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let-them-read-fics · 2 years

Text

Left Behind

Pairing: Jiu x Fem!Reader (and platonic relationships with the other members)

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Fluff

Word Count: ~ 7,890

Requested By: @3and30aresoultwins

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey guys! This was a bit rushed and I’m not entirely in love with it, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. Feel free to leave DC requests in my inbox / messages! :)

💖 Happy Reading 🌹

◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚

Life can change in the blink of an eye. Plans you make for the future that you envision can crumble with no warning, leaving you to pick up the pieces and find yourself all over again.

Dreams can go down the drain just as easily as the blood, sweat, and tears it took to make them possible in the first place. Luck can run out.

All of those things can happen, and you knew that. You just never expected them to happen to you.

–

It was a late November day in 2016 when the world as you knew it changed forever.

Happyface Entertainment had requested that you come in separate from the other members to discuss an important matter. Vividly, you remember how vague they were over the phone; they refused to elaborate on what the meeting would be about. Their voices were soft, holding a carefulness in their tone that you didn’t fully understand until later.

It was regret – because they knew what you didn’t. They knew that your impending removal from the group loomed overhead, waiting like a cobra to strike once you arrived.

And strike, it did. Sitting in the meeting room – which was far too bright and far too suffocating – you grappled with the fate you’d just received. Your heart felt heavy, and your head hurt as it all sunk in.

MINX would be rebranding as ‘Dreamcatcher’ and adding two new members, but you wouldn’t be joining them. You hadn’t made the cut.

Just like that, it was over. Years of your life as a trainee, down the drain. So much pain and hard work, all for nothing. So many sacrifices. So many late nights. They hadn’t gone into detail about why you were turned down specifically, and that was probably a good thing, all things considered. It would’ve just been salt in the wound.

An offer was made for you to stay at the company and potentially continue as a soloist, but you declined it. It was a proposition made from pity at best, and you knew it. How could you have accepted? If they had such little faith in your abilities as a member of a group, you couldn’t imagine it would’ve been magically restored for your solo activities. You refused to become a half-hearted money grab that they could fall back on whenever they needed to; it wasn’t fair to you. With the rebranding set in motion, attention and focus would’ve been placed entirely on the girls; you’d have been made to wait in the meantime with no real end in sight, and it was unlikely you’d ever receive a similar level of support.

You’d have become the company’s has-been. Its resident outcast.

And the prospect of joining another company – if you were even lucky enough for that – was just as daunting. After training and growing up with the girls in such a way for so many years of your life, you couldn’t imagine going solo or joining another group.

That wasn’t something you wanted. And, of course, given the blow that the company’s decision had dealt to your confidence, you felt incapable. You were too overwhelmed to be there any longer with all of their eyes on you, judging in one way or another.

So while you still had enough composure over yourself, you bid farewell to them and left, leaving behind a part of yourself in the process.

The real challenge came, though, when you had to say goodbye to the girls. They all handled the news differently, in their own ways, but it wasn’t something they could process easily at all.

Sua was prepared to leave the dorm and have an angry word with the higher ups, but you stopped her before she could. It wouldn’t have done any good; if anything, it could’ve put her in jeopardy, too, and that was the last thing you wanted.

Siyeon went quiet as the idea of moving on without you sunk in. How could she part ways with someone she’d grown so close to? You were supposed to live out your dreams together. It wasn’t fair.

The normal spark in Yoohyeon’s eyes dimmed, and she retreated into herself. Her bubbliness dissipated in an instant, replaced by more sadness than she knew what to do with. She was the first to begin crying, and she sought the comfort of your arms when it became too much for her to handle alone.

Dami, ever the reasonable one, was determined to phone the higher ups and talk some sense into them. She was convinced that if the other members all banded together and expressed their disapproval in a logical way, they would have no choice but to give you a chance, at the very least. But you stopped her for the same reason that you had stopped Sua. They had made themselves clear at the meeting, and you knew in your heart that their minds were made up.

You didn’t notice the tears in Dami’s eyes until you took her phone out of her hand and put it on the table beside her. When you brought her into your arms for a hug, they fell onto your shirt, warm and full of sadness. She hated feeling helpless more than anything else in the world, and knowing there was nothing left to do broke her heart.

Watching it all unfold was Jiu. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it; it felt like she was having a nightmare. How could they have turned you away like that? You were just as good at your job as any of them, and you were one of the most dedicated people she’d ever known. The fans loved you. Your talent showed without you even trying; it made no sense that they would let you go so easily.

She tried to stop her tears from falling, but when you finally looked up at her, surrounded by the other members, she couldn’t hold back anymore.

You had been her rock ever since she met you – her safe place. She could express her worries and concerns freely with you, despite her position as leader. Hell, you were just as much of a leader to the girls as she was. Your consistency and energy held everything together, and the members depended on you, always. She depended on you more than words could explain; you were the first and last thing on her mind most days. You kept her level headed when she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders, and you never let her lose sight of her goals.

Losing the backbone of the group seemed unfathomable in every way. Never in a million years would she have expected it to happen.

But beyond that, Jiu felt like she was losing two people. Y/N – the member of her group – and Y/N – the woman she had harbored secret feelings for for as long as she could remember. She had planned to confess soon, but the opportunity for that was stripped away from her by this news of your departure. Her heart broke as she realized that you wouldn’t be in the dorm anymore; all those early morning and late night conversations and hang outs wouldn’t happen anymore. She wouldn’t be able to just walk to your room when she missed you, or hit you up with spontaneous plans whenever she felt like it. You’d be miles away and busy building whatever life you chose in the wake of this.

And the new members? They could never replace you. Not in a million years.

But she made a vow to never take her resentment for the situation out on them, because at the end of the day they were just striving to achieve their dreams as well. And besides, she knew you wouldn't have wanted her to be angry at them. Though, even still, she knew she'd always think of you when seeing them. A disappointment – a longing – would always remain in her heart, lamenting over what could've been.

Because, at the end of the day, things would never be the same again. No matter how much you tried to stay in contact, conflicting schedules and prior engagements would eventually get in the way. Frequent calls and check ins would fade, becoming few and far between. Communication would be more difficult, given the distance. Nothing would compare to having you by her side in all the ways she had for the past few years.

It all hit her at once, like an icy slap to the face. She tried to stay strong for everyone, but it was one of the hardest pills that she’d ever had to swallow.

When you called her over and wrapped your arms around her, it took every bit of courage she had to keep from breaking down. As you wiped her tears and held her close, she tried to commit the feeling of it all to memory. She wanted to store it somehow, so that her body could never forget it. Her nails dug into the material of your shirt with purpose, and you simply hugged her harder at the feeling.

You had no idea that she was in love with you. You were oblivious to it in the most heartbreaking kind of way. But she knew it was too late to tell you now. Putting that on you in the midst of everything else didn’t feel right, no matter how much she wanted to shout it from the rooftops. She wanted to find a way to justify it, selfishly, so that she didn’t have to deal with the reality of it alone. She wondered if maybe, if things were different, you would’ve felt the same.

It killed her, knowing that she couldn’t have you. Knowing that you were slipping right through her fingers and she was powerless to stop it. She’d have to pretend to be unfazed from now on, but she knew anytime she’d enter the dorm or company building you’d be the first thing on her mind.

Her eyes would automatically go to the spot you would’ve been in. Choreographies now arranged for seven would always feel a little foreign, in the back of her mind. All the little things were already piling up, and she didn’t think that time was capable of easing the strain they placed on her heart. When it came to someone like you, so interwoven into her daily life and routines, she couldn’t fathom even spending a full week apart.

But the kiss that you pressed to her cheek reminded her that you were still there for the moment. The brush of your soft skin against hers as she nuzzled her head into the crook of your neck brought her peace and calmed her down.

For now, she could still reach out and touch you. She could call you whenever she wanted to. Whip up a snack for you and show her affection in all the many ways that she loved to. For now.

The company had informed you that they would only give you until the start of the next week to pack your things and find a new living situation before you were officially removed.

It was all so fast. Too fast, for any of them to properly handle. You all knew it would be one of those things that you never fully got over. Just one of life’s cruelties.

But for the last few days that you had left together, the girls promised to remain at your side. Between packing and bouts of crying, you’d do your favorite activities together. Movies and ice cream would be used to cope, with your sobs excused by whatever sad displays were playing out on the TV. You could go out on the town, order in, sing karaoke in the early hours of the morning, relax quietly – anything. They were determined to make them some of the most special days that you’d ever known.

After all, you deserved nothing less. Their shining star: Y/N.

—------------

Time Jump

For a while, things were relatively fine in the aftermath. You settled into the routine of your new life, living on the outskirts of Seoul and working at a quaint coffee shop that had happened to be hiring. The owners graciously allowed you to live in the small apartment above the café, and they treated you well.

The girls each found time to spend with you, whether it be to shop, relax somewhere together, or just catch a meal at one of your favorite restaurants. They called and texted often, always making sure that you were doing well and taking care of yourself. They never failed to mention how much they missed you and how boring things were without you.

On exceptionally beautiful Spring and Summer days, Jiu would do her best to have a floral arrangement sent to you. Her favorite flowers were paired with the ones you loved most, and a big bow usually held them all together. Sometimes, a short handwritten note even accompanied them.

If you were craving a specific food and mentioned it online somewhere, every now and then someone (who you later found out was Sua) would have a fresh batch of it delivered to your doorstep. It didn’t happen very often, but when it did you felt so cared for.

Siyeon made sure to include you in Dreamcatcher activities, whether it be by using your representative emoji / animal in posts or doing a certain hand sign that you had more or less claimed as your own during your time with them. It was subtle, but it meant the world to you.

Yoohyeon sent you letters and pictures from time to time. Following a short vacation to Jeju that the girls went on together, she sent you a handwritten letter and some polaroids that they took with you in mind.

In a solo project that Dami did, she added some subtle call outs to your situation and how unfair it was. Clearly, she was still as upset about the situation as before, and she missed how things used to be.

They all even posted special messages on their Instagram accounts whenever your birthday rolled around, ensuring that you felt included.

But, as all good things do, their efforts started to fade after a while. Their schedules picked up during comeback season; events were held that kept them tethered to either their practice rooms, beds, or the stage; and other avenues of life got in the way.

They faced more backlash than before, too, on the rare occasions that they were seen out with you. Some fans were still supportive and glad to see you, but others expressed their wishes for you to get a life and accept that you weren’t a part of the group anymore. Their comments and heckling were hurtful, adding salt to your still-sensitive wound; but you knew it upset the girls on top of that, and arguably, that hurt you more than anything the haters could’ve ever said.

By then, you’d grown used to the harsh comments about yourself. But the girls never did; anytime they read or heard them, their once-happy smiles would always fade, and the shine in their eyes would dim as they looked at you. So many emotions were present, yet they remained unspoken. A million things, all too big and complicated for words.

You knew then that your time with them was dwindling. Every visit seemed to be a little shorter, or interruptions from the company would spring up. Juggling everything was weighing on them, and you could see it clear as day.

So you decided then that you would distance yourself. For the sake of everyone, you let your connections slip away, just enough. You’d learned over the months that fading away gradually and quietly hurt the least and was the most effective, and so you chose that path.

For the most part, it worked. Other than on major holidays or birthdays, they were too busy to stop you or change things. Their texts came in less frequently, and video calls were few and far between.

Although it pained you, you learned to live without them.

It was more difficult than you expected, especially in the beginning; you’d underestimated just how much they’d impacted even the smallest parts of your life. When good news came or you wanted to share something you’d learned, it was always your first instinct to pick up the phone and dial up their numbers. Sometimes you found yourself looking through old pictures and reminiscing on the memories that were tied to them.

But you had to let go of that. Those habits that you picked up after years of being around them didn’t serve you anymore, and you had to break them.

When it rained, you no longer allowed yourself to remember the way that Yoohyeon would cling to you under your umbrella after realizing she had misplaced hers.

When the rich scents of the nearby forest flitted their way over towards the coffee shop, you didn’t let your mind wander onto what Siyeon was up to.

The warmth of the Sun didn’t remind you of Jiu’s smile.

Loud laughter from patrons didn’t conjure up an image of Sua anymore.

And quiet Fall afternoons passed by the turning pages of whatever book you were reading didn’t make you think of Dami’s quiet charm.

You didn’t allow the little moments to take you back, because you knew you’d never want to leave that state of mind if they did. It was undoubtedly one of the hardest challenges you ever faced, but you did it nonetheless.

—------

Two Years Later

It all started in time with the changing of the seasons. You were certain of it.

As the anniversary of MINX’s disbandment neared, a heavy feeling came to visit you again, like an unwelcome guest.

The warmth faded. What few leaves were left on the trees made their final leap to the solid ground below, joining the swaths of others there to wither away. The skies were cloudy a lot of the time, basking the new season in an eerie haze. It wasn’t satisfactory at all – nothing like what that time of year is usually like, and nothing like what people look forward to. The approaching holiday season was off to a lackluster start by all accounts.

But you did your best to persevere.

Your job kept you busy most of the time, and you were grateful for that. Had it not, you would’ve spent the hours stuck on the past and wondering what you would’ve been up to at a time like this. Fansigns? Behind the scenes for a new music video? Song writing?

Any lull in the flow of customers allowed you to think, and you didn’t want that. Having no thoughts seemed better than having too many, after all.

But on one fateful afternoon, something unexpected happened. Destiny intervened – interrupting the monotonous flow that your life had taken on – and enabled the universe to work its magic.

In Your Apartment

You had just sat down to eat a nice late lunch that you had prepared. The café owners had left town to visit some relatives for the evening, and so they gave you the rest of the day off.

The television in front of you came to life as you pressed the buttons of the remote, and a garbled stream of changing colors and graphics washed across the room as you flipped through the available channels in search of something worthwhile to watch.

You eventually found something halfway decent and began eating.

It was a simple sandwich that you had purchased from the store, paired with a salad. Nothing fancy, but it was still tasty.

No more than five bites in, your phone began to ring on the coffee table in front of you. You sighed and reached out for it, ready to flip it over and see if it was someone you could ignore or not.

Once you saw who it was, though, you froze.

A smiling picture of Jiu lit up its screen, bright and achingly beautiful. It had been so long since she’d called that you almost forgot how to act.

Should you even answer?

“Hello?” You asked, attempting to hide the nervous lilt in your voice.

“Ah, Y/N,” she greeted, a smile evident in the words, “...hi.”

You sat your fork down, curious as to why she was calling you so out of the blue.

“I was wondering if you’d like to hang out with the girls and I after our performance today. We’ve missed you a lot and we want to catch up,” she explained, as if she read your mind. She was straight to the point, and you both loved and hated that.

Part of you wanted her to trade the usual niceties that come when you haven’t talked to someone in a long time, but deep down you knew that reverting to small talk with her wouldn’t have felt quite right either.

“I–”

“But it’s totally okay if you don’t want to!” She interrupted in a rush, pushing the words out like her life depended on it.

Her panic was endearing; it almost sounded like a teenager asking out their crush, if you thought about it.

You chuckled lightly, oblivious to the way it made her heart speed up. “I was going to say that I’d love to, Jiu. What time?”

This could be a huge mistake, but she had a way of working past your defenses in an instant, even after all this time.

Her sigh of relief was audible, though you were sure she didn’t intend for it to be. It just made you smile even more.

“We should be finished up here at Show Champion around seven, so how about eight? That’ll give us time to go to the dorm and freshen up first.”

Your smile faltered at her mention of the dorm. “Sounds good,” you agreed. “Where should I meet you?”

She pulled the phone away from her ear and called for the girls, quickly asking for suggestions. A bittersweet smile graced your lips at the image of them in your mind, all thinking hard and throwing out ideas while gathered around her. It brought back so many memories.

Sua shouted her choice so loudly that even you heard it crystal clear. The rest of them took a few seconds to agree, and then Jiu put the phone back to her ear.

“How about our favorite restaurant near the dorm? The one we would always go to at this time of year.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I can’t wait. See you soon.”

You finished your meal and showered before spending nearly a lifetime picking out what you wanted to wear. You didn’t have many fancy clothes to choose from, especially on such short notice, but you managed to put together a nice outfit that was still casual enough for a night out.

You wanted to do something special – to surprise the girls somehow – just as a way of thanking them for all they’d done. Seeing them would undoubtedly bring back a lot of feelings and memories, but you couldn’t say that you weren’t looking forward to it. You couldn’t remember the last time they’d been free enough to call you up and invite you out, or even when your own schedule had allowed you to be the one to initiate things. So, this once, you felt like indulging a little. Distancing could begin again later.

Spending some time with them would surely do you some good in the meantime, anyway. At least that’s what you told yourself.

With a glance at the clock, you discovered that you still had plenty of time to throw together a quick little surprise for them. The plan came together in your mind on the fly, and everything seemed completely doable.

You just crossed your fingers and hoped for the best as you left your apartment and locked the shop up. You really wanted this gesture to make them happy.

