#idk i was struck by the need to read or write a lovely coffee shop au and was seized by this

[number1jeonginstan]

Hii, I saw you take requests!! Hihi! Could you do a lee know drabble? Like reader fell first but he fell harder? They don’t know each other that well, see each other through friends sometimes and she has a huge crush and is a fan but is trying not to let it on and leave him be and then Idk just him maybe being like struck by fate and just completely starting to see reader differently, after just thinking of her as a nice girl he met a few weeks ago. Just soft Lee know please and some cute interactions and reader being completely caught off guard when he expresses interest… hahha idk I hope you like this💕🫶good luck with your paper!

Lonely St.

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! I tried adding my own twist on it and I hope you like it. Also, you are so sweet for wishing me luck with my paper! (I'm like 1/3 way done and am trying to finish another third in a couple of hours after sleeping, but writing this gave me the break I needed.)

WC: 1.6k

Summary: Your friend introduces you to his best friend who just happens to be a pro idol (I love it when he calls himself that) Lee Know!

Warnings: None! It's just some cute fluff about Lee Know

Lee Know x afab!Reader (strangers to lovers)

You loved the coffee shop you lived above. The owner was a sweet old lady who absolutely adored you, bringing you cookies occasionally or you went to her shop just to talk for hours. It always warmed your heart talking to her, and in exchange for all the free coffee she would give you, you would help out on weekends. She would let you close up any time you wanted on the days you worked, knowing how much you loved snuggling up in your special corner of her shop, Lonely St., with the cafe’s cat. 

It was an average weekend for you, it was 10 at night and you sat in your favorite spot next to the window reading a book. The fall air was freezing, causing you to bundle up in an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. You loved it, the smell of coffee still wafting through the air. Harold, the cafe’s cat, was snuggled up in your lap purring occasionally as you rubbed behind his ears. As you became more and more immersed in your book you were oblivious to the jingling of the door until someone coughed. You quickly got up, marked your page, and ran to the counter. 

In entered your close friend, Heejin, with someone else. “Hi,” you ran up to him, embracing him in a hug. He always smelled like cinnamon for some reason and it brought you such comfort. You both became friends through work, since you both sat next to one another and he had a picture of a cat on his desk, you slowly became friends. “Hi y/n,” he said while pinching your cheeks, he always did this, acting like your older brother even though he was only 7 months older than you. “I brought my best friend from my hometown to check this place out, please tell me you guys still have pudding cups because I promised him you guys have some of the best in all of the area.” 

You look up to see none other than Lee Know and to say you were a bit awestruck was an understatement. You turned to Heejin and whispered in his ear, “You are friends with the Lee Minho and you didn’t tell me, some friend you are!” and he just chuckled. 

“Sorry, about that,” you said with an apologetic smile “My name is y/n, it’s very nice to meet you. I am a big fan of your guys’ music.” He just gave you a small smile. “Oh right,” you exclaimed “you are here for our famous pudding! The owner of the shop makes it fresh every morning. I am almost a hundred percent sure we have at least one left!” You ran over to the fridge looking inside to make sure that there was still the one you saw thirty minutes ago while you were cleaning. 

“Here you are, free of charge since we were going to throw it out anyways,” you handed it to him. Heejin looked at you disappointed, “where is mine?” You just looked at him “Did you forget about what happened last time that warrants me from ever giving you free food?” 

“How was I supposed to know that I can’t microwave tin-foil” he groaned “it doesn’t look like a metal.” You just glared at him as Minho chuckled in the background, sitting down and taking a scoop of the pudding. “This is really good, Heejin why haven’t you been bringing me this when you visit me?” he asked with a dead serious face “I thought you were supposed to be the loving boyfriend in this relationship” he pouted. 

“Wow Heejin, cheating on me? What would Chip think, wait until he finds out his favorite person is no longer talking to his owner,” you said with a giggle. “HEY!” Heejin shouted “I’m my cat’s favorite person” Minho just rolled his eyes, “You know he loves me the most, you both keep lying to yourselves.” You just giggled as you and Heejin joined Minho at the table, sitting down. 

You guys began talking, about everything and everything. How Heejin and you met, how Minho and he became friends, their adventures to Japan, and how it was being an idol. Before you knew it, it had become one in the morning. Harold was snuggled up beside Minho, and you were getting a bit tired, thinking about the long day ahead of you. “I guess we should get going Heejin,” Minho said, stretching a bit. “It was very nice meeting you y/n, I hope to see you again and next time buy some more pudding,” he said with the biggest grin in his life. 

He was so cute you thought to yourself, but you shouldn’t think like this. He was an idol and you didn’t have a chance, it would be cool you thought to yourself. You said goodbye to them, closing up the shop and going back to your apartment, not knowing Heejin introducing you to Minho would shift your entire life. 

 It had been a couple of months since you first met Minho, at first you didn’t think much of it. You knew he was busy being one of the biggest idols in Korea and thought you would never see him again, but you were so wrong. 

Every weekend he would come to the shop at 11 pm on the dot, he never missed a Saturday. It was your new regular pattern, instead of curling up with a book, you would talk to Minho about anything and everything under the sun for hours. Sometimes Heejin would be there, but sometimes he wouldn’t. 

In the back of your mind, you would find yourself falling for Lee Know. The way he would talk with such adoration about his cats, or his wild stories about the other members of his group, you would always pay full attention. You loved the ways he would joke around, but you would often feel flustered at times when he talked to you. 

You were already a big fan of his music and his personality prior to meeting him, but getting to know him amplified your feelings tenfold, you knew he wouldn’t look at you like that. You liked the comfort of having him as a friend too much to risk that relationship. That’s why you never acted on any of your emotions, no matter how infatuated you were with him. 

You would feel your cheeks getting red whenever he would compliment your outfit that day or when he tried your new recipe and gave you feedback. You guys often talked about desserts, it always ended up with him promising you that he would bring you one of Felix’s famous brownies. “They are literally the best thing I have ever eaten, like genuinely, I will bring you one the next time he makes them.” 

He ended up upholding that promise the second month you guys became friends. He looked you straight in the eyes while you took a bite. His eyes transfixed on you to see your reaction. “These are amazing, please ask him for the recipe for me,” you said with a grin and that was the first time he looked at you in a different light. 

For Minho, it was hard to talk to people, to open up with people he didn’t grow up with especially because he did not know if they had his best interest at heart. He was scared that people only liked him for his status, and was scared to make new connections. When he first met you, he was scared. Heejin had told him that he made a new friend whom he wanted him to meet. “She’s so sweet, and the embodiment of a homebody, so don’t worry she won’t say anything”

He put himself in what he called “idol mode” straight-faced and straight to the point, thinking that he would just say Hi to you, get some pudding, and leave with Heejin. What he did not anticipate was loving your personality, how you could listen to him for hours while still engaging with him, unafraid to ask questions. You didn’t use anything against him either, at first he was scared that you would tell dispatch about his stories, but it was quite the opposite, you guys trusted each other. 

You wouldn’t even bring up the stories he shared with you in front of Heejin, afraid that Minho had not already told Heejin.  That’s what got him to keep coming back to you every weekend. He thought of you as one of his close friends, someone he could confide in, that was until a night in the middle of February. The weather was cool and he had just come over, taking off his scarf, and could not find you. 

You rushed from the kitchen, flour on your face and apron, and that was when he knew he was whipped. He should have known it from the beginning, how you were slowly becoming his favorite person to confide in, but at that moment he knew he wanted more. He wanted to snuggle up next to you like you did with Harold. He wanted to bake with you and be there when you made the new recipes you showed him. He didn’t care about being an idol at that moment, walking towards you, and taking your face in his hand. 

“What are you doing?” you asked cocking your head to the side a bit. “What I should have done months ago,” he replied placing a kiss on your lips.

[marleysrambles]

How have you bean? (A coffee shop AU)

So I have decided to write a bunch of coffee shop aus for this month, enjoy some Adrienette fluff!

It was a Tuesday, about 2:30 in the afternoon, which meant that there were few people sitting in The Unlucky Cat Cafe. 

Marinette sighed as she wiped down the counter. God she just wanted her shift to be over. She and her best friend from high school had met up for their monthly night out the night before, and she just wanted to go home and sleep. 

Or at the very least have some customers other than the usual mom and kids in here to grab a quick snack before heading out again and the occasional student looking for a nice place to study or just chill out. 

Marinette felt pity for those poor, poor students. While college had not been as stressful as high school had, she wasn’t juggling class president, designing, and studying, finals still haunted her dreams. College had also given her so many new opportunities to meet people and now she was doing what she loved. 

Well, what she loved doing was not making over priced coffees and wiping down tables wrecked by sticky little kids, but surprisingly enough, she had to pick up another job to help pay rent. The only other option was to go back and live with her parents, and while she loved them more than anything, they could be a little...invasive.

Marinette looked up at the slight jingle of the door opening. 

Putting on her best customer service smile, Marinette stuffed the rag under the counter and called out, in what Alya called her ‘dead inside voice’, “Hi there! Welcome to the Unlucky Cat, how can I help you?”

The person shook the rain droplets off of their coat and wiped their feet on the little mat just inside the door, something Marinette always appreciated considering she also had to mop up anything that was tracked inside. She decided she automatically liked this person based on their manners alone. 

As he (or at least she thought they identified in that way) approached the counter, Marinette saw his face and decided that he was one of the most attractive people she had ever seen. Tall and slender with slightly tousled hair pushed out of his face, revealing sparkling green eyes. The face underneath the blond mop was almost familiar, but she pushed that feeling away as she greeted her new customer and took their order.

He returned her smile with a somewhat tired smile of his own and quietly ordered a Chai tea latte. It was when Marinette asked the cute patron his name, to which he responded, “Adrien.” That she felt an all to familiar flutter in her chest as everything clicked in her racing mind.

She managed to make it through him paying and watched as he sat down at a nearby table before ducking under the counter to try and get herself under control. She had been in love with Adrien Agreste for the better part of high school, and he just so happened to walk into the coffee shop she worked in, while she had a shift? Fate was very cruel indeed. 

Marinette gave herself a few moments to breathe before she started to make the drink. Old crushes walking into your place of work was no excuse to be unprofessional. A Chai tea latte wasn’t hard to make and soon enough she was done and ready to call out his name and be done with whole thing. Just a brush of fate, but honestly she would rather forget the cringe fest that was high school for her. Or at least when it came to Adrien at least. 

She did almost write something on the hot sleeve, maybe a hi or even her number, but lost the courage just as she put the sharpie on the cardboard. Shaking those types of thoughts from her head, Marinette instead scribbled out a “Thank You!” and shoved the cup into it. Her shift was so close to being done, she just had to finish this drink and she could go home, curl up with some well deserved ice cream and watch a stupid romcom.

“Adrien,” Marinette called out setting the cup on the pickup counter and giving him a quick smile before turning and making herself look busy with something else. 

“Thank you,” Adrien said as he grabbed his cup and Marinette nodded in acknowledgment as she fiddled with some cups.

She had thought he would leave as soon as he got his drink, choosing to drink it as he walked but instead, he sat there, reading a book. Of course he would decide to just sit and sip his drink quietly while Marinette was dying inside. It wasn’t like she disliked Adrien, in fact, he seemed just as sweet as he was in school, but she looked like trash, and while she had gotten over the adorable blond, something in her still didn’t want him to see her like that.

Three finally rolled around and Adrien was still there, but Marinette couldn’t care less as her shift was done and she was going to get out of there. Waving a goodbye to the girl she was working the shift with, she hurried to the door and threw her coat on before going out the door only to halt under the awning at the down pour just beyond.

When had it started raining? Maybe she hadn’t noticed, being too caught up with Adrien and all. Of course she hadn’t thought to bring her umbrella, even when the forecast had said possible rain that afternoon. Cursing, she had just decided to run with her bag above her head when the sound of an umbrella being opened came from behind her and one appeared above her head.

In a scene all too familiar to turn and see none other than Adrien Agreste standing there, holding out an umbrella. Marinette was taken back to that time in front of the school so many years ago and felt the same blush creep over her cheeks as she looked at the guy in front of her.

The guy in question smiled, “It’s been a while, Marinette.”

Marinette could feel the blush creeping over her face as a bit of that old nervousness she felt whenever Adrien was around caused her stomach to flutter slightly. She quickly shoved that feeling deep, deep down. She was over Adrien, this wasn’t high school. Her voice hadn’t realized this apparently, as she couldn’t keep the slight stutter from her voice.

“H-hi Adrien, yeah, it has.” 

Adrien glanced up at the umbrella and stepped closer so it was covering both of them, “I seem to remember this happening before, freshmen year right?”

Marinette’s blush deepened at how close he was and studied her sneakers. 

“Yeah I-i think so, gosh that was such a long time ago.” 

Marinettte looked up at him from her shoes and nearly squeaked at the fond expression he wore as he stared at her. 

“You cut your hair,” he remarked simply, and Marinette’s hand flew up subconsciously to fiddle with her pixiecut, a more recent change in her appearance. Gone were the pigtails and ribbons replaced by a style almost similar to her mother’s, held back by clips to keep it out of her face. She had done it shortly after college and had continued to cut it short since then.

She smiled at Adrien and nodded her head towards his own hair, “I see you let yours grow out.”

Adrien reached up and ran a hand through his blond hair that hung just above his shoulders. On anyone else it might have looked messy, but on Adrien it was cute with a little braid going through it. 

He asked her if she was still designing and she asked if he was still modeling and soon enough they were walking and catching up. Marinette hadn’t even realized they’d reached the door to her apartment until they stopped and Adrien smiled before saying his goodbyes. 

“It was so nice to see you,” He seemed almost sad but maybe that was her imagination, “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, maybe.” 

As Adrien started to walk away and Marinette turned to unlock her door, something seized her. Call it fate nudging her in the right direction, or even just her younger self, refusing to let go of feelings she still had. Whatever it was, she turned again and yelled after the blond.

“Adrien, wait!”

He stopped and turned, surprise on his face as he walked back over to her.

“Come in for a cup of coffee?”     

[zankivich]

Neighbors: Shawn x Plus Size Reader Chapter 15

a/n: yo idk why but this shit just flowed so naturally for me. I wrote this, chapter 14, and chapter 16 all in one go and it just poured out of. It just felt right. It felt like what the characters needed to have happen. And it fucking sucks because I lowkey can’t even look at a word document the same right now post all the bullshit, and I’m a little nervous that I won’t be able to write anymore. But this shit is such an escape for me. And it’s such an honor to tell this story. I really hope you like it. thanks for sticking with me. k bye. 

P.S I listened to I Love You by Billie Eilish when I wrote the last section of it and it just completely transformed the meaning of the song and of this story for me. Feel free to give it a listen with this if you’d like. 

*no one’s pov*

y/n got straight off an eight hour flight and somehow managed to end up at Stu’s apartment. When her best friend opened the door, the tears resurged and she fell with zero grace into his arms. Luckily he was right there to catch her and hold her as she fell. Meanwhile, despite being surrounded by dozens of crew members and friends and loved ones shawn fell deep into isolation. When Cez and Andrew saw their star heading for the tour bus instead of the car with his girlfriend, eyes red and cheeks tear stained, they knew better than to try to over crowd him. He didn’t leave them with much of a choice either as he shook his head miserably and headed straight for his bunk without a word to anyone. When they got to the hotel in Glasgow he made the extremely odd request, at least for Shawn, to be dropped off in the back entrance away from the public eye. He went straight to his room, spoke to no one, did nothing. He was absolutely useless.

It is as awful as anyone can imagine. For his entire day off, he doesn’t leave the hotel room. He ignores everyone’s calls, texts, and emails. He doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep. He just sort of lies there in a useless heap. He wants to go home. He feels like he’s being physically pulled home. But he can’t. He’s stuck.

Y/n can’t even go to work the next day. She can’t leave Stu’s apartment, can’t even face the hallway that she lives in because it will be full of him. Everything seems to be full of him. Each of them are left feeling hollowed out, like someone had taken ice cream scoops to their chests until there was nothing left but sorrow and hurt and jagged edges. It’s the worst thing either of them has ever gone through, and yet the other isn’t there to go through it with them. Somehow that only makes it worse.

A video from the q and a at the first show post break up goes up online. Someone asks about y/n and he nearly loses it. There’s a pain in his eyes that everyone can see, mostly because he was completely incapable of hiding it. The fan simply asked if he’d written any songs about her. It takes him over a minute of breathing before he can even answer the question. And even if no one knew it, not having her there to match his breathing to  means it only takes him longer. He has to sit on his hands because they’re shaking so bad.

“She’s the only thing I write about now.”

It doesn’t sound happy coming from his mouth. It doesn’t look happy in the video. And fans begin to argue online about his energy levels in the meet and greet. Andrew is concerned. Cez is concerned. Zeubin and Brian and Alessia and Conner are concerned. He pulls Why and Never Be Alone from the setlist in the hopes that he can get through a single show without crying. It only takes one night for him to find out that it’s worse than he could have ever imagined. Because the songs don’t sound the same to him anymore. And he can’t get the visual of her telling him that she hates him out of his mind. He stares out into the crowd and the energy just isn’t there. He doesn’t want to be there anymore. He just wants to go home.

Andrew doesn’t feel the need to intervene until the panic attacks get bad again. They’re fifteen minutes out from a show. The band is already on stage. And he can’t breathe. He’s sitting in the dressing room hand on his chest when they go to get him, and he honestly can’t move. It reminds Andrew of what he used to look like before they knew they were panic attacks, before the medication. So he clears out the room and sits next to him on the floor because it’s the only thing he can think of.

“It’s okay bud. Just breathe. Tell me what I can do.”

He shakes his head and stutters turning to Andrew with terrified eyes. He points to his chest and tries to breathe, but he can’t. It takes them forty-five minutes to get him off the floor that night. They have to pull three songs from the set.

Y/n’s response is a little bit different than Shawn’s. After her third day of missing work, she makes a brave attempt to pull it together. Brian and Stu go over to her apartment and remove any trace of Shawn that they can find. His sweatshirts, his headbands, one of the acoustic guitars he kept in her bedroom so that he could play for her whenever the notion struck him. There’s a picture of them on her dresser from Christmas smiling at each other. There’s another on her fridge from the grammys where they’re stoned out their minds and he’s sitting on her lap giving a peace sign to the camera. There are things they can’t even place like her favorite mug that he bought her from his favorite coffee shop. In his apartment, it's an even bigger mess because he’s let her make herself right at home. They can’t tell who’s candles are who’s, and which blanket came from which person. She’s got so many baking tools at his apartment that they’re bound to make a mistake. (They do. The first time she goes home she comes across a wine bottle opener that he went out at one in the morning to get for her when they broke the other one. She cries for an hour and goes to bed at six oclock in the evening).

Regardless, she goes back to work. She gets her team into shape. She keeps working. No one dare make mention to anything in her personal life less they want to deal with her directly. She puts everything Shawn related in a box and shoves it deep, deep away not to be dealt with. It’s the only way she can stay afloat. It’s the only way she can get out of bed in the morning. It’s not about getting over Shawn in the slightest. It’s about pretending he never even existed. It’s a completely unsustainable, terrible coping mechanism, but it’s the one that feels less painful at the time.

