Says things.”
“I get it,” Alistair said.
“He owes you a peck,” Heather insisted. “Come on, Jemothy. Cough up.”
“That’s not my name,” Jem mumbled.
“Hey, if it’ll make you happy,” Alistair said. He leaned over the counter and presented his cheek to Jem.
“Uh,” Jem said.
“We’ll both do it,” Heather said. “Ready, Jem?” She pushed herself up on the counter and gave Alistair a dry little kiss on the cheek. Jem didn’t move.
“I get it,” Alistair said, winking at Jem. “You’re a big talker. You talk the talk, but you don’t peck the peck.”
“I do,” Jem insisted, and he leaned in and gave Alistair a quick kiss, barely brushing his lips over Alistair’s warm, freshly shaved skin. Alistair smelled really good, honestly. It kinda made Jem tingly inside. He wanted to press his nose against Alistair’s neck and just breathe him in.
“Now that’s customer service,” Alistair said. He took his basket and the doughnut Heather had insisted on giving him again. He grinned at them. “See you in a couple of hours.”
“A guy like that doesn’t drive out from the city every weekend just because he likes our apples,” Heather told him. “He likes you.”
“Maybe he likes you,” Jem said.
Heather shrugs. “Everybody likes me. He likes you especially. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Jem squinted at her. “I don’t think so.” But he was definitely waiting for Alistair to come back, he realized, as he weighed people’s baskets of apples and took their money. His heart jumped around a little when he saw Alistair approaching, or maybe that was his stomach. He’d stress-eaten a couple of doughnuts between customers. He snuck a glance at Heather, but she was busy, thank heavens. He’d had enough of her help for one day.
“Hey, man,” he said as Alistair handed the basket over.
“Hey yourself,” Alistair said, smiling sweetly. Jem ducked his face to hide the fact that he was blushing a little. Alistair leaned on the counter. “About earlier…I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. Seemed like kind of a joke between you and Heather, you know? I was just trying to play along.”
“What, the kiss?” Jem said airily, pretending like it hadn’t meant anything to him. “Nah. Heather’s like that. She likes to meddle. Don’t ever play Truth or Dare with her. I’ll give you that one for free.”
“Oh, that was a kiss to you?” Alistair joked. “Damn, I guess it’s a good thing I never asked for your number.”
“No, it wasn’t…” Jem started and then squinted at Alistair. “I gave you my number. It’s on the business card. You could have called any time. If, uh, you wanted to call. For whatever reason.”
“I didn’t think that was your personal number,” Alistair said. “Besides, I was kind of busy this week. Had to rush to finish all the work for a big trial so I could come out here today. Then I find out if I did call you and ask you out, the kiss I’m gonna get at the end of the date is a peck on the cheek.”
“That’s not how I kiss,” Jem protested.
Alistair raised one eyebrow and smirked.
“Not on a date, anyway,” Jem mumbled. He felt half-hypnotized by the warmth in Alistair’s deep voice and dark eyes.
“Tell you what,” Alistair said. “I’ll come back next week and you can prove it. When does the orchard close?”
“Seven,” Jem said.
Alistair nodded. “I’ll make reservations for eight. Where’s good around here?”
“My place,” Jem said boldly. “Not a better cook in the county.”
“It’s a date,” Alistair said. He checked his watch. “Hey, let me pay you for those apples.” Jem startled out of his daze and started bagging them up.
“You leaving already?” Heather said, finally disentangled from her customers. She started putting doughnuts and a half-dozen hand pies into a box. “Aww, Alistair. I feel like I barely saw you.”
“Don’t you worry,” Alistair said. “I’ll see you both next weekend.” He took the apples and the bakery box and handed over some cash.
“Y'ain’t that slick, ace,” Eliot said, but he said it fondly. He reached over and patted Hardison’s knee.
“You wanna put together the aliases, be my guest,” Hardison said, tapping at his keyboard and frowning at his screen. He softened up enough to smile at Eliot.