—

The Four Leaf Clover

Your shoes made soft crunching noises as they treaded over the sidewalk, even and rhythmic with your stride. For once, you didn’t mind the chill that washed over your body when the wind blew; it was refreshing. Your mind was too busy wondering what the night would hold to feel upset about anything, really, and you cherished that. You couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

The familiar corner shop – your destination – came into view a couple of minutes later, comfortably lit and cozy looking. An old man – one of its owners – sat outside of it on a wooden chair, completing a puzzle. He greeted you with a warm smile and seated bow, and you reciprocated before heading inside.

A small bell above the door announced your entrance.

“Welcome,” a feminine voice chimed, slightly worn with age.

“Hi, Mrs. Park,” you smiled, approaching the counter.

“My, my. It’s been too long, Y/N. How have you been?”

You took a breath.

“Fine; I can’t complain. And you?”

“Still kicking, sweetie. That’s all I can ask for.” She chuckled to herself.

You nodded, regarding her. She still looked the same as you remembered. The years hadn’t even given her another wrinkle yet.

“So,” she started, “What can I get for you?”

“I’d like a custom arrangement: just seven pretty flowers with a nice bow.”

She hummed at the simple request. “And what kind of flowers will you be needing?”

“Oh, I um…” Somehow you hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’m not sure, actually.”

“Don’t worry,” she mitigated. “I can pick them out for you. Who are they for? And what’s the occasion?”

Your shoulders relaxed a little, put at ease.

“For some friends,” you explained. “We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

As you pictured all seven of them, Jiu stood out in your mind, like usual. The owner eyed you, studying the unconscious smile on your lips.

“Friends, huh?” She teased.

You opened your mouth to respond, but she didn’t let you.

“I’ll have it ready in a jiffy. Hang tight, sweetheart.” She turned and pushed her way past the swinging doors that led to the back, shuffling off to put together your arrangement.

You took the next few minutes to leisurely stroll around the small shop and admire all the creations it had to offer. Handmade crafts, knick knacks, and fresh bouquets were displayed beautifully. Small hand written signs indicated their prices, hanging near them or leaning on their stands. The marker lines on them were a little shaky, showing that whoever wrote them had done so with a trembling hand.

The little details like that, seemingly so insignificant, showcased just how much effort the two of them put into the store.

They’d been running it ever since you could remember. Having grown up nearby and attended your training at the company, you were never very far from it. When you moved into the dorm with the girls, it only brought you closer. The place almost always stayed busy, being frequented by families and supporters alike at all times of the year.

Specials were given during exam season, because the Parks were aware of the stress that families were already under. They still wanted the students’ efforts to be celebrated.

Those in mourning were given discounts on funeral arrangements to lessen their burdens.

Holiday events were hosted towards the end of the year, giving people the chance to come in and learn to properly decorate their own arrangements. Refreshments were provided, and they never failed to bring out the festive joy that that time of year is known for. Classes were taught by Mrs. Park, with her husband handing out supplies and ensuring everyone was well taken care of.

Even when one of them was ill, the store stayed open. They made a promise to each other to keep their doors open for as long as possible, and they stayed true to that.

That kind of consistency is beyond rare.

You can only imagine how many days they saved by simply being open. Birthdays, funerals, anniversaries, parties, house warmings… you name it, they’ve saved it.

It made you smile to yourself in a grateful kind of way, as your fingertips traced along the side of an antique clock on the counter. This tiny store, so unassuming and quaint, housed so many memories for so many people.

What a beautiful thing it was.

—

“Seven orange alstroemerias,” Mrs. Park called, signaling that she was finished.

You padded your way back over to her and found her zhuzhing up a beautiful array of them. They were vibrant and open wide, flaunting their colors.

“They symbolize devotion and friendship,” she informed.

“They’re perfect. Thank you so much.”

Your fingertips skated over the silky material of the bow she had wrapped around them. It was prettier than you ever could’ve imagined.

She smiled deeply. “No problem, sweetheart.”

“How much do I owe you?” You inquired, reaching into your pocket for your cash.

“Twelve dollars.”

When you handed her the total amount, she took it into her small hands and pressed some buttons on the register to enter it in.

You peered down into the bouquet as you slid it closer to yourself, and a flash of red amongst the sea of orange caught your eye, nestled a little further down than all the others. Its petals were far different, too.

“Oh, ma’am,” you said, catching her attention before she could hand your change back. “You put an extra flower in here. A rose.”

“Oh, did I?” She tutted, but her response gave you the feeling that it wasn’t such an accident after all. “Go ahead and keep it, then. Free of charge,” she waved her hand into the air. “I’m sure you can find someone to give it to.”

She absolutely did that on purpose. The tell-tale smile on her lips as she handed you your change sold her out on the spot.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome, honey. Have a good evening.”

You smiled just the same as her, finally on the same wavelength. “You, too.”

—-----

Show Champion

The flowers rested in the crook of your elbow as you sent a quick text on your phone, letting your friend know that you were outside the building. The wind blew rather harshly as you waited for a reply; it rippled over your long overcoat and nipped at your cheeks, stinging your skin.

Go-eun, the woman you were waiting on, had worked here ever since you were still a part of MINX. It was here that you first met her, all that time ago, and an easy-going friendship had blossomed almost immediately. Despite everything that had happened over the past few years, she had remained your friend and stayed in touch through it all. You were beyond glad to have her.

Before long, an outside door creaked open and her smiling face emerged. She had on a headset that connected her to the action that was happening inside.

Her hand raised to it and she pressed a button as she motioned you inside. You stepped through the threshold and shook the cold off.

“I owe you one.”

Her head swayed lightly and she waved a dismissing hand. “Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, Go-eun. Really.”

Her smile simply deepened in response, and she sent you a thumbs up for encouragement. You had explained your plan over the phone on your way to the performance hall, and she herself was excited to see it unfold.

“Go get ‘em.”

You parted ways and headed down the side hallway towards the waiting rooms for the artists. The layout was still somewhat familiar from your time as an idol, but they had clearly rearranged some things in your absence. Your hands gripped the flowers a little harder, ringing their stems unconsciously.

After some walking, you rounded one final corner and were greeted by a sight that made your breath hitch tightly in your throat.

Jiu’s laughter filled the hall as she exited a room, leading all the other girls out. They were joking about something that Sua had said, and they lightly jostled each other around. Gahyeon and Handong, the two new members, looked radiant in the dark outfits that their stylists had prepared. They fit into the group seamlessly, filling your shoes in some ways that you never could’ve.

From what you had seen of them during your occasional bouts of watching Dreamcatcher’s content, it was easy to see how much they shined. They deserved every good thing in the world; they worked hard to achieve their dreams, just the same as the rest of you. They were talented; you could see why they were chosen for a task as daunting as a rebranding.

No hard feelings existed between you, but your heart undeniably ached at the sight of them all together. Yet again, you were stuck on the outside looking in.

From idol to fan, just like that. The beheld to the admirer. It still got to you.

“Y/N?”

Yoohyeon was the first to notice you. Her voice was small and full of cautious hope. She didn’t want to blink and find out that she was imagining things.

“Hi, Yooh. Miss me?” You smiled sadly, tilting your head.

Her lip quivered in response. She always was the most emotional out of all of them.

Despite the loudness of the stage further away in the building, the hallway had fallen almost completely silent. It rang in your ears. The drop of a pen could be heard.

The rest of them turned in your direction at the sound of your voice. Jiu locked eyes with you; her brows knitted together pitifully, like she wanted to cry, too.

“What’re you doing here?” Incredulity shimmered in her tone.

The others perked up behind her, regarding you in quiet astonishment. They never expected you to be here.

Down the hall, near where Go-eun was peeking out at the crowd through a curtain, a security officer pressed the button of his walkie-talkie and spoke an order into it. He was keeping watch, making sure things ran smoothly.

You smiled to yourself and reached into the bouquet to retrieve the rose. Once it was freed, you outstretched it to Jiu. Her fingertips brushed against its petals as she glanced at the others. She realized then that hers was the only rose.

You were able to watch that fact dawn on her, filling her with hope.

Could this mean that you…

“I wanted to surprise you all and show my support,” you explained. “I hope you–”

It all happened in a flash.

“Stop right there!” A booming voice shouted suddenly. Quick-moving footsteps, heavy and dull as they resounded against the floor, accompanied it.

Just as Sua stepped forward to see what the commotion was, two men approached either side of you and roughly grabbed you by the arms.

None of you had thought that their warning was aimed at you.

The flowers all fell to the ground, getting stomped on by their careless feet.

“Hey!” Dami exclaimed in response.

You struggled against them, tugging on your arms in an attempt to be freed. Despite the attempts you made to explain who you were, they didn’t listen.

“We’re sorry, ladies.” They addressed the girls, “She must’ve managed to sneak her way back here from the crowd.”

Your heart sank. They thought you were just another fan.

Jiu stepped forward, extending a hand to you.

Siyeon spoke up, “But she’s–”

They smugly shook their heads, and one of them raised a hand to stop her. “Don’t worry, we’ll get her out of your hair.”

Sua looked at them like they were insane. As they turned on their heels and harshly pulled you along, she marched behind them and grabbed the sleeve of one of their uniforms.

“Yah, saekki, she’s not just a fan!” She shouted.

They turned around, looking embarrassed and caught off guard by her use of language. “What?”

“She’s our friend. Now let her go.”

If looks could kill, those two men would’ve dropped dead on the spot. They released you in an instant and apologized, quickly bowing multiple times to everyone to show their so-called respect. They rushed away, returning to their posts immediately after.

In their wake, the hallway returned to silence. Blaring, awful silence.

Although the encounter was over fairly quickly and was now resolved, the damage had been done.

Yoohyeon approached you and tried to fix your mussed clothes, but you caught her hands before she could. You held them in your own, looking past her at the mangled bouquet on the ground, completely ruined. Aside from being pissed off, the girls all looked distressed and sad. Gahyeon and Handong averted their gazes, feeling ashamed. Jiu was almost teary eyed; Sua was shaking her head in anger; Siyeon went quiet; and Dami had her jaw set with a look of contempt on her face. Staggered curses fell from their lips.

In a matter of just a couple minutes, their happiness had soured and turned into this. What could’ve been a wonderful moment was now marred by your presence and the chaos that you brought along.

You never should have come here.

“I-I’m sorry, everyone.”

You dropped Yoohyeon’s hands and turned around, briskly striding towards the side door that you had entered. Tears of embarrassment stung your eyes, and you quickly swiped them away.

Go-eun looked concerned as you approached, but you just shook your head at her and left with a promise of explaining later. The wind was somehow even colder than before as you rushed out the door, and once it mixed with your salty tears you finally let yourself go.

Fresh ones fell freely, replacing the others that threatened to dry from the wind. You sat down outside of the building and pressed your back against the frigid surface of the wall. Your forehead came to rest on your knees as you cried, feeling stupid.

Why had you ever expected that to work out? You were such an idiot.

Gahyeon reached down and picked up the bouquet, frowning. Sua and Siyeon had left directly after you to reprimand the security officers, and Dami was comforting a teary Yoohyeon. Jiu still held her rose in her hands, turning it over and over.

She glanced back at the girls and nodded before heading after you. In the small gap that existed between her belt and the outside of her pants, she slid the stem of her rose. With it secured in place, she quickly treaded down the hallway.

When she slipped out the side door and saw you curled up, her heart broke. You raised your head at the sound of the heavy metal latching back into place behind her, and inadvertently met her gaze.

You stood up and wiped the rest of your tears before walking in the opposite direction. You didn’t even give her a chance to speak.

Although she was taken aback, she didn’t stall in going after you. Not anymore.

“Go back inside, Jiu.”

“No.”

You walked further down the sidewalk, tucking your hands into your pockets. “If you stick around me, I’ll just end up causing more problems.”

“Don’t say that, Y/N!” She scolded, sounding even more upset than she was inside. She had no reason to be, since you were just removing yourself from the situation. She wouldn’t have to worry about you anymore this way.

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true, and we both know it!” You returned, exasperated. “You don’t have to pretend otherwise for my sake.”

“I’m not pretending,” she pressed, following after you. Her outfit wasn’t suitable for the weather, but the emotions coursing through her numbed her to the chill. This exchange hurt her more than the wind ever could, anyway. Why did you insist so hard on leaving?

“Just stop,” you said over your shoulder, not bothering to turn around. “Maybe another day,” you said, in reference to your plans.

You were far too upset to enjoy the night after all that, and awkwardly pretending that it didn’t happen would be just as painful.

“No!” She erupted, grabbing your arm and spinning you around. Your jaw went a little slack at the suddenness of it; this was a totally new side of her.

“I’m sick of waiting, Y/N. That’s all I’ve ever done when it comes to you, and I’m not doing it anymore.”

Your brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Her features were strikingly beautiful – so sharp. Their jaded edges displayed everything she was feeling, despite your inability to read them. You were still just as oblivious as ever.

She snuck a hurried glance around the both of you before pulling you over to the side of the building. She pushed you against it directly after, catching you off guard. Her arms wound around your middle as she moved to hold you close.

You had half the inclination to ask what she was doing, but the feeling of her mouth on yours interrupted those thoughts before they could even finish forming.

Her lips kissed a reply against yours, saying all the words she never could before.

I love you, they pressed, urgent and hard enough to bruise.

I always have, they whispered without words, soft in their reassurance.

A million confessions flowed from them to yours, spreading like the strawberry gloss that painted them so beautifully. She couldn’t possibly have cared less about the messy state you were putting her in; she lived for the way you came alive in her arms, kissing her back with just as much passion as she felt herself. It was a confirmation that the feelings she had were mutual in the best type of way.

A muffled sigh left you as you brought your arms up to wrap around her neck and draw her in closer. She pressed the length of her body against yours, molding to you like never before. Her hands gripped your hips possessively, begging you to stay for once in your life and see this through. She was afraid to let go again.

Her teeth captured your bottom lip as you tilted your head to the side, granting her more access. She took the opportunity to deepen the kiss without a second thought, releasing her inhibitions. She lost herself in your taste – in the feel of you. It was everything that she’d hoped for and more after spending so many years waiting.

You were like Heaven to touch.

The perfume on your neck drew her under as her lips trailed over your sensitive skin there, leaving a mark in their wake.

She smiled when your hand fisted in her hair, returning the desperation that she felt. Her head was in the clouds.

“Please don’t ever run away like that again,” she whispered against your jawline, allowing her lips to brush it in the process. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” She left small kisses behind as little reminders of her love for you.

“Just because things went sideways in there doesn’t mean we don’t want you around. We’ve all missed you so much, Y/N/N… you have no idea.”

“I’m sorry.”

She pulled away enough to touch her nose to yours, moving it side to side. When you laughed at the feeling, she smiled.

“The girls and I need you more than you know. They love you, and I…” she paused, swallowing nervously, “I love you. I have for a long time now.”

You stole another quick kiss from her lips, rewarding her for her confession. “Me too.”

Her thumbs rubbed comforting patterns against your hips. “Then will you stay? Please?”

You took a deep breath of the evening air to bring you back to your senses. You were still reeling, if you were honest, and thinking straight wasn’t something you felt very capable of with the woman of your dreams holding you in her arms like she was. Her kiss-swollen lips pouted, only further corrupting you.

“I’ll stay,” you nodded. “And we can still go to the restaurant.”

She pulled away and did a little victory dance that had you smiling in an instant. Her face brightened, donning a beautiful smile as she cheered. She was such a dork that you almost couldn’t stand it.

If any paparazzi were lurking nearby, her questionable choice of celebratory dance moves would’ve undoubtedly been a larger scandal then the kisses you shared.

“Alright, alright,” you interrupted after a few seconds, stepping forward and grabbing her wrist to stop her. “We get the idea.”

“I’m just so happy,” she cooed, gazing into your eyes with so much love you nearly swooned at the mere sight of it.

“So are we,” Sua said from nearby all of a sudden.

“AHHH!” Both you and Jiu let out a scream of terror at the same time.

“How long have you been standing there?!” Jiu barked, recovering with a hand over her heart.

Sua pursed her lips, thinking for a second. “Just long enough to see your dance.”

“Very interpretive,” Siyeon narrowed her eyes and nodded, giving a thumbs up. She slung her arm around Sua’s shoulder as she came to stand beside her.

Yoohyeon and Dami appeared behind them a few seconds later, attempting to suppress their laughter. “You guys didn’t hear the door latch? It’s like a hundred years old.” Yoohyeon giggled.

You cleared your throat, blushing more than you would’ve liked to. “I guess we were a little preoccupied.”

“Yeah, about to fuc–” Gahyeon began.

“Language!” The unnies all shouted in unison, interrupting the youngest member. She rolled her eyes, but an amused smile rested on her lips regardless as she neared the group as well. It grew wider when she looked at you, causing her eyes to form into little crescents.

Handong was the last to show herself, but it was for a good reason.

The bouquet was cradled in her hands, still wrapped in the paper and bow that it came with. Tape was wound around every broken piece of the flowers’ stems, making them semi-straight again. All of the girls had done their best to repair the damage that the guards had done, and that simple gesture alone made you want to cry all over again. The sentiment was unexpected but beyond welcome.