Shawn gets an increase on his meds. It gets Andrew off his back, makes everyone think that things might turn around for the better. He could’ve told them that was bullshit, when he’s so doped up on the meds that he can’t feel anything, not even the pain anymore, it seems to speak for itself. Every day feels like a fucking life time for him. Maybe it was dramatic, maybe he’d lost touch with reality but...he just couldn’t help how he was feeling. He was destroyed. Everything he’d ever thought was true was gone. Her leaving had only confirmed for him that he loved her more than anything, that she was everything. And without it, without the knowledge that he might ever get to hold her again, speak to her again, kiss her, even hear her laugh. It was hard to feel like there was something worth getting out of bed for.

***

He’s lying in bed after having canceled his gym session for the third time that week and his best friend had found a way to get a keycard for his room, because he most certainly wasn’t getting up to answer it.

“Hey,” He spoke softly easing into the room. “Cez asked me to come check on you. You missed lunch. Want us to get you something?”

He hated being a burden on others. Even when his world was falling apart.

“Nah, man. I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

Brian snorted. “That’s a good one. Everyone’s fucking worried about you. I--I’ve never seen you like this in the whole time we’ve known each other.”

He’s juggling some balls absentmindedly in his hands so as to not have to look at his friend in the face.

“Yea well...That makes two of us.”

“It can’t be healthy to keep this shit inside, Shawn. When are you gonna open up to us about y/n. It’s obvious that--”

“Don’t.” He mumbled tiredly. “Please don’t, man. I can’t.”

Brian takes a seat on the edge of the bed and just peers back at him for a moment.

“I’m your best friend, aren’t I? If there’s anyone you can talk to it’s me. I won’t go running to tell the adults man, you know that.”

His lip is starting to tremble so he juggles a little faster.

“I am just barely keeping it together right now. If anyone wants this tour to continue...this is all I got, Bri. I can’t do any better. I’m trying harder than I ever have. I want to go home so fucking badly. I miss--”

He started to choke again and the panic creeps up on him just like it always does as the balls fall to his lap.  It’s never been this bad before.

“Just let it out, man. You gotta let it out.”

He reaches for the necklace around his throat. The swallow. He spends hours at night wondering if she’s taken it off, and if she has then what does that mean for them? What does that mean?

“Do you know what it’s like to love someone so much that you destroy each other? Like that shit you read about in books where the love is so vast that they end up hating each other in the end?”

“Nah man I don’t know what that’s like, but I bet it hurts.”

“Bri,” He gasps cause his chest is so fucking tight and it hurts to breathe. “It hurts so fucking bad. I miss her man. I just miss her so much. I ruined it.”

“What did you do? What happened?”

“I--I think we...I think it’s over. I think I lost her.”

It is the hardest thing in the world to explain. He had replayed it over and over in his mind. He hadn’t even been able to stomach saying the words, and yet she had pulled them out of him. She was braver than he ever could be because even now he couldn’t say it. He hadn’t wanted to leave her. He just couldn’t give her what he knew she deserved. And he couldn’t be the partner that he knew she deserved. It was hurting her. It was hurting her more than she was going to admit to him. He just didn’t want to hurt her for a year, when the result was always going to be that he couldn’t choose her even if his heart had the second he met her. Worse than that, he couldn’t imagine having her be in pain back home only to never reach out, only to let it all sit inside of her instead.  The tour had to go on. So, what good did it do to talk about moving in together, about vacations, about a life together if it wasn’t going to happen. Wasn’t that just cruel?

“Shit, Shawn...that’s so heavy.” Brian sighed. “I--I don’t know about any of that man. I’ve never loved someone the way you two love. But, I can’t pretend that what you had wasn’t something special. You two not being together is just...it doesn’t even feel right. What happened to the two of you against the world?”

“I was perfectly willing to miss her every day just as long as she was gonna be okay back home. And y/n she just...she puts up such a good front that sometimes I don’t think she needs me at all. Sometimes I felt like I was just tripping after her wanting her like some love sick puppy. And then...then she let me in and I saw that it isn’t just me. She--She really loves me the way that I love her. I don’t want her to feel what I was feeling every day.”

Brian can’t help but wonder how his best friend had arrived at the solution of breaking up with her as a means to mitigate her pain.That made such incredibly little sense to him. But, this wasn’t meant to be a conversation of rational discussion. It was just meant for Shawn to finally open up to someone about how he was feeling.

“So you broke up with her.” He hedged carefully. “But it doesn’t even seem like that’s what you want. You seem broken man.”

“I just can’t see anyway through, Bri. I can’t see a way where she’s gonna sit at home waiting for me for a year and feel this way. How is it worth it? How am I worth that? I was twenty-one when we started planning the tour, and I thought I didn’t need anyone, thought I’d be single forever. I didn’t think I would find the person I...How could I do that to her?”

Brian snags one of the balls from Shawn and throws it quietly back and forth for a moment. He might have given them a lot of shit all the time, as a true best friend should, but Brian knew maybe better than anyone how good they were for each other. He was Shawn’s best friend. Had been there for the one nights stands, the girls who had just been there for the fame, the ones he’d actually fallen for that hadn’t worked out. Shawn and y/n were special. They were healthy and good and they made each other happy. So perhaps he had a little better insight then most.

“I get what you’re saying dude...I’m just wondering if maybe you should have let her be a part of that decision too.” He said honestly. “Instead you just made it for her.”

***

The shows don’t stop and Shawn doesn’t necessarily get any happier. He does get a little better in the meet and greets. He leans a little harder on the fans without ever telling them why. But it doesn’t matter cause they’d do anything for him regardless. The light in his eyes doesn’t return. He builds a facade for when there are cameras around, but even that is futile. Josiah has hundreds of pictures of him in a general shitty mood, so he just stops sharing them. Andrew starts getting calls from the label. But fuck the label, because that’s his family who’s hurting and something has to give. He’s running out of ideas.

When his dad shows up, Shawn feels like he’s sixteen again. He feels like a whiny ass teenager whose parent has come to scold him. And he’s so not himself at this point in his life that he can’t see through that, can’t even enjoy his dad’s company. So, when Andrew calls a team meeting on his off day, and he’s sat in a room with all of the people he employees to help him manage his life and his career, and then his dad on top of all that, he just feels frustrated. He feels like he’s never gonna get it right. He also is too tired to pretend that anything they’re gonna say is going to change anything.

Andrew stands up in the middle of the room and looks at him with serious, pained eyes. It only serves as a reminder of all the people that he’s hurting. As if he didn’t feel bad enough

“So here is where we’re at. We have not had a completely smooth run of this show since the damn thing started. You are absolutely miserable. And the meds are only making you walk around like a zombie. We have all been here with you since you were a kid, since you were fifteen years old and we have never seen you like this. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t pull this tour.”

That brought the first sign of life to Shawn’s eyes in weeks.

“What? We can’t cancel the tour.”

“I can. And I will. There is zero point in having a tour if your heart isn’t in it Shawn. It’s not just bad for business, it’s bad for you as a person...you look like you’re dying, man.”

There’s pity in the eyes of every single person looking back at him. It’s concern and worry and somehow they’ve got his fucking dad in the room, which means he hasn’t been keeping it together in the slightest.

He rubs roughly at his face trying to disturb whatever everyone else had been seeing lately. He didn’t know what the hell to do anymore.

“Look it doesn’t matter if I’ve been a little sad lately. There are hundreds of thousands of people who are coming out to see these shows. We can’t just cancel. I’m not gonna be that guy. I appreciate the concern everyone, but I’m not canceling the damn tour.” He huffed. “And forcing my dad to fly out isn’t the way to force me to do it either. I’m not a child and the last time I checked it’s my name on the stage.”

He kind of sounds like a dick, but he just wants this to be over. He wants to go out and do his job and let that be it.

“We thought you might say that,” Manny sighed. “So I brought your mother.”

“What?!”

And just like that he’s a scorned child on the couch as his mom walks in. He’d been ignoring her calls recently so that he wouldn’t have to see the pity in her eyes too. He just didn’t think that he could take that.

“Let’s give them a moment, you guys.” Andrew says.

The rooms empties out. His dad sits in the chair across from his and his mum plops herself right on the couch next to him.

“Well now come here why don’t you?” She snorted opening her arms.

So, he lies on the couch with his head in his mum’s lap. And she smoothes at his hair and doesn’t say anything for like fifteen minutes. The silence is deafening. His dad is looking at him like he’s ten years old again. It might as well be reverse psychology because his lips are moving against his will before he can stop them.

“I don’t know what they told you but it’s not a huge deal. I’ve just been in a bit of a funk lately.” He sighed.

She hummed. “A funk? Okay. What do you think this funk is stemming from?”

His hand was on her knee and his grip tightened considerably at her question.

“I--I lost y/n.” He whispered throat getting thicker around the words. “I didn’t even lose her I just, I just let her go. And I don’t think I’m ever gonna get her back.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

It was a well known fact in the family that Shawn felt everything deeply. It was part of what had gotten him into music so quickly. When he felt an emotion, or wanted to do something he was in it with his whole heart. It could be really good when it came to the positive, but it didn’t mean that the negative didn’t hit just as hard. So, Karen was far from surprised when Andrew called to explain that her son’s latest break up was taking its toll on him. In fact she was surprised he’d lasted as long as he did.

He’s sniffling now as a tear rolls down the bridge of his nose and onto her jeans. But he just has to know.

“‘Liyah told me once that you said she might be the one for me. Did you mean it?”

“I did.” She said honestly. “She’s a little older than you. She keeps you in check. And you look at her like...like you’d give it all up for her in a heartbeat.”

It’s apparently the wrong phrasing to use because Shawn flips on to his back and covers his face with his arm as the tears come a little stronger now.

“Except for I didn’t. Because I’m a piece of shit and I don’t deserve her.” He groaned.

“Now what does that mean? Talk to me.” She murmured.

She pulls at his arm and wipes his tears away.

“I didn’t give it all up for her. I went on tour knowing we’d be apart for a year. Knowing that no rational person could do a year of long distance like that. I made her believe that we could do it too, and then I fucking broke her heart mum. I don’t deserve her.”

“Sounds like you fucked up.” She nodded. “Sounds like you hurt someone you care a lot about. But sabotaging yourself isn’t going to make y/n forgive you and it’s not going to save either of you any hurt. Only you can do that.”

“What am I supposed to do? I’m still on tour for the rest of the year.”

“Well...it sounds like Andrew offered you an out. You have to decide for yourself what it is you’re willing to live without. You’ve got to take a long hard look at yourself and decide what your future is going to look like. I can’t do that for you sweetheart, none of us can.”

***

His fingers are moving languidly on the keys. He’s drunker than he’s been since New Year’s and that surely is the only reason he could possibly have called her that night. Surely he had more sense than that on a good day.

He never gets her voicemail, but the phone stops ringing and silence ensues. So, he talks because he doesn’t need anyone to listen. Doesn’t want anyone to listen if it isn’t her.

“I wrote you a song.” He sighed playing the melody on the keys. “I’ve written so many about you now that I keep thinking I can’t write another. But, here I am. It’s uh...well it’s really fucking sad. Can’t believe I used to openly ask for someone to break my heart just so I could write music. I’d much rather hold you instead. Do you remember the last time I held you?”

His eyes start to blur and he pulls his finger off the keys to wipe angrily at them.

“Fuckin aye, y/n.” He gulped. “How is it this hard? Why does it feel like my heart is being ripped apart right now?”

There’s a sound on the end of the phone that pulls him back in. It’s not the kind of sound of a voicemail either. It sounds like a sniffle. He presses to light his screen back up and sees that the call is still going. She’s on the other end. She’s there.

“B--baby? Is that you?” He sniffled. “y/n, I love you so much, is that you?”

He can practically see her lying in her bed in the dark. Her water diffuser on. Was she still wearing the matching harvard sweatshirt he bought her? Did she still have her necklace on? Did she still have her necklace on?

Y/n had heard every word. She was sitting in her bed in the dark when her phone began to ring. If you had asked her if Shawn ever called would she pick up, she surely would have told you no, would have sworn it up and down. But the second his name came up she had answered with zero hesitation. And of course she had started to cry immediately, but nothing could have prepared her for this relentless comfort that she felt. To know that he was there. To know that he still cared about her at all. Something she had known so fundamentally in all of her heart had been stolen from her that night in Amsterdam, and here he was in a drunken haze somehow managing to give it back to her. And god she did love him for it. How could she still love him?

“Don’t leave,” He whispered reaching for the bottle of vodka on top of the piano and nearly spilling it. “You don’t have to say anything but just...don’t go.”

She listens to him drink some more and there’s concern deep in her gut. Shawn never drank that much. And he was such a feeler that whenever he drank it only expanded his emotions drastically, whatever they were. The last thing she wanted to hear was for him to fall even deeper into sadness. Which made zero sense. He had destroyed her after all. How could she be so stupid?

“I should’ve canceled the tour.”

It’s the closest she comes to speak because surely he’s not getting enough oxygen to his brain.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave. I should have gone home with you….. I wanted to buy you house. I wanted to design you a kitchen. We--We could open a bakery together with live music  and maybe beer too….. I don’t want any of this anymore. None of it’s worth anything without you.”

Somehow it hurts even worse for him to share these new thoughts with her. Though they shared most things with each other everything out of Shawn’s mouth was from the deepest pits of his heart. Y/n didn’t know that he’d searched for a realtor, or that he spent his nights not able to sleep looking at different versions of marble that might be best for tempering chocolate. It felt like he was mapping out a life that they could have had, an alternate reality that was no longer pliable. No longer possible. It felt like he was just fucking with her at this point.

“Then why did you throw me away?” She whispered.

“Sweetheart I--”

The line goes dead.

***

“So, here’s the thing . . . you’re not doing well.”

Y/n’s eyes had been peering out the glass windows of her boss’ office, but she immediately peered back at her.

She tilted her head in surprise. “What do you mean? My numbers are the best in the division?”

“Yes. You’re doing your job well, y/n. There’s no doubt about that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Remember that little conversation we had a few months ago? About the importance of you holistically as a person? I’m not nearly as impressed with you doing well at your job when you walk into work every morning looking like every breath you take is painful.”

At this point y/n was barely holding on by a thread. She wanted so badly to call Shawn that every hour was physically painful. She wanted to know what he was going to say when she hung up. She wanted to know if he remembered anything at all. And worse than anything else whatever melody he’d played on that piano had haunted her dreams for days.

“Ma’am I...I truly am giving it my all. I lost someone that...that I kind of thought might have been it for me. And I didn’t lose him because he fell out of love with me, or because of something that I did at all. I lost him because I loved him so much that being without him hurt and he couldn’t stand to hurt me anymore. So, I don’t know what else you want me to do, but I’m not alright. And I’m not gonna be alright for a long while I think. All I can give you is my best. This is it.”

And Gina stares at her for a long while. She can see the sadness in her eyes. The way that her shoulders slump in defeat. The tiredness in her bones. It’s all there. And it's so deeply ingrained in her that even she can’t see a way out of it all.

“So, what can I do to best support you? How can I help ease some of this burden?”

“I don’t know...I really don’t.” She sighed.

“Okay. That’s fair. Here’s what I want you to do for me. I want you to go home. And I want you to come back to my office tomorrow with an answer. Can you do that?”

“Gina I...I don’t wanna go home. I wanna be here.”

She smiled sadly at her. “That’s exactly why I think you need to leave. Please, go. And call me if you need anything.”

***

It is crazy how even in two different time zones, in two different places on the planet, with zero communication how two lives can parallel so easily. In Toronto, y/n sits in a room with her boss while Shawn sits somewhere in Europe with Andrew. The conversations that they have are eerily similar as well.

“So I think I know what I might need but uh...I just don’t see anyway for it to happen.” Y/n started.

Gina nods. “Why don’t you tell me what it is, and I’ll see if we can make a way.”

“Okay...well, I guess I’ve been working non-stop since I was nineteen years old. I interned with this company when I was twenty and I’ve been here ever since. I’ve never taken a significant vacation, and the most days I’ve ever taken off in my career were to visit my ex. So...maybe I just need some time off. Like significant time off. Maybe I need to see something that isn’t Toronto for a change?”

Shawn, meanwhile, is picking at his jeans anxiously while Andrew stares at him. He’s stopped taking his medication at this point in a desperate attempt to try and handle his shit himself. It’s harder than he could have imagined.

“I don’t know man. The timing is so shitty. I get that. I do, but...I just want something different now. I’ve been touring since I was fifteen. And I thought I’d want to do it for the rest of forever. I did.”

“But?” Andrew asked.

He claps his hands together in front of him. They’re shaking. And he’s got no one there to help him still them.

“But...I think--I think that if she called me today and asked me to never tour again, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.” He admits quietly.

It feels like the most awful thing he could ever say out loud. It feels like such a contradiction to everything that he’s been for the past damn near decade of his life. He loved music. He loved to perform. But shit, he loved her more.

“Okay. So what does that mean for us right now, bud?”

“I think maybe, maybe we should pull it.” He whispered.

Gina twirls a pen in her fingers and swings her chair back and forth as she stares at her employee with more potential than maybe the rest of her company combined. What she would offer was practically unheard of, even in the liberalism that was Canada. But, it might just salvage her life and frankly her career.

“How does... a six month sabbatical sound? You can keep your salary. I will place Mr. Bateman’s choice back into the position in the meantime, and I will guarantee you the ability to return to your position when you come back. In terms of growth in the company it will be as if you were gone, but the fact that you’re already at senior executive level means you wouldn’t see any movement in at least three to five years anyway. How does that sound?”

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Gina are you forreal?”

She shrugged. “Someone did something similar for me once upon a time. Girl you are twenty-six, you are too young to be so stressed. You’ve got your forties for that. I’ll have the paperwork drafted. Pass everything off to your assistant and we’ll get you out of here. Go see the world, go explore what kind of woman you wanna be. It’s done.”

Andrew looks at Shawn with nothing but sympathy in his eyes. And he truly wishes he could find a way to make it all better for him.

“Let me look into it. See how much of a hit it’s gonna be for us. Can you give me a couple more shows, while I figure it out?”

He nods softly, but his heart and his head and his everything are already back in Toronto.

***

He’s sitting in the bathroom of some arena. His back is against the porcelain walls and the coolness of the floor is seeping into his jeans. He feels it in his bones and in his gut, like the coldness is turning into a knot of ice where his intestines should be. His fingers feel numb but every couple of seconds there’s a tingling sensation like they’re trying to remind him what feeling is like. He brings his palm to cover his heart because it all feels too tight. His shirt is suddenly too restrictive. And so is his jacket. And so is his skin. He can’t breathe. And not because it’s too hard to, but because he just doesn’t want to anymore. It’s like his entire body—including his mind and his soul—are failing him in this moment, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

It is the most terrifying and lonely experience in the world to have your body turn against you in that way. He’s in pain, but it doesn’t even have the decency to be sharp. This pain is dull and it throbs and it radiates from every pore. And there’s no one there with him to fix it. He’s alone in a physical sense but also in a deeper way too. He scratches his fingers across his face and up into his hair trying to feel something, trying to shock himself out of it. It’s no use. He’s alone and he’s afraid and he’s got nothing left to give.