The date went well. Really well, actually. Jem had made dessert to go with the simple bread and stew he’d prepared, but dessert had to wait while he proved to Alistair that hell yeah, he kissed better than a peck on the cheek. Alistair made it back to his AirBnB that night, but after the next couple of weekends, he stopped bothering to book one, and they started waking up cuddled together on crisp Sunday mornings. Honestly, their relationship was pretty perfect: Alistair worked in the city in the week and came out on the weekends. Sometimes he even helped in the orchard, though operations were winding down and Jem was shifting to pumpkins, the corn maze, and hay rides, motorized and unmotorized.
“It’s not like work at all,” he said, standing in the front booth with Heather while Jem tinkered around in the engine of the old farm truck they used for hay rides sometimes. “Work is all research and computers and suits and yelling. This is peaceful. There’s fresh air. People are happy to see me.”
“I’m happy to see you,” Heather told him. He put his arm around her companionably. Jem grinned at both of them. He looked down at his stomach.
“Aw, hell,” he said. “Got grease all over my t-shirt.” He shrugged off his overshirt and reached down and stripped off his t-shirt. He put his overshirt back on and started to do up the buttons.
“WAIT,” Heather yelled. She ran to the house and came back with a glass, which she filled with cider and handed to Jem. “Alistair! Do you have your phone on you? Take a picture!”
“Way ahead of you, H,” Alistair said, coming up and crouching. “Jem, baby, strike a pose on that hay bale.”
“This is dumb,” Jem said.
“It’s absolutely not,” Alistair said. “I’ve got a buddy in advertising and we’re gonna use this to make an ad campaign for the orchard. Double your business easy.”
“We’re going to sell so much cider!” Heather said excitedly, clasping her hands together.
“Now that’s too much,” Eliot said.
“You wanna see the cider ad campaign or not?” Hardison asked.
“…yeah,” Eliot said.
“Back page,” Hardison said, still staring into his screen. Eliot flipped through. He had to admit, Hardison had done a hell of a job. He didn’t remember lying half-shirtless on a hay bale at any point, but looking at the photos, maybe he’d just forgotten. Hardison asked him to do a lot of stuff that seemed foolish at the time, and Eliot tried to forget it.
“Are we gonna use this any time soon?” he asked.
“You never know,” Hardison said mysteriously.
“I know,” Parker said, coming down from the ceiling. “And I like it. So maybe.”
“Well,” Eliot said. “Could be worse.”
“I know you know how good you’ve got it,” Hardison told him.
“Really good,” Parker agreed.
“Really good,” Eliot said, nodding along. He grinned at them. “The best.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Parker told him. “Let’s go find some cider doughnuts. I need to know what those are.”
“Let’s do it,” Eliot said, and together they pried Hardison away from his computer and went to find an orchard.
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my-happy-little-bean · 3 years ago
Text
The Bookkeeper – Chapter 5
Chapter 5: The Signature Of All Things
pairings: logicality, prinxiety words: 3453 chapter warnings: mild existentialism chapter summary: talks of philosophy, tea, and a smidge of jealousy.
[read on ao3] [masterlist]
< previous chapter
Fray and Far Fables was filled with flowers. 
It was clear that there had been some attempt to hide them, but the flowers were indeed there. Daisies squirmed between the floorboards, pink and lilac petals were flattened under rugs, and strings of ivy were draping off of the shelves. 
And in the middle of the store was Patton and Roman. 
Logan watched, amused, as Patton stuffed his hands into his overall pockets upon hearing the door open. Grass strands and petals fell down his sides as he smiled sheepishly. 
“Oh! Logan! You’re...back early!”
“I am actually on time, Patton.” He looked pointedly at Roman, who had formed his magic into a small broom and began idly whistling as he swept up some more petals under rugs. “It seems more like you both lost track of time.” 
“Something like that!” Patton rubbed the back of his neck. “How was the play?” 
Logan smiled warmly. “It was brilliant. Annie Baker is such a profound playwright. Her expertise in dialogue, the impact of the silence she marked throughout– The Aliens was such a joy. I would love to take you to the next show, I believe it’s playing again next week…”
“Wow, Specs. Forgot how much of a theatre kid you are.” 
Logan stuck out his tongue at Roman. Patton, on the other hand, just grinned even wider. 
“I am really happy you’re enjoying all of your art- ventures!” 