“We’re really excited to spend the evening with you, Y/N,” Handong spoke, soft and smooth. “The girls talk about you all the time.”

You glanced around at all of them, finally feeling content in a way you hadn’t since you left the dorm all that time ago. So much love and adoration shined in their eyes for you, clear as day. For you, they’d do just about anything.

And while things wouldn’t ever be quite the same as they were before, you knew then that the girls would forge a new future with you in it, however they needed to. They never wanted to lose you again, and something about this time felt different. Deep down in your heart, you knew it would last.

As their arms all wrapped around you in the group hug that Sua initiated, you let your eyes fall shut.

“I’m excited, too,” you said, smiling to yourself.

And for the first time in a long time, you really meant it.

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therhythmafterthesummer · 9 months

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Bonjour!

Would our werewolves ever suffer from ailments which could affect their shifting? Perhaps being unable to shift into the wolf or not being able to change back? No longer hearing the wolf inside or losing their strength? Stress related or some AU sickness or magic?

How would you think each would handle it?

Sorry for the angst!

-🧁

hallo!!

what an interesting question. my short answer would be that: yes, yes this could potentially exist in this universe. it kinda makes sense to me for wolves to have specific illnesses that a human wouldn't have... things that could affect them not only physically, but also mentally as well!

as for how each would handle being sick... i'll leave some Thoughts under the cut.

Chris: regardless of the ailment, whenever Chris gets sick, he's GONE. he doesn't get sick often, but when he does he just becomes completely useless. can barely take care of himself. if he ever went through periods of not being able to shift it'll take him LONG time to recover. which, if it happens to be that he can't shift from wolf to human, would be very inconvenient. not only because he's got to work to maintain his flat, his house, and his life overall, but also because he wouldn't be able to be with his pretty girl, and that would be what would hurt him the most. on the other hand, if he weren't capable of shifting into his wolf form from his human form, he'd probably feel incredibly frustrated and inadequate bc at the end of the day he's an alpha and his wolf side is part of his pride as a werewolf, if that makes sense.

Minho: manages well enough on his own because he just... grew up taking care of himself. he'll be extra pouty if kitten is close just because he wants attention (she knows he's doing it on purpose, and he knows she knows, you know? lee know). anyway, minho already has trouble figuring out his instincts, so you could kinda say he's pretty much chronically ill on this aspect. unfortunately, this is a thing he carried over from his human self before being turned. he already had a condition, so it makes sense it affects his inner wolf, too.

Changbin: also becomes a bit useless when sick, but to a lesser degree than chris. will still be capable of going through with her day as long as his ailment isn't too serious, and will also heal fairly quickly if he follows doctor's orders religiously, but he'll be super whiny about it the entire time. cranky mood to the max. will snap at people often. not being able to hear his inner wolf or shift from either form would frustrate him, but it wouldn't be crippling.

Hyunjin: this boy is fuelled by spite, and something like being sick won't stop him. fuck everything and everyone, he's gonna keep doing his thing for as long as he can. he's passed out in inconvenient places before because of this mentality lol. heals quickly overall.

Jisung: hardly ever gets sick at all. he's been blessed with amazing health and antibodies. he does, however, tend to suffer from mental related stuff... will try his best not to burden anyone with his problems but will eventually open up to kitten or minho or chris about it.

Felix: hardly ever gets sick as well. his time living in the forest has prepared him for almost anything and made him immune to a lot of things because of it. will be able to push through just fine if he does get sick, though.

Seungmin: will keep any problems to himself. doesn't like it when people worry about him so if he's feeling bad he'll isolate himself until pretty mum figures it out and goes into his flat to pull on his ear. will suffer in silence.... i don't want to add much here because i don't wanna spoil anything i've got planned for seungmin hfdsljkfds

Jeongin: also doesn't like to burden people with his problems, but is definitely more open than seungmin. will also become a little useless when sick, and he'll need a lot of help from his pack mates to get better.

#anon #ask #wereroomies ask #wereroomies headcanons

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noirshitsuji · 1 year

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two pieces of driftwood, meeting

AO3 link.

And then he gets it. Mal is still a tracker, even after everything. His internal compass is gone, but the muscle memory and the years of skill-building is still there, and it’s an alien feeling, having this expertise without all of his soul being tied to it. And he realises - belatedly - that Inej is also a protector, even when the reason she became one isn’t around.

Or: Mal, Inej, and finding out who you are beyond the person you love.

[mal & inej, inej/tolya, inej/kaz, mal/alina, mal/random women, mild angst, introspection, implied sexual content]

aka pov you came back to fandom tumblr for one specific fandom but the first piece you're posting is for another one

Read below the line.

He tries to look at other women.

Looking being the key word. Mal has no issue, once he relearns how many glasses of kvas it takes him to be just out of it enough to make a potentially stupid decision and still manage to get back to his bunk on his own, sleeping with other women. The things that stick with you even after you leave the army, Dubrov might’ve said, flashing him a smile, and Mal drinks another glass to that as well before heading for the nearest thing with curves.

No, the issue is getting his gaze to stay on them for more than a moment. To pay attention to their faces and not just their bodies, to see if he even can gaze at another face that isn’t hers.

But he can only focus his attention on thighs and torsos and things in-between them, and it always ends up being solely about the women’s enjoyment. There’s a part of him that feels like that’s better, that’s telling him he’s proving something.

He’s just not sure if it’s something worth proving any more.

“How did you know where they would head for?”

Mal blinks. He’s gotten used to Inej appearing out of nowhere – they all had, out of necessity, because she seemed incapable of moving without a shadow at her tail – but he still needs a moment to readjust to her presence, to the intensity of her gaze.

“It made sense,” he says. “We knew where they were headed and the route it would’ve made sense for them to take, and the way the winds usually are this time of the year, it wasn’t that hard to figure out they’d end up rerouting through the other sleeve of the Bone Road.”

Inej looks at him for a moment before slowly nodding. “I see. I was never taught these things. Is it a matter of a great deal of study? Being a tracker?”

“More than people think it is.”

The words have left his mouth before he can think too much about them, but he realises with a start that they’re true. Alina had only ever taken up mapmaking because he and her would spend hours exploring the area around Keramzin as children, hiding away from Ana Kutya, and she’d never been able to remember it as well as Mal had, the paths and the berry bushes and the rest of it. He could find his way around the area and back to the orphanage blindfolded and on a handstand. Thinking back on it, he’d done so several times when Alina and the other girls had been taken to the town to observe one trade or the other and he’d been bored out of his skull. Signing up for the in-depth tracker training at the army had been one of the most obvious decisions of his life.

“Well, we’re very lucky to have you, then,” Inej says, smiling at him.

Mal doesn’t know what else to do but smile back, even if he’s not quite sure where it’s coming from.

“My brother is an idiot,” Tamar says as Tolya shouts something up at Inej.

She’s cracking walnuts open as she speaks, the loud crunch getting lost in the breeze that’s their constant companion. Mal raises an eyebrow at her. She raises one right back. There’s a rueful smile on her face.

“Look at him,” she adds.

Mal does. He watches Inej lower herself down to Tolya’s level to reply to his question. He says something back, and Inej stays lowered, a warm smile on her lips.

“It’s stupid,” Tamar says. Another crack, and she’s passing him a walnut as well.

He takes it. “Why would it be stupid?”

“Have you seen her and Brekker together? This isn’t going to last.”

“Does it have to?” Mal says. Tamar looks at him, surprised. He takes a moment to chew the walnut and swallow it, before speaking again. “Does it? For either of them?”

“He’s too romantic. This will hurt him.”

Kaz was the only one who managed to quote the name and author of that piece, Mal wants to say. What do you think that means?

“And if he chooses it to? If he goes for it anyway?”

Tamar purses her lips, but she doesn’t reply. Mal feels for her, really. It’s tough, seeing someone you care about walking into the abyss willingly like that.

He’s more worried about Inej, though. Inej isn’t arrogant, but Mal knows how easy it is to fall into the routine of defying gravity. How easy it is to get complacent when so many impossible things have already happened to you.

They find her brother.

They find her brother, and when they next find port in Ravka, Inej’s parents are waiting there. They say it’s courtesy of the king that they’ve managed to reunite, but Nikolai had written to the Volkvolny months ago that he’d had to redirect resources to other things. Inej smiles at them like she knows why they’re lying, hugs them tight, and Mal thinks, this is it, and a wave of light melancholy washes over him. It won’t be the same without her.

But then Inej steps back, and her smile is sadder than before, and she tells her parents that no, she cannot stay, that yes, she will keep in touch and visit, and then turns to him and Tolya and Tamar and asks them for a three-day break before they leave again.

Once they’re on the ship again, he asks her why she didn’t stay, and all she says is:

“Well, we have a job to do, don’t we?”

And then he gets it.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic #malina #kanej #tolya x inej #mal oretsev #inej ghafa #the inherent bromance of self-rediscovery after chasing after a love larger than life #my fic

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mejomonster · 1 year

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I've been watching The Vampire Diaries lately as a show to kinda relax to without needing full attention and:

Kinda ship Bonnie/Caroline unfortunately I doubt this show has lesbians (but buffy had willow/Tara in the 90s so I wish this 2000s drama does -.-; I'll see I guess)

Kinda enjoy Tyler and Jeremy's scenes post 1x10 which I'm surprised by cause before I'd been rooting for Tyler to die

Damon/Elena are eons more interesting to me as a dynamic in that their scenes together have less predictability and more interesting outcomes (I get why elena/Stefan is a thing, they're both book loving reading nerds who like to talk about that stuff for hours and write diaries and spend quiet nights kissing/sleeping together and chatting about stuff they fan over basically - without the vampire old issue/Katherine ex situation they'd basically be a normal couple with shared interests, but like... as tv entertainment that's just not as fun to watch as ppl who do not get along and slowly need to learn to understand/interact. It's like angel/buffy versus spike/buffy or faith/buffy I suppose. Except I do appreciate stefan/Elena actually fight over "yr a vampire damn! People are dying I need to get AWAY this is fucked" and "I look like your dead ex what rhe fuck is wrong with you/any other secrets??!!!" Because like while it's still teen romance show level "I love you" ridiculously fast and unrealistically with a yikes vampire usual age gap lol, at least Elena's and stefans reactions seem somewhat more like real people would actually do? Whereas like... idk I usually see a much less realistic reaction of "wow people are dying I need to get away from you and reevaluate my view of the world goddamn".)

Bonnie makes me feel like I'm watching Charmed

Watching vampire stuff I'm glad there's a lot of death in this cause what even is a vampire story without people getting their blood drank? Also this show reminds me I've got my own vampire story I eventually want to write ToT but mines more itwv level bloody than teen angst. That said, i appreciate the slightly outside of high school elements of the show which remind me of charmed or buffy and give the impression this show CAN grow beyond a high school setting as the plot ages out of it, like buffy did, which gives it space to possibly do some cool stuff later on (that say a show like teen wolf bound inside teen-life couldn't really move to)

Thank goodness the show has some horror scenes and fights I really Can't focus without my action scenes lol

Like buffy (tho idk How better the writing will get) I can tell that around mid season 1 the writing shifted from Teen Show Pilot usual to having a more solid idea of the angle it wanted to go in. Caroline went from a "could be any teen extra" to a character with a clear personality, Bonnie went from only magic-show-plot element to someone who's friendships and enemies in the show matters, Matt and Jeremy as plain humans get a more defined characterization driven by their internal values more than only what's happening to them externally, Elena once she finds out vampires exists her character acts much more idk Likable to me? She's an everyday girl stand in, but with the knowledge of vampires her personal bg as someone fucked up by tragedies in the family and feeling death is inescapable to her (vampires all around and looking like a dead ex katherine), her desire to not see anyone else die and personally try to help stop vampires who are hurting people in town (despite being very mundanely human) gives her a solid backbone of who she is when put in a hard position. I liked her trying to fight a vampire alone with pencils and a broken broom - she doesn't succeed as she's a completely untrained and regular strength human but it shows she's got future potential and a trajectory, her trying to stop vampires from killing, her willing to go into danger, her willing to confront anyone, etc. She's showing some interesting traits specific to her that not every character Would do. Even Stefan with as little as I'm personally clicking with him, is making lets say Relationship choices that are distinct from Edward type or Angel type or Spike type or Lestat lol, so at least he's feeling like His Own individual character in a vampire story instead of a copy of someone else. He communicates eons better than Edward, saying he'll leave before leaving for someone's safety lol, and just in general open to conversations when conflicts come up more, he's mopey sure but not to the level of emo Angel from buffy is (and not quite as creepy tho he also stalked for a year lmao) and Lexi coming into town showed he's really not Endlessly pessimistic the way Louis or Angel would be. He's got a distinction versus other leading romance vamps, and although his dynamic doesn't have the enemies/rivals to friends to lovers I enjoy in watching a romance (bellamy/Clarke, lexa/Clarke, lucifer/Chloe, spike/buffy, louis/lestat etc) I do like that he feels like his own character to me. So I'm hoping like buffy the depth of characterization gets a bit better as time goes on for everyone. And the plot expands past high school as characters age up.

Damon and Stefan remind me of Dean and Sam. Yeah I know what I said ToT if supernatural went on 150 years and they turned into demons or vampires or whatever, both fell for the same girl, who's to say what coulda happened. All IM saying now is a crossover when they'd both been airing would've been hilarious.

#lb #the vampire diaries #yeah bet u didnt expect legit tvd meta from me #tvd

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matwith1t · 3 years

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A/N: Back with angst 👊 Fair warning, this fic is pure angst. All of it 🔪 It’s heavily inspired by Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, and it’s the fic where I project my fear of staying stagnant in life (oops). I have a somewhat working outline for a part 2, but I’d love to know your thoughts!! Also, this fic has a brief smut scene, so if you’re not 18+ hop on over to my masterlist for something else !

Summary: Your long-term relationship with Mat brought you more happiness than anything else in the world. But one day, something in your gut felt different, an emotion that you couldn’t quite place felt off. And maybe, that feeling was the catalyst for you wanting a change in life.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, Smut, Swearing // WC: 11.2K // Angst

The sun felt warm against your face and the grass beneath you tickled your ankles. With the month of May nearing its end, the sweet smell of spring could still be detected in the air during the seasonal transition to summer. From a distance, the soft sounds of children laughing while running through the park tugged your lips upward into a small smile.

A sense of ease flooded your body as you laid directly on the grass with your arms tucked behind your head. The vital force that came with being outside in the springtime energized your body to the point where you felt your body produce more natural endorphins. You treasured the outdoors––it would always remain a sacred place for you––but as you laid upon the grass, an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach clawed its way up at a deliberately slow, and unwarranted, pace.

It felt like a secret message your body was trying to communicate with you, but you didn’t have the tools on how to decode it.

The feeling came in and out, like ocean tides, but you did your best to push it aside when the uneasiness surfaced. So far, everything in your life had been smooth sailing––everything had been going according to plan––so you never paid that feeling any attention.

There wasn’t anything in your life that you wanted to change.

With a deep breath, you tried to inhale as much of the fresh spring air as possible.

“Hey, sleepy.”

With one eye squinted open, you brought a hand from behind your head to shield the sun rays from blinding your face. And when your vision adjusted to the sunlight, you saw your boyfriend at an upside down angle. In his arms he held a blanket as he waved down at you. A smile instantly graced your lips as you shut both of your eyes, before opening them slowly.

As Mat shook out the blanket before spreading it out on the grass, you sat up, and stuck your legs straight out, “You’re a bit late.”

Without looking at you, Mat rolled his eyes, “Practice ran late.”

When the blanket was laid out on the grass, Mat sat down and patted the spot next to him. With a smile, you made your way to sit next to him. Your smile widened when you saw he already had an arm raised for you to tuck yourself into his side.

“It was a morning practice,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes, “It’s nearly four in the afternoon.”

With adoration in his eyes shining just as bright as the spring sun, you felt yourself fall more in love with him. His hand dangled over your shoulder as he lazily traced circles on your upper arm, “Tito wanted ice-cream.”

A laugh of amusement, mixed with disbelief, escaped your lips as you placed both hands on his chest to push him away, “You liar.”

With your shove, Mat tightened his arm around your shoulder as the two of you fell backward on the blanket laughing. As you laid on your side, Mat readjusted his arm around you, with your head on his shoulder. His sweatshirt felt soft, and his chest continued to shake with laughter.

“Practice did run late,” Mat reiterated his first point, to which you only hummed in acknowledgement, “And then Tito said he wanted ice-cream, but he wanted to go to this specific shop.” Mat placed a kiss on your temple, “Would’ve told him to go alone if I knew how much time it’d take.”

Again, you hummed, as you rested a hand on his stomach, “Did you at least tell your boyfriend that your girlfriend said hi?”

Mat scoffed at your remark and poked your stomach in retaliation. You laughed at his childish behavior and moved a bit down the blanket so your head now rested just below his heart. He pulled you closer to him, and with your face nuzzled into his sweatshirt, you took a deep breath and savored how much his sweatshirt smelled like home to you.

He smelled almost as good as spring.