Outside of that room the screams of the crowd are rumbling through the entire building, and the expectation only chokes him further. What they need of him. What they expect him to do. Who they expect him to be. Who he could never really be if he tried.

He presses his head against the wall a little too aggressively but the pain grips him more firmly into reality. His skull connects with concrete and for a second he doesn’t think about not being able to breathe, about not being able to ever remember a time when things were okay because everything around him is fucking dark and where the hell is he supposed to find a light in this tunnel? It’s fleeting though. And soon it’s just him again. Just him stuck in his body with none of the functions actually working. and he’s so scared that his hands are shaking and he can’t even feel that.

He reaches for his phone and there’s no one else he can call. It’s not even a conscious decision, he just presses the button and keeps trying to breathe. He can’t even imagine what he’ll do if she doesn’t pick up. Luckily she doesn’t make him way for long before her face appears on his screen. If he wasn’t already struggling to breathe she would have taken his breath away.

The phone is on ground, which means all she can see is the ceiling, and she peers at her own screen in confusion.

“Are you like butt dialing me right now?” She asked.

He reaches for the phone and his hands are shaking but she’s there. They’re looking at each other for the first time in over a month and he kind of wants to cry in relief, but her voice is there and he doesn’t want to lose a second of this.

“What’s wrong?”

Because she knew. Of course she knew. He makes the sign they came up with. It’s just a wave of his hand in front of his throat, but she seems to get it immediately. The best part of all of it was the look in her eyes. She never stared at him with pity the way his entire team had since she left. There was a calmness to her, a certain level of strictness and formality that he desperately needed.

“Okay.” She says simply. “Okay just...take a deep breath. Whatever is going on right now can wait. Take your time with this.”

His fingers reach for the necklace, their necklace, and her eyes widen when she realizes he never took it off. But then her eyes grow sad again and suddenly it hurts worse to breathe than ever.

“Close your eyes.”

“N--No. No. Can’t.” He huffed.

She rolled her eyes at him. Of course.

“I’m not going anywhere, jackass. Close your eyes, you’re focusing on too much right now.”

“Will you...still...be there?”

It’s a loaded fucking question to ask when he can’t breathe and they’re several thousand miles apart and he’s the one who broke her heart. He’s such a dick for asking her. She owes him nothing, and yet here she is still giving him everything.

“...Yes.”

His eyes eventually flutter close and suddenly it’s all darkness. Darkness and her. It’s the only thing he has to focus on.

“Keep breathing.” She coaches softly. “Like you’re just at home in your apartment meditating. There are no stakes here. If you don’t get it a hundred percent right, that’s okay. We’re just breathing. We’re just feeling. Let yourself feel. Your feet. Ankles. Your thighs. Feel your chest, Shawn. Feel your heart. It’s all gonna be okay.”

With the numbness oftentimes comes with floating. It’s not just that he can’t feel his body, but that it’s as if he’s outside of it entirely. When she speaks, she pulls him back in. There’s no crowd outside, no one to disappoint. They’re just breathing together. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. Even when nothing is.

She knows that he’s breathing normally before he even does. She tells him to open his eyes and when he does he’s still in the bathroom of the arena, but the cloud of fear is gone. And somehow she’s still there staring right back at him. He must be the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.

“You’re okay.” She hummed. “See?”

“I--I’m so sorry I called you. That’s not fair. I just...I didn’t know who else to call. It was bad.”

“Looked like it. You’re supposed to be on stage soon.”

“How did you--”

“You sent me your schedule for the whole tour, remember?” She murmured. “Your hands are still shaking by the way.”

He peers down at them in frustration. He used to be able to still them on her hips. She used to let him hide his trembling fingers beneath her shirt where all that mattered was touching her skin and loving her. It didn’t matter if his hands shook. She’d always let them shake and that’s exactly when they would stop.

“It’s my first show off my meds.” He admitted.

He hadn’t felt the need to share that with anyone else, which was maybe why he’d hid his panic attack in the bathroom, but he can’t help but share with her. He can’t help but want her to know everything about him.

“Wow. How come?”

“I was...over using them. Felt numb. Andrew was starting to worry so I just… I figured I should try without them.”

“And how are you feeling without them?” She asked softly.

“About the way I felt before I started taking more of them.”

She sighs a big enough breath for the two of them he thinks.

“Yea. I know.”

“I miss you,” He whispered so softly they both nearly miss it. “So much.”

“Shawn...I should go. You should go.”

But he literally can’t. Now that she’s in front of him his mind is running haywire with all the things he wanted to tell her, all the memories he’d been thinking about since she left, since he lost her.

“Do you remember that time when we were having all those thunderstorms for a while. And you didn’t want to tell me that they scared you? So I just had to figured it out for myself? And we just...just laid in bed for hours. We talked. I played with your hair. Do you--do you remember that?”

“Please? Why do you have to keep doing this to me?” She mumbled, eyes wet. “What did I do, aye? Just tell me what I did wrong.”

“You’re perfect. You’re it for me. I just...blew it.”

“Well isn’t that just so sweet for you to understand now after you broke my fucking heart.”

He frowns down at his jeans.

“It was never about loving you. I think--I think you’re the love my life actually. I just want to give you everything and I can’t right now. But, it’s what you deserve. And I don’t know how, how to reconcile that. I can’t stand the thought of hurting you. I can’t stomach the idea of you not having the relationship you deserve.”

“So it was better to give me up entirely?” She whispered. “That is so fucked, Shawn. Have a good show.”

“Wait! Wait. Just...I need to know. Do you...could you ever still love me?”

He watched the tears finally pool and run down her cheeks and his first thought was to go to her. To get on whatever plane could go the fastest and take him the fuck back home. Back to her.

“I think you’re the greatest love I’ve ever known. I think I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

And then she’s gone. And he feels like he’s just given her up all over again.

***

Oddly enough it’s the best show he’s done in a while. His hands shake and he gets really overwhelmed by the crowd, and yet there’s a calmness somehow. He’s got no idea what it is. Meanwhile back in Toronto, y/n starts to pour herself a glass of wine before saying fuck it and reaching for the bottle instead. It only takes a quick search to find someone livestreaming the show, and she’s certainly feeling like a glutton for punishment tonight. The fans on twitter will notice that he adds Never Be Alone back to the setlist that night, and that his hands are shaking, but somehow he’s more present. You could say a part of him maybe knew she was watching that night. Or maybe it was fate. Maybe it was a coincidence. Who knew?

“I wrote this song when I was sixteen. And sometimes I think I’ve only gotten dumber over the years because sixteen year old me seemed to be so much better with words. When you love someone...and you can’t make it work...and it’s your fault, it can seem like there’s no way to fix it. Like there’s nothing to do to make it all better. Even if that’s all I want. This song is...it’s for you, sweetheart. I love you.”

The crowd goes crazy, but y/n couldn’t move if you asked her. She was kind of frozen.

I promise that one day I’ll be around. I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep you sound.

Right now it’s really crazy and I don’t know how to stop or slow it down.

Take a piece of my heart, and make it all your own

So when we are apart, you’ll never be alone

He gets choked up playing it, and lets the crowd take over for the last chorus, but she’s in her living room surrounded by packing boxes and duct tape just completely breaking down. It wasn’t just that the song fit perfectly but that there was a history there for them.

Shawn slips out of bed and reaches for his underwear to pull over his hips. When he grabs the sweatpants too, Y/n knows that their done in bed and can’t help the whine that comes out of her throat.

“C’mon. We’ve been making love all morning. I wanna play for you now.” He says, eye soft and curls fluffy.

He’s got love bites and hickeys all over his neck and chest and y/n doesn’t quite understand why they’re getting out of bed again, but he smiles and holds her in his arms when she pulls on panties and her bra. His hands, large and warm curve over her hips and down the back of her thighs as if she is truly something to behold. He’s staring at her not just like he loves her but like he’s only got eyes for her and nothing else in the world. When she makes any movement at all, his eyes are right there taking in every piece of flesh, every piece of hair, every smile. She’s never felt so adored. And he’s never felt so willing to give all of himself to someone before.

“Baby you’re so...I’m running out of words now.” He whines skimming his fingers over her belly. “Just so goddamn beautiful. How did I get this lucky?”

Her cheeks start to heat up and she looks down at the floor and he can’t stand to have her eyes not on his for even a second, so he tugs at her chin. He kisses her because even though they’ve been in bed touching since they woke up, it’s a hunger that’s never quite satisfied.

“Guess we just found each other.” She whispers. “Like I’m yours and your mine and it just was meant to be like that.”

“Mine.” He murmured tugging her playfully against him.

“Mine.” She says just as aggressively.

He takes her to the piano and runs his fingers over the keys. He doesn’t even have anything in mind, but something about that morning, about that moment just has the music running through his veins. He’s gotta get it out. So he looks at her and just lets his fingers follow in the hopes that they’ll get it right. And somehow, they do.

Never Be Alone feels right, even if he almost never wants to play his own stuff in fear of being cheesy, so he runs with it. She’s got her chin on his shoulder and she smells like fucking lavender and sweat and his apartment and he’s never felt so possessive, so just in desperate need to have all of someone before.

When you miss me close your eyes, I may be far but never gone

When you fall asleep tonight, just remember that we lay under the same stars.

Take a piece of my heart, and make it all your own

So when we are apart, you’ll never be alone.

“That’s so pretty.” She smiled kissing his bicep. “You were sixteen when you wrote that?”

He nods softly, fingers still playing and eyes completely and fully drawn to her.

“Jeez, Mendes. So sappy. Can it still be for me even if you wrote it for someone else?”

“You can have all of it. It’s yours already.”

“So I'll never be alone aye? Never?”

He shakes his head and reaches to kiss her again.

“Not if I can help it, honey. Never.”

***

Shawn runs off the stage that night with a different level of energy. He completely ignores the towel that they throw at him and runs straight for his phone instead. There’s a clarity in his mind after the show, after his fingers had played every note and he’d gone through every vocal. He knows what he wants and he knows what he’s willing to give up for it.

“Shawn… You can’t keep calling me. You don’t get to do that anymore.”

Her voice is wet, and he knows that she’s been crying in the same way that he used to be able to go and knock on her door when she was stressed out without even a text. He’s got to fix it. He’s tired of putting them both through hell when none of it does any good. He just wants her entirely.

Maybe won’t you take it back? Say you were trying to make me laugh.

“I need to know...If I canceled this tour, if I flew home to you right now could you ever forgive me for the pain that I caused? Could we ever be together again?”

“I...What are you even saying right now? This was your fucking choice.”

“Don’t argue with me. Don’t run away. Don’t deflect. Just this once. Just tell me how you feel. If you say yes I’m on the next plane. It’s as simple as that.”

“I would never ask you to come home and cancel your entire tour that you worked so fucking hard for. That’s ridiculous!”

“I’m not asking if I should cancel anything. I’m asking if there’s still something for me to come home to. Right now. Not a year from now”

And nothing has to change today. You didn’t mean to say I love you

He waits on the other end of the line, still dripping sweat and peering over as members from his team are eyeing him in confusion. He should be doing cool downs, should be doing check ins with the crew about the sound from the show, but who the fuck cared? How the hell was he meant to go through every day of his life knowing that the woman he left back home was it for him, that he may have just found his soulmate and he was letting her go for a tour that he wouldn’t even be able to really, truly enjoy without her.

She takes a deep breath and his heart hammers in his chest and he just wants to tell her that he loves her, that he’d do anything to take it all back. When she speaks it’s like a wave, a wave that creeps up slowly along his ankles harmlessly at first.

“No, Shawn. There’s not.”

And then the wave swallows him whole.

I love you. And I don’t want to.

Feel free to buy me ko-fi so I can keep writing. The support means the world to me. Thank you.  Taglist: @kitykatnumber @lou-and-me @ourlittleshawnie @mutuallynotmutual @wanderingmendes @peacedolantwins2 @chels-nyc @@illloveyouforever1 @justbeingoceana @grittyisathot @hayyitsfayy @claredolphinbear24  @september-lace @grittyaho @literallyshawn @mchutchmendes @liliane106 @iloveshawnieboi @samwillllson @trappedinfairytales

[annacwrites]

the wip list

Alright, gang. Buckle up. This is going to be a long one, and at this point I can’t even bring myself to be sorry about it. I meant to put this off but then I started thinking about it, so here we are (at 1:05 in the morning when I have to work at 8:30, what am I doing?). 

I’m going to break this down in a couple of ways—fanfiction vs. original fiction, fandom (if it’s a fanfic), series/universe (if it’s in one), and then the individual books themselves (if I have the ability to do that, because quite frankly, for some of these I don’t because I have no idea what the titles are or where I’m splitting the story yet).

Also, “WIP” is an incredibly broad term here. In some cases it means I’ve already written the whole thing but I plan to 100% rewrite it (and haven’t started yet). In some cases it means I’ve written half of the thing but haven’t finished yet. In some cases it means I have it all outlined but haven’t started writing yet. In some cases it means I haven’t really touched an outline on paper yet but I have it all worked out in my head. Take the “in progress” part of WIP with a grain of salt.

(Putting this whole thing under the cut because it is so freaking long. I apologize if the read-more doesn’t work on your dash. Idk what tumblr is doing.)  

Starting off easy—the fics:

Harry Potter: (JKR can fuck off with her transphobia and cultural appropriation and all the other stupid and fucked-up shit that she’s done/promoted but, as I said to my friends, she can pry my next-gen fanfics from my cold dead hands. Cursed Child is not canon in my life because I’ve never read it and I don’t care what nonsense she came up with.)

The “In Your Arms I’ll Stay” universe (Tedtoire/Scorose): 

The first fic in this universe is the first fic I ever finished. 110k words followed up by a ~137k word sequel. It is a disaster and a half but it’s also my baby and I fully intend to rewrite it one of these days. It is full of standard Tedtoire trope-y nonsense—best friends since childhood! two-year age gap! jealousy about other relationships! obliviousness!—and at 15 I thought it was a really good idea to try to turn it into a mystery too, which is a mistake that I have every intention of rectifying because it was unnecessary and I just didn’t know how to do drama and tension back then. 

Anyway. It will probably be two parts again when I rewrite it because one part per school year just works, yeah? We’re covering Vic’s fifth/Teddy’s seventh year and Vic’s sixth year/Teddy’s first year out of school over the course of these parts.

Within this universe we also have Heartbeat and Bone, which is a Scorose fic that I’ve written probably 75% of already but have no intention of actually finishing before I rewrite it. I want to get the stories in the right order so that I can get details straightened out, so Teddy and Victoire get the rewrites first and then I’ll be revisiting this fic. Also full of trope-y nonsense (and my continued acceptance of the headcanon that the Heads have their own dormitory at Hogwarts, because it’s just too much fun that way).  

some things were meant to be (Tedtoire):

Oh god, another fic with a cliché title taken from Can’t Help Falling In Love. I have zero regrets because it fits them perfectly.

This one is... half-done? I fully intend to finish it but I need to finish the outline first. It was my 2019 NaNoWriMo project and I am 100% just writing it for the lols (and because Teddy and Vic are like... my comfort ship where writing is concerned). I wanted to play with a different universe and change up their relationship and roles at school a bit, but once again... trope-y nonsense. It’s unavoidable with them. There is obliviousness everywhere. 

Star Wars: (it’s Reylo, okay? It’s Reylo. I don’t want to hear it about how the ship is ~so terrible.~ That is literally the furthest thing in the world from a hot take, you can’t say a single thing that I haven’t heard before, and I’m a grown adult and can do what I want. Bite me.)

looking for the map that leads me home (Reylo): 

Stole the title on this one from We Take Care of Our Own by Bruce Springsteen, because why the fuck not, right? 

To put it simply: musician AU. To put it a little less simply: he’s got a dead career, she wants to have even the slightest shot at one, Rose is the best, Poe’s a singing heartthrob, Finn is a love-struck goofball. You know, all that fun stuff. The entire thing is based on a playlist that I made and every chapter has a song that acts as its theme. I haven’t touched it since January 2018. I want to finish it eventually but it’s not really at the top of the priority list. 

There’s a few other fics from other fandoms that I’ve started and never finished but the odds of me touching them again are like... nonexistent, so I’m not including them here. I’ll update this post if anything changes on that front (but it probably won’t).

Now for the complicated part—the original fiction:

Maker’s Magic 

This is a trilogy (or at least, it’s supposed to be). This is also a rewrite of the first story I ever finished—the fantasy novel that I wrote for my first-ever Camp NaNoWriMo back in August of 2011, when I had literally no clue what I was doing at all and essentially stole the plot structure from The Obsidian Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey and built my own story around it. This is not a good way to write a piece of fiction that you want to publish, kids, but it is a damn good way to get your feet wet when you’ve never really written before.

I am reworking this story entirely from scratch. The characters are... kind of the same as the original story. Kind of. Maybe. I’ve changed a few names and merged a few people together and scrapped some others and entirely shifted the backstory of pretty much everyone, but... they’re definitely still the same, right? 

Basically, at this point the plot is really only similar to The Obsidian Trilogy in that we’ve got a trilogy, we’ve got some elves, and it’s your standard good vs. evil fantasy story (in its own unique fashion, of course). I’m still working out the details of this rewrite, but this is kind of the Holy Grail of all of my writing projects and the one that I’m most concerned about getting right, so I’m anticipating that I’ll be in it for the long haul on this one. I’m hoping I might be able to get a draft of the first book done this year, but... we’ll see.

(I also don’t want to give too many details about this project, ‘cause it’s the one that I’d really like to maybe publish one day, so...)

The Willow Hill universe

This started as a single story plus a standalone sequel set in the same universe, conceptualized when I was fourteen and missing horseback riding terribly (so yes, it is a story for all those Weird Horse Girls™ out there). I wrote a good portion of it, then deleted it, then rewrote the entire thing, then deleted it again a few years ago because I was no longer satisfied with the writing quality (after hitting top 100 on the Teen Fiction list on Wattpad way back when, so... I didn’t do too badly as a 16-year-old, but the writing still sucked). I’ve been promising a rewrite to my Wattpad followers since 2016 or something like that (2014? Whenever the hell it was that I deleted it the second time) but haven’t delivered at all.

I now envision this universe as a duology plus the aforementioned standalone sequel, except it’s not entirely fair to call it a YA duology in that the first book is definitely YA, but the second is more romance-y?

I originally just revealed the main character’s endgame relationship in the epilogue of the story, but I love both her and her boyfriend and their relationship so much that I decided that I’m going to be self-indulgent and write the story of them actually falling in love with each other, so that’s book two (so really, you don’t actually have to read book two to understand anything, I’m just writing it because I want to and it’s also kind of a present to anyone who read the original story when they were also a teenager and is now an adult who wants to read other stuff). 