Logan’s smile faltered. “Well, I wouldn’t say...all…” 
“Look, I already apologized for the pottery class– how was I supposed to know that a kids birthday party was happening on that day! Plus, you got such a nice bowl out of it!” 
Logan snuck a glance at his messed up attempt at a bowl, sitting on one of his shelves. The sides were lopsided—which was a generous way of saying broken—and there was a chip in its rim. He winced. 
“If ‘nice’ is synonymous with ‘mess’...then sure.” 
“And speaking of mess!” Patton gestured around the scattered flora in the shop. “Sorry for the...well, mess.”
“Don’t apologize! Adventures get messy, padré!” Roman cut Logan off before he could even speak. Roman threw his broom up and jumped to land on the handle, gliding through the air like he was surfing. Logan rolled his eyes. 
“That’s quite alright, Patton. It seems like you both had a pleasant time.” 
“We did! I think this one has to be my favourite one yet!” 
Logan bit his tongue. Patton had been saying that for every book nook he had visited, and this had to have been his fifth one now. Still, he couldn’t seem to grow tired of the bright glow Patton always brought back to his home. 
So he nodded along as Patton recalled his and Roman’s latest adventure. Patton was as lively as ever, animatedly telling the story of boundless scenery and endless amounts of peace and solitude. 
At one point in the conversation, Logan even closed his eyes and magically summoned his tea tray from his room to the coffee table in the shop. He hoped that doing so wouldn’t interrupt Patton, but it caught his attention immediately. Roman was especially stunned by the act. 
“You still seem to have it in you, huh?” Roman said, half-teasingly and half-impressed. He tipped over his own cup of sugar as Patton stared at Logan, starry-eyed.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you do that before!” Patton added on. 
Logan shrugged it off as if it were nothing, but was secretly astounded himself. It didn’t feel new, but it didn’t feel like it was always something he could do either. He had gone on several of Patton’s acclaimed ‘art-ventures’—museums, art classes, a concert for the local orchestra, and now this play—and every week this feeling had only grown. 
It felt...refreshing. Something within him must have made a reappearance. 
Patton continued his story between sips of tea.
“The book was about this young couple running away from their town and moving to a house on a hill! It was Roman’s choice, so it makes sense that it was so good.”
Logan raised his eyebrow at Roman. “I’ve noticed you’ve been reading a lot of books like that nowadays.”
Roman laughed. “The book interested Patton more than it interested me–” He winked at Logan– “but I could see its escapist value.” 
“Mere observation,” Logan murmured, studying Roman’s face for any trace of mockery, but it seemed rather honest. Logan pocketed the thought — perhaps one for later.
“It was so beautiful, Lo. Clear skies, all these flowers…” Patton sighed dreamily. “I could’ve stayed there forever.” 
“But you can’t,” Logan reminded him. Patton playfully rolled his eyes, nudging Logan.
“But I can’t,” he echoed back, smiling brightly at him. Soft chills ran through Logan’s spine. It felt like flowers were blossoming within him, weaving themselves through his vertebrae and making him melt into springtime madness. 
A familiar feeling with Patton nowadays, he noted. 
“Did you end up painting something?” Logan managed to say, taking a long sip of tea. Patton’s eyes lit up. 
“Yes! Oh, thank you for reminding me!” 
Patton flew off his seat and dashed to the counter. Logan exchanged a look with Roman who just shrugged with a knowing smile. 
Patton returned with a rather sizeable canvas and turned it around to face Logan, who gasped. 
Sprawled on the canvas was a scene that Logan swore was plucked right out of the air and put on paper. In his immediate line of sight was a hill of bright green with flowery dashes of orange, yellow, blue, and purple struck upon the grass. It looked like you could lie down in each patch and sink right through the canvas.
At the centre line of the painting were some darker shades of green and brown making up trees of various sizes — taller from the left side of the painting and narrowing down as Logan’s vision panned across the canvas. Beside the trees was a small house, and beside the house was the faint outline of two dark silhouettes next to a clothesline. The silhouettes wore dresses that lifted slightly in the wind. 
And in the background were those bright blue skies, outstretching far beyond the confinements of the piece, going past mountains smoking clouds. 
He could feel the valley wind rush past him just looking at Patton’s painting. He could feel each footstep he would take into each fuzzy patch of flowers. He could feel everything. 