The hand that you had on his stomach rose up and down with his even breathing. And as you laid outside on the grass, surrounded by the spring air and the person you loved most in your life, you felt nothing but peace. Comfortable silence wasn’t uncommon in your relationship. While his voice soothed your most anxious thoughts… hearing the birds sing their melodies, listening in on the slight rustle of tree leaves whenever the wind blew, and the sound of steady breathing, paired with Mat’s slightly faster heartbeat, was more calming than anything.

“I can’t wait until that’s us.”

You peered up at Mat to see his vision locked in on something to his right. In order to see what he was referring to, you propped your chin up on his chest. It didn’t take you long to see that something was really a someone. And upon squinting to get a better look, that someone turned out to be a man, woman, and a child.

Your only response to him was a hum as you traced shapes on his stomach, hoping that your touch was strong enough to distract him from the conversation you knew he was about to bring up.

“I love you,” his words were strong, not faltering in the slightest, as he stared down at you with a promising look in his eyes. He picked up your hand––ultimately putting a stop to what you had hoped would distract him from this exact conversation––and pressed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, “So much.”

Mat gently placed your still connected hands on his stomach as you craned your neck up to press a kiss to his cheek, “I love you, too.”

He squeezed your hand twice, a look of amazement in his eyes as he stared up at the sky with a soft smile, “In a few months, It’ll be six years since we’ve been together.”

Your head softly fell back onto his chest as you nodded. Because while you’ll be celebrating six years of officially being in a relationship, the two of you had known each other much longer. He was the annoying kid at the end of the cul-de-sac who chased you around front yards and threatened to give you cooties. And you were the little girl who ran away from him, pretending to be disgusted whenever he got too close, but secretly loved his attention.

And that’s when your crush on him began.

From playing group games with other kids at neighborhood block parties, pairing up to sit next to each other on the bus in elementary school during field trips, to Mat asking you to the winter formal in eighth grade on a dare…Your infatuation towards him only grew.

By the time you were both eighteen, Mat realized his feelings, and asked you out on a date.

Playing games with other kids went to spending one-on-one time with Mat on dates. Sitting next to each other on the school bus as little kids went to Mat picking you up in his car as teenagers. And going to dances together was no longer the end product of a dare.

Even when Mat went to Seattle to play hockey, the two of you still kept the connection while you stayed in Canada. The four years of University were easier; with Mat playing for the New York Islanders, and your top choice for school was in New York City, it didn’t take more than a second thought to accept the offer.

As if Mat had the same memories playing on an endless loop in his head, he let out a relaxed breath, “I can’t wait until we buy a house, tell our kids how we met, and take them to this park.”

The uncomfortable familiar feeling you felt earlier in the afternoon creeped up your stomach, “You really have it all planned out.”

“I have our life,” he squeezed your hand as he made a point to emphasize a shared future between the two of you, “planned out.”

You were positive he could feel your heartbeat increase. And while the pounding of your heart could easily be mistaken for the heightened feelings you felt whenever you were near Mat, you knew something else was causing this distress. There was no one in the world you loved more than Mat. You loved your family because they were family, but you made a conscious decision to love him. And despite some hardships, he chose to love you as well.

But thinking about the future made you squirm.

A future with Mat was all you ever desired. You knew he was the one person in the universe made for you when you were halfway through university. And you were pretty sure Mat knew you were his person by the fourth date.

You still kept some of your notebooks that had doodles in the margin. The psychology notebook from junior year of high school had Mat Barzal, with hearts dotting around his name, in every blank space. And even in university, your senior year thesis notebook had script writing of your name paired with his last name, so you could practice a potential new signature for the future.

Since the seventh grade, this was everything you daydreamed about with Mat; a future together. Happiness always fogged up your mind whenever you thought about a lifetime together with him, you wanted this, but everything felt like it was approaching faster than anticipated. And the undisclosed feeling in the pit of your stomach wasn’t going away no matter how hard you tried to only think about a happy future with Mat.

Wanting to feel anything other than whatever made your stomach churn, you leaned up to press a lingering kiss to Mat’s jaw. Then you pressed another kiss to his neck, and another further down at the base of his throat. With each kiss you pressed to his skin, the feeling subsided more.

When you detached your lips from his skin and sat up, you heard him let out a discontent hum. With his eyes closed, he wasn’t aware of the adoration in your eyes as you looked down at him. You studied everything about his face; the slight pink coloring on his cheeks despite it almost being summertime, the downward curve on the bridge of his nose, and how he somehow still had a slight smile on his face when he wasn’t awake.

A satisfied silent sigh passed through your lips as your index finger trailed across his silver chain. The jewelry felt cold on your fingertips, but with the way Mat still had a hand holding onto yours, your whole body burned like a furnace. Unable to resist the pull you felt toward him any longer, you leaned down and pressed an innocent kiss to his lips. You lifted your head up, pulling your lips away from his, but Mat brought his free hand to gently lay on your cheek as he lifted his head up slightly to bring you back into a kiss.

It was soft, delicate, and reminded you of the first kiss you shared after your second date outside of his car when he dropped you off in front of your house.

With his thumb caressing your cheek, his fingers curled around your neck to bring your lips closer to his. And as you smiled into the kiss, he slowly lifted himself up until he was properly sitting. You pulled away from the kiss again, not wanting to get carried away while in public, but Mat followed your lips and kissed them one last time.

Your hand that was on his shoulder slowly inched toward the back of his neck where you played with the ends of his hair. He leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “Wanna get pizza?”

You threw your head back in laughter and Mat dropped his head into the crook of your neck, wrapping an arm around your waist for a hug. Leaning into the hug, you continued to thread your fingers through his hair, “Yeah, pizza sounds good.”

“Good,” Mat pressed a featherlight kiss under your jaw as he unwound his arms from around you to stand up. He reached a hand out for you, and with a smile, you placed your hand in his as he pulled you up.

Once on your feet, he tugged on your arm so that you were pressed flat against his chest, caught in another hug. Never one to deny any of his hugs, you wrapped your arms around his waist as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. His arms were strong and his body felt warm. You melted into his touch like you had for the past five––almost six––years.

But then his stomach grumbled, and you leaned away from him with an amused smile on your face, “Pizza?”

Mat smiled back down at you and nodded, “Pizza,” he said matter of factly as he unwrapped his arms from you and began to fold up the blanket.

When he had the blanket draped over his arm, he reached his hand out again for you to take. Happily, you slid your hand into his, as the two of you began to walk through the park to a pizza place down the street.

The pace of your walk was slow. Normally you wouldn’t mind a slow pace, but it was making the unknown and unwelcome feeling creep back up in your stomach. The feeling seeped through every crevice of your body as Mat recounted a story of how he almost got hit in the face with a puck at practice. And the feeling wedged itself deeper and deeper into the middle of your chest until you arrived at the pizza place.

“Your eyes look pretty today,” Mat offhandedly said as the two of you slid into a table after ordering.

You tilted your head, shoulders instantly relaxing at the sound of his voice, as a soft smile slowly made its way onto your face that was brighter than the sun the two of you just sat under.

You propped your elbows up on the table, resting your chin on your hands, as you looked at the love of your life with nothing but fascination, “Your eyes always look pretty.”

Mat reciprocated your beaming smile.

And the unknown feeling vanished.

–––

The spring air dwindled away and the crisp air of autumn slowly began to replace the weather associated with new beginnings. Even though the seasons changed, the heaviness in your chest you felt in May was still present in September. No matter what you did, or who you spent time with, the feeling continued to grow until it latched onto your deepest insecurities. And it wasn’t until you had an honest conversation with your best friend that she told you the feeling was anxiety.

Anxiety.

What did you have to be anxious about? What was so terrible in your life that made you nauseous in the mornings, kept you up until the late hours of the night, and had you constantly bouncing your leg up and down while sitting? Your life had been going exactly according to plan––exactly how you thought you wanted it to go. All you wanted was for it to disappear, but you couldn’t pinpoint what made you anxious. Which made it hard to try and control the feeling.

But there was one thing you did that proved successful in making the anxiety subside.

With your bare chest pressed up against Mat’s, his fingertips slightly digging into the skin of your hips, you rested your head in the crook of his neck as you inhaled a sharp breath. You had just experienced a shuddering orgasm on his lap, but he wasn’t quite finished.

Mat wrapped an arm around your body and flipped you over. You opened your eyes briefly to see him crawling up your body, adjusting himself in this new position. With raised eyebrows, he offered you a soft smile. And after you gave him verbal confirmation you wanted him again, he nudged your legs apart and guided himself in. You hadn’t fully recovered from the previous act of shared intimacy, but that didn’t matter to you.

The only thing that mattered was getting rid of the tortuous feeling that consumed you.

But when your hips met, and you heard Mat inhale a sharp breath, the feeling lessened.

You always looked forward to that––Mat’s breathless smile when your pelvic bones first connected in a deep thrust. There were other things, too. You knew things about Mat that nobody else knew. Like how Mat always crinkled his nose when he first became aroused. How his biceps were especially ticklish if you dragged your fingertips across them. How it drove him crazy when you would wrap your legs around him, hooking him in to pull him closer. Or how Mat would press a lingering kiss to your cheek when he was perilously close to the edge.

And it was that last movement that brought you out of your head––Mat pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek.

With a ragged breath, you trailed a hand up his arm––skipping his biceps––and curled an arm around his neck. Your fingers delicately moved up his neck as you weaved your fingers through his hair, and then slowly let your hand drag to the side of his face; cupping his cheek. And with a series of quick, deep thrusts with Mat on top, was all it took for your walls to clench around him as you lost your breath momentarily.

As you rode out the high of your orgasm, Mat was close behind. With a few more thrusts, you knew he released when his movements slowed down with a few snaps of his hips. After he inhaled a deep breath and released it through his nose, Mat rested his forehead against yours and then opened his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered unintelligibly while trying to catch his breath.

You rubbed your thumb over his cheek, “I love you, too.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, nuzzling his head into the palm of your hand, before a shy smile broke through. With a gentle peck to your lips, Mat rolled off you and quickly disposed of the condom before rolling back into bed.

When Mat was back at your side, he propped himself up with his elbow and stared down at you. Shuffling a bit down the pillow, you pulled the sheets up to your neck and peered up at him. With his free hand, he took one of your hands and lazily played with your fingers. He went from slowly moving his fingers between yours, to his fingertips leisurely moving from the bottom of your palm to the tips of your fingers. And when he had done that for a few moments, he started tracing the lines on the inside of your palm.

The only sound in the room was the two of you silently breathing; basking in each other's presence after a few moments of shared intimacy. Even in the silence, all you heard was him whispering I love you on repeat in your mind.

Every time he said those words to you felt like the first time. And even hearing the echo of them from your memory caused a scintillating smile to unashamedly grow on your face. You diverted your gaze from him playing with your hand to look at him.

Mat’s eyes were already focused on you.

His eyes were the first thing you fell in love with. You didn’t know if you fell in love with him when you were twelve years old; when his wide, nervous eyes offered you a stick and asked if you’d to join his team for street hockey. Or when you were nineteen; when his earnest eyes were bloodshot as he confided in you that he was scared of losing the connection of your relationship when he went to Seattle. No matter what emotion he held in his eyes, you always loved them.

And even now, his eyes were soft. His eyes were so full of love, but there was another emotion swimming around in his eyes that you had only seen before he asked you out; longing.

You didn’t know what he was longing for as he stared at you. A creased formed in between his eyes as he scrunched his eyebrows together. Removing the arm you had under the pillow, you raised your hand and rubbed the crease until his eyebrows relaxed. He offered you a small smile, but this smile was more one of concern rather than happiness.

Like you did earlier when Mat was on top of you, you trailed your fingers down his cheek until you cupped the side of his face with your palm. Slowly, you caressed his cheek with your thumb.

“Are you alright?” Mat whispered.

It was your turn for your eyebrows to scrunch together and a crease to form between them. And while you momentarily retracted your hand from his face, you snapped out of your shock, and moved your hand up to brush a piece of loose hair out of his face. The piece of hair didn’t stay in its place, so you pushed it back once more, as you tried to distract yourself from the growing feeling of anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

The piece of hair continued to fall in front of his forehead, so you focused all of your concentration on making sure it stayed away, “Of course I am, why?”

Mat shrugged his shoulders. And he took your hand that pushed his hair back and intertwined your fingers together, “You seem a little…off.”

You snorted, “We just had sex twice,” your facial expression held a serious look, but your tone of voice was teasing, “Are you complaining?”

Mat let out a breathy laugh as he squeezed your hand, “That’s not––That was incredible––Really really good––definitely not complaining,” he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I feel like I can say I know you better than anyone else, and…I don’t know.” His eyes dropped to your intertwined hands, and he tried his hardest to force a smile before looking back at you, “It feels like something’s been up the past few days.”

Few months, you wanted to correct him.

You shook your head, trying to ease both of your nerves, “I uh––I’m thinking of looking at grad schools?” you let the little white lie easily slip, “But I’m not seriously looking, it was just a thought.”

Mat playfully rolled his eyes, “Knew something was up,” he brought your connected hands up to his lips to press a reassuring kiss to the top of your hand, “If you do seriously consider grad school, you’re probably the most well off person to apply.” At his confidence in you, you tucked your chin into your chest.

“It’s just…” you inhaled a shaky breath, wanting to come clean about your unknowing anxiety, but something held you back, “I don’t know.”

Mat dropped your hand and slowly stroked the side of your face with the back of his hand, “It’s a lot to think about. But there are plenty of great schools in New York,” when his lips turned upward in a smile, you felt your stomach drop, “Whatever you want, we’ll figure it out together.” Mat pressed a kiss to your cheek, “We have all the time in the world.”

His voice, full of optimism, matched the hopefulness behind his eyes, and his smile finally met his eyes. And the longer you stared into his eyes, you saw a glint of something you had never seen before; devotion.

You don’t know when it happened, but you accepted the fact that you would marry Mat––spend the rest of your life with him. There was no lengthy discussion, but there seemed to be mutual acceptance. Mat always spoke so passionately about starting a family with you when he saw a toddler run around the park. And whenever you drove past a house you liked, you always made a passing comment about how nice it would be to raise a family with him.

You wondered when you started to feel so uncomfortable with the feeling of security.

–––

The month of September was slightly better, but not by much. The anxiety was still present and you kept Mat in the dark about everything. But it was difficult to confide in him when you didn’t even know the root of the problem. You couldn’t pinpoint the cause of anxiety, and you thought the feeling would disappear in June.

But it was now October and your anxiety had escalated to suffocation.

Suffocation.

It felt like there was a bag of twenty-pound rocks tied to your ankles and you were drowning. When you didn’t feel like you were drowning, you felt as if someone was smothering you with a pillow. And when you finally felt free from the smothering, it felt as though someone had cut off your air supply. But there was one thing that temporarily relieved the feeling of suffocation.

And it came with an acceptance email from Georgetown University in Washington D.C.

When you applied to a handful of universities to continue your education, you thought your anxiety was based around a fear of not excelling to your full potential. So, with that in mind, you took the little white lie you told Mat a few months ago and applied exclusively applied to grad schools only in New York City. But a program at Georgetown caught your eye and it was the only school outside of New York you applied to. You hoped for the best, but deep down you had a gut feeling the prestigious school in D.C. would reject you.

But when you received a fairly large envelope in the post, one that was not the size of a rejection letter, you felt a brief moment of freedom.

It is with great pleasure that we offer you admission…

You had read the opening line of the letter ten times before skimming the rest of the offer letter. The amount of confidence and pride you felt swell up in your chest was short lived. Because your new friend, suffocation, quickly swallowed up those feelings.

You had never considered moving out of New York––never considered moving away from Mat––but here you were, internally debating with yourself on whether you should take this offer seriously.

There was too much going on in your head––too much going on in the city––as you walked down the sidewalk. Every step you took toward your home felt like walking on a tightrope.

You had a university acceptance offer…Step one…The university was nearly 300 miles away from Mat…Step two…You had other university acceptance offers for school’s in New York…Step three…But the anxiety only grew when you received acceptance letters from schools in New York…Step four…And all of the anxiety went away with the D.C. offer…Step five…Does Mat have something to do with your anxiety––

You didn’t let yourself finish the last thought.

Mat was your person. There was not a chance the universe would play such a cruel trick on you. Life wasn’t fair, but life wouldn’t rip you away from Mat.

Right before you entered your apartment building, you dug out your phone and called your best friend. Once she picked up, you begged to spend the night at her place, saying you needed to get out of the city. She agreed, but you heard the curiosity behind her voice.

Knowing that mat would be waiting in your apartment, you hurriedly hung up before entering the elevator. The ride up was daunting, and the lights that blinked whenever you rose to a new floor felt as if they taunted you. They were yellow and bright, something you had not felt in quite some time, but the lights didn’t care as they flashed in your face.

When the doors parted open to your floor, you scurried out and opened the door to your apartment. You breezed right in before you changed your and decided to drive straight to Newark.

As expected, Mat sat slumped against the couch cushions as he pointed the remote at the television. He couldn’t seem to pick a channel that held his interest. When he heard the door open, he turned his head and you offered him a small wave as you set your bag on the floor.