Book one is now about the teenage struggle of crushes and trying to figure out what it is that you actually want out of your life and what you value (I say “now” because it was definitely way more self-insert-y the first time I wrote it and it is decidedly not at this point). It’s also sort of a love letter to trainers who are amazing and the kind of person we should all be so lucky as to be coached by.

These characters are my comfort characters where original fiction is concerned since they’ve been bouncing around in my head for the last ten years or so, and I’m hoping I can get at least the first book rewritten in the next year-ish, partly because I’ve been promising it for so long, and partly because I just really enjoy this world and I want to get back to it again.

The Coffee Shop Chronicles

AKA, I lived in one coffee shop on my university campus for pretty much the entirety of my college experience and it was a very inspiring place to be, so this has less to do with coffee shop AUs and more to do with the fact that I met several of my favorite human beings on this earth over a vanilla chai latte and mutual sass with the baristas.

(One of said baristas is very near and dear to me and introduced me to another regular who is now a very good friend with the statement “You’re both sarcastic assholes. You’ll love each other.”) 

None of the characters in this universe are based on actual human beings whom I know, but I liked the idea of the campus coffee shop serving as this thing that tangentially connected all of these people to one another, much in the way that I am tangentially connected to god knows how many people via my barista friend. Essentially, the idea is that the stories in this universe are all standalone, but the characters sometimes cross paths with one another at Caffeinated, so it’s sort of... Easter-egg-y in terms of who pops up where in which story. 

Currently I only have two stories in this universe that are legitimately plotted out, but there is room for any number of spin-offs based on whichever characters show up in those stories (or don’t—that’s the fun of it being a coffee shop. The barista is the only reliable character). Those two stories are as follows:

Chance Encounters (title so totally subject to change, also stealing the terribly summary from the Wattpad draft that never saw the light of day):

For Bennett McGuire, things with guys just didn't seem to want to go her way. From the disasters that were her attempts at dating in high school to the problem that had been Elijah Becker, she hadn't exactly had the best luck. With all that in mind, it made perfect sense to swear off dating until she finished college—that is, it made sense until one frozen day in February when Gordon Evans walked into her life. After that, who was to say what would happen?

What’s Your Metaphor? (once again, enjoy the terrible summary from the Wattpad draft that never was. I am cringing reading it but also too tired to come up with anything better):

"What's the point?" 

It's a question asked widely, for all sorts of reasons, and it's one that April Hayes didn't know the answer to any better than anyone else. All she knew was that she had her plan, and she was going to stick to it, because it was the only thing that seemed to have any sort of logic to it in her life. The things she thought, the things she believed—well, they all fell before the plan, because she didn't have time to ask herself "What's the point?"

That is, she didn't have the time to know the answer—her answer—until one guy by the name of Drew Collier showed up and made her consider things that she had never even thought of before.

High Blood

Yinz can go read my WIP introduction post for this one. It’s a fantasy story. Just for the hell of it, here’s the summary from said WIP introduction post: 

At the age of seventeen, Thessaly of Averak had a choice—take the crown of her people and her place as her father’s heir, or set it aside to become one of the High Warriors, dedicated to protecting their people and the country that her long-dead ancestor Enred built after leading its citizens out of a long and bloody war. Amidst raids and famine at the borders, she gave up her crown to better serve the people that her family rules.

Ten years later, all is quiet. At least, all is quiet until Beca’s pendant is stolen by a thief who disappears into the night on the journey back from the summer palace, Tess gets herself stabbed, and the discovery is made that the rock-solid foundations of their family’s claim to the throne—and the peace that depends upon them—are laced with hairline fractures.

(I didn’t write anything to speak of for Camp NaNo July 2020 and actually wound up deleting my project for this on the NaNo site because my dad was hit by a car while cycling the Friday before the weekend when I was planning to write like... 30k words to catch up, so obviously I gave up on that plan (he is doing well now, thank you for asking). I’m hoping I’ll get around to this one eventually because this particular universe arguably has the most potential for having multiple stories set in it, fantasy-wise.)

Emerson’s Lights

Natalie Flynn has been best friends with Evan Acheson practically since birth. They've stuck together through thick and thin, from her braces in seventh grade to his jump to stardom as a singer-songwriter their freshman year of college. 

She’d do anything for him, but spending a week with him on tour involves a lot more than she bargained for, culminating in the turn of events that is Caleb Blake, lead singer and primary songwriter of opening act Emerson’s Lights, moving into her house for the better part of a month.

She always knew there would be complications being the best friend of a rock star, but this? This was one that she didn’t bet on.

(Aka, girl meets boy in a band trope. Yay.)

(NaNoWriMo 2020 project)

The famous musician story (this thing doesn’t have a title right now and I’m not even going to try)

Stupid, trope-y nonsense idea that I came up with for my own personal amusement and nothing else. I’ve written a few chapters of it but genuinely have no idea where this falls in the hierarchy of things that I want to get done. Long story short, she’s in grad school for history, he’s a famous musician in town recording for a new album, they meet in the library, she pretends she has no idea who he is, and shenanigans ensue.

And that is where I think I’m going to leave it. There’s four other stories that I can think of off the top of my head that I could theoretically add to this list, but they are legitimately just ideas right now so they can be added at a later date when they’ve manifested themselves a little more strongly. There’s also another quartet in the Willow Hill universe that I came up with in high school that could theoretically be added but I think I might just steal those character names and give them their own little world instead. We’ll see.

Basically, if you didn’t get the point from this list: I am working on a lot of things, and when I say I’m writing, it could mean literally anything on this list (or any of the other ideas that I have floating around). The stories/universe here are the most likely candidates for my time, depending on whether I’m doing a deep dive into my writing or just playing around with something fun, and hopefully (god, hopefully) I’ll be able to move one or two of these to a “completed works” list in the next year(ish). 

(Or at least, as complete as a draft ever gets before you start going in on it again.)

[sergeanttpoliteness]

➹teenage vows➹(peter b. parker x fem!reader)

Requested by anon➝   hi!! is it alright to request some peter b parker x fem!reader confession/proposal scene? tysm ❤❤

It’s time Peter caught up to some promises he made long ago. Like, embarrassingly long ago.

word count: 6k

a/n: hello! hope whoever’s reading this is having a good day bc u deserve it. just a heads up, but i think i’m gonna post a lot slower bc school starts tomorrow (pls kill me) and i gotta work hard if i want to get in a good college, y’know. gross. but anyway, i hope whoever requested it likes it! i had so much fun writing it and it’s rlly sweet and short, my heart is warm. i promise i’ll be uploading part 2 of one make out session next, idk when but i’m working on it (: enjoy!

It was moments like these— the ones where you flashed him teary smile, and reassured him that you didn't mind him leaving you for the night to go and save the city desperate for his protection— that Peter desired to pause the outside world just so it could be you and you only; no agonizing battles, no villains tearing him to pieces, no delinquents threatening the safety of others when they could barely even withstand a punch. Because just as much as everyone else, you needed him; and as guilty as it made him feel, he pondered the possibility of putting away the mantle of the Spiderling for a single night as he perched on the window sill hesitating, wearing his suit, his mask not fully on yet. But you both knew no such thing was an option whilst the news played loudly in the background, the piercing wails of the police sirens multiplying with each passing moment. You simply grasped the fabric and covered his face, smirking as you slowly walked away from the aperture. "Go save some civilians, Spider-Boy." You couldn't see it, but he grinned behind his disguise, for that nickname which would've bothered him if it'd come from someone else's mouth had set his heart ablaze ever since you two were just some kids; and the flare persisted, even as fervent bodies molded into jaded souls, beaten down by the colossal waves of changes and cataclysms that collided into you one after another.

That day you'd been victim of too many tides.

The evening that unfolded wasn't the one Peter planned. Not at all. Life was anything but a fairy tale; his surely wasn't close to being one, but he'd conjure that magic— transform reality into a children's book with your arms around his neck, his around your waist, your lips close, a soft amorous graze, your living room as the ballroom as you two gently swayed until the clock struck midnight. He'd plotted all the details, from the scent of the candles to every compliment he'd utter. Perhaps he worried too much, but it's what your love demanded, what you deserved, a happily ever after, and he'd oblige the heavens to bring you just that. More calamities were what the cosmos had in mind for you and Peter, though, a sour reality-shattering reminder of how nonsensical wasting time in dreaming of that fairy story was.

The first blow hit you (quite literally) just minutes after you woke up, and Peter accidentally knocked a cupboard into your nose. 'How was your morning?' Your coworker asked, the steaming vapor of her coffee clouding her glasses. You went cross-eyed as you glanced down at the gauze on your nose, briefly recalling the previous events— gushing blood, too much for your liking, maybe a broken nose, who knows, and a string of Peter's apologies flying at you at the speed of light as he placed the bandage over your wound. You wore a tight-lipped smile and shrugged while you were unabashedly dishonest— 'oh, you know, same old'. Yeah, because your boyfriend unintentionally breaking your nose (it's not broken, you insisted) was a normal thing, right? Then came the second slap to your face as a revelation; remembrance dawned upon you, your speeding brain screeching to a halt, and you sighed into your hands. It was you and Peter's two year anniversary.

The man spent the entirety of his work blasting himself; it hadn't slipped his memory, unlike you (which was a surprise, seeing how your enthusiasm the day prior could easily be compared to a child's in a candy store), but after his imbecility and shame, how could he not forget to kiss your forehead and bring you breakfast to your bed as a sweet morning surprise the same way you did last year? It didn't stop there— oh, no, it did not— for then came the third inconvenience of the day: goddamn Jameson went on another rant about him— or well, Spider-Man; not a phenomenon, really, you get used to it, but it was at the worst time possible. He timed it: fifteen whole minutes of his booming voice and curses, 'more pictures of the menace!' or whatever, as if Peter didn't already feel ludicrous enough while taking pictures of himself, or the twenty pictures scattered across his boss' desk were a meager effort. An unwanted setback, although he arrived back home nevertheless, scurrying to your bedroom and clumsily removing his clothes along the way. Suit? Check. Clean-shaven face? Check. That one fragrance which turned you on? Check that, too. Roses?

"Ah, shit." He muttered as he took the cooking pot from the cabinet. Roses. Stupid Jameson and his obsession with Spidey— he forgot to stop by the flower shop. It was alright, though, he could deal with it; no flowers? No problem. Just... the food needed to be good, restaurant-type of cuisine, and taking in mind he wasn't a terrific cook, it'd be quite the challenge. Peter lit the lighter, his hand on the stove's knob, prepared to ignite the burner, but he swore it'd suddenly come to life and taunted him, laughed at his upcoming defeat. He narrowed his eyes at the object, somewhat intimidated, when the front door slammed open. He peered up at the clock hanging on the wall. You were back ahead of time, a lot earlier than he'd anticipated; he didn't even have all the ingredients out yet. He alleviated the clutching in his chest with a deep breath before rushing over to the small portable stereo (you two really needed an upgrade), his finger pressing down on a button. He was satisfied with the soft tunes from the random jazz station and scratched the back of his neck as he went to greet you.

"Hey! You're... early." Saying that your appearance was rough would've been uncalled for, but your scowl and glossy eyes kindled that concern in the pit of his stomach. It was another punch, one that caught him off guard as he frowned and immediately wrapped his arms around you. "Hey, what's wrong?" His worry evoked a pang of guilt in you, and you thought about pulling away, but you couldn't, instead digging your nose deeper into the crook of his neck.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I just..." You reassured, your tense shoulders relaxing since God, you could breathe in that cologne of his, and he smelled so good. "You look hot."

You sensed his breath catch in his throat before he chuckled, rubbing the small of your back. "I'm glad you think that, but let's talk about you, alright?" You lifted your head to meet his gaze, smiling weakly when he placed a careful kiss on your temple. You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head.

"I got a speeding ticket. Two hundred."

Fifth strike.

He blinked, processing your confession, his eyes slowly growing big. "Two hundred?!" You were expecting it; it was a normal reaction, yet you squirmed, flailing your hands as you attempted to explain yourself.

"I'm sorry—"

"Why? How?"

"I'm sorry," You repeated, your hands on top of your head. "I'm so stupid. I can't believe I'm so dumb, and we were saving for the trip but I just fucking ruined it. You deserve a vacation, Pete, I'm so sorry I'm like this." You spoke fast, pulling at your hair with frustration as you walked back and forth in front of him.

"Y/N..." He sighed, upset, of course, but forgiving. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It was just a mistake and we'll get through it, okay?" Your pacing ceased, skepticism crossing your face. "Yeah! The vacation can wait just for a bit. It'll be even more rewarding, anyway." He said with a beam, cupping your cheeks. You didn't know where the rare optimism came from, but you laughed at your lover, the remorse fortifying because you truly did not deserve the tolerance. On the spur of the moment, your fingers threaded through his hair and you pulled him in, urgent lips against his own soft ones. He couldn't help the subtle moan he emitted, dazed by your sudden lust as you spilled all your fervor and hunger into him; all emotion drained from every one of your cells, your fist gripping his jacket, tugging him as close to you as possible, bodies flush together, wrinkling the formerly smooth fabric, yet it wasn't enough.

His hand sneaked inside your shirt, riding up your back; but he paused and groaned, breaking apart from your blissful mouth. "After dinner, but right now I need you to help me because I haven't even gotten started with the food yet." He panted, abstaining from flinging all his cares far away and caving into your luring warmth to please you. Your mouth curved into a smile and you rolled your eyes, pushing him toward the kitchen.

He immediately got back to work, filling the large pot with water, but you stopped at the entrance and glanced down at your outfit. "I should get changed, shouldn't I?"

Peter turned around, shamelessly eyeing your body with desire. "You look perfect." You snorted.

"Peter, you're wearing a suit and I'm still in my work clothes."

"Maybe I... overdid it a bit?" He admitted with a bashful twitch of his lips. He took off his suit jacket, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows while you stole his discarded coat. He didn't notice until you put it on, quirking a brow. "You playing dress up or what?"

"This is it. This is what I'm gonna wear." You declared, raising your arms to show off your glorious look."

Peter bit his lip, a grin breaking out across his face, staring at you as if you were a divine entity, the physical proof of the existence of the heavens above as you straightened the creases. "You look silly." Adorable, he corrected himself internally.

"Nuh-uh, sir, I look hot." You scoffed, although you didn't look silly nor hot, but rather like a little kid who went through an exploration in his father's closet. You'd made up your mind, though; sacrificing a good-looking outfit sounded thousands of times better than actually making the effort to appear decent. You finished your five-second fashion exhibition before a full-blown runway commenced when your stomach rumbled, and summoned your inner chef, standing beside Peter. "You deal with the pasta, I'm gonna pick the salad because there's no way to mess that up."

"I'm the fuck-up, so shouldn't it be the other way around?" He muttered, and as if on cue, he almost spilled the dry pasta noodles all over the counter after miscalculating his strength and tore the bag open. His eyes drifted to you, and just like he predicted, you sported a judgmental expression. "I've got it."

"I dunno, I feel like if I give you a knife you're gonna somehow accidentally stab me." You chuckled, gesturing to the knife in your grasp. His face twisted with remorse. "I'm not feeling so lucky today."

"How's, uh, how's your nose doing?" He questioned, fault gnawing on him. It was the third time the man asked you, the first one being before you left for work, and the remaining a phone call and message during your shift. You, indubitably, told him everything was splendid, as if you didn't almost cry from the pain right after you waved goodbye to him and closed your front door.

"It's okay," You shrugged, despite the sting in the bridge of your nose. "Yeah, you know, it doesn't really hurt. Okay, no, that's a lie— it hurts a bit, but it's not something I can't handle."

"I'm so, so sorry I broke your nose. That was a really dick move."

"It's not broken!" You corrected him, pointing your finger at him. "It's fine. Don't worry, it just looks broken."

"If it looks broken, then it's broken."

"Since when are you a doctor?"

The corner of his lips tugged upwards as he added the pasta to the boiling water. "Y/N, getting my nose broken is my second job."

"Okay, whatever. I've heard the word 'broken' enough times today." You giggled, but then nibbled on your cheek while you began to slice a tomato. "Hey, I need to tell you something."

He swallowed, his throat all of a sudden dry. He opened his mouth to speak, but the abrupt ringing of his phone drove his attention to the device. "Hold on," He took it out of his pocket, his brows knitting together as he checked the screen. Your chest tightened after you sneaked a glimpse of the caller ID. "MJ? Hi!" He greeted, his voice way too cheery and his gaze still on you.

Your chopping came to a halt and you settled the knife on the cutting board. Her voice was clear, audible, yet you couldn't properly distinguish any of her words. Peter hummed as you held onto the counter, your knuckles turning white when his features broke out into a wide grin. "That's great! See, I told you you'd get through it."

Get through it, you reiterated in your head, the sixth wave crashing into your hot-blooded body.

"Yeah... yeah. You too. Night." He finally hung up, and your hand found itself on your hip.

"MJ?" You inquired, your eyebrows raised. He resumed his cooking, his phone forgotten on the countertop and you shot daggers at it.

"Yeah, she just wanted to tell me something."

"Tell you something?"

A crease appeared between his eyebrows and he looked at you sideways, confused. "A problem she fixed."

"Huh. I see." You grumbled, your brows scrunched together. Peter turned to face you, folding his arms across his chest.

"What?"

You met his stare. "What?"

"You're annoyed. I can tell."

"I'm not annoyed." You countered, squinting.

"Yeah, you are, 'cause you're doing that thing with your eyebrows—" He waved his hand, motioning toward your face. You mirrored his stance, doing exactly what he pointed out. "They get really expressive when you're mad."

"Suddenly, there's something wrong with my eyebrows?" You knew you were reaching, but the irritation dominated your mouth. Peter stammered in disbelief, briskly shaking his head.

"What?! Y/N, I did not say that at all."

You leaned against the kitchen counter, your lips tight until you were talking again. "You know, I just think it's kinda weird."

Peter looked heavenward, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, here we go." He took in a deep breath, peeved. "What?"

"How you and Mary Jane have been calling each other so much lately." You mumbled, hugging yourself.

"What about it?"

Now you were the incredulous one. "What about it? Peter, it's weird."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time, but explain why." He said, exasperated.

Your jaw tightened and you picked up the knife before restarting with the slashing of the food, your hold of the tool harsh. "I don't really need to explain myself."

"Well, I want you to!"

"Alright, you want to know why it's weird? You want me to tell you?" Your tone grew louder.

"Yes, please! Go on!" Peter nodded, voice equally as bitter. You scraped the sliced tomatoes off of the cutting board with the knife, careless about where they landed, and clutched a second vegetable.

"She's your ex." You hissed. He had to momentarily walk away, although not too far considering the restricted place. He rubbed his face, holding up two fingers with his other hand.

"That was two years ago. Almost three."

"Your ex-wife!"

"I know what she is, Y/N, but there's no need to be worried. There's a reason why it didn't work out."