Logan felt himself zoom back to reality and locked eyes with Patton. 
“I…” For some odd reason, his research question echoed in his head. 
‘ Is this what it’s all for?’ 
“What do you think?” Patton’s voice edged with anticipation. Roman looked oddly unsettled by Logan’s silence. Logan, on the other hand, felt as if so many voices were swarming his head.
‘Art…Escapism…’
“Lo?” 
‘It’s...it’s to feel...to be transported...to be–’
“I’m blown away, Patton,” Logan breathed out. It felt like sparks were firing off in his chest. “This...this is incredible.” 
Patton’s shoulders loosened as he broke into a wide, rosy smile. 
“Ah! Thank you! I worked on it for– oh gosh, like probably half the day! I haven’t ever painted for that long in...well, a long time! And I certainly haven’t finished something in one go in even longer!” 
“It’s incredible,” Logan said, echoing himself and lost in his amazement. 
“That’s what I told him!” Roman said, patting Patton on the shoulder and flying over to the front of the painting. He pretended to stroll through it. “Took a page right out of the book...nook!” 
Patton giggled, still bright red. The warm hue must have radiated off of Patton and grazed Logan’s cheeks, which burned similarly. 
“It’s not hard to get in such a flow state in those book nooks.” Patton stared wistfully at the painting, as if trying to go back. “I haven’t been this inspired since...forever.” 
“How long have you been doing this sort of stuff?” Roman asked idly, floating back down to the tea tray and taking more sips of sugar. “I’m curious as to where a great mind such as yourself found its running start!” 
Patton laughed. “It really isn’t anything special, Roman. Plus I don’t want to bore anyone–”
“You could never,” Logan blurted out. He felt the two’s stares burn right through him. “I...I would enjoy a story, Patton.”
Patton smiled, softer than usual. He leaned the canvas against the side of the armchair and sat back down.
“Well, I’ve been drawing since... forever, really!” He sipped his tea and stared out the window. “My favourite kind of art used to be scrapbooking– I would help my mom with decorating photo albums and eventually, I would make scrapbooks out of stuff I drew.”
“That’s precious ,” Roman beamed. “Imagine the nook you can open out of that!” 
“I know! I wish I had kept some before I moved out.”
“I didn’t know you used to do collages, Patton,” Logan chimed in. Patton shrugged. 
“It was the art style I liked the most, but one of my professors had challenged me to start making something of my own. It was a real slow start, though. I have always known how to take things that already exist and make them into something new — but I never really knew how to...well, make something new..” 
Logan furrowed his brow. For some strange reason, he longed for his notebook. Patton’s words felt like they were moving the puzzle pieces in his head closer and closer together–
In a small spark of navy smoke, his notebook and pen appeared on his lap with a small pop! 
Logan blinked at it. ‘Did I…’
He felt a pair of eyes on him. Like a deer in headlights, he lifted his head up and locked eyes with Roman. Roman’s eyes flickered then at Patton, before moving back to Logan’s hands. He stiffened, almost...hurt. A chill ran through Logan’s spine.
“Anyway! I found my footing when I moved into this town and found your bookshop!” Patton continued, seemingly not noticing Logan’s abrupt display of magic. “I...well, I didn’t really have any friends around here so I was doing a lot of exploring for inspiration. And when I found your shop, Logan, I...I don’t know! All the books I bought here were always so vivid.” Patton winked at Roman. “Now I know why!” 
“What drew you to books?” Logan asked, leaning forward. 
“As I said, I liked to make things out of things that already existed. Making paintings based on books – well, it was a bit of a stepping stone to that, you know?”
“But you’ve never painted a truly original piece.” 
“Logan!” Roman hissed. Logan looked at him incredulously. 
Patton awkwardly fiddled with his thumbs. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ve ever copied anything– I’m more so inspired by everything – but I guess in the way you frame it...no! No, not really.” 
“So why do you make art, Patton?” 
A beat of silence. Patton tilted his head to the side. Even Roman looked more than unsettled now. Roman’s gaze landed on Logan’s notebook. He narrowed his eyes at Logan, who cleared his throat. 