“Good day?”

You shrugged your shoulders and walked over to sit next to Mat on the couch, “Average,” you leaned your head on his shoulder, “How was your day?”

Mat mimicked your shrug, “Just practice. Uneventful.”

You let out a snort, “What thrilling lives we live.”

That earned a loud laugh from Mat, “Exhilarating,” he leaned over and kissed your forehead, “So, for dinner? We have stuff to cook, but there’s this new place a few blocks over I thought we could try––”

Lifting your head up from his shoulder, you moved away from him slightly as you brought your legs up to your chest, quickly cutting him off, “I’m actually––I’m going to Newark tonight.”

A few awkward beats of silence passed before Mat spoke with a cracked voice, “Oh?”

Nodding, you leaned your chin on your knees, “Haven’t seen Melanie in a while,” you mentioned your best friend, “Just need to get out of the city for the night.”

“Everything alright?”

Mat’s voice was laced with hesitance, as if he didn’t know if he wanted an answer to his question.

You gulped and hugged your legs closer to your chest, “Yeah I––It’s a girl’s night. We just need to clear our heads.”

Mat nodded in understanding. He pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, “Clear your head,” he repeated cautiously as if he sensed there was an ulterior motive. He closed his eyes, and after a few more beats of silence, he opened them. And you felt your heartstrings tug in your chest when you saw the amount of yearning behind his stare.

“That’s…” he cleared his throat, and nodded his head slowly, as he looked at the television, “good.”

He didn’t phrase his words as a question, but they weren’t a statement either. It was Mat convincing himself that you leaving the city was fine…That you were fine…That the relationship was fine.

To ease his doubts––because there was nothing in your life that you were more certain of than your love for him––you took his hand, “It’s just for one night.” Your voice didn’t waver, and you spoke with double the confidence, hoping to transfer some of it to the boy who sat across from you.

“No, yeah that’s fine,” Mat bit the inside of his cheek, “Time with your friends is good.”

Mat never verbally recognized the small rift forming between you two, but in this moment, you knew he could feel it more than ever. And when you felt him pull his hand away from yours, you panicked and squeezed his hand twice. It caught his attention, and you smiled at him, “We’ll try out the new place tomorrow night for dinner.”

There was a far off look in his eyes, but he nodded in agreement.

Mat only using the bare minimum to communicate with you drove you up a wall. You didn’t like how he avoided conversation, and you didn’t like the feeling in your stomach that came with it. He’s disappointed in you, a voice in your head spoke up, you’re leaving him alone when you know he doesn’t feel confident about your relationship––

In order to silence the voice in your head, you did the only thing that you knew would keep it quiet.

You leaned forward, gently placing both of your hands on Mat’s cheeks, and kissed him. At first when he didn’t kiss back, you feared that you wouldn’t be lucky this time around to quiet your insecurities. The toxic coping mechanism you fell into every time wasn’t working. Panic rose through your body fast, and just when you were about to give up hope, he kissed you back.

A sigh escaped your lips as Mat pressed a hand firmly to your lower back to pull you closer.

You needed to be closer.

His hands carefully held your waist as your hands traveled from the sides of his face to the nape of his neck.

You needed to feel closer.

He kissed you harder, hands creeping up your shirt as he was always one to crave skin-to-skin contact. You let your hands delicately move down his neck to his shoulders––lifting your touch on his skin to avoid his biceps––and let your hands fall onto his chest.

Closer.

You needed to physically feel as close as possible to Mat; because emotionally, you felt as far away from him as ever.

–––

The forty-five minute drive from Long Island to Newark was filled with songs from the shared Spotify playlist you had with Mat.

He created it when he first went off to play hockey in Seattle claiming it would be a fun way to stay updated with each other's lives. The playlist was full of songs that reminded either of you of each other, upbeat heavy rock songs that Mat listened to before a hockey game, or more mellow songs you heard in a coffee shop while studying.

Since Mat had started the tradition of creating a shared playlist each year, there was a new playlist for almost the entirety of your relationship. And on your lonesome drive to Newark, you pressed play on the playlist from 2015.

You left your apartment after a silent cuddle with Mat that lasted a few hours; legs tangled together, synchronized breathing, and featherlight touches. There was a moment where Mat removed his arms from your waist––he said he was cold––and asked if you had a sweatshirt he could borrow. Reluctantly, you got up and trudged to your room to look for a sweatshirt of his you once stole.

A black sweatshirt caught your eyes and you picked it up. The Seattle Thunderbirds logo printed on the front, you toyed with the hoodie strings, debating on if you wanted to give him his sweatshirt back. It was one of the first ones you sneakily stole from him in the beginning of your relationship. And as much as the sweatshirt was rightfully his, it had made a home in your drawer over the years.

Missing the way his arms felt wrapped around you, you walked back to the couch––Thunderbirds sweatshirt in hand––and offered it up to him. Mat quickly tugged it over his head, ruffling his hand through his already messed-up hair, and then pulled you down to lay next to him.

He left your apartment wearing the sweatshirt.

After replaying the memory of Mat walking out of your place with his sweatshirt, you found yourself at your best friend’s townhouse sooner than expected. She ushered you into her kitchen saying she was almost done boiling the kettle for tea.

The only words exchanged between the two of you so far was a greeting and barely there small talk. She didn’t push you as to why you frantically called her and begged for a night away from New York. But she anticipated that the conversation would come later in the night.

Once the teas were made to both of your likings, Melanie led you upstairs to her rooftop deck. A fond smile crossed your face as flashbacks from all the times the two of you had spent up here. The two of you had met in university, but she was a few years older than you, so she moved out of New York sooner than you.

Most of your deep conversations about Mat took place on this rooftop. From realizing you loved him on this rooftop to coming to terms that there was no one else you’d rather spend the rest of your life with… This rooftop held the realizations of multiple monumental moments of your relationship with Mat.

Next to the sectional couch the two of you sat on, Melanie lifted the lid of the wicker basket and plucked out two blankets. You quickly wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, bracing your body against the frigid air.

As Melanie adjusted the blanket over her shoulders, she spoke up, “Everything alright?”

You took a sip of tea, keeping your vision set straight ahead, “Yeah, I’m alright––it’s just…” you glanced over at her to see she had her eyes raised, silently telling you to rethink your answer, “I don’t know.”

Shoulders slumped over in defeat, you took another sip of tea.

“I think you’re far from fine,” Melanie chuckled, “Got a call from my best friend panicking about how she had to get away,” her voice waned off amusement and turned more serious, “You worried me.”

You nodded in understanding, “Sorry, I didn’t think––Sorry––It’s just everything…” you nervously itched your collarbone and let out a sigh, “Sorry.”

Melanie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Never apologize for what you’re feeling,” her eyes were soft, and full of concern, as she weakly smiled and headed carefully with her words, “Even if you don’t…know what you’re feeling.”

“I got accepted to Georgetown,” you blurted out as you kept your eyes trained on the ground.

Her eyes widened, and a genuine smile spread across her face, “That’s––Shit, congratulations! That’s so exciting! D.C.…Wow.”

With a slow nod of your head, you took a sip of your tea, “D.C.”

A brief silence in conversation revealed everything Melanie needed to know about why you suddenly had to escape from the city.

“Mat doesn’t know?”

You repeated her question as a statement, “Mat doesn’t know,” breaking eye contact with her again, you swallowed down your insecurities, “While like––I don’t know––That’s not why I’m…upset.” Melanie nodded and waited for you to continue your explanation, “Things have been…off.”

“Off? As in recently?” Melanie questioned as you stayed silent. With a deep sigh, she whispered, “How long have things felt off?”

You gulped, “May.”

Melanie’s eyes widened again, but not in the joyous sense like they had when you told her about your graduate school acceptance. Her eyebrows were raised high and her mouth slightly dropped open, “Shit, Y/N, it’s November.’

Again, you nodded and took another sip of tea, “It is November.”

“You’re going to have to do more talking than repeat the last words of every sentence I say.”

The words weren’t meant to be harsh, but her tone of voice still caused you to flinch. Her sentence was the truth, and you didn’t come here to be coddled. You needed someone to be brutally honest with you to help bring you to a conclusion. And you knew you had to offer up more information, or else your little one-night escape away from the city would be pointless.

“I feel stuck,” you breathed out, the last word barely a whisper, as you felt your throat close up, “I feel stuck and I’ve felt this way since May. I don’t know why I feel like this and I really don’t know what to fucking do, Mel. I––I’m so scared.”

Melanie scooted closer to you, “Stressed about potentially going back to school?”

You shook your head immediately. The thought of going back to school was the only thing keeping you sane at the moment. You couldn’t wait to expand upon another area of study that interested you. And you had been feeling this way long before you entertained the idea of going back to school.

“Everything is going so so well with Mat and…I don’t know…I’m happy with how things are now, but––“

“You’re obviously not happy if you can’t talk to him about this,” Melanie cut you off sharply before she inhaled a deep breath, “Maybe you need some change.”

You quirked an eyebrow up and tilted your head, “Change?”

She nodded and offered you a regretful smile; one that people had tucked away for when they had to break not so pleasant news to people they cared about, “Change from…how your life has been going.”

You continued to blankly stare at her as the dots didn’t connect in your mind. Melanie took your silence as a way to continue on with her explanation.

“Maybe D.C. is a great opportunity to start over.”

Suddenly, the crickets that chirped on her rooftop blared like alarms, the blanket you had on felt itchy, and the bitter autumn air smelt stale.

“Start…Over?” You shook your head no as Melanie nodded her head yes, “I have a life built around Mat and a––I have a future with him––That’s not––I can’t––“

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Melanie,” you pleaded with your best friend as the scratchiness behind your throat became uncomfortable, “I can’t do that to him––“

She held up a hand for you to stop talking, “You’ve been with mat since you were like twenty––“

“Eighteen,” you corrected her.

She shot you a glare and pretended like she wasn’t interrupted, “You were children when your relationship started,” she waved her free hand in the air, “There’s no denying that you’ve had a great relationship with him. The two of you have grown so much together, but sometimes things get stuck in a routine and people need a change.” You felt a lone tear trickle down your cheek, “Maybe you need a change.”

You carefully set your tea down on the glass patio table as all of the negative thoughts and feelings ventured out of their hiding places. One by one, they creeped out of every corner––no crevice too small––of your mind, as your subconscious tortured you with the lethal words they created.

With the heel of your palm, you wiped away more silent tears that couldn’t stop falling from your eyes.

Change was something you didn’t handle well. Change was something you’ve never liked. Your heart was saying that this kind of change––a change from Mat was bad––but your heart was screaming. Your heart was screaming about how exhausted it always felt suffocated. Your heart was telling you that there was another way. That you didn’t have to feel like this all the time––how you shouldn’t feel like this all the time.

You wanted to ignore how your heart felt and listen to your head. You wanted to ignore the heartbreaking gaze Melanie sent your way. And most of all, you wanted to ignore how your best friend had a very valid opinion.

You craved Mat’s presence now more than ever.

–––

November ended painfully slow and December came without a care for your feelings.

In the midst of juggling your job, figuring out technicalities that potentially came with continuing your education down in D.C., and keeping up with Mat’s hockey schedule…You were also trying to stabilize a relationship that you desperately clung on to.

Ever since your roof top conversation with Melanie, you felt the relationship crumbling on your end. And only a couple weeks later, Mat seemed hesitant around you. Every touch he gave you held doubt. Every night you went to bed, he shifted further to the other side. And every I love you was said with caution.

He was there physically, but emotionally, he was pulling away right before your eyes.

You loathed the situation that you had created for yourself and Mat. You absolutely hated how you no longer synced up. You wanted to go back to the way things were before the summer hit. You craved the smell of the spring air that was synonymous to the safety you felt in Mat’s presence.

Although, you don’t know how possible that was now.

Change.

Melanie nonchalantly brought up the topic of change whenever you called or saw her in person. She reassured you that she would support your decision––whenever you came to one––but she still favored the decision of change for you. She had your best interest at heart, and while you appreciated that, your best interest was entangled with Mat.

And you knew that the decision she wanted you to make was not in his best interest.

But there was one day in the past seven months that felt normal.

At work, you were offered a promotion. And that same night, the Islanders had their seventh straight win, with Mat scoring a hat trick. You walked out of your director’s office with a smile on your face, and you snuck down to the lobby to call Mat with the good news. He sounded ecstatic for you over the phone, and he asked if you wanted to go to the game tonight so he could see you right after.

Eagerly, you accepted his offer, and you felt butterflies churn in your stomach as if it was the first time he asked you to attend one of his games.

You rushed to get all of your work done as fast as possible, and a few minutes before the clock struck five, you dashed out of the office and made your way to the arena. The game felt electric, Mat played with a sense of newfound desire, and you were ecstatic for him to be playing so well. And when the game was over, and Mat walked out in his game day suit––jacket folded over his arm and tie loosely done––you barreled into him.

Mat hugged you back just as tight, if not tighter, and his reassuring touch reestablished a sense of purpose in your life.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mat whispered in your ear, congratulating you on your promotion, “I’ll love you forever.”

That day filled you with hope.

That day made you smile wider than you had in the last few months. It was a light finally shining through the dreary storm clouds. And that day helped you gain clarity as to what sort of change you needed in your life.

You decided that change was needed if you wanted to keep sane. And you had come to the compromise that you could have a change and still keep Mat. All you needed was a change of scenery. You didn’t know why you thought you needed an ultimatum between the two, and it eased your troubles a little bit, but not nearly as much as you thought it would.

The day after your promotion and Mat’s hat trick, you woke up with your legs tangled with Mat’s, his arm thrown over your waist, and his face facing yours for the first time in months. It was so domestic, something you took for granted early on in your relationship, but once you had it back in your grasp, you never wanted to let go.

But the moment you woke up, his arm around your waist felt like an anchor aiding in your drowning. While it felt as if you were drowning, you also felt safe in Mat’s arms, as if he lent you a hand for rescue. Mat always made you feel safe.

Unfortunately, that was a week ago. And you hadn’t woken up in his arms since then.

Ironically, even though both of you knew something was wrong, Mat had been spending more time at your apartment than his. But the dynamic between you two had shifted: Mat no longer came up to hug you from behind when you cooked at the stove. You no longer pinched Mat’s hips as he walked past you. And the two of you blushed profusely and looked the other way whenever you saw the other in a towel after a shower.

Things had been off emotionally for quite some time. But now physical aspects of your relationship were changing, and a piece fo your heart broke off every time you noticed it.

You wanted change, but not like this.

You were at the small table in your kitchen, waiting for Mat to come back to you. He mumbled about heading to the gym with Tito when the two of you were sitting next to each other on the couch. He tied his laces up, and it looked like he was about to walk toward the door before he turned back around and stood in front of you.

Like every time you stared up at Mat, you fell in love with him all over again.

He offered you the smallest of smiles before bending down to your height. Carefully, he cupped your face with his hand, and you immediately leaned into his touch. A peaceful sigh escaped your lips and your eyes closed.

What caught you off guard the most was when Mat leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. And just when your eyes opened, he broke away from the kiss. When his eyes finally opened, they were pleading with you. His eyes begged for an answer you could not give him. His eyes urgently wanted for you to tell him what had flipped your entire world upside down.

But his eyes were also full of love and hope; unconditional love for his high school sweetheart and hope that the two of you could make it over this bump.

“I love you,” he whispered just as soft as the first time he said those words to you, “I won’t be long.”

Desperate for more physical contact from him, you weaved your fingers through his brown hair. You knew how much he loved when you massaged his scalp and ran your fingers through his hair. Instantaneously, his eyes closed, and he leaned forward to brush his nose against yours.

You didn’t want him to go to the gym with Tito.

And like the first day you repeated those important three words back to him, your voice was filled with the same enchantment for the man in front of you, “I love you, too.”

With a sigh, Mat opened his eyes. With the way his eyebrows pinched together, you could tell he was intently debating something in his mind. But before you could pry, he seemed to go against his better judgement and pressed another kiss to your lips. While the kiss wasn’t anything special, he lingered longer than his first kiss.

“I’ll be back soon,” he breathed out softly.

He left before you could open your eyes.

Part of you didn’t want to open your eyes because the last thing you saw––that would be ingrained in your brain forever––was the person you appreciated and cared for most in the world, telling you he loved you. There was no better high in the world than that, especially when you had felt deprived from his love for so long.

But that was six hours ago.

You hoped he would only be gone for two or three hours, but your hope dwindled away with every hour that passed.

You were messing around with your laptop when you heard a key in the door handle. And when you heard the creak of your door open, you held your breath. You felt the inside of your stomach fall and the anxiety crawl up.

Once you looked up from your keyboard, you saw Mat already staring at you.

His cheeks were rosy, lips parted ever so slightly as he heavily breathed, and his forehead glistened with sweat. He held the water bottle in his hands as he stared through you. The way he looked at you was unnerving, and you wish you were able to read his mind.

“I love you, Y/N.”

His voice held conviction as he refocused his gaze to look at you instead of through you.