"It's kinda hard not to worry when she's calling you all the time, apparently telling you about all the problems in her life and who knows what else. I bet you call her to complain about me, or something." You poked his chest with a pickle.

He pushed the cucumber away with his finger, laughing. "Oh my god, you're being so ridiculous right now."

"I'm allowed to be ridiculous right now!" You shouted, slamming the green edible on the piece of wood.

"We're just friends! I can't even believe I have to say this!"

You shot him a sneer. "How can you just be friends with your ex?"

"Well, that's what we were after we broke up the first time, no?" He claimed, his forehead creased. You grew quiet and weakly dug the blade into the cucumber.

"That's different, I was your best friend. I am your best friend." You whispered, but he wasn't taking it.

He tilted his head back, his eyes closed. "It's really not different."

"It is!" You persisted, "We were kids, and I was friends with Gwen, so obviously it's not like I even thought about trying something."

"You think MJ is trying something?"

You blinked furiously, lifting one shoulder. "You know we never got along that well!"

Peter took a step closer to you, holding himself up with his hand on the counter. "She wouldn't ever do that, Y/N, no matter how bad things are between you two." You rolled your eyes.

"How would you know?"

God, you truly were driving him crazy. He began to tap his foot, groaning. "How would I know? How would I know? We were together for sixteen years, I know a lot more than you do!"

"Sixteen years, no way there still wouldn't be some sort of feelings." You lowly told yourself, but he still listened. He squeezed his hands closed and his view landed on the bundle of bananas inside a basket. He ripped one, peeling it open and taking a large bite, his infuriation pushing him to stress-eat. You heard him exclaim, as if he'd managed to remember an idea long repressed.

"What about that one guy you're always talking with? Thomas, was it?" He began, his mouth full. You whispered 'oh my god' as he swallowed before continuing. "You two dated, didn't you?"

You placed your hand on your chest, unbelieving that he decided to complain about the most insignificant guy in your relationship. "Peter, he's my coworker."

"Well, it's kinda hard not to worry!" He mocked you, flailing his arm.

"Fucking hell."

"He's all attractive and shit, with his eight-pack, expensive car, and twenty dogs. Real boyfriend material, huh?" He clenched his teeth, his hands trembling with the overwhelming jealousy.

You peered up at him, your eyes soft. "I would never hurt you like that."

"Exactly!" He gently held your shoulders, hopeful that you finally understood you absurd your worries were. "Neither would I! Ever."

"You broke up with me once, why would you not do it again?!" You shoved his hands off of you. Despair clawed at your heart, poisoned your insides with its foul venom, constricting your lungs, wetting your eyes.

Your words and crestfallen features subsided his fury, like a powerful breeze extinguishing a flickering candle, a gleam of sunlight reaching out through heavy sullen clouds, clearing his sight. His face fell, his fingers twitching, aching to touch you. "Y/N..."

You cracked, lost control, lashed out all your anguish on the food you cut. "You left me for Gwen! After three years!" Your cutting sped up, loud and quick clanks echoing across the room. "You said you loved me! A-and I believed you!" You sobbed, yet no tears would spill; only built up rage as you snagged a second tomato and stabbed it harder, the blade dangerously close to your finger.

"You're gonna hurt yourself." Peter warned, watching as you ignored him and only went faster, harder, your hand beginning to cramp up.

"But then you didn't love me, you loved her, and everything you said became complete bullshit and just lies! All those stupid promises and your fucking vows," You couldn't see anymore, your vision too blurry, but you didn't slow down. "What was I supposed to do other than just be happy for you? Because I had to be a good friend, and I just wanted you to be happy—"

"Y/N—"

You felt the knife close to your finger. "And what if it happens again? Mary Jane is perfect, you two were perfect; maybe one day you'll regret you chose me at the end—" Peter's hand shot out and captured the knife. You closed your mouth and blinked your tears away, your eyes then growing wide, for the blade hung right above your finger.

He moved it to the side and away from your resting hand, his grasp shaky. "I told you you were gonna hurt yourself." He breathed out.

The radio remained barely audible before, almost as if its presence were missing, but as silence overtook the room— heavy, asphyxiating, weighing down on both of you, crushing you with no mercy— it made your skull pulse. You laid the cutting tool back down, your gaze fixed ahead of you.

"My boss laid me off today." You saw through your peripheral vision how his head jerked up. "That's why I got back home early. And why I got the speeding ticket." You revealed, ashamed. Peter gulped, trying to dive to the surface, float in the flooded wreckage you two were trapped in.

"I'm sorry."

"What do you mean? It's not your fault." You looked at him, but it was quick. "And it's not my fault, either. I guess the trip will have to wait longer than we expected." You sadly joked.

He didn't say anything. He simply approached you, slowly and quiet, and soon his arms were around you. You grew weak to his embrace and squeezed him, inhaling deeply, holding back the tears once again that day— you didn't even know, really, you'd lost count. 

The universe wouldn't hand you the quietude you had craved so easily, though, because without warning, Peter began to usher you far from the stove. "Wait, wha—" A bang cut you off and you yelped while Peter unconsciously pulled you closer to him. You heard clinking, a shattering sound as something rained over the floor. You both slowly glanced back, still hugging each other.

"What the hell?" You gasped when you saw the large crack running up the stove top, various small ones branching out from it, and glass littering almost all of your kitchen. Peter's body shook and you stared up at his nervous grin.

"I told you we had the change the stove."

You two began to laugh— not a normal response to your stove exploding, indeed; perhaps it was an odd way to cope with the pain, but Peter ran his fingers through his hair as he chuckled.

"I should've listened." You smiled at him, and your mind turned to mush when he returned the expression.

"Good evening, everyone— I'm sorry to interrupt, I know that tonight is 'only music' night." The music ended and a dopey voice spoke instead; a guy who'd most definitely hit a few too many blunts.

"What kind of station did you chose?" You asked your boyfriend, your face scrunched up. He shrugged, just as clueless as you were.

"I don't know, it was on when I switched on the radio." However, your ears perked up when the man carried on.

"Just in case you haven't watched the news yet, I wanted to tell you to please stay away from Times Square. There's some crazy stuff going on there, man, it's nuts, and the police are arriving on the scene. But..." Peter looked at you, his eyes sad with guilt. Realization hit you like a truck, your heart almost stopping.

It was the final straw.

"No... no, please, Pete." You started to breathe heavily, your lower lip trembling. He held your hands, kissing your knuckles apologetically.

"I'm so sorry." The tears flowed free, and it broke him further.

"Everything's been going wrong today, p-please, I don't want anything bad happening to you." You begged. But he was already leaving the kitchen, and you yelled out a frustrated curse. You ran to the living room, searching for the remote control, then fell to your knees as you saw it under the coffee table, instantly snatching it. You desperately wiggled the remote when it didn't work, but moments later the TV lit up, and you jumped from channel to channel, seeking for the news. You raised your hand up to your mouth, your shoulders shuddering from the horrific footage— the hopelessness, the explosions, the fire. You heard the first siren outside.

You felt a tender hand on your shoulder, the indication of what you feared the most, of the dreaded goodbye lurking in all your nightmares. You were fully submerged into the screen, enough that you hadn't noticed Peter standing behind you. "This was not the night I planned." He said, staring down at the ground. " We were gonna have a nice dinner, maybe even dance like you enjoy to do sometimes, and then... I don't know, but I'm sorry. You deserved it." He confessed, sorrowful and sincere.

You placed your hand on his hard chest, over the spider emblem of his suit. You didn't waste any time and kissed him, a passion different from earlier; different from the arousal, the heat at the pit of your stomach, the goosebumps spreading all over your skin. Now it was just as forceful, just as needy, but it tasted like innocent affection, like a refuge for a terrified child from a spine-chilling thunderstorm, the assurance that the downpour would pass. You cherished every second, the way he clung onto your waist with as much urgency, his breathing as he ended what he hoped was just another kiss and not the last one. It tore you down to nothingness, but it's what you signed up for the moment you fell in love with him, and you truly did not regret it. Never.

Your foreheads rested against each other, your hands trailing up to his shoulders. "Happy two year anniversary." He grinned. You pecked him one last time.

"Happy two year anniversary."

It was the usual routine: he went to the window, putting his mask over his head, not bothering to brush away his hair, and he looked back at you. Stay, you both thought as you followed him. You held yourself back, though, for you knew that if you asked him to, he would. You tugged his mask down, covering his face. "Go save some civilians, Spider-Boy. I love you." His white eyes were wide, taking you in wholly.

"I love you, too."

You undid the button of Peter's suit jacket for the twentieth time in a row, the action a momentary consolation as your eyes lingered on the flat screen; however, your mind drifted away somewhere in the vastness of space, distant from the images and your solitary apartment, revolving around a certain man you couldn't help but worry about. The broadcast should've been enough to relieve your fidgeting and the iciness that ran through your veins, because just like always, the superhero had saved the day, but you wouldn't ease into satisfaction until you had Peter in your arms— safe and sound, alive. That comfort arrived in the form of the window sliding open, and you jumped off your seat, wrapping your arms around your torso, watching as the red and blue figure slipped inside. He closed the window, holding his side, and he removed his mask with a swift motion, strands of hair sticking up while others fell graciously. You repressed the shocked gasp at his appearance; his bleeding and swollen lip, the cut running up his forehead, his nose which now looked just like yours if not a bit worse, and the forming bruise on his cheek.

You ran up to him and hugged him tightly. As gentle as you tried to be, it still hurt, but he didn't voice his pain. "I'm proud of you. You did great." You kissed his shoulder. He mumbled a 'yay!' and you let out a weak laugh, carefully pulling his arm. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

He tugged you back into him, his eyes droopy with exhaustion. "No."

Your eyebrows rose, confusion overtaking your face. "What?"

"Our date is not over yet."

You sucked in a breath, ignoring his ridiculous statement— he'd definitely received a rough blow to his head. "Peter, it's late, you need some rest—"

"Just, please." He urged. "Trust me." He bore his eyes burning with need into yours, frowning.

It was unbelievable, how Peter B. Parker could ask you to dress up as a hot dog and breakdance in the middle of the street and you'd comply, simply because it's what he wanted. You're weak, you told yourself, your hand in Peter's as you strolled down the pathway of the park; although you did force him to sit down and let you patch him up earlier, for only the man thought there was nothing wrong with leaving the house looking like you just came back from the fight club— ‘it's gonna heal soon’, he would whine as the roles reversed and you smoothed the gauze over his nose. He limped slightly while he picked a flower from a bush, another one for the growing collection in his fist, and you groaned loudly.

"Parker, seriously, I wouldn't have minded if we'd stayed back at home. Our anniversary doesn't need to be perfect." You said, expecting it'd knock some sense into him. He remained stubborn, though, inspecting the plants he held.

"Oh man, you said 'Parker', you must be serious." He wore a crooked smile and you narrowed your eyes at him. "Look, the day was far from perfect, so at least I want it to end well."

"I mean, this place is really nice." You acknowledged as you both stopped to admire a cherry blossom tree. Peter glanced sideways at you, his mouth twitching.

"Do you remember when we planned our wedding?"

You looked back at him and you both cringed, laughing after. "Ah, we did that, didn't we?" You crinkled your nose, recalling the night you and Peter lied on your twin bed; surrounded by heavy textbooks and colorful notes with illegible writing, in a haze from all the studying that you two started to make big, naive plans for a distant future, your head on his chest as he ran his fingers through your hair.  

"It was cute at the moment, but now that I think back, it was really stupid." He laughed. You swiped away the fallen flowers of the tree with your foot, nostalgia showering over you.

"Yeah... I wonder what sixteen-year-old me would think about thirty-eight-year-old me. Probably would be disappointed. At least she'd be happy I'm with you, though." You admitted softly, your skin prickling. "That's something her and I have in common."

Peter flashed you a half-smile. "Really?"

"Yeah," You grinned back, your eyes darting down to the petals he plucked. "Hey, don't kill it! What did it ever do to you?"

"It looked at me the wrong way." He smiled, shrugging. "I'm just nervous, that's it."

"What, you playing 'does she love me, does she love me not'?" You fluttered your eyelashes, the back of your hand on your forehead. He bit his lip, snickering, but then went poker-faced.

"It's a really serious game, Y/N." Your body lit up with laughter and he moved to face you, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he stared at you. "I want you to know that everything I said back then wasn't a lie. I meant every 'I love you' and promise I made."

You shoved your hands inside the pockets of his suit jacket (you probably should have changed, you realized), shifting your weight from one foot to another. "Pete, I know." You took out one hand to squeeze his bicep. "Forget everything I said earlier, alright? The jealousy just got to me and I said some dumb shit."

He shook his head, his fingers curling around your wrist. "No, but... I really did. And I've been thinking lately th-that maybe things with MJ didn't just work out because I was scared to have kids. I love you, Y/N. It's always been that way."

"Peter..." You rubbed his knuckles with your thumb, your heart glowing. "I love you, too."

"I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner."

You lifted a brow, puzzled. "Do what?" Your confusion dissolved when he dug his hand into his pocket, the color draining out of your face as he revealed a blue velvet box. You took a step back in disbelief, your hand cupping your cheek. "Parker, I swear to God."

"I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this moment." His voice wavered with nerves, the confirmation that this wasn't a sick prank he was pulling— not that he ever would hurt you in such way, anyway, but it was impossible not to feel lightheaded from the shock of witnessing a daydream you'd imagined for so long unfolding right in front of you, to not tremble as you waited for everything to slowly fade away as you woke up from another dream. His touch felt so real, though, so genuine, far from a fabricated illusion created just to satisfy a lurking desolation. "I wish I had known back then— God, I really do. But maybe I did kinda know, because after we discussed the whole dream wedding thing, I proposed to you." He recalled.

You sniffed, smiling. "You said it was practice for when we did get married."

He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. "It was not romantic at all." You both giggled, the ring he'd made out of a ripped piece of paper present in your memories.

You scanned your own outfit, wishing you'd looked much nicer for the occasion. "I look terrible right now."

"And so do I, but I don't care, because my heart still does that thing when it's the afternoon and you haven't showered yet."

"You're ridiculous."

"I know."

A deep rumble in the sky shook the ground beneath your feet and Peter looked up, letting out an exasperated sigh when droplets of rain pattered down on you. "Yeah, way to ruin the moment, weather. Thanks."

You lifted your hand to cover your face from the light drizzle, miniature beads of water on your eyelashes. "You know we can't afford a wedding right now, right?" You asked him, the corner of your lips tugged upwards.

His cheeks expanded as he let out air through his pressed lips. "I know. We gotta get that new stove."

"Our bed broke."

"Speeding ticket."

"I lost my job."

"You need a new nose." He tapped his own nose, which was a bad idea after he twisted his face in discomfort.

"It's not broken!" You insisted with a gesture of your hand, the corner of your eyes crinkled as you laughed. The rain poured down harder, quickly drenching yours and Peter's hair along with your clothes. Nothing was stopping him anymore, though, and he got down on one knee, audibly still aching from his bruises. Your laughter persisted, but now you hiccuped as well, your eyes red.

"We're not at a beach in Hawaii, but I tried to get the petals at least." When you inspected the ground— purple and red petals messily surrounding you, shriveled from the water— you comprehended the reason for his flower killing spree. You gripped his cold hand, the downpour emitting a shudder from you.

"It really doesn't matter."

"Good, good." He breathed out, more like a reassurance for himself, his own breathing speeding up for he could sense the tears coming as well. "Y/N. I loved you back then. I love you right now... and I'll love you for the rest of my years. It's not an exaggeration, it's the truth. I promise I'm not going anywhere. Not again. So..." He opened the box, and you stared in awe at the golden circlet with the pretty silver diamond.

"Will you marry me?"

You couldn't utter a single word, your throat closed up as you instead nodded fervently. You both beamed at each other, your smiles easily capable of moving worlds and galaxies as he slid the engagement ring onto your finger, his own hands trembling. You didn't give him a chance to stand up— you got down to his level and crashed your lips into his, your mouths slippery from the rain, your appearances far from alluring with his hair clinging to his skin and your mascara trailing down your cheeks. But it was alright. For the first time that day, everything was alright.

[ghostprincess]

Oh Love (Mysterio x Reader)

A/N: Alrighty so I haven’t written fan fiction in f o r e v e r so bear with me as I get back into shape with it! I write all my stuff in Pages so the format will probably get fucked up but eh I’ll fix it later. I wrote this for @quentinbecksass because we’re both thirsty af and doomed to love evil men. I couldn’t think of a title but Oh Love by Green Day came on and I figured it would fit. Enjoy, and please leave feedback if you have any! Also I /might/ start taking requests? Maybe? Idk? Send ‘em in if you want? 

Warnings: NSFW, swearing, explicit sex, very very mild injuries mentioned

Y/N didn’t know what she expected from her spontaneous European vacation, but she sure as hell wasn’t ready for this. She’d been fast asleep in the hotel’s cloud-like Queen bed, arm hanging off the side and dead to the world— until three sharp knocks jerked her awake. Y/N bolted into a sitting position, looking around in confusion and mild panic. Her watch lit up the dark room, reading 3:12 AM.

Tap tap tap.

She jerked her head to the right, seeing a figure hunched outside her window, barely illuminated by the streetlights. All she could make out was a large, muscular body, a cape, and a familiar head of shaggy hair…

“Quentin?” She gasped, jumping out of bed and running to the window. She pulled the window open, eyes wide, as she watched her friend struggle to slip inside the room. His bold stature was somehow even larger than normal, and Y/N quickly realized that he was wearing some sort of armor.

“Hey Y/N,” he muttered, eyes downcast. “I just needed a little help. Got hurt.” He sank into the couch by the window, looking relieved to finally be off his feet. An emerald cape sprawled across the couch behind him.

“What happened?” She breathed, looking him up and down. He was holding his left side and a few small cuts littered his face. There was probably more damage— but she couldn’t see beneath the thick, vaguely familiar armor covering his body. Quentin opened his mouth to answer, but Y/N cut him off.

“Where have you— and what— what are you wearing?! You look like—“

Quentin looked up at her through his lashes, his face still downcast. Vague memories of this same armor pushed to the front of her mind: the green and gold man flying through the air, an iridescent spherical helmet between his shoulders, attacking with merciless blasts of green energy as Spider-Man fought to defend himself… Realization struck her.

“You’re Mysterio,” she whispered. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. Y/N involuntarily look a small step back, recalling the brutality of his televised actions— he was a villain. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching out to grasp her hand. “Right now I’m just Quentin. Please, Y/N, I just need you to help me.” He gazed up at her pleadingly, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. 

“Quentin, I—“ She took a deep breath. “Okay. Tell me what happened.” She kneeled beside him, pulling her suitcase out from underneath the bed and rummaging for her first aid kit. 

“I just got hit fast… Wasn’t expecting it. I don’t know what he hit me with, but—“

“Who? Spider-Man?” Y/N asked dully. Quentin didn’t answer. 

Instead of making small talk, she got to work trying to get his metallic chest plate and cape off his bruised torso. She laid the heavy armor onto the couch beside him and helped him out of his undershirt before finally sitting down to assess the damage.