“Um...I’m not sure!” Patton laughed nervously. “Never gave it much thought. But...I always liked the idea of having my art reach other people, since I’ve gotten my spark from other people. I was given something from someone, made it into something else, and wanted to keep sharing that ‘something’ around! Like– like with the book drawings, for example! Those were all for you.” 
Logan felt himself draw back. “They...they were?” 
“Who did you think they were for, silly?”
“I...I’m not sure. I just...I didn’t know they were made for me.”
“Well of course they were!” Patton reached over to place a hand on Logan’s knee. Sparks crackled beneath the touch. “I love painting for you.”
Logan could feel Roman staring up at him.
“You know, Albert Camus, a French philosopher, posited that art is inherently selfish,” Logan began slowly, flipping through his notebook. “The meaning of any particular form of art is rooted in his ‘logic of the absurd’ – the idea that the human condition is absurd and must hence be revolted. This makes art lack any intrinsic value, since it goes beyond making a meaningful mark on the world and instead reinforces subjective messages into other–s”
“I think we all need a translation from nerd , Logan,” Roman scoffed, though his voice edged with tension. Logan swore Roman’s aura pulsed red, telling him to stop, you don’t need to make every artist feel useless–
Logan sighed, focusing his attention on Patton.
“Essentially, Camus believed that since art was the sort of ‘carrier’ for messages that only promoted awareness of the absurd and attitudes of revolt, there is no essential meaning to it. It just forces an opinion onto someone else.”
“If I may,” Patton interjected. “I...I don’t really think art forces anything onto anyone.” 
Logan raised an eyebrow. Patton simply shrugged. 
“Art is our way of making sense of the world, and finding the people that understand that same– or at least, similar– sense. I don’t want to make a mark on the world, and I don’t want to give some definite answers to anything. I...I guess I make art to find where I fit, and I hope others can look at my art and find the same thing.” 
Logan nodded, still not writing anything down. He could feel himself reach for more answers, as if they were tied to Patton’s very being. 
“Also, Logan,” Patton added. “I think it’s interesting that you bring up Camus’ theories of absurdism – theories stating that it is impossible and thus irrelevant for someone to know or understand the meaning of anything. Wasn’t absurdism sort of Camus’ opposing response to nihilism?” 
Logan’s jaw dropped. Patton took another sip of his tea and shrugged. 
“I took a few philosophy classes in university.” Patton smiled brightly. “Very interesting stuff!” 
Roman snorted. A puff of sugar encircled his head. Logan flushed beet red. 
“Right,” he said, trying to compose himself. “So do you agree with Camus?” 
“Not entirely. I think it’s hard to tie in Camus’ logic of the absurd to the meaning of art. Artistic value can’t really be reduced to just facts. It’s so much more than logical. However, absurdism as a whole has always fascinated me. If the meaning of art, let’s say, is impossible and irrelevant to understand, then you have so much space to make something out of it.”
“I just don’t understand how you are so optimistic that there is anything– that you can make something from– from nothing .” Logan exhaled a tightly-held breath, though found himself less frustrated and more curious. “Virgil Aries stated that in the constant struggle of possibility and reality, reality is always victorious, because reality is all we have. Your conception of art is so intertwined with possibility in the midst of nothing — how can you be so sure that your contributions are hence meaningful?” 
Patton took a second before replying, “Do you really believe there is nothing, Logan?” 
Logan blinked. The room fell quiet. 
“What...what else could there be?” he murmured. 
Roman’s presence darkened — quite literally, actually. Logan could feel his aura dim, as if it were sagging in defeat. 
Patton, however, gave him a gentle smile. 
“Do you remember when I read The Signature of All Things? Alma and Ambrose heavily considered the idea that the novel is titled after — that there is some kind of unifying principle that connects and explains all phenomena.” 
Logan nodded. Patton motioned over to the canvas leaning against his armchair.
“Well, I think I’m trying to find that with my art. I’m trying to leave a signature of my own in places that can only be found if looked for — and I can only do that if I choose to believe there’s something in all the…’nothing’.” 
He then shrugged, finishing his cup of tea. “But I don’t think that deeply, really. All I know is that if there is a meaning for anything out there, there’s no point in searching for it. It’s probably too big and very...restrictive. You have to make meaning for yourself, then find the places it fits.”