Slowly, you closed your laptop as Mat walked toward you. He placed the water bottle on the table and looked down at your doe eyed, questioning gaze, “I love you, but I need to know what’s wrong.”

“What––“

“I know you feel it too,” the determination and confidence behind his voice fell, “It’s been a few months and I can’t––we can’t––this?” his voice cracked, “We need to figure it out.”

You sniffled and started to nervously pick at a loose piece of skin by your thumb. Your eyes fell to your lap, not wanting to see the utter heartbreak in his eyes, “Let’s––Yeah. Let’s talk, okay.”

Mat crouched down in front of you, and took one of your fidgety hands in his, “Hey,” he used his other hand to tilt your chin up to look at him, “It’s just me…The guy who accidentally shattered your car window junior year when shooting a puck because I wanted to impress you,” he let out a sad chuckle, “Just…Me.”

You sucked in a deep breath, vigorously nodding your head, in hopes to delay your tears, “I know––And I––That’s what makes this so…” You let out a hiccup and squeezed your eyes shut just as hard as Mat squeezed your hand in reassurance, “Hard.”

Before a sob wracked through your chest, Mat was fast to stand up and pull you up with him, wrapping his arms around you. You fell into his chest and he held you close, running a soothing hand up and down your spine. He whispered that everything would be alright, but your arms only tightened around his neck as your sobs increased with his careful words.

After a few moments when your cries slowly started to calm down, Mat slightly leaned back, but made sure to keep his arms securely wrapped around you. He lazily traced patterns with his thumb on your lower back, which caused you to look up at him.

With all your heart, you wished you didn’t look into his eyes. Because seeing his red eyes and heart-rending smile caused you more pain than the last seven months.

He brought a hand up to your face, wiping the tears from under your eyes with his thumb, “There’s my pretty girl,” he sniffled and failed at forcing a smile, “So pretty.”

You felt your bottom lip tremble, another wave of fresh tears waiting to be seen. And when Mat loosened his grasp around your waist, you looked up at him in panic. You didn’t want to be separated from him, but he shushed you, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to keep you close as he guided you over to the couch.

Much like earlier in the day, the two of you sat on the couch together. But instead of laying together on the couch, he sat next to you.

With your thighs touching, Mat grasped your hand in his, “Talk to me,” his grip was so tight, it felt like he was afraid you would slip away right in front of him, “Please.”

You nodded your head again, but no words came out.

How were you supposed to start off this kind of conversation?

Mat squeezed your hand in reassurance, and before you began to overthink about the best way to phrase your feelings, you said the first thing that came to mind.

“I feel anxious,” you let out a shaky breath.

Mat slowly nodded, squeezing your hand again as a silent way to encourage you to continue.

And with a deep breath, you shut your eyes tight, “I feel anxious and stuck––Almost like––I feel like I have no control over anything and it––I think––I need, uh, a change.”

Your words strung together in one rushed out sentence. And as your rambling continued on, your words grew softer and softer until your voice barely carried above a whisper. But the last word––change––echoed loudly in the room. The word was deafeningly loud, and Mat didn’t miss a beat.

“Change…”

The one syllable word sounded foreign coming from his lips. He repeated the word for a second time to make sure he heard you right.

Change.

In a sense, change was ever present in your relationship. There was change when you and Mat first grew out of being friends to more…Change when Mat left for Seattle to play hockey…and change again when Mat got drafted by the Islanders.

Change was almost a constant in your relationship; but the change was always prompted from Mat’s end. There had never been any expressed desire for change on your side.

“What do you want a change from?” Mat’s tone was daring, almost as if he wanted you to make his worst nightmare a reality.

“I––There’s this whole––“

“What,” he didn’t mask the viciousness in his voice, “do you want a change from.”

His voice was demanding, and not at all like the sweet sound that comforted you moments ago. You knew him well enough to know he was growing irritated at you, and you knew it would only get worse.

“I got into a masters program––in D.C.,” you rushed out, and in hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best response to reassure his insecurities, but you needed to get that information out there, “And it’s––it sounds so great, Mat. Like really great, and––“

He removed his hand from yours in a swift motion, as if he touched fire, “You’re leaving?”

“That’s not–––“

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?” His eyes shined with hurt and disappointment, but most of all, you could hear the distrust behind his voice, “D.C.?”

You sighed, “I never seriously considered it until last month.”

Mat closed his eyes, no doubt in frustration that you didn’t confide your feelings in him earlier, “You’ve been feeling like you need a change for the past month?” Your silence caused him to flare his nostrils, and edged him on to ask another question, “Since when––Why––How long have you felt this way?”

You gulped, averting your eyes to look at his knees, “I don’t want anything between us to change, Mat,” you spoke carefully, “I was thinking––“

“How long?”

“May.”

You screwed your eyes tight to the point where you felt a stunning sensation in your forehead. You couldn’t bring yourself to look in his eyes, that no doubt would be filled to the brim with pain. And you avoided his stare that bored you for as long as you could.

But when you felt the couch cushion next to you feel lighter, you snapped your eyes open and up to look at Mat.

Mat backed away from the couch, and there was nothing you could have done to prepare yourself for the look of betrayal in his eyes, “May?” Gnawing at your bottom lip, you nodded. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head in disbelief, “How could you not tell me––Christ, seven months?” Y/N…” his voice cracked as he said your name.

It killed you to see his jaw clenched and eyes rimmed with redness; and seeing his eyes overflow with heartbreak caused you to shoot up from your seat to comfort him. But what killed you even more was how he flinched away from your touch. Nothing in the world could prepare you for that sting.

All you wanted was to comfort him.

“Mat––“

He inhaled a deep breath and sniffled, “Please, don’t…” he brought both hands up to face, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, “You want to leave?”

He couldn’t even look at you.

Unfair to you, his question held two sides. He was asking for clarification about wanting to leave New York, but also asking if you wanted to leave him. To Mat, leaving New York meant leaving him.

Your arms hung limp at your sides, mouth wide open in shock. You understood his confusion about wanting to leave New York because you had never mentioned it before. But your despair quickly turned into irritation as he verbalized his doubt of your love for him.

“You know I’d never leave you,” you said with a deep breath, trying your best to keep your anger at bay.

He ripped his hands away from his face, “Do I?” He sent you a glare that had you stumbling back, “Because we had this whole plan for us. And now you don't want that with me.”

“I still want that with you!” You threw your hands up in the air in exasperation, “Grad school goes faster than undergrad. We’ve done long distance before, and my job said they could transfer me––“

“You already have a job here!” Mat raised his voice, “There are places to go to grad school here! You have a place here! You have friends here––“

You raised your voice over his, “That’s not the point, please just––“

“You have me here!” His voice cracked, “We had a plan––“

“Plans change!”

Mat had his mouth open, ready to shout over you more, but once your ambiguous statement traveled from the confines of your thoughts and slipped out of your lips, he had no response. You could feel the anger radiating off him as the ringing in your ears grew louder…and louder…and louder…

“Plans don’t just change like that,” he venomously spat out. His words hit you like icicles, cold and sharp before his tone momentarily softened, “I had my life built around you…We––I wanted to marry you. Start a family with you.”

He spoke as if all of those desires he had with you were now a far off fantasy.

You pinched the bridge of your nose to stop a new wave of tears from falling. But these tears weren’t of fear for his reaction to your thoughts about change, he made those feelings loud and clear.

These were tears of mourning.

“Mat,” you spoke his name with a strained voice, “Let’s talk about this rationally––“

He ran a hand through his and narrowed his eyes at you, “Don’t…” he raised his forearm to wipe more tears away from his face, “I can’t believe––I really thought we had it all from the beginning. But who would have actually thought two teenagers would make it this far?”

He let out a soft, maniacal chuckle that made you more nauseous than any amount of anxiety.

“We were just children back then,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “What did we know about life.”

His anger morphed into a cynical tone that sent shivers down your spine. It frightened you when he let out that small laugh, one that was usually saved for comical moments between the two of you.

“But here we are now,” he let out another self-deprecating laugh, “Time’s a funny thing…It seemed like nothing back then––It felt as if we had the rest of our lives together.”

As much as you didn’t want to hear Mat break down everything about your relationship, you knew he was spiraling, and you wanted to help him. Because despite what he may think, you still loved him.

Carefully, you tiptoed forward as Mat continued on with his rambling about how idiotic he was as a kid to think that this would last forever. With each step forward, your heart shattered into the tiniest of shards as Mat portrayed your relationship as childish with no chance of reconciliation.

“You just took my love,” his voice decreased in volume and cynicism, and was replaced with a tone that ripped your heart out of your chest. He pointed an accusatory finger at you that made you stop in your tracks, “You took my love––you took it and have no remorse whatsoever––“

You shook your head and picked up the pace of your walking to reach him, “I still love you, Mat. That will never change.”

He stared down at you, and for a moment, you saw the Mat you fell in love with. You saw the bright-eyed eighteen-year-old boy who took his time in teaching you how to shoot a perfect slapshot in his driveway. He looked like he was on the verge of forgiveness, but once you slightly ghosted your fingers against his hand, he snapped out of whatever trance he fell under.

“I don’t know how to love anyone else,” his shoulders slumped forward as he bit his bottom lip.

Without caring that he pulled his hand away from yours seconds ago, you swiftly took his hand in his and gripped it as if you were hanging off a cliff and he was your only lifeline. You didn’t know if it was a moment of bravery, or a moment of desperation. Because there was a nagging thought in the back of your mind that screamed about how this could be the last time you touched him.

“You don’t have to love anyone else,” you pleaded with him, your voice catching in your throat as tears welled up in your eyes, “I don’t want you to love anyone else.”

“Time’s a funny thing,” Mat let out a humorous chuckle, not believing that the two of you found yourself desperately clinging onto the past.

When he finally made eye contact with you, he slightly tilted his head as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Even when he was crying, his dark eyes still captivated you like no one else had. And the longer you stared into his longing eyes, they were filled with one emotion you weren’t familiar with; regret.

“Mat,” you whispered his name cautiously, petrified of what his next move was, “We can work through this…”

He slowly shook his head, causing your heart to plummet, “May…From what I’ve gathered, you hadn’t applied to grad schools then––Didn’t have an excuse for change,” he stalled back more of his tears, “But you wanted a change. You still want that change.”

“I want a change of scenery,” you tried your hardest to make him understand your feelings, “Not a change from you.”

“The only thing back then you could’ve wanted a change from was me,” it was the first time his voice didn’t falter. He was confident in his theory that you didn’t want him anymore.

You squeezed his hand, “Are you even listening to yourself––“

“You’re the love of my life,” his voice was full of pain, and when he softly smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes. With one hand still clutching onto yours, he brought his other hand up––a trembling hand––and tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear, “I just wish I was yours.”

With a shakey inhale, and one last strong sniffle to conceal his sobs, Mat pressed a firm kiss to your forehead. And when released your hand one last time, he escaped out the door.

You had felt many sensations throughout the past seven months: drowning, feeling weighed down, and suffocation. But what you felt right now, the devastation that encased your whole body, was far worse than any of those emotions.

Because now, it felt as if you were falling.

Mat, your only lifeline, let go of your hand.

He knew he held the power to pull you up and save you, but he decided to let you go. When he released your grip, it felt as if he was releasing it finger by finger, desperately wanting to hold onto what you both had; wanting to hold onto the life both of you had created around one another. But in the end, it didn’t survive.

And as he released your hand, you fell.

You fell over the edge, stomach performing backflips as the sensation became worse with each passing second. The sensation of falling was never ending, as if you were falling down the rabbit hole to Wonderland; terrified of what waited for you at the bottom.

The December air felt frigid. The December air made one seek comfort in hot chocolate, or another menial item, because winter wasn’t strong enough to provide comfort. The December air felt nothing like the spring air that offered you solace without asking for anything in return.

Oh, how you wished to smell that spring air once more.

#mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal imagine #mathew barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #mat barzal oneshot #mat barzal writing #mathew barzal fic #mathew barzal oneshot #mat barzal angst #mathew barzal writing #mathew barzal angst #nhl imahine #nhl writing #mat barzal new york islanders #mathew barzal new york islanders

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cerises-amoureuses · 3 years

Text

Firstly, what we need to realise is that Harry was incredibly attracted to Ginny throughout HBP, to the stage where seeing Ginny kiss another boy drove him up the wall. He spent a better part of the year wrestling with his emotions, which is something he didn’t go through with Cho Chang. Of course, this could be because Ginny, being Ron’s little sister, posed an interesting dilemma, but also because Harry’s feelings extended beyond a simple crush. The easiest way to deduct this is to go back to Harry’s infamous first kiss: he did not enjoy it, nor did he express any sort of desire to do it again. But in Ginny’s case, he had barely worked out his feelings for her when he started envisioning himself kissing her. Harry only ever thought Cho was nice-looking, but he experienced a very typical, boyish sort of lust and want when it came to Ginny.

“She began popping up in his dreams in ways that made his devoutly thankful Ron could not perform legilimency.” – Harry, HBP.

It does not take a genius to figure out exactly what he and Ginny were doing in Harry’s dreams. This inneuendo is remarkably suggestive; Harry had begun having sexual, inappropriate dreams about his best friend’s little sister that made him feel guilty and embarrassed. Moreover, note the instances when Ginny and Harry came in contact; they were often punctuated with Harry either feeling a “swooping sensation” or getting so tense that goosebumps erupted on the back of his neck. There is no evidence of Harry ever feeling jumpy by a girl’s slight touch before, which begs the question why it flustered him so physically in the first place. All evidences point to the thick sexual tension that Harry was feeling between himself and Ginny.

Simply put, Harry’s attraction to Ginny had permeated the boundaries of innocent crushes and gone straight to lustful thoughts and wild dreams.

“… He had received a lot more Bludger injuries during practice because he had not been keeping his eyes on the Snitch .. “ - Harry, HBP.

There is little room for argument for one trying to say that Harry was admiring Ginny in all innocence from a broomstick suspended in midair. This is another not-so subtle allusion to Harry’s burgeoning sexual attraction. Being a sixteen-year old boy, it is fairly plausible that Harry was being highly inappropriate, possibly undressing Ginny with his eyes, and he needed the force of a Bludger to snap him out of it. It is ridiculous to insinuate that Harry wasn’t looking a little intently than he ought to at Ginny; how else could he have ignored a Bludger speeding at him?

Quite apart from the fact that Harry described his impromptu mid-common room snog with Ginny in a remarkably heavenly fashion, he also explicitly went on to say that if they had time, they would talk about the Quidditch match. This does not specifically point to anything too scandalous, but it does make very clear that Harry intended on taking Ginny to a deserted area for more kissing. This seems a terribly bold step for two people who haven’t even started dating yet. It speaks a lot about their relationship that they started things off with a good, (presumably) lengthy snog, and jumped headlong into the opportunity to snog some more. It insinuates that the two were already very comfortable with each other, and already moving very fast in their relationship.

If that didn’t scream CLUE!!! enough, the next sure indicator was Harry’s feelings while they were dating. His narration was light, airy and genuinely happy – a dramatic change from the teenage angst that readers had been dealing with since GOF. It might be in my imagination, but I have always thought Harry in that period to be all kinds of insufferable, walking around with a goofy grin on his face and not paying much attention to anything – that lovestruck behaviour is largely hinted at in the books,after all. Hadn’t Professor Slughorn attributed Harry’s detoriating Potions grade to “lovesickness”? This obviously meant that Harry had been displaying visible symptoms of the same, which prompted that line of reasoning. What else could make the Boy-Who-Finally-Got-A-Girlfriend “happily impervious to gossip”?

On a particularly striking instance, Harry states that he was reliving a happy moment spent with Ginny in the grounds – if it was “happy” enough for Harry to dwell on it later, what could they have been doing, one wonders? (Cough, cough). Harry expressed explicit frustration that he could no longer spend time with Ginny, and there a very choice things that would, per say, “frustrate” a sixteen-year old boy.

Perhaps it isn’t overly obvious on skimming HBP, but if one analyses Harry’s narration, as I have, it becomes laughably clear that Harry and Ginny were almost definitely being adventurous. Ginny, for her part, is described as fiery and passionate – nothing in her character suggests restraint or holding back. A war, of which Harry was a main part, was going on in full-swing outside the cosy walls of the castle. It is additionally suggestive that JK Rowling also wrote in a specific conversation where it was revealed to Harry that people often elope during times of war. Ginny herself had commented playfully on it. If taking that step as such a young age wasn’t exactly responsible, the could hardly be blamed for it.

Another compelling argument is the fact that Harry, in particular, was, for want of a better word, especially well-equipped. For goodness’ sakes, the boy owned a legitimate Invisibilty Cloak, the Marauder’s Map and was an active user of the Room of Requirement. While Harry made use of these magical items for relatively noble and innocent purposes – in a non-Voldemort dangered world, what else would students want to make themselves invisible for? Ginny, in particular, doesn’t seem the type to ignore the dual potential of items like the map and Cloak.