“Okay, tell me if this hurts.” She began pressing into his chest and ribs delicately, feeling for any internal damage. Thankfully, her assessment showed nothing further than bruising and a few lacerations. A few alcohol swabs later, he was good as new. Y/N stood up and was about to walk to get him a cup of water, but he suddenly caught her wrist in his iron grip.

“Thank you,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. Y/N blushed and looked away, muttering “it’s nothing” and attempting to pull her arm from his grasp, but he wouldn’t let go.

“I mean it, Y/N.”

She suddenly yanked her arm from his grip and spun around, anger flashing in her eyes.

“I want an explanation.”

Quentin stood up, towering over her and staring at her with those icy blue eyes she knew so well. As intimidating as he now seemed to her, he was still just Quentin Beck, the man she met at the coffee shop all those years ago.

“It’s a long story. I knew I couldn’t tell you before, I know how much you loved working for Stark and the Avengers and I knew you’d never look at me the same. That’s why I left. But I just… I had to see you. I knew you were here, and I—“

“How did you know where I was?”

He bit his lip softly. “I always try to keep an eye on you, Y/N.”

“Quentin…” she sighed shakily. “Why are you… doing this? I mean, why are you against the good guys?”

His eyes darkened. “Like I said, it’s a long story. I can’t explain everything right now. But I swear that I’m not against you. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

After talking for a few more minutes and assessing him for any further injuries, Y/N instructed him to take a shower while she went down to the lobby to buy a cheap pair of men’s pajamas. After Quentin had showered the sweat, blood, and dirt off, Y/N applied disinfectant and butterfly bandages to his (thankfully minimal) wounds and let him change.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered as she sat in the bed next to him, her head resting on his chest while his arms encircled her. Quentin kissed the top of her head softly before resting his head against hers. 

“I missed you too.”

“You just… you have no idea what it did to me when you left, Q. I lo—“ she cut herself off, eyes darting to the floor. “I couldn’t stand it. I thought you left because of me.” 

Quentin sat back and looked at Y/N. Her eyes were full of unshed tears, her body still slightly shivering, not unusual considering all the new information she’d taken in.

“What were you about to say?” He asked her. Y/N looked away and tried to brush it off, attempting to stand up. Quentin caught her and pulled her back against his chest.

“Come on, Y/N. What were you about to say? Please,” he begged, eyes sad. Y/N took a deep breath and looked deep into those big blue orbs.

“I… I was about to say I love you.” Y/N immediately looked away in shame, imagining his disappointed face. She shouldn’t have said that, what was she thinking? She opened her mouth to apologize, but Quentin cut her off.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Her eyes snapped to meet his, and his gaze had softened considerably. A small smile graced his lips and Y/N couldn’t help but smile too.

“Really?” 

Quentin reached a hand out to brush a bundle of stray hair behind her ear.

“Of course. I have for a while.”

Y/N stared deep into his eyes, searching. He looked sincere. The sterile white butterfly bandages across his left cheekbone stood out sharply against his lightly tanned skin, partly masking the angry red cuts underneath. Her E/C eyes met his blue ones. Shakily, she reached a hand out to rest on his jaw; his beard felt rough against her hand, but she didn’t mind. Suddenly Quentin closed the distance between them, softly pressing his lips against hers. Y/N closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Quentin’s arms encircled her waist, one hand reaching up to grip the back of her neck lightly. Without breaking the kiss, he shifted in the bed and moved her body so she was straddling him. Y/N moaned into the kiss, carding a hand through his hair. Quentin responded by gripping a handful of her hair and tugging backwards, leaning forward to deepen the kiss. Another moan escaped her and Quentin finally pulled away, breaking the kiss and leaving her out of breath.

“Am I being too rough?” He panted, eyes searching her face. His expression proved to Y/N that he truly didn’t want her to be uncomfortable.

“Never,” she replied, and then leaned forward to kiss him again.

After a few minutes, Y/N found herself lying flat on her back with Quentin on top of her, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Quentin quickly got the message and sat up, pulling the shirt over his head and revealing his toned, powerful torso. He threw his shirt on the floor and leaned over Y/N again.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked her, rubbing his thumb softly against her cheekbone.

“Yes, Quentin, I want you,” she replied, and he smiled, leaning down to capture her lips once more. Quentin helped her out of her shirt and immediately leaned down to trail open-mouthed kisses down her chest while simultaneously tugging her shorts down her legs. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he whispered.

“Oh fuck, Quentin,” Y/N gasped when he began nipping at her inner thighs. Quentin didn’t reply, instead moving lower on the bed and pushing her thighs apart. Without warning, he leaned forward and began to kiss and lick at her most sensitive parts. His tongue felt… perfect. It was hot and wet and soft but somehow still firm and pleasure lit up her body. Y/N moaned loudly, eliciting a deep groan from Quentin. A knot began to form in her stomach and tightened with every new movement he made with his tongue. He took his mouth off her for a split second, and quickly replaced it by sliding a finger into her entrance and thrusting it.

“You like that?” He asked, staring at her face to gauge her reaction. Her eyes were closed in bliss and her hands clenched the sheets beneath her. Y/N nodded and he added another finger, thrusting harder and faster. God, it felt so good…

“Q, please, I need you,” she begged, and he sat up, crawling his way up her body. He quickly shed his pants, dropping them to join the pile of clothes that had formed on the floor. 

“Okay, baby, are you ready?” He asked, lining himself up with her entrance. Y/N nodded, moving her hips to encourage him, and he slowly pushed in.

They moaned simultaneously at the tight fit. Y/N’s hands traveled up to scratch at his back while his hands rested on either side of her head. Quentin began to thrust as they both got used to the feeling, and he let out a deep moan when she tightened around him. Y/N reached up to pull him down into a passionate kiss and met each of his thrusts. 

Suddenly Quentin slowed his thrusts and breathed “turn around, baby”, his eyes half-lidded and blissful. Y/N sat up and turned around, getting on her hands and knees. He quickly thrust into her again, and Y/N moaned at the new feeling. 

“Oh fuck, please don’t stop,” she begged him, lost in the passion. The pleasure knot tightened quickly in her stomach again as he began to thrust. Quentin reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back towards him while he took her from behind. Y/N let him pull her head back where he pressed hot kisses to her neck and shoulder, moaning and gripping her hip. Then he pushed her down hard into the mattress, arching her back almost painfully as he searched for his release within her.

“Quentin… Quentin, please, I’m gonna—“

“You gonna come for me, kitten?” He panted, gripping her hair and tugging once more. Y/N whimpered and squeezed her walls tighter, causing him to let out a hissing breath.

“Yeah, just like that baby, just like that,” he moaned. His grip on her hair was driving her crazy and the knot in her stomach felt like it was about to burst.

“Quentin, I’m gonna come,” she whimpered. Her body was beginning to shake from the strength it took to hold herself up against his strong thrusts.

“Come for me, babygirl.”

And the knot broke. Y/N nearly screamed in pleasure, and she would have collapsed beneath him had he not grabbed her around the waist to hold her up. 

“Fuck, babygirl,” Quentin moaned, and his hips stuttered a bit before going still. He groaned and she felt him release inside her. 

Slowly, Quentin lowered them sideways on the bed with her back pressed flush against his chest, and he slowly pulled out of her spent body.

“You’re lucky I’m on the pill, jackass,” Y/N muttered, causing him to chuckle.

“I told you I kept an eye on you, didn’t I?” 

Y/N sighed and melted into his warmth, closing her eyes.

“We still have to talk tomorrow,” she reminded him.

“I know.” He hugged her closer.

[cliffside-pools-calamitous-love]

2, 7, 23, 32, 52, 62, and 63 :D 💌💌💌

HAHAHA SATHANA ILY YES THANK YOU FOR INDULGING MY URGE TO DISTRACT MYSELF ANSWERING QUESTIONS.

2. Who did you last say “I love you” to?

Pfffffft it’s not exactly juicy gossip but I think it was my mom. BUT, if we’re counting when I said “SATHANA ILY,” then there ya go; congrats, darling lmao.

7. What did you last eat?

Snack-wise, and literally the last thing I ate, was a Rice Krispy. As for a proper meal, my mom made this spaghetti that was originally something my grandmother made, and it’s like...probably the most delicious meal there is??? And every time I eat it I think about my grandmother and what an influence she had over my childhood and still has over my life, and it makes me smile, ya know? :)

23. Do you have piercings? How many?

OKAY THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING BUT LIKE...when I was a kid, I never felt an urge to get my ears pierced, so I just...didn’t? And now I’m in college and still here we are with no piercings lmao. But my friend gets them all the time and she’s so chill about it and always offers to take me with her, so I’ll probably have to take her up on that eventually. 😅

32. What is your favorite color?

I’m gonna be basic and say pink...can’t help it it’s just so pretty. 🥺🥺🥺 It’s the color of sunsets and blushes and valentine hearts and you wear it and you feel brighter. Blue would be my second pick, though!

52. Do you believe everything happens for a reason?

This is a tough one. In a lot of ways, I think I kind of...have to believe that, if that makes sense? Like, it keeps me hopeful. If everything does not happen for a reason, then the worst I’m doing is fooling to myself, and the best I’m doing is giving myself a reason to smile. And also, I’m religious and that’s personal for me, so I always have faith in, as a certain GMW character put it, “a guiding hand that has your best interests at heart.” Lucas was so underrated, man.

But it’s more complicated than just “everything happens for a reason.” That’s too wishful, imo. I guess ultimately, I think we all have a story inside us; we have conflicts that need resolving, wounds that need healing, passions that need expressing. And so the “right” path for us is the fulfillment of this story, the completion of our character arc. But there are so many different ways to reach that completion; I’ve made mistakes, but ultimately I still end up where I need to be. So when things “happens for a reason,” I think of it as a mixture of the aforementioned “guiding hand” and also the story within us struggling to come out and resolve itself. You always have a chance to reach your own personal best ending; anything and everything, no matter what timeline we’re in, can be an opportunity to get there, bc no matter what decisions you make, that story is still inside you. And even tho I understand and respect that this won’t resonate with everyone, the guiding hand is always there too. :)

OKAY IM SORRY THAT GOT SO RAMBLY AND FOR WHAT NEXT QUESTION

62. What makes you happy?

Listening to my favorite songs on repeat, reading and being completely immersed in the story, getting struck by that quote in a book or fic that carves itself on the gravestone of your heart and suddenly you’re in awe, writing, daydreaming about what I’m writing/planning, being helpful and giving good advice, HUGS!!!, scintillating conversation with a close friend, watching movies and shows with my mom, spending time with my brother (don’t tell him I said that), NEW BOOK SMELL, coffee shops, the certainty that I did the right thing, validation from English teachers, and the feeling that I belong :)

Also this emoji 💕

63. Would you change your name?

I mean, not now; it’s me, isn’t it? I’ve made it my own. But as for my opinion on my name, while I do think it suits me and is cute, it also feels a bit...too cutesy sometimes? Idk. I might have liked the name Charlotte, which I’ve always thought was pretty. Also, apparently my mom came close to calling me Bonnie, which is adorable but I don’t think I’m peppy enough to pull that off 😅 Ultimately, I’m glad I got the name I did though

Sathana, you are a legend; you also picked all the fun and wholesome questions and you are just *exquisite,* my friend. Thank you for sending these and I hope my answers provided some entertainment :)

[blu-b]

Hi! For the ask-thingy! How ‘bout 2+3:tropes you wanna try and tropes you wouldn’t touch; 9:which fic was hardest to write;12:which fic inspires you most of all;35: dub/noncon -yea or nay?; and let’s end with 37:talk about your current WIPS! Whenever you have time,all or none! (ps-i was gonna ask about smut but because you have written some of my FAVORITE scenes of hotness it was kinda moot) Have a great day!!!

Thank you for these! :D

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Off the top of my head I can’t think of anything that stands out. I mean, I haven’t done the obligatory coffee shop AU for any fandom yet, and some of the other common tropes, so there’s still that ^^. But I can’t think of anything, you know, super extra that I’d say I definitely need to write one of those. 

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

I’m not sure if you can call it a trope or if it’s more of a genre of itself, but I’m not interested in / attracted to Alpha/Beta/Omega stuff and genderswap at all. Nothing makes me click the X faster than these two. That’s not to say I won’t dabble into intersex or gender issues in general, but I just don’t see the need to make a male character into a female one (or vice versa) just for the sake of it. That said, I do have a fic started where Loki is a woman, but there’s a reason for that and he’s not going to stay one for long ^^

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

I’ve answered that one here, but let me say that the second hardest to write was This Pain that numbs my Heart, because I really, really wanted to get the characters right in that one, and I wanted it to feel real, like something that could be in the gossip news tomorrow while at the same time being plausible enough to also happen to these people. And it’s hardcore RPF, so that’s always a challenge because unlike with a fictional character you don’t have certain liberties, you constantly have to question yourself “Would this person really do X or Y”?. Plus, you have to keep it on the respectful side, so yeah.

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Hmmm not sure I understand this correctly. Like, an “episode” as in a certain scene in a movie, or an event in an actor’s life (a premiere or a con or something like that), or another fic? Well, if it’s a scene in a movie….idk, the first Hobbit film in general still inspires me. The Stone Giants sequence in particular, ouch, that gets to me every time. As for real events, haha, Aidan and Dean at Hollycon will forever be my Aidean!fest that I draw inspiration from ^^. And fic…that’s so tough because I’m not the type to re-read anything frequently, so there’s not really that one fic that I always come back to, but there are a lot of amazing writers whose style is a great inspiration for me, as in “I wish I could write like X one day”. I’ve recently read some incredible stuff in the Thorki fandom, so I think I’m going to compile a rec list in my AO3 bookmarks sooon (because I suck at coming up with author’s names and fic titles).

34. What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

You said 35, but the dub con question is #34 so I’m answering that one; in case you’re interested in 35, I’ve answered that here. So, my thoughts. Would I write it? Yes I would, and I actually have, both non-con (rape) in At the End of the Rainbow as well as highly dubious consent in Blood Slave. In my opinion, it’s a vast and interesting field to delve into; certainly not a pretty one, but there’s two things I like about it. Firstly, trying to get into the perpetrator’s head and trying to understand why someone would do something like that to another person - without being apologetic of the deed itself, of course, but I’m not one to simply roll with the “well s/he did it because s/he’s evil” trope. There have to be motivations. In Rainbow, it’s a fixation issue combined with a sense of absolute entitlement, so in essence there’s something wrong in the mental department. Sometimes it’s revenge, or jealousy, or control issues that triggers a person into inflicting non-con or rape, and I like to explore these motivations. Let’s take Mitchell in Blood Slave for example, he never thinks for one second that what he’s doing to Anders is not what Anders would choose for himself. He doesn’t even see the consent issue, while Anders slowly accepts the situation and even comes to think that he enjoys it. And that’s the second aspect that interests me from a writing POV: all these little inbetweens, like what’s the difference between non-con and rape? When does dub-con become non-con? Can a character go from dub-con to actually enjoying it, or is that a rape fantasy, or Stockholm syndrome? There’s no clear line between all of that, and even more than the physical aspects I’m interested in the psychological implications on both sides.

37. Current WIPs

Right, I’ve answered that as well here, but if you like, let me get into a little more detail. 

So, there’s this Hobbit piece that I started writing, idk, two years ago. It’s about Thorin and the loves in his life, so it covers Bagginshield, Thorinduil and Dwalin/Thorin. I usually don’t say that about my own stories, but it’s a beautiful piece of writing that came to me on a train journey and flowed out within an hour or so. It just needs some final touches, but I haven’t been in the right mood yet :-( Here’s a paragraph from it:

​For a moment we stand in silence, the elf, the dwarf, and the hobbit, reunited by memories, and there is a smile on all our lips as our thoughts travel back in time. Then we look out onto the sea, at the grey ship that lies waiting, and we know that it is time to say our farewells. Memories pass between us as our eyes meet for the last time; pleas to keep them safe in our hearts for as long as we live. Before long the ship sets sails and we watch it pass through the gap, the sun embracing it with golden arms as it passes out onto the sea and is seen no more.

Then there’s an Anders/Mitchell medieval AU that I forgot to mention in my other answer. Anders is a witch in that one and Mitchell is a creature that’s been keeping an entire country in fear, until he gets captured and imprisoned. It’s rather dark and touches on a lot of religious / historical issues.

​The boy sighed as he made his way through the crowd. All these people knew so little. It wasn’t their fault they were so prone to fall for superstitions, but Anders felt appalled by their stupidity nevertheless.
Yes, it had been a bad year; the worst so far in a row of many bad ones. A merciless winter held the land in its grip for far too long, freezing the soil to a rock-hard layer and delaying the ploughing and sowing that was so vital. Summer in turn had seen little sun and a lot of rain. Harvests had been poor already in the years before, but this time crops had died on the fields, struck down at the roots, rotting at the stem before they could bear fruit. A hailstorm of biblical proportion had destroyed most of the land’s vineyards earlier this year. People were dying from hunger in front of their empty bowls. And the war took on the remaining ones. Some said that death on the battlefield was merciful compared to the alternatives.It was no surprise people began looking for a scapegoat.

As for the Thorki ones I mentioned, it’s a mixed bag of smut, action, hurt/comfort and a lot of dabbling into magical issues because Loki being this master sorcerer just gives me a huge kick (and also sibling incest and canonical mpreg). Since you complimented on my smut writing (ahaha, thanks for that!), I’ll just leave this here for you:

​Thor chuckled, stroking lightly along the line of his brother’s arousal. 

“I can see that.” A thought occurred to him then. “I didn’t say that out loud, did I? Are you in my head?”

“As much as you are in mine,” Loki replied huskily, pushing his hips into Thor’s warm hand. “Although I’d rather you were in another part of me right now.”

“Loki…” Thor half-moaned, palming himself through his breeches.

The movement prompted his sibling to open his eyes, emerald and coal, half-lidded, dangerous and intriguing, pupils wide and black and gleaming with lust.

Thor had never been so hard in his entire thousand years of existence.

Thanks for asking; I hope my answers were okay :D

[bruhnushka]

hey IDK if ur takin requests or not but,,, yo!! can u do me a solid and gimme an Anthony Ramos fic where he left you behind somewhere and ran away from all his problems and u confront him??? lots of angst please!!

//Drabble !! ty for this!! srry it took so long to write :(

Anthony pressed his lips against yours for the last time that night. he couldn’t stand this. the yelling, the anger, the financial unstability, you not being completely there. you weren’t awake that night, not being able to remember the words I love you against your skin was something you’d regret for a long time. instead, the last thing you did remember was Anthony yelling at you, calling you things you didn’t even want to think about. the next day when you woke up, there was a note in what used to be your shared room.