Logan felt dizzy with the new perspective. Janus’ words mixed with Patton’s as Logan found himself immersed in a snow globe of their thoughts.
“Art worms its way into the spaces that it can fit. And with the help of others, art– and everything it represents– is made bigger than the spaces of life they initially occupy.” 
He recalled Patton’s painting. 
‘Art...is to feel ...is to not escape nothing but...but rather replace it with something .’
Logan looked up at Patton once more, noticing the way he glowed under the sunlight. His words spun circles around Logan’s head like planetary orbit, and he felt the reverberation of pieces snapping together in his mind. 
And here was Patton at the centre of it all, still smiling, not knowing everything yet harbouring a spirit of boundless knowledge and new perspectives. It drew him in like a moth to a flame and he didn’t quite know why, but he didn’t feel like he was in a rush to find out.
They continued to talk for the rest of the day, exchanging theories of philosophy and engaging in friendly debate. Logan found himself laughing at Patton’s anecdotes and becoming stunned by his mind. Halfway through their conversation, Logan realized that this was the first time he truly talked to Patton — and suddenly, he didn’t know how to stop. 
Night brimmed the edge of the view outside the shop window, stars beginning to dot the sky. Logan and Patton exchanged one last laugh before Patton stood up, gathering his things. 
“Please take the painting, Lo,” Patton said, holding up the canvas to him. 
“I cannot seriously begin to understand why you would want me to have this,” Logan replied honestly. “It would fare much better in a more honourable display, perhaps a local exhibit or–
Patton shook his head, grabbing Logan’s hand and guiding it to the edge of the canvas. 
“It’s for you,” he said, more quiet and more soft. Logan felt almost electrified by the touch and said nothing, just tucked the canvas under his arm and nodded.
Patton turned to leave before stopping. 
“Oh! Nearly forgot this!” He fished a ticket out of his bag. “This is for next week’s art -venture.” 
“I insist on finding another name for what we’re doing.” 
“Nope! Already branded! Roman’s making t-shirts.” 
Roman nodded diligently. Logan rolled his eyes and took the ticket. 
“ ‘The Rom-Com...Comeback’,” Logan read aloud. He frowned. “I am confused.” 
“It’s a ‘throwback rom-com’ event at the cinema– the small one ‘round the corner!” A sheepish pause. “It’s less of an...‘intellectual’ art exploration.” 
“What does that mean?” 
“...It means we’re watching a movie with Adam Sandler in it.” 
“Absolutely not .” 
“But hijinks ensue!” Patton pleaded. “Come on, Lo. I know it’s not your usual rodeo but it is fun! And isn’t that the most important lesson that can be learned? A lesson about fun? ” 
“That is a complete stretch, Patton.” 
“How about I come with you? And I’ll treat you to ice cream or something.” He smiled. “Consider this me sweetening the deal.”  
A pause.
“...And this is next week?” 
“Ahh yay! That’s a yes!” Patton swung his arms over Logan’s shoulders before Logan could protest, wrapping him in a quick hug. “I’ll pick you up from here an hour or two before!”
“O...kay…” Logan felt his face go warm once more as Patton let go, waving at him as he left the store. The bells hanging over the door chimed as it closed. 
Logan stood there, almost dumbfounded, and pocketed the ticket. He looked up at the door Patton left through and felt a smile grow on his face. 
And suddenly, he wanted it to be next week. 
“Well, Roman, I suppose we’re going to have to find somewhere to hang this upsta–”
He turned to face the coffee table where he assumed Roman still was, but found nothing. He frowned, looking around the shop for any trace of him. 
“Roman?” 
Suddenly, he heard the muffled sound of a door closing coming from upstairs. His gaze darted to the staircase and he saw a trail of red magic leading up the stairs, presumably to the bedroom. He stared at it, not knowing what to make of it and Roman’s wordless departure; but a second later, he blinked, and then caught sight of Roman’s magic fading quietly into the air. 