Lastly, the dealbreaker was the stiflingly unbearable encounters between Harry and Ginny in DH. If there was slight sexual tension in the air between them in HBP, this was magnified about a hundred times in DH. Not many people choose to dwell on this, but I invite you think for a moment – imagine being boyfriend and girlfriend scarcely two months ago, and having a blissful, perfect relationship. Now, imagine being forced to live under the same roof – two teenagers – when they were so unwillingly forced to break up. They had barely spent a month dating, only to be brutally separated, and then made to live together again? Forget Crucio, there’s nothing more torturous than that.

Every time Harry made eye-contact her, he starts to recall moments spent with Ginny in secluded parts of the grounds, which is possibly the least subtle reference in the entire franchise. Again, he experiences acute, agonising frustration, to the point where he is actively trying not to brush against her while they eat dinner – it sounds almost as if he doesn’t trust himself. Another extremely suggestive moment is when Aunt Muriel makes a comment on the scandalous, revealing quality of Ginny’s bridesmaid dress, and the latter turns around and winks at Harry.

No explanation needed.

Need I dwell on Harry’s absolutely endearing jealousy while Ginny danced with other boys at the wedding? He, quite literally, leans against a pillar, folds his arms, (presumably with a glare on his face) and stares fixedly at Ginny.

One confusing instance, however, was Ginny’s – ahem – birthday present to Harry, in which he says, “And then she was kissing him like she had never kissed him before ...” This could somewhat serve as proof that they never progressed farther than snogging, but this greatly contradicts that aforementioned alusions to the same. It also seems a little naive to assume that they were exceedingly good little children while they disappeared for hours to secluded corners and fondly dwell on those instances to the point of distraction afterwards. No, it is my belief that it had been so long since Harry kissed her that he was automatically prone to over-exaggerating their sudden reprisal.

As I come to my conclusion, a few worthy mentions – Harry’s thoughts just before Voldemort struck him in the Forbidden Forest in DH: “And Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his –“ Alas, he never completed his train of thinking, but it does leave considerable food for thought.

Therefore, one can comfortably assume that in at least one area of his life, Harry acted like any normal boy his age. He had strong, passionate feelings for Ginny, and she unquestionably felt the same about him (“I never gave up on you. Not really. I always hoped …”), and those kind of things are recipes for teenage intimacy. However, anyone clinging to childhood beliefs can also safely predict that they waited. We may never know, but the evident has always been there, just as JK Rowling intended.

What are you thinking? 🤔

#hinny #Harry #Ginny #Harry potter #Ginny weasley

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dreamwritesimagines · 2 years

Note

this was once again my favourite chapter!! i don't know how you keep on beating your own very high quality but somehow you do!! i loved this chapter, though i am afraid this is only the start of a lot of angst and tears to come 😔😔 which i kind of expected but still- a girl can hope for just a series filled with fluff only (usually i'd say that would get boring but honestly you could pull it off and have me read a 30-chapter fic of fluff only and not get bored at all) anyway- i'll get into the specific commentary. there's a lot of it this chapter so buckle up!!

“Cecily can’t be there, Y/N.” elias with all due respect shut UP

“I don’t have that luxury,” he said, making you shake your head fervently. elias is really determined on putting the stupid in himbo huh

You let out a breath, his confession distracting you momentarily. “You hold Cecily dear to your heart?” y'know what i diagnose cherie with adhd she's constantly getting distracted by everything and having to go outside when it's too loud- also i have adhd and i am relating to her so!!

“Well, that won’t do,” you murmured to yourself, “I don’t care what anyone else thinks, I will get those two together.” honestly never before have i actually related to a y/n in a reader fic this much i support cherie with all my heart ALSO i just realised cherie is literally cher from clueless?? even their (nick)names are pretty much the same?? how did i not notice this before

“Oh everyone has those lists,” Cecily said airily. “Mama makes one for Hugh every season, but he insists he wants us girls to marry first before he even considers looking for a wife.” every single time i hear anything about hugh i fall more in love with him how are you so good at writing characters that i'm in love with him without his actual presence in the fic?? also if you ever decide to write a spin-off about hugh i will support it with my entire being and be forever grateful

“That’s what Hugh does.” hugh i want you to know i love you with all my heart i don't care what you do

“Especially after Benedict saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, I think?” which one of the several times. benedict is all-seeing for all i know he seems to know a lot of shit about his brother

Penelope leaned in closer to hear it better. ha i see what you did there 👀👀

“Mm hm,” Eloise stated, winking at you. “Sounds like a scandal.” that's what i've been saying bestie!! you don't even know half of it!! honestly if eloise was to know how many scandalous things anthony has been doing to get closer to cherie she'd die of embarrassment

You looked around and held your breath as soon as you caught the sight of Anthony and Benedict by a corner, looking to be in a deep conversation honestly i've been assuming that every time cherie sees them in a conversation it's about her and i'm like 98% sure my assumptions are right they're like teenage girls gossiping about someone's crush

Anthony snapping out of the conversation the second he saw you. ah yes, this is obviously a man not completely in love

Benedict looked almost as surprised as Anthony was, and he looked between you before turning his attention to you. OOF rip anthony's heart i guess

Benedict stole a glance at Anthony as if trying to see his reaction before he cleared his throat, then offered you his arm. lol benedict definitely knows what's up all those people talking about benedict making elias jealous with cecily obviously haven't been thinking about the potential of THIS

Benedict tilted his head like a confused puppy. “I thought you’d be happy.” i can just PICTURE this i never knew i was missing benedict's interactions so much in this fic until this chapter- i am definitely not opposed to this pair working together again in the future (i'm sorry anthony)

“I have a plan about Cece and my brother,” you said, feeling Anthony’s dark gaze burning a hole on you but you managed to focus on Benedict. take a shot every time anthony acts jealous in some way this chapter

“They don’t know it is true love yet, but that’s just a small detail that needs to be handled, and I am working on it,” you pointed out as a burst of laughter climbed up his throat. cherie you are the best never change please i adore you also i have to mention again i love this notion of cherie and benedict being besties it's so cute

“He’s glaring at us as we speak, if you’d like a clue.” lol tell her benedict!! idk why but benedict is to anthony and cherie what cherie is to elias and cecily kind of??

“He hasn’t glared at me like that since we were children, this brings back memories,” he commented and you tilted your head at him. he's so CHEEKY also i can just hear and see him saying this if you decide on writing a benedict fic- i would definitely not be opposed to it!!

He frowned. “And my brother could help you with that?” i almost feel bad for him he feels so rejected poor soul

“He’s a very nice person,” you said, nodding your head. “I’m sure you’re very proud to have him as your brother.” honestly if i was anthony id have laughed in her face i don't have this restraint benedict IS very nice but he's also such a little bastard to his siblings-

“I could…help you with whatever it is,” he said after a beat and you waved a hand in the air. awww he is trying!! and very jealous but it's fine!! this is so cute he just wants her attention doesn't even matter what it is he has to help her with- you can definitely see the elias in him here 😭😭

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he had let out an exhale of relief as it dawned on him and he nodded slowly. "if you didn't know any better" my ass cherie doesn't know love if it's staring her in her face with all its green colours of jealousy

“And if you ask me, this is yet another situation in which you’re tragically wrong.” honestly usually anthony makes some solid points regarding marriage but i have to agree with cherie here elias and cecily are OBVIOUSLY meant to be

“…Your list?” he repeated after a moment of hesitation and you nodded. lord i can see anthony's poor nerves tensing up in fear this man really can't relax in fear of cherie falling in love with someone else while he's resting

“Cecily’s list will be very easy, it’ll be just Elias’s name repeated ten times, but mine will be a little challenging I fear.” cherie is once again completely right cecily needs no one else on her list also i LOVE cherie being a feminist™ and taking charge of her own damn list

“Well I’d have to get to know them in order to fall in love with them,” you said. okay honestly cherie?? very solid point!! this is more than i'd usually expect from her concerning the areas of love

“Pierre will be on it, probably.” okay i know i loved pierre at first but i'm joining in on anthony's annoyance now PLEASE get him out of here so she can get with anthony 🙄🙄 if we need more jealousy i guess benedict is always available?? apparently not much is needed to make anthony seethe in it

“And I’m thinking about Mr. Sinclair, the third son. He sent me flowers on Valentine’s day, so I think he’s a romantic at heart.” not mr sinclair 😭😭 cherie bestie you don't even know which one he is- how often are we going to hear about these sinclairs again??

His jaw clenched but that was the only clue he let slip that he was getting annoyed. mhm yes i'm sure that's the ONLY clue. not every single one of his words or anything.

“Don’t you all drink and spend time at the gentlemen’s club?” you asked. “They are your friends so you must recommend me someone, it’s not like I can go ask Elias. He will be opposed to everyone in the ballroom.” first of all cherie has a VERY loose definition of what friends are second of all i love elias being a true ally to anthony even in his absence

“Anyone in London.” anthony bestie your green is showing 😭😭

He nodded his head. “Maybe you should wait until the next season or something just to be sure.” ANTHONY BRIDGERTON- let this girl have her love or go be it yourself!! you can't go and dictate her matches when you won't step up and be it yourself!!

“Then Pierre it is,” you stated as he pulled back slightly. “What? No, that’s not what I meant—” i love anthony accidentally sabotaging himself badly!! i mean it sucks because pierre but also anthony needs to be put in his place!! and if he does so himself even better!! this has the same energy of cecily accidentally supporting anthony

“Maybe not but think about it, he’s not from London and if I do fall in love and marry him, when you finally find your future Viscountess whom you will not love, you two could visit us in Paris! Would that not be fun?” He looked as if he swallowed something bitter. “I’m sorry?” okay i feel very bad for him now not only is he now picturing her marrying pierre but he ALSO has to visit her?? poor guy :(( same energy as edwina telling kate she'll have to visit and be an auntie to her and anthony's children 😀😀

“I reckon it would be a nice change for you and her. Paris is the city of love, and London is the…city of business I’m guessing, so I’m sure she will be as pragmatist and logical as you are but she would probably like Paris, anyone would. Who knows, she might even consider—” cherie is honestly so hilarious i'd probably fall in love with her too tbh i love her casually roasting anthony idk how to describe it but their banter is so different to anthony's and kate's and i love it!! also i'm very curious as to what cherie was going to say before they were interrupted by cecily's arrival

You looked around his arm to see Cecily approaching the house. “Oh I see Cecily has just arrived, excuse me.” honestly?? bestie goals!! ignore that man who is also the love of your life for your best friend!! (as she should)

“My sister was having a breakdown because she didn’t like any of her clothes,” you know what i relate to cecily's sister the most i take back everything i said about relating to cherie this is my spiritual twin instead

okay this became WAY longer than intended but then again this was a very great chapter!! my love for this fanfic has now grown into a phase where my friends ask for updates on how it's going with it 😭😭

have a wonderful day love!!

Omg Merel honeeey❤❤ I'm so excited for this! ❤

We're going to get some fluff before the actual angst hits though, no worries 😂😂

Elias was so damn blind this chapter honestly 😂

y'know what i diagnose cherie with adhd she's constantly getting distracted by everything and having to go outside when it's too loud- also i have adhd and i am relating to her so!! YOU NOTICED! YOU NOTICED THAT! ❤

Like especially getting distracted easily, being unable to sit still and fidgeting a lot (she can't even stand completely still when she's talking to Anthony most of the time, she is either rocking back and forth or shifting her weight a lot) and excessive physical movement ❤ She also has a lot of energy 😁❤

I LOVE CLUELESS SO MUCH ❤❤

Omg this is amazing 😂😂 Hugh is coming really soon and I'm so excited to hear what you'll think of him! ❤❤ I think you will like him a lot, he's one of my favorite characters ❤

Benedict sees right through him 😂

Oh yeah, Penelope was very interested in the gossip wasn't she? 😈

ah yes, this is obviously a man not completely in love LOLLLL 😂😂

Benedict is gonna have so much fun with this and I think him and Cherie working together....they'd make an unstoppable duo😂😂

take a shot every time anthony acts jealous in some way this chapter Oh I would be drunk for sure 😂

I think a Benedict fic might be very possible after this 😏❤

he just wants her attention YESSSS! ❤❤ Like, he's so not used to sharing her attention and he doesn't like it 😈

She has no idea he's so jealous 😂

this man really can't relax in fear of cherie falling in love with someone else while he's resting You are right and you should say it 😂

Oh yeah, Cherie is like "if men are getting lists, so are we!" 😂

We will see just how jealous Anthony can get 😏 He does not like to share when it comes to her😈

Oh we're going to hear a lot about Sinclairs lolll, they're a big family and one of them is totally trying to court Cherie 😂

Anthony doesn't even see it😂 Like, in his mind, he really wants her to wait but not flirt with any suitors lolll😂

Anthony accidentaly sabotaging himself lolll😂

His mind totally went overdrive, he even saw them having kids, that's why he was all frozen 😂

I think she likes that a lot 😂 and she has zero attention span lolll❤

OMG I LOVE LONG ASKS, YOU KNOW THATTT❤❤ Awww your friends ask that? That's so sweet of them! ❤❤❤

Thank you so much for this, you're amazing! ❤❤❤

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free-pool-trash · 3 years

Text

maybe - stiles stilinski

This is for all my Stiles bitches who are afraid of love ❤️ @makeusfreefromthisfandom ;)

word count: 2k

warnings: angst

summary: the last thing you wanted to do was fall in love (the bridge of all too well obviously set me off)

masterlist

“Maybe we got lost in translation...”

You weren’t sure at what point you’d gone wrong. Each time you recounted your footsteps, every step was calculated and perfectly placed. Perhaps you hadn’t done enough. Or maybe you hadn’t given enough, if you were to ignore the fact that the girl you were before was almost unrecognisable to you now, that option seemed most likely.

For months and months you danced around each other, balanced on the tightrope between friends and more than that. It seemed all of your show stopping smiles, all of your time and all of your willingness to be at each beck and call had been wasted on the relationship that had been doomed from the beginning. But, of course, you were only now hit with that epiphany.

Truthfully, yet somewhat shockingly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to take on the blame for losing your potential other half. Yes, your heart had been completely and utterly torn to shreds in a way you’d never experienced, it was the kind of hurt you hoped you’d never have to brave again. But it wasn’t your fault that falling always felt like flying. It wasn’t your fault that he’d wormed his way through your barricades, there was nothing for you to do but surrender to the sudden ambush that was falling in love with Stiles Stilinski.

Falling in love was never something you wanted, in fact, it was something you tirelessly avoided. The notion of giving someone the power to destroy you brought you nothing but terror. Then there was him.

Stiles Stilinski. Clever, sarcastic, kind, cute and terrible at lacrosse. He’d broken down your every defence, not even knowing he was doing it in the first place. Maybe you were fooling yourself but you truly thought you’d broken down some of his walls too.

What other explanation could be given to the times when he’d show up at your house looking for a shoulder to cry on, specifically your shoulder to cry on. Or the times he would throw you a packet of your favourite sweets before school with the reasoning of “Well, I was getting gas and I know you like them. So I got them.” As if it was the most obvious thing ever.

Those being construed as more than platonic could definitely be considered wishful thinking, but the scene currently playing in your mind had to have meant something more.

In your mind you played it back, it’d started fairly normally. Stiles had shown up in his rickety jeep, told you to hop in and he drove around until he found somewhere private and quiet to park. You’d gotten food on your way to the empty parking lot, he knew your order off by heart, butterflies erupted in your stomach as he called it into the speaker with complete confidence. Dazed, you remember asking, doe eyed and almost breathless, “You know my order?”

The boy had huffed out a puff of air and looked at you incredulously, “Of course I know your order, come on.” He shrugged off your shock and the night moved on as it usually did. It was when you were sitting in the parking lot, quietly picking at your food that he spoke up.

“Hey. Can I ask you something?” Sparing him a glance you only nodded, continuing to pick at your food as you listened. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, by the way.”

With a raised brow you turned your head to look at him, his hands were drumming on the steering wheel rather anxiously, “Alright… what’s your question?”

He’d turned his body to face you as best he could in the small space and clapped his hands together, “Ok, theoretically, if someone was trying to woo you… how would they go about doing that?” He cleared his throat as he finished and if it was possible your eyebrow arched higher.

It was a loaded question. How do you woo someone who's never wanted to be wooed? You wanted to tell him, but instead you shrugged your shoulders and deflated against the passenger seat.

“I don’t know, I’ve never really had an interest in being wooed. Never really thought about it.”

The irony of the situation, looking back on it, he’d been wooing you without even trying and what’s more is that you hadn’t even felt it happening. Only now realising you’d been falling once your body hit the unforgiving concrete beneath it.

“Oh come on! There has to be something! Flowers? Chocolates?” Stiles proded, wiggled his eyebrows and he whined half heartedly when you tossed a fry at him.

You remember how you’d rolled your eyes, “Seriously, I don’t want to be pursued by some guy.”

“Blah, blah, blah, I know. I said theoretically, ok? Theoretically, if you did wanna be pursued, how would that go?” His tone went from sarcastic but melted into uncertainty towards the end of his question.

Your eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you, “Why do you even wanna know?”

His gaze softened and there was something so gentle behind his eyes, an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint and the words that fell from his lips were the catalyst to your inevitable plummet.