“I can’t do this anymore.” it read. you gasped. did he kill himself? you saw something on the back so you flipped it over. “I didn’t kill my self, relax.” despite the situation you laughed.

now it was four years later, Anthony hand in hand with jasmine as they walked past a coffee shop. something caught in the corner of his eye. he back tracked a couple feet. and lo behold, you stood their, smoking a cigarette. When you two used to date, you had tried your hardest to stop. he guessed that his absence made it unnecessary for you to even try to stay clean. You hadn’t spotted him yet. Other than the cigarette, you looked normal. clean clothes, never mind the coffee stain on your shirt, a ghost of a smile on your lips, just like you used to. he told jasmine he’d be back in just a second and left to talk to you.

“wait-y/n?” you turned to him at your name, cigarette almost dropping out of your mouth. your shock was quickly replace by anger. you grabbed the cig and held it between your fingers, taking off your sunglasses.

“Anthony? what the fuck are you doing here?” you spit out his name like it was the lowest insult. Anthony actually staggers back a little as he looks at you, brows furrowed.

“I-I live he-”

“Actually, i don’t care. get out of my life right now, i don’t need this, and you had no trouble doing that before.” you point the cig at him with every word, like a bullet. Anthony feels his heart hurt as he looks at your eyes. they give away everything. red, puffy, swollen, with huge bags underneath them.

“for three goddamn years I couldn’t stop crying. three years of my goddamn life. I blamed myself, you know? then last month, genius struck me. it wasn’t my fault. it was yours. you couldn’t keep up with me, so you left me. alone. stranded. I always thought you’d come back, right? I never got a partner thinking about you. for two years I made sure that if you ever came back, and I was so fucking sure that you would, I’d be here for you. last year? I got myself a girlfriend. she’s great, by the way. loves me, something you couldn’t do. god, I fucking hate you.” you growl, smashing your cigarette into his white shirt, right over his heart. Anthony didn’t know what to say. he thought if he ran away and didn’t look back, everything would be over. Instead, the guilt he spent so long trying to bury rushed back up to the top of his mind, spilling over in the form of tears.

“I-I’m sorry?” it was more of a question then an apology. you scoff.

“four years of silence and all you could give me is an ‘I’m sorry’?” you mock his voice. “I’m done. get the fuck away from me. I see you had no trouble getting a girlfriend.” you nod towards jasmine. Anthony just stares at you, unable to form words. you roll your eyes, light up another cigarette, and get into a black BMW on the side of the street. Anthony catches a glimpse of the person your with, his heart dropping to his knees.

what has he done?

[leeviathans]

I ganked an OC ask list so here’s the whole thing for Max.

   1. What’s their full name? Why was that chosen? Does it mean anything? Maxwell. It was chosen becauseee that’s what his dad named him? Idk. It doesn’t have any significant meaning to it. 2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them? Eeeeeehhhhhhh 3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory? His childhood was pretty ok, save for his stepmother being physically and verbally (mostly physically) abusive. But he learned how to avoid her for the most part and otherwise his childhood was very uneventful. He spent a lot of time hanging around his dad’s lab (aka the basement) as a kid. 4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents? Only knew his dad, his mom is very dead. He was very very close to his dad though. 5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults? He does but the only one I’ll talk about is his half sister. Her name is Liza. Their relationship was always very distant, they grew up practically being just... strangers who happened to share a house. When they’re adults their relationship is much different, they become very good friends. 6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate? He hated school in general and was an awful student. It was’t that he was bad at the classes he was in (he’s actually quite smart), he just absolutely couldn’t be bothered to care. He dropped out his senior year, basically as soon as he was able to do so without anyone stopping him (when he turned 18) 7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood? NOPE. Max really didn’t have any friends at all. He was a weird kid and just kind of couldn’t click with anyone. He did have one friend for a good amount of years of his childhood, though. But his memories of that friend are very fuzzy. 8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals? I mean yeah he likes animals just fine but I don’t think he technically has any pets himself. 9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals? He gets along ok with most animals, nothing remarkable one way or another. However, he does NOT get along with dogs. They don’t seem to ever like him. Just as well, he doesn’t like them either. 10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want any children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/ect? He’s actually GREAT with kids. He doesn’t think so, but no he’s awesome at dealing w/ them. Not sure if he’d actually want kids or if he ever has any at any point in his future. 11. Do they have any special diet requirements? Are they a vegetarian? Vegan? Have any allergies? Nahhh. But in his wolf state he will eat like all the meat in the house. Or go find fresh meat. 12. What is their favourite food? He LOVES junk food. Pizza’s his favorite. Spicy food’s also good, and he has a godawful sweet tooth. 13. What is their least favourite food? Not sure? He’s not horribly picky. Probably acts like super healthy food is nasty though. 14. Do they have any specific memories of food/a restaurant/meal? ...no... this is such a weird question. 15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking? He’s very good at it, and loves doing it! He doesn’t do it often though because he’s incredibly lazy so I doubt anyone really gets food made by him much at all. 16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it? As far as I know he doesn’t collect anything! 17. Do they like to take photos? What do they like to take photos of? Selfies? What do they do with their photos? He’s actually not big on photos. He’s indifferent toward others taking them and has zero interest in taking them himself. 18. What’s their favourite genre of: books, music, tv shows, films, video games and anything else Trash. Especially in terms of movies and tv shows. The worse the writing and/or acting is, the more he loves it. 19. What’s their least favourite genres? Probably stuff like sitcoms or daytime TV dramas, things that he really can’t get any amusement out of. 20. Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when their favourite song comes? He likes music a lot! He’d prob just turn the volume up obnoxiously high and sing along with it. 21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper? HE HAS THE WORST TEMPER. He has a really short fuse and it doesn’t take much to make him snap if you’re pushing the right buttons. What he does when he loses his temper varies depending on the situation and who he’s angry at, but his outbursts are usually pretty quick and end just as fast. He holds a HELL of a grudge afterward though. 22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back? Can’t say he has a go-to insult? But he’d insult someone if he felt insulted first. Without hesitation. 23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces? Generally speaking his memory’s pretty good! It’s really nothing remarkable, just kind of average. 24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress? He snores horribly. Sleeps on a really soft and very beat-up and old mattress. Is not aware that mattresses are a thing that need to be replaced eventually. Builds up a very large collection of blankets. 25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves? He finds really dumb things funny. Usually things that aren’t really meant to BE funny. I’d say he has a good sense of humor?  26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions? He’s VERY visible about it when he’s happy. Smiles a lot, probably hums or sings under his breath, generally is much more sociable and friendly when he’s in a really good mood. 27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad? He completely shuts down when he’s upset. He has a habit of isolating himself and utterly closing himself off to others. He becomes very distant, very unwilling to talk. He doesn’t usually cry like... at all, but when he does it’s really not something he can hide. 28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared? He does have a weird fear/aversion of clowns/jesters/anything like that. He usually responds to being scared with anger and defensiveness. 29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective? For the most part he’d just acknowledge that it’s really none of his business. He might lightly tease them about it here and there, but otherwise he’s not gonna go sticking his nose into such a personal thing for others. 30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out? HAHA NO HE’D DIE. 31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing? Never struck me as the type to drink much, just occasionally. He is the type to be STUPID-HAPPY when drunk tho. Like everything’s awesome and hilarious and super good mood all around. He’s indifferent towards others being drunk around him and will usually just kinda respond like he normally would to them? 32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like? The boy frequently looks like he fell into a closet in the dark. He usually just buys what’s cheap but he has no idea how to dress to his body type so none of his clothes fit properly. Boring probably-super-worn-out pajama pants to bed. Doesn’t wear makeup. His hair is just kind of a thing that exists and he might brush it like once in the morning and that’s it. 33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties? Boxers 34. What is their body type? How tall are they? Do they like their body? VERY VERY thin. He has a very fast metabolism so he just flatout does not put on weight. He’s... some very tall height above 6′6″, haven’t quite figured out how tall he is exactly. He’s decidedly indifferent toward his body, it’s just kind of there and he has no opinion of it really. 35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure? He has no guilty pleasures, only things that are stupid and awful that he feels no shame in enjoying. 36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing? He can! He’s good at singing and cooking, interests he picked up years ago from a friend. 37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or non fiction? ...he likes to read comic books does that count... otherwise he really doesn’t enjoy reading. He doesn’t have much of an attention span for it. For what it’s worth though he can read pretty fast. 38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had? Sometimes he wishes he were more patient or altruistic and admires those traits a lot in others. Though he’s totally capable of being these things already. 39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging? Nah on both levels. 40. Do they like energy drinks? Coffee? Sugary food? Or can they naturally stay awake and alert? SUGARY FOOD. And soda. And coffee with a lot of sugar in it. 41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship? I have no idea, I just know he thinks his girlfriend is the prettiest thing to exist and is crazy about her. 42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition? Gonna skip this onnnneee. 43. Are they religious? What do they think of religion? What do they think of religious people? What do they think of non religious people? He’s not, and has no opinion of those who are other than that they’re just dong their own thing. 44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most? He likes warm weather. Warm springtime weather is probably ideal. He has zero cold tolerance and will complain a lot if he has to go out in the cold. 45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves? It realllly varies from person to person, since the way he acts depends a lot on how well he knows someone and how comfortable he is with them. 46. Do they make a good first impression? Does their first impression reflect them accurately? How do they introduce themselves? He CAN make a good impression? But he’s usually standoffish with new people. 47. How do they act in a formal occasion? What do they think of black tie wear? Do they enjoy fancy parties and love to chit chat or loathe the whole event? He’d have a good time it if it’s something someone really wanted him to go to, but he really wouldn’t socialize much. He’d prob just lowkey cling to people he knows or stay where the snacks are. He’s not the type to want anything to do with formal events on his own, though, and he feels weird dressing up. 48. Do they enjoy any parties? If so what kind? Do they organise the party or just turn up? How do they act? What if they didn’t want to go but were dragged along by a friend? He’s not big on them, but like with formal events he’d be fine if someone else wanted him to go. Otherwise he just really gets nothing out of them? 49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them? He has a sentimental attachment to the beat-up old baseball cap he wears, and especially to the tooth necklace he wears. He’s almost never seen without that necklace. 50. If they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? What do they consider their essentials? He’s psychic. He’s a big cheater and would just bypass this by teleporting whatever he wants/needs at any given time. But generally speaking, when he travels he doesn’t bring much of anything with him.

[fkjeon]

ignite the flames within me | i

○ pairing: yoongi | reader ○ genre: angst + fluff ○ words: 6,373 ○ warnings: none

⊱ a/n: HAPPY SUGA DAY! i had this in my drafts forever, and luckily it’s ben sitting at a few thousand words lmao. i really hope this is/was worth the wait. honestly, i had no plan with this, so it’s really not that story-line based. idk, i’m really trying to hone my writing skills, and i know i need to practice regularly. but nonetheless, pls enjoy this mess of work! and yes, part two shall be coming, idk when tho. any feedback is highly appreciated!

The ivory keys lay untouched, collecting dust overtime.

A passion left to waste; the zeal, once at its peak, now tucked away behind tired eyes and an aching heart. Min Yoongi had always loved the piano. The melodious notes that could be poured out from the slightest of movements, the sheer emotion that one would be able to express through the keys, the pace that one would set, whether it be light and cheery, or dark and dramatic.

There was so much to love about this immaculate instrument, yet his interest would slowly deplete, leaving the pallid clavier to rot through the scorching heat, and feisty winds. His love for music would not be ignited, yet he felt some sort of longing to, once again, be in tune and be able to show himself and his identity through every note played.

The wintry winds flew through the air, slapping him across the face with icy despair, as he walked through the quiet streets. The past few days had been extra bleak, matching the detachment that Yoongi had been feeling for the longest time. He really did not know what he wanted to do; walking around seemed like a good enough distraction at the time, but what he didn’t know was that he would be left with the roaming thoughts that he had tried so hard to control.

The sun had been hidden behind the murky clouds; his hands in his pockets, as he walked into the dimly lit coffee shop that he had taken a quick liking to over the past few weeks. The cashier would nod at his presence, giving him a questioning look that read, 'the usual?’, to which he acknowledged with the slight dip of his head. Yoongi had always liked his coffee quite strong; bitter, in fact.

Sitting at the far corner of the store, Yoongi was left alone with the rapid current of his thoughts that seemed to overwhelm him quite quickly.

‘Failure.’

‘Good-for-nothing musician.’

‘Wow, my three-year-old daughter could compose much better than this.’

He scoffed at himself, sifting through the large pile of insults that he had come to terms with a long time ago. He found himself smirking at the best ones.

‘Are you sure you can even play the piano? It seems as if you just bash the keys repeatedly.’

‘This is worse than when they called that damn shade of blue art!’

The waiter seemed to notice his distress, adding a little croissant on the side on his order.

“On the house,” the waiter assured him with a small smile. He returned the gesture, but the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Yoongi had always hated sweet treats.

☇

It was no particular Thursday morning.

The sun shone through the sheer material of his curtains, reminding him of another day that he dreaded to see. There was a sort of sickly heat that hung in the air around him, making the fabric of his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin. Beads of sweat had already begun to form and he grimaced at the sudden light that had found its way right onto his closed eyes.

Deeply sighing, he pulled himself up, throwing the white covers onto one side, and walked over to the window. Even with the heat, there was still a sliver of a breeze present, kissing his wet skin with the slightest of a touch. He stared through the glass, eyeing the zooming cars and the people who seemed to be chattering away.

Still feeling empty, he forced the window pane down, shutting out the heat that seemed to quickly overwhelm his room before retreating into the bathroom and getting ready. He wasn’t even sure why he was getting ready, as no occasion called for it. However, he didn’t want to feel as if he were that useless.

Pulling his cap closer to his eyes, Yoongi strolled along the concrete path, keeping his head low. It wasn’t as if someone was going to recognise him from his musician days. After all, it had been much too long since he last sat on the stool and played his heart out. He sauntered to the park, sitting at a bench that no one occupied. These days, Yoongi had nothing better to do than to mope around.

It was funny how fate could change someone’s life within seconds. Here Yoongi was, sitting on a park bench, hands in pockets and earphones in. He hadn’t noticed the girl who spotted him from across the path, immediately recognising his facial features from watching his performances, one too many times.

☇

You had just finished your morning class, which meant that you had the rest of the day to yourself. Not knowing what to do or where to take yourself, you decided on having a little walk within the small park that was located just outside your apartment block.

You had always loved the park; the playground that seemed as if it was always occupied, the couples that would wander through — holding hands and sweet smiles, those motivated individuals who always seemed to be able to go on a run, no matter what day it was.

Holding your still-cold bottle of ice tea, you walked through, examining the bright green leaves that flourished from the beating sun. You noticed the daisies and canopies that littered the ground bought a spark of colour from the already dried-up grass.

As you were walking along, you had passed the man that was seated on the bench, yet from the corner of your eye, you swore his presence deemed extremely familiar to you. Upon closer inspection, you had realised that it was your all-time favourite musician, one that hadn’t been active recently. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as your legs froze. You failed to conjure up any thoughts, as your mind was numb with nervousness.

You were conflicted — should you approach him, or should you just walk away?

Min Yoongi had always been your favourite musician, ever since you heard a sliver of his beautiful composition that he had played at a festival. You could tell that he poured all of his emotions into each note, and that just made you adore him even more. You had strived to become like him; cool, composed, all the uneasiness melting away as you struck each chord, head swaying along to the beautiful rhythm that you had created.

You heart swelled as you saw his form, arms outstretched, as if embracing the fierce heat that surrounded the two of you, yet you were much too jittery to notice that your drink had already become much too warm for your personal liking.

You cursed under your breath and decided to just, ‘fuck it,’ taking long, yet hesitant, steps towards the man who you thought was sleeping at first. Your heart rate had picked up dramatically, the wave of confidence that you had just experienced, deteriorating much too quickly and you found your steps faltering the closer you had got. By the time you were a few inches away, you had begun to second-guess yourself — asking yourself too many questions that could not be answered within the span of a few seconds. The few seconds in which Yoongi had noticed the shadow over his head, and got up to face the current stranger that seemed to look much too confused.

You hadn’t noticed the boy staring up at you, until the false confidence that you wore as a mask decided to show up again. However, it all came crashing down as soon as you noticed Yoongi’s lingering eyes. Your cheeks blazed with the burning crimson and you could barely meet his gaze.

“Um… I— I ju—,”

The lack of words on your end made it even more embarrassing for yourself. Here you were, walking through the park that you passed almost daily, and somehow fate decided to place your absolute favourite musician here, right in front of your very eyes. Though, you weren’t able to get a single word out. They were there, you were sure of it, but the phrases that you choke out, were clogged within your throat — the lack of tenacity not helping.

“May I help you?”

And his voice was as smooth as you had imagined. Deep and velvety, the words ringing through your ears, repeating itself on a constant loop, as your mouth gaped open to stare at him. You felt as if his piercing eyes could see right through you, read your every thought and movement, yet you felt oddly comfortable. Opening your mouth a few times, you took a deep breath to compose yourself and challenged his stare with one of your own.

“Y— You’re Min Yoongi right? The famous pianist?”

You could see his face drop considerably, and you were taken aback by his sudden change of emotion. No longer was the shooting gaze, instead being replaced with the diversion of his eyes. The silence that grew between the two of you had become much too awkward, and you found yourself fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“I— Um… I just wanted to say how much I really love your compositions. You’re actually one of my favourite musicians—,”

“Don’t call me that.”

His tone had changed to one of bubbling anger, the pent-up frustration from years of harsh criticism had all unravelled itself unknowingly.

“I— I’m sorry, I didn—,”

“I’m not a damn musician. I know that, everyone knows that, so I don’t need someone like you telling me something that isn’t true. What? Is it because you want an autograph or something?”

The sudden temper, that had somehow been triggered from your apparently unwise choice of words, had you taking a step back. You had never meant to offend him, and the literal praise that you had sent his way, was meant to make him smile, meant to make him bashfully look away, meant to make him stare at you with glee. So why was he now yelling with such an outrage that you had to move away in order to get him to calm down?

You frowned, eyebrows furrowing from his constant rambles of how he 'wishes he never got into music’ and how much he 'hates the damn piano’. It saddened you immensely to see someone who was so in touch with their creative and musically active side, to throw it all away, all because the criticism got too much.

You would never fully understand Yoongi, an amateur like yourself could never garner the amount of attention he would get whenever he played one of his compositions. So you could only stare at him, guilt and pity brimming along the surface of your lungs, as he slumped onto the bench in defeat.

A part of you wanted to walk away, tear down his posters and throw away the records that you had collected over the years, but you knew that the regret would be too much for you to handle. Instead, you faced him and bowed, apologising for stirring up unnecessary emotions. He looked at you with tired eyes from a slouched position. You couldn’t read him, there was no sense of anger within his eyes, instead, a sheer nothingness had glazed over his eyes, giving off indifference. It seemed as if he was used to giving off this expression to countless people.

☇

The rest of the day turned out to be dreadful. After the awful encounter with Min Yoongi, you were welcomed home with the mess of your house that you had just left because of the frantic morning that you had. Amidst your worries, your luck had blessed with a broken fridge and a mountain of food that had to either be eaten or thrown away. You couldn’t be more frustrated.