(It isn’t easy, after all, to see someone glow without you.)
next chapter > 
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jpegjade · 4 years ago
Text
High Functioning - Spencer
Requests (2 mashed together bc i thought of an idea that covered both of them (and a little bit of my own anxiety)): 
A. This one just came to me: reader has mild anxiety. She can function but it definitely gets to get sometimes. Her and Reid (bf) have a discussion around being each other's safe space and deciding to take time in the mornings/evenings to hold hands, breath deeply and recenter themselves. They follow through and feel more connected and at peace. Fluff it up!! Thank you for considering, xoxo!
B. Talk about CLOSE TO HOME:... reader is tired of the news and the complications of the world. Nothing is simple, everything is a process, and everyone is so emotional high strung. Spence reminds her that his love for her is simple and unconditional. He will always be there no matter what shit storm the world is going through.
Warnings: None, really. I don’t think I even swore in this one! Just talking about high functioning anxiety and Spencer talking a lot of stuff. 
__________
You woke up with a start. You stretched your arm out to the other side of the bed, where Spencer usually slept and found it cold and empty. You snapped your head over, worried that you missed saying goodbye to him before work. You always said goodbye to him, sending him off with breakfast, coffee, and a kiss. You hopped out of bed, running to the door to see if his shoes were there. 
“What’s wrong?” He said, making you jump. You turned around to see him sitting at the table, toast, and bacon sitting on a plate next to the morning newspaper. 
“Oh.” You said, clutching your chest over your oversized shirt. The shirt wasn’t yours but it was the only thing you could find to throw on when you were leaving your room. “I thought you left.” 
“I have an off day.” He said, gesturing to the seat next to him. You noticed another plate sitting on the table, two mini pancakes, bacon, syrup, and a couple fruits were arranged in a smiley face. 
“Oh, okay.” You said, glancing at his newspaper. He usually sped through it when he was waiting for you to finish breakfast before work but now, there was no rush to actually go anywhere because your job was still working from home while everything in the world was happening. 
He flipped the paper open and while you were eating your bacon, you were looking at the headline. Another day of nothing good. You thought about how you had started feeling constrained while you stayed home all the time. Spencer was the one who got to still travel and go to the bureau occasionally when they weren’t having Zoom calls, and he was the one to pick up groceries on his way home or on his way out. Sure, he said he envied you but how could anyone be jealous of someone who can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything, and only spends their time avoiding tv, avoiding the news, and avoiding social media? Before quarantine, you were addicted. Now? You could go days without checking Twitter, and you often did. 
Your anxiety was manageable. According to doctors, you were high functioning. Most of the time, you were able to go on during the day with nerves but the good kind, the healthy kind. Today? Reading the headline splashed across the front of the newspaper, just glancing at the picture, your chest felt tighter. You tried to focus on your breathing, tried to calm down, and not let Spencer see you getting more anxious. 
He closed the paper, folding it back into the rectangle where he could do the crossword puzzle. He was about to grab the pen on the counter when he noticed you breathing heavier than normal. He nudged your foot with his foot to draw your attention back to him. 
“What’s wrong?” He looked very concerned. “At the rate you’re breathing, assuming you continue deteriorating at a steady pace, you will begin to hyperventilate. You know, the act of hyperventilating is really quite impressive in regards to anxiety because your brain’s automatic response to fear is to get more air but really, your carbon dioxide levels drop and your brain begins to swell. The fact that you weren’t doing anything but nibbling on bacon tells me that something triggered your thought process to respond abnormally. When your body responds this way, you have to think about what we talked about before. You’re safe here. There’s no imminent danger. You can relax, not because I said so, but because the fear of the situation seems a lot worse than it is. Statistically speaking, the chance of something happening in our home is very low compared to other environments, which is cause enough to say that you’re safe here.” 
“Thank you.” You said, sheepishly grinning at him. You didn’t notice until he stopped talking that your breathing had returned to normal. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 
That was your thing, the two of you. After you told him about your anxiety, he was very supportive and tried to understand more about how you processed your triggers and what he could do to help. He took notice of the fact that you calmed down when he talked, which was easy for him to do in general but harder when you were suffering because he worried. He was more of a silent type to worry about you.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. 
“We can. On the couch?” You asked. Nodding, he put your plates away and met you on the couch. Immediately, you laid down, your head sat in his lap as you stared up at the ceiling. The oversized shirt bunched up around your stomach but you didn't mind because Spencer was just going to draw shapes on the exposed part of your lower stomach anyway. He likes drawing shapes because it gives his hands something to do. He always had to be doing something…
“Your anxiety has gotten harder for you to manage.” Spencer studied your face and as if you timed it perfectly, you felt the shapes. 
“Yeah… How can you tell?” You chuckled sarcastically. 
“Well, I’m a profiler. It’s my job to pay attention to every little thing there is about someone. I don’t get paid to profile you, though. I like to do that on my own.” Spencer didn’t get your sarcasm but that was a sweet statement so you didn’t point out that you were being sarcastic. You smiled and he smiled back at you. 
“Yeah. It’s hard with everything going on. And I feel stuck in the apartment and it’s difficult to keep my head on straight when there’s nothing positive going on that anyone talks about. I can’t handle it sometimes, Spence.” You sighed. 
“It doesn’t help that I still have to travel for cases, does it?” He said, slightly downtrodden. 
“Yes. Baby, you caught Anthrax and I wasn’t there.” You said, reaching up to touch his face with your right hand. He just chuckled. 
“You didn’t know me back then.” He said, remembering the terrifying moment. He was glad you didn’t know him back then because he would’ve been terrified to know he would be leaving you alone. 
“Okay but Derek told me about it as if I was there and it’s just as traumatizing.” You said, dropping your hand to rest on your chest. 
“I know it’s scary but…” He said, licking his lips. “You have to trust me and not your anxiety about the situation. We said we would be there for one another, right? You’re my safe place, your haven, your paradise, and you’re my home, my heart, my safe place. You have to trust me that we can get through whatever is going to happen together.” He said, his right hand coming up to stroke your cheek instead of drawing shapes. You kinda missed how warm his hand was on your stomach. 
“Right, my safe place is right here.” You smiled at him. 
“Are you still anxious?” He asked, his thumb still stroking your cheek. His hands were really soft, as always. You thought about how you still needed to ask what lotion he uses to keep his hands so soft. You knew he occasionally used cherry lip balm for his lips but his hands were another thing. 
“Yeah, a little. Seeing the paper kind of messed with my head a little bit. I just need some good to balance the bad sometimes. I need reminders that not everything is so complicated and hard and…” You sighed to complete your sentence, sitting up. 
Spencer stood up and walked away. You knew he wasn’t just walking out of the conversation, right? He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t…
He came back and brought you back to the moment. He sit down on the floor in front of you and stared at you until you sat next to him. 
“I was waiting to do these but I bought your favorite face masks. You’ve already had a rough morning so I thought we could center ourselves. Through morning meditation and focusing on our mental well-being, we’re able to start off on track for a more...Enlightened path, if you will.” He started. 
You just nodded along, watching his hands slowly unwrap the packaging of the masks. Sitting crossed-legged, you barely registered that he knew the exact brand that you used because the other ones you tried caused breakouts. Your mask was meant to help clear up your skin while his was just because he liked the sparkly face masks and it smelled nice. He handed you the open champagne sparkles face mask pack while he took the refreshing cucumber mask, dipping two fingers in and spreading it gently on your cheek. You did the same in return. 
“Based on scientific studies conducted rather recently, there have been studies that have suggested that meditation and mindfulness have had positive effects on disorders such as anxiety and depression. Although you are high functioning with your anxiety, there’s still room for improvement in terms of when you feel backed into a corner, whether it’s related to external forces or otherwise.” 
You felt so calm and relaxed that you almost forgot you were anxious earlier in the day, as recently as a few minutes ago. You loved listening to Spencer talk. 
“So maybe, we should make this a daily thing. Spending some time with each other, even if we just wake up earlier and hold hands or shower together or just hang out talking about goals for the day and positive things we’ve noticed happening. We can be more mindful of our mindfulness and be more aware of how we exist, to a certain degree.” He finished your facemask and stared at you, studying your face. 
You were just grinning. 
“You’re the love of my life, you know that?” You said, completely relaxed. 
“And you’re the love of all of my lives,” Spencer said, making a reference to a show the two of you watched where the main character kept dying and coming back to life, in love with the same woman. Because that’s how he felt about you. 
__________
Tags: 
@ancailinaerach
@winchestertardis
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