You decided to call up one of your close friends to see whether or not he would have liked to join you on your lovely adventures. Dialling his number, you held the phone to your ear and prayed that he would pick up.

“Hello?”

“Oh my god, I was hoping you’d pick up.”

“What’s up? Why do you sound so worried?”

And that was how you ended up with Seokjin on your couch, practically devouring all of the leftover foods that you weren’t able to stomach. Seokjin had been one of your closest friends for the longest time; he was always there in your times of need, offering advice or just ‘blessing you with my presence’, as he liked to call it. The two of you were a funny pair — the complete opposites that somehow managed to fit perfectly like two puzzle pieces.

Seeing how you were moping around, rather than engaging in the random jokes and weird topics that Seokjin and yourself liked to engross yourselves in, he began to interrogate you until you caved.

“Come on Y/N, I know something’s wrong, don’t even try,”

“Nothing! I just had a bad day,”

“I’m not a boyfriend where you can just pretend that everything’s okay and then get mad when they brush it off,”

You laughed at his stupid comment, “Okay, okay. You got me there. I just— I bumped into Min Yoongi—”

“Wait, Min Yoongi? As in the guy in your bedroom and the one you talk about like every single minute of your life like he’s the love of your life or something?”

You sighed, reminiscing over past conversations that you had with Seokjin that featured Min Yoongi.

“Yes Seokjin, that guy. Anyway, I bumped into him, and I told him how great his compositions are and that he’s a great musician and, I don’t know, he was kind of standoff-ish? Like, I wouldn’t call it rude, more so like, confrontational? I don’t know, it was nothing,”

“So what you’re saying is that he basically brushed you off and acted all high and mighty? I swear, if I ever see this guy, I’m going to show hi—”

You flicked Seokjin’s forehead, glaring at him with your piercing stare, as if to warn him in case he did anything stupid.

“No! It was nothing, I only liked him for his music anyway,” but it seemed as if you were trying to convince yourself, rather than convince Seokjin.

The rest of the day was more relaxed; the two of you preoccupied with random games and aimless puns that had you clutching your stomach in laughter. Seokjin always knew how to brighten up a dull atmosphere, and today was no different. He allowed you to forget about the horrid experience you had had with your role model, and had distracted you enough to keep you from dwelling upon the events that had occurred previously.

It was laughable really — you meeting your idol, and it turns out that he’s a dick. A complete opposite to the way his slim fingers would play each note, his mouth parted from concentration, and if you looked close enough, you could see his eyebrows furrowing, as the composition became deeper, more emotional.

The fact that you had invested so much of your time on someone who could easily act as if you didn’t even exist, baffled you. It made you realise how different people could be, and that made you sad— no, disappointed. You weren’t disappointed in Yoongi, there was no way you could have seen his true colours from the endless performances that you had watched over and over again in the confines of your bedroom walls.

No.

You were disappointed in yourself for assuming that you knew him well enough. You were disappointed in yourself because you had romanticised his performances in such a way, that you allowed your eyes to be blinded by the notes that he played. You were disappointed because you had fabricated him to be someone who you thought, not who he actually was.

After Seokjin had left, the silence hit you like a breeze on a cold day. It was unexpected, and took you by surprise, but as you walked into your bedroom, you could feel the chills beginning to rise upon your exposed skin as you looked around, your gaze landing on the numerous posters that littered your beige walls.

You could only smile bitterly at the fond memories that you had made — lying upon your bed, as you streamed performances instead of working on that essay that was due in a week’s time. It was ambivalent; it felt as if you had just broken up with your boyfriend, but you weren’t too sure what you were currently feeling.

Was it regret? Sadness? Anger?

☇

Ever since Yoongi had encountered you, he couldn’t stop thinking about the word that you had used.

‘Musician.’

There was nothing appealing about that word. Min Yoongi was not a musician — not anymore. He could not fathom the word, why people would choose to call him that, despite retiring from the music scene entirely. It wasn’t as if people liked his music anyway. There was too much criticism, and despite putting up a strong front, in the end, it all got to him.

However, he couldn’t help, but feel a little guilty. Guilty because he was too hostile. You were just someone who approached him, a stranger, yet the way he shut you down, as if you were one of them, made him feel bad. It just hit him a little too strongly because it had been such a long time since someone had come up to Yoongi to tell him something positive, to support him, and to tell him that they actually liked and enjoyed the music that he had written himself.

He sighed deeply as he lay atop the ruffled bedsheets that he had no intention of making. Yoongi’s mind was running at full speed, drilling through thoughts that he had no plan of dwelling upon.

As he sat up, his eyes fell on the glazed wood of the grand piano, shining radiantly because of the sun. He would be lying to himself if he said that he hadn’t thought of, once again, performing upon a stage — whether it be five or five hundred people watching. It was a thought he rarely had, and whenever he did, Yoongi would shut it out as quickly as possible; the urges disappearing, as he continued on with his daily life.

The world had gone quiet, the only sounds audible were the occasional chirps of the birds that had nested upon the tree outside his window, and the zooms of car that would drive past. The apartment he stood in was suffocating, and Yoongi felt that if he didn’t get out, he would choke on the poison that were his thoughts.

So that’s what he did. Yoongi threw on his shoes, and decided to escape reality for a while.

At this time of the day, the bar was usually empty, except for the sporadic day drinker that would lurk within the darkness of the venue. Flinging the door open, he was surprised to find a number of people sitting in the booths at the back of the room. As soon as he walked inside, he was greeted with the wafting stench of alcohol, something that he still hadn’t gotten used to.

“Yoongi! It’s been a while since you’ve been here,” the man that stood behind the bar exclaimed. He had blond hair that lay messily atop his forehead and a smile that could brighten this dimly lit room. The man was busy pouring drinks to already-drunk customers rambling and slurring about something that had gone wrong in their life.

“Hey Hoseok. Just needed to get away for a bit,” Yoongi replied, strolling over to one of the free stools before taking a seat, “thinking a lot.”

Hoseok understood. After all, he had been close friends with Yoongi ever since he had begun his music career. Being a prime supporter helped Yoongi stay on track, but even then, it all became too much and he decided to cut ties.

“The usual?”

A nod was all that was needed to get Hoseok working. A concoction of various alcoholic beverages had been mixed and placed in a small shot glass for Yoongi to down, and he did, feeling the satisfactory burn as the liquor passed through his throat, only to sit heavy within his stomach. It had been a while since Yoongi had drank, so after a couple shots, he was already feeling light-headed, and his words had begun to slur, much like those who were sitting close to him.

“A— And she came up to me,” Yoongi pushed back his hair, only to have it fall over his eyes again, “and I b— basically… Basically, I told her something like, what was it again? Oh! It was like, ‘fuck off’ or something.” Hoseok just stood, listening intently as he filled up glasses to his customers’ request.

He could only console Yoongi through his actions, as he was rambling for far too long. The amount of secrets that he had spilled surprised Hoseok, as this was a side of Yoongi that no one had ever saw before. Hoseok pitied him, feeling empathetic for his friend who had dealt with so much for far too long. He thought that Yoongi would be happier now, especially since the comments had long gone away the moment he stepped away from the keys that seemed to haunt him.

However, that was not the case. Yoongi had never been more depressed — living his day-to-day life in absolute misery, hoping for something, or maybe even someone, to come and change that. Yet, Yoongi was notorious for pushing people away and letting them leave his side had never been easier until very recently. He was sad; angry at himself, but found excuses to put the blame on other people.

Whilst in the middle of a sentence, Yoongi halted, quietening down, before breaking into a fit of tears. His head lay upon the countertop, while he sobbed, letting the tears cascade and form into a puddle beneath him.

☇

It had been a few days since your encounter with Yoongi.

A part of you hoped that you would be able to bump into him, to see him once more, and apologise for offending him; for assuming something that you shouldn’t have. Yet, another part of you was glad that you may never have to see Yoongi again. You didn’t want to have to deal with the repercussions of meeting him again, of having to embarrass yourself once more, just to make sure that he didn’t think of you with such a negative stigma.

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for a mere second, before throwing your head back in frustration. You needed to apologise, the guilt slowly eating away at you, even though you knew that you had done nothing wrong. Quickly throwing on your sneakers, you made your way out, praying that fate would be able to lead you to him.

You roamed through the same park where you had first found him. As you passed by the bench, the feeling of defeat was beginning to crawl its way into your mind, but you pushed it aside and carried on, thinking long and hard about where you might be able to find him. Searching near and far, you were just about to give up when you saw a very familiar figure stumbling out of a bar up ahead.

Your mind was blank for a few seconds, but upon realisation, your legs began to pick up their pace and without thinking, you started to run towards him. There was something that had compelled you to stop him before he left; before he disappeared back into the darkness, never to be heard from again. The thought scared you, so you were not going to let him go again, not before you apologised, that is.

“Y— Yoongi?” His name had been caught up in your throat, and you made a pathetic attempt to speak to him, you voice coming out wavering and full of nervousness.

“You again?” he was slurring, and it made you uncomfortable, “What do you w— want?”

You took in a breath, but just as you were about to speak, you could see Yoongi on the verge of stumbling upon the car-ridden street — an accident waiting to happen. Instinctively, you caught him before he could fall, but the look of offense and disgust made you quickly retract your arms, clearing your throat, as you remembered the reason as to why you were here.

“I— Um… I just wanted to apologise for the other day, you know. Offending you and all. I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to thank you for your music and how it changed my life and everything—,” you were beginning to ramble, something you did a lot whenever you were feeling burdened. You had to consciously stop yourself, but as your eyes fell upon Yoongi, you couldn’t help the sense of hopelessness that had surrounded his figure.

You pitied Yoongi. For too long had he hidden between the shadows, hiding wads of regrets and anger towards himself. He had secluded himself, letting himself become unknown to the horrid world that he was living in. There was so much sadness, so much anguish hidden between the specks of chocolate within his eyes. You could see — could feel the aura of bleakness and hatred he had for himself, and you pitied him. You wished you could take some of it away.

“I’m sorry too.”

The words took you by surprise. You were not expecting any sort of response, let alone an apology. Looking up, you noticed that his eyes were glued to the concrete that lay beneath the both of you.

“I’m sorry for being a complete fuck-up. You just wanted to say thank you and there I was, shutting you down because I was scared. I was scared that the comments would come back. I just wanted to run away from it all, and I thought that by losing everyone who I cared for, and everyone who cared for me, it would fix everything. But I was wrong. I just— Fuck, I was so damn wrong.”

The tears, that Yoongi had tried so hard to keep in, fell immediately, marking the grey concrete below. He couldn’t look up; much too embarrassed to face the stranger that he had wronged. So he kept his eyes on the ground, and tried to blink away the tears, but to no avail.

You didn’t even notice that your eyes had started to well up. It was as if you could almost touch the sincerity that he was pouring out of the depths of his hidden heart. With hesitation, you reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder. He didn’t back away or flinch, instead, welcoming your arm, and the radiating comfort that you expelled.

After a few minutes, the crying stopped and Yoongi quickly wiped away the last of the droplets that seemed to be caught within his eyelashes. He smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and you could only stare at him with such a pain etched into your eyes. You were in such a pain because of the way he smiled, the way he was able to change his expression, as if he was so used to it.

Yoongi turned on his heel, albeit a little carelessly, and was about to walk away, when you spoke up.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “for everything.”

☇

The next couple of weeks had you brooding. You had replayed the second encounter with Yoongi, vividly remembering the exact words that he had relayed to you, and the evident heartbreak in his tone of voice. You hadn’t been able to focus properly, instead, your thoughts were overwhelmed with such disarray that you had found yourself to be completely distracted from all aspects of your life.

You weren’t too sure why it had affected you so much. Yoongi didn’t even know your name; you were a complete stranger to him, so why did you feel obligated to help him? You were a mere fan, but you had never felt more connected to him.

You knew you were going to regret your decision, but you were so determined that you didn’t even pay any attention to the part of you that was against your idea. So you made your way back to the park bench — to the first time you had ever met Min Yoongi.

The streets were quiet, a sharp contrast to the usually loud roads filled with zooming cars and loud chatter. Instead, the wind blew through you, sending chills down your spine, as you strolled to the exact location that you had avoided all of this time.

The sun was still high, hidden by a sheet of clouds that covered the hues of blue, instead painting it with strokes of grey, a murky comparison. As soon as the park was in your sight, a feeling of hope had enlightened your senses. You found yourself to be walking faster and faster, until the bench came into sight, and your entire body slouched in defeat. The sense of hope that had been running through your veins had halted; escaping your body entirely, as you approached the bench with such sadness.

Sitting upon the wooden planks, you placed your hands in your lap, fidgeting and playing with your fingers. As soon as you saw the empty bench, your heart dropped and you had just wanted to turn around and walk back home, but you had convinced yourself to stay, just in case Yoongi would walk by.

It was a sliver of a small chance, but you were willing to take it. You were willing to wait here every single day, just to be able to see Yoongi genuinely smile and now dwell upon the negativity that he had been placed right in the middle of.

After hearing his confessions, you had just wanted to ensure that Yoongi was feeling okay, and that he was able to pick himself back up, especially after looking so rough when he had come out of the bar. You were concerned, even though you were in no place to be. Still conflicted, you looked around, but there was no sight of him. Giving up, you stood and stretched your legs before making it back home. You were determined to see him once more.

☇

The next few days had you going back to the same bench, only to be met with the company of the dancing tree that stood grand behind you.

Yoongi had noticed you from his apartment window; the view clear of any obstacles. He felt guilty upon seeing your form sitting upon the bench, but Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to come down. There was something that kept him from facing you again. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the sudden spillage of emotion that he had shown to you, or if it was because he was just too embarrassed to see you. After all, he didn’t even know your name.

Drawing the curtains back, Yoongi sat upon the cushion; his head in his hands as he thought about what he could possibly do. He didn’t want to get too close, didn’t want to hurt your feelings, didn’t want you to continue whatever it was you were currently doing. Yoongi just wanted to be alone, to live his life in the shadows instead of having someone by his side.

It was better off that way.

And so, Yoongi would stare at your seated form, your fleeting eyes, and your still hands that would sit quietly upon your lap, wondering if keeping away and letting you forget about him was the best idea. Yet, he didn’t notice the fiery determination that had begun flickering within your eyes. There was no way you were going to give up, not after seeing Yoongi so helpless. Instead of the burning passion you had come so used to seeing, you were met with despair, forlorn and powerlessness.

You knew he knew.

You knew that he was able to see you, and that he could come down at any moment that he pleased. You knew that he was waiting for you to leave, but you weren’t going to give up. Not today, not any other day. Yoongi had another thing coming.

After sitting upon the wooden planks for what felt like centuries, you recalled the past encounter that you had had with Yoongi at the bar. That area of your city was somewhere that you weren’t necessarily familiar with, but had travelled to on specific occasions. The walk was moderate, allowing you enough time to familiarise yourself with the current surroundings that stood before you. It also gave you enough time to plan your course of action if you were indeed to “stumble upon” Yoongi once more.

Having walked for what seemed like kilometres, you finally reached the section of the city that you had found Yoongi in. Unconsciously, your steps had begun to quicken in pace and your heart was beating an unusual, frantic speed. You stopped right in front of the bar that Yoongi had collapsed out of; your breath jagged from the hurried momentum that you had undertaken. Calm, yet nervous, you composed yourself before walking inside, only to be hit with the strong odour of cigarettes and alcohol.

Ignoring the way your nostrils burned, you looked around — eyeing each individual that either stood near or sat upon a booth within the small room. You must’ve looked extremely lost because before you know it, you’re sitting upon one of the stools and having a relaxed conversation with the bartender, whom you had no idea knew Yoongi.

“You alright there, Miss? Looking a little bit lost, if I say so myself,”

You could only smile and nod politely, continuously looking around and clenching your fists in anticipation.

“My name’s Hoseok. I own this bar, and from the looks of it, you seem to be looking or waiting for someone. Got a name or anything? I know all the regulars that frequent this beauty!” Hoseok opened his arms wide, swirling, as if to bask in the building’s beauty. It made your heart swell because of his passion and genuine happiness that he seemed to experience.

You bit the bottom on your lip, wondering whether telling this stranger the name of a man you were so desperate to locate. At this point, you would appreciate any help given by any person, so you shrugged your shoulders, ‘why the hell not?’

“Y— Yeah actually. Yoongi, Min Yoongi? He’s just someone I know,”

Hoseok’s eyes seemed to widen at the mention of his name, and you quirked a brow, “You know him? I mean of course you do, he’s a pretty famous musician and all. Anyway, I’ve been looking for him for a few days now, and I saw him stumble out of this bar and—,” you took in a breath before continuing, “I was just wondering if you knew where he was or could give me an address or something that’ll help me find him. He just— he seems so lost, and I want to help him.”

Your sharp stare of pure persistence had Hoseok smiling. It had been such a long time since someone had asked about, or even cared to mention Yoongi. Yoongi had become a no-one; irrelevant and frequently choosing to shield himself within the shadows of society. All the attention that he had once garnered, dissipated within time, and soon, he was one of us. Someone that ordinary people could not care less about.

He didn’t mind, hell— he could not be happier about it. A chance to bury his fame, a chance to live as someone that walked through the streets without having comments being thrown at him. It was a new life, and he was ready to live it to the fullest.

However, the life that he had expected had hit him from another direction. Yoongi was not prepared for the countless obstacles that he had had to encounter, the brutal comments murmured behind whispered lips and preying eyes, the quick zip-up of his hoodie and endless fidgeting of the cap that sat upon his head far more than he would have liked. Breathless chuckles left his pursed lips often, and his eyes did not glint with happiness, instead, with indifference.

It had been a while since Yoongi was as shaken up as he was after meeting you. The effect that you had had upon him, even after the two, not-so, pleasant encounters. Yet, the pure aura that surrounded was like a breath a fresh air; something that Yoongi so desperately needed. It wasn’t sexual desires, no— all Yoongi wanted was someone to confide in, someone who could help him rekindle his passion and love for music — and for some reason, Yoongi had felt as if that someone was you.

After numerous shocking and quite embarrassing stories of Yoongi (that almost made you choke on your drink a few times), you had decided that it had become late enough to leave. Still, there was no sign of Yoongi, and you couldn’t help the speck of disappointment that had taken over your mind. Obviously, you were not someone of importance to him; you were a stranger. Yoongi certainly had no obligation to come and you were in no place to demand for his presence.

Thanking Hoseok, you pushed open the bar door to be greeted with the crisp wind that flew through the thin fabric of your shirt that you had, regretfully, thrown on. Rubbing your arms to try and produce some sort of heat, your eyes wandered to the beautifully painted sky; thick clouds that conquered the sky, oranges and pinks peeking through, as if it were sunlight penetrating the canopy of leaves in a forest.

You took a few steps, your attention directed upon the irregular shapes of the clouds and the various colours that you could point out, that you couldn’t see a figure walking towards you. Upon impact, you immediately apologised, only to be greeted with a hand on your shoulder.

“Your name?”