“You deserve someone to love you. I want you to have that.”

Bringing your train of thought back to the present, you tried your best to focus on the meeting at hand. Scott was talking the pack through a battle strategy, something about Gerard and Monroe but you weren’t paying attention.

You were internally kicking yourself, of course he’d end up with Lydia after all of this. You were so caught up in the short term sparks, the momentary hopes, that you’d forgotten about the bigger picture. Even still, you wouldn’t lie, you were feeling as though you’d been strung along.

There was a set of eyes scrutinising you from across Scott’s kitchen and it was only when you met Theo’s curious eyes that you noticed you had zoned in on Stiles’ and Lydia’s intertwined hands. The kamara gave you a knowing look, quietly moving towards you once the room broke into chatter.

“You know, if you keep oggling at them they’re going to notice.” He told you, leaning towards your ear as his legs rested against the counter beside you.

Sighing you looked at him, completely exhausted, “I really wish I was heartless like you.”

Theo chuckled, tilting his head as if he knew something you didn’t, “Well, according to Stiles, you’re pretty cold hearted yourself.”

“And Stiles told you that?” You snapped, arms crossing over your chest apprehensively.

He nodded his head, pulled his lip between his teeth and then leaned his head back towards your ear again, “He also told me that you were the kinda girl who needed someone persistent.”

Your stomach dropped, you had an idea where he was going with this. “Why? Why did he tell you all that?”

“Must think I’d be a good match for you.”

It hurt, that someone you considered a friend, more than a friend, would talk you up to someone he absolutely loathed, someone he didn’t trust at all. You’d been so wrong about the feelings Stiles had for you recently and you couldn’t help considering that maybe you fell into the same category as Theo. Just another cold hearted fool.

There was a lot to be said for Theo Raeken. Was he necessarily a good person? No. Was he trustworthy? Absolutely not. Yeah, that’s definitely the sort of person you deserved to have love you.

“I’d be offended too.” He chuckled, watching your face carefully. The way it contorted in confusion, how your lips dipped downward and acceptance settled on your face.

You hadn’t noticed Stiles looking at you from across the room, inspecting the scene before him carefully. He had this sort of anxiety flooding his chest as he watched you deflate as you spoke to Theo.

There was no denying that he was in love with Lydia but before he’d inevitably ended up with the strawberry blonde, he’d been building something quite special with you. He knew you caught onto it too and that’s what was eating away at him.

“You’re being ridiculous.” He told you, shaking his head in disbelief.

You scoffed in return, “It’s called self preservation, Stiles.”

“I just don’t get it.”

You looked at him before shooting into an explanation that he’d heard a million times before, “When you fall in love with someone you give that person so much power over you. They can either make you or break you. I don’t ever want someone to have that kind of affect on me. I don’t want someone that feels like fresh air in my lungs because if they leave I’d be the one left suffocating. Doesn’t sound all that magical to me.”

Stiles looked at you sadly, he understood what you meant but he believed in the goodness of falling in love, “What makes you so sure they’ll leave?”

“Because they always do.”

And he’d done everything you tried so adamantly to avoid. Knowingly made you fall and then knowing left you to crash and burn and prove yourself right.

You stared at him, from across the room, something about the look on your face told him that his last stitch attempt to save face had only pushed you over the edge.

He hated Theo, he really did and you deserved better than him, but he was the only readily available person that he could think of in the heat of the moment.

Theo liked the chase and you liked to run, it made sense on paper. But the look of betrayal on your face as your eyes met sent him spiralling.

Without another word you left the room, stalking towards Scott’s front porch and settling down on the steps.

It was quiet for a while, your hands busied themselves raking through your hair as your elbows rested against your knees. Were you really as bad as Theo? Was that really the impression you gave off? Sure, the boy had improved since you’d first met but that didn’t change the fact that he’d literally been sent to hell for his crimes. Did shunning romance seriously make you that evil?

A familiar presence joining you shook you from your thoughts but you didn’t move to greet him.

Stiles clearing his throat broke the silence but you kept your gaze on the empty street ahead of you. “So, uh, Theo-“

You cut him off with an empty laugh, giving him the meanest side eye you could manage, “Don’t.” You demanded though your voice sounded weak.

“You seemed upset- just wanted to check on you.” He told you lamely, rubbing the back of his neck, watching as your eyebrows pulled together.

Turning slowly to face him you let your hands fall limply against your knees, “I have a question.”

He only nodded. Preparing himself for whatever you were about to throw at him.

“Was it all in my head?” There was anger creeping along your tone but it was the desperation for an answer that took the forefront.

He swallowed thickly but shook his head, “Nah. It wasn’t in your head.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, fighting the urge to scream as you posed your next question, “It was always Lydia. No matter when or where it was always going to be her. So why?”

His heart sank at the question, his will cracking just as your voice did when you spoke, “Why what?”

“Maybe you didn’t mean to. Maybe you were bored or maybe we just got lost in transition but I trusted you. So I guess my real question is; why did you try so hard to make me love someone only to walk away at the first given opportunity.” You wondered, quickly brushing away a tear that fell from your eye.

His silence could’ve killed you, he looked so very lost. Completely devoid of an answer he just stared at you as you inhaled a deep breath and stood up shakily.

“You know, maybe you were onto something with that Theo thing. At least if he screws me over I’ll have seen it coming.” You told him bitterly, walking inside and leaving him on the step.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf #just some senseless angst because i felt like it

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nazyalenskyism · 3 years

Text

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans

Summary: A Zoyalai fic based on the prompt: “Some angst and comfort. Some reunion after a very, very long time.” send me a promt and i’ll write you a blurb

“Do you see her?” Genya called out, scanning the waves of people disembarking the ships on her tiptoes. It had been months since Zoya had been stationed in the Wandering Isle, a position she had specifically asked him for before the war had ended as they walked through the streets of Ketterdam. Despite Genya’s insistence that Zoya not leave, the two of them had known that it was a necessity. They were too close to crossing a line that they couldn’t afford to, and they had silently agreed that distance was the only way to remedy the problem. Nikolai had known that leading the country into a peaceful era was going to be taxing, but he hadn’t imagined how difficult it was going to be without Zoya at his side. He had come to rely on her, not only for matters of the state, but for matters of the mind too, and ever since she’d left all those months ago, he’d only felt the discontent in his heart grow. He thought he could temper his want for Zoya if she wasn’t constantly at his side, but he’d come to learn that there was a reason for the famous saying, ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’, being so popular. Nikolai could hear his general’s voice in his ear, could picture the roll of her eyes at the confession, how she would threaten to call Tolya into the room so that the two could lament over forlorn poetry while she got drunk with Tamar, Genya and Nadia. Saints, he missed her.

“It’s dropped anchor late,” Nikolai called back, slipping his timepiece back into his pocket, brushing his fingers against the cool velvet ribbon before turning to Genya. “And besides, it’ll take them a bit to disembark and--”

“Nikolai,” Genya gasped in response to a sudden commotion at the gangplank. Nikolai’s head snapped up spotting the daub of blue silk descending down the plank, supported on either side by First Army soldiers. Zoya. “Move,” Genya yelled, elbowing her way through the crowd, Nikolai hot on her heels. If the sickly pallor of her face and droopy lids of her eyes weren’t alarming enough, the way that she crumpled into his arms was and matted blood in her hair were.

“Commander Nazyalensky? Zoya?” A low, unintelligible groan sounded from her lips and Nikolai’s heart dropped. What had happened to her? At Genya’s command, he laid Zoya out on the ground, letting Tamar assess her condition. Tamar’s hands hovered over Zoya’s form, and after a long moment, the Heartrender spoke. “She should be fine, but we need to get her back to the Dacha, we need more healers.”

Genya grasped at Tamar as Nikolai carefully lifted his general into his arms, “is it that bad?” “She’s lost a lot of blood, it’s a messy and difficult process that I don’t want to try in the back of the carriage. She should be okay.”

“She has to be fine. I can’t lose her too.” Tamar squeezed the other girl’s shoulder at the words before hopping into the driver’s seat with Tolya, briefing him on the situation while the others settled into the coach. “Come on, Nazyalensky. Hold on a little while longer,” Nikolai whispered as they tore down the road, Zoya’s unconscious form limp in his arms, Genya’s shaking fingers curled into the blue silk of her kefta, as if she could force Zoya to stay with them.

The next few hours were a blur in his mind. As soon as the carriage stopped, the Tolya offered to take Zoya in his arms but Nikolai refused to leave, carrying her to his chambers. For once his head was clear of anything but the situation at hand. They’d lost so much, they couldn’t afford to lose Zoya. He couldn’t bear to lose Zoya. He stood by the window as the healers got to work on his general, applying their training in the small science to replenish her blood and heal her wounds. Nikolai knew that the Corporalki were more than capable, but he knew as well as anyone the potential for things to go wrong, no matter how good the odds were.

Nikolai was brought a basin of water to wash off with, a stack of urgent letters, and the reports from the crew of the ship and their account of the events that had left Zoya in this state. Once he’d read the reports, he sent the letters away, nothing was more urgent than this. After what seemed like an eternity, Tolya sent the healers away, stating that he and Tamar could finish the job themselves, but he knew the reason they did this. It was because Zoya would’ve hated to appear vulnerable before this many people, she would probably admonish them all after she woke up for having the audacity to view her in her injured state, despite being her closest friends. It was when they were alone, Genya in one corner of the room, Nikolai in the other, with the twins standing over Zoya when the silence was broken once more. “You’re not allowed to let her leave again.” He scrubbed a hand over his face before turning to Genya, “even if I tried, do you think she would listen? Zoya Nazyalensky takes orders from no one, we all know that.” “Don’t let her look for reasons to leave. Give her a reason to stay. ” Before Nikolai could fully process the meaning behind her words, a low groan caught their attention. “Nikolai?” I’m here, he wanted to say, but for the first time in his life, apprehension held him back. “Where’s Nikolai,” she mumbled again, writhing enough to disrupt the twins’ work. He was at her side in an instant, sinking onto the mattress and taking her reaching hand in his. “I’m here,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from face, watching the crease in her brow ease as she unconsciously leaned into his touch. Her movements stopped, her body relaxing back into sleep, and Nikolai felt his heart tighten at the way she curled into him. He felt stares from their friends, but no one said anything aside from Zoya’s occasional calls from him whenever he stepped back to let the twins continue their work. Every time she called, he was there, brushing back her hair, holding her hand between his, murmuring words of encouragement he knew she wouldn’t hear or remember. Around twilight, Nikolai realized that his friends had left them, the quiet of the room felt suffocating now that they were alone. It felt wrong that she was the one injured and asleep while he watched over her, for months their positions had been reversed, and while he hadn’t missed being chained to his bed every night he had missed the time it had given him with her. She had been the first thing he saw in the morning, the last thing he saw at night for months, and he hadn’t realized just how much he missed what that particular practice of theirs had given him. He slowly pulled his hand from hers, easing into a chair at her bedside. “I’m sorry I let you go,” he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment before he heard her voice.

“Nikolai?” “I’m here,” he replied, helping her into a sitting position, and filling up a glass of water for her before settling down himself. “You’re really here?” “I know it’s hard to believe, as handsome as I am, I’m not a dream.” He smiled at her irritated exhale, “long time no see, Nazyalensky. You’re looking as darling as ever.”

“You look worse. Much worse than I remember.”

“I know I must be devilishly handsome in your fantasies, but a day spent tirelessly at your bedside may have me looking a little worse for wear, I’ll admit.” “Where are we?” Her dark lashes fluttered against her golden cheeks, voice hoarse but the colour seemed to have returned to her face.

“Udova. The twins said that you needed more Corporalki to help stabilize you. You lost a lot of blood.”

“This is your ancestral estate?”

“Given how my father is Fjerdan, I don’t think it’s technically mine.”

“You used to come here as a child?” faint amusement lit her eyes, “baby Nikolai reigning terror on everyone, or holed away in the library, reading books until you couldn’t see straight?” “Both.”

“Of course, I would expect nothing less.” A lingering silence followed her words, neither sure of exactly how to proceed. “How are you feel--”

“You look tired,” her hand reached out, and before he could react, she was cupping his face softly, thumb gently stroking along his cheek. “Have you been sleeping?” “Yes.”

Her stern gaze met his eyes, “your lies don’t work on me.”

“First you’re immune to my charm, and now my lies. Keep this up and you’ll put me out of business, Nazyalensky.”

Zoya’s hand dropped suddenly, her whole body recoiling at his words, leaving him to shudder from the absence of her warmth. Was she so horrified at the mere idea of being charmed by him? Nikolai sank back into his chair, unsure of how to proceed. Zoya sat staring down stubbornly at her intertwined fingers, and he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed answers. “What happened out there? You almost died Zoya.”

“I was protecting the crew.”

“You were unnecessarily throwing yourself in harm's way and you know it. I got the report from the Captain, he said that they would’ve made it safely to port without your heroics.”

“I had no choice! It was either me or them.” Nikolai laughed humorlessly, running a frustrated hand through his hair, an action he had repeated countless times today. “That’s not true and you know it. Four years as Commander of the Second Army, of working with me and you couldn’t come up with an alternative? Do you get joy out of nearly getting yourself killed?”

“No,” she hissed. “You would’ve done the exact same thing without a moment of hesitation, don’t act like you wouldn't have.”

“It doesn’t matter what I would’ve done. What matters is that you shouldn't have done it in the first place.”

“I’m a single soldier, I’m expendable. The intel we gathered, my unit, the crew, they weren’t. It was an easy choice, one I’d make again.”

“For Saints sake, you’re not expendable Zoya!” he burst out. Why was she so convinced that she was?

“I was there to lead them--to protect them. If you’re worried about being down a general, you know there are more than capable replacements for me, Nikolai. ”

“You’re not replaceable! I don’t need anyone else. I need you, Zoya!” The words were breathless, and once they were out he couldn’t reel them back in.

His words hung in the air before she began to nod slowly, as if she had been expecting the outburst, “as your general.” It wasn’t a question, but it was.

“Yes, but it’s more than that.” Why was he having such difficulty saying it? How did he explain the all encompassing nature of his feelings to Zoya? Brave and beautiful Zoya, with her eyes hesitantly, maybe even hopefully trained on him? Nikolai wanted to take her into his arms and explain that ever since they’d been dragged into the Fold by Saints, he had felt a connection to her, that he could taste the ice wine they shared on quiet nights, smell her signature scent of wildflowers on the wind wherever she was near. He wanted to tell her that he felt a connection between them, as palpable as a golden thread binding them together, and wondered if she felt it too. Nikolai desired to tell her that at her departure, he had felt like the thread had been pulled and pulled until he couldn’t breathe, only for it to suddenly snap back like an elastic at the news of her return, an overwhelming sensation of longing overtaking his senses. He wanted to tell her that when he first saw her today, it had felt like someone had pierced his chest with a lance, an agony rivaling only what he’d felt when being impaled by the thornwood that day in the Fold, the same day he’d felt his fate be irreversibly bound to hers. He wanted so much, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward in his chair, uttering words he could never take back.

“I want you. I want you all the time, Zoya.”

“You want me, but will you have me? Are you not bound to your duty as king to choose the best person for your country?” To anyone else her face would appear impassive but he knew the way her eyes widened slightly, the way her lips parted, when she was holding her breath, afraid to hope that something was true. She wanted it to be true.

“If my country and I are one and the same,” he began, taking her hand in his, “then I shall only give it what it most deserves, and hope I am worthy of it too.”

“Can you let yourself do that?” “A king can do as he pleases, can’t he?” She turned away at those words, and Nikolai reached out, cupping her face and bringing her gaze back to him. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t stay. I thought we both knew what was right at the time, and it’s clear that we were both wrong.” “Go on,” she whispered, her shining eyes locked on his. “I don’t want you to leave again. I want you here, by my side, for as long as time will let me, if that’s what you want.” “What are you proposing?” Her hand slid up to his and she leaned further into his touch. “A coquettish courtship, a exuberant engagement, a whirlwind wedding and when all that’s said and done,” he angled his head towards hers, “hopefully many, many years of peaceful and quiet companionship.” “Sounds perfect,” Zoya breathed, her gaze trained on his lips, “except for one thing.” Nikolai pulled back, afraid that he’d alarmed her, “what?” She wrapped her arm around the back of his neck, pulling him down towards her, “you expect me to believe that a single moment with you will be quiet.” “I can think of several ways you can shut me up if I ever get to be too much. I think you’ll find that I am easily--” Zoya crashed her lips against his, and despite the harsh words she always seemed to have readily on hand, he felt her smile against him. For once in his life, Nikolai let himself relax, knowing that the rest of the world would still be there when they were ready to face it, together.

#zoyalai #zoyalai fic #row fic #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #my writings

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seoracle · 3 years

Text

DRIVERS LICENSE; i

Pairing: Bang Chan x Idol! Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fake Dating! AU, Angst, Lovers to Enemies(?), Occasional Pining, Comedy, S for potential smut(??)

Summary: Y/N has become an overnight sensation with ‘Drivers License’, Breaking records left and right...But what if the press gets wind of the ill-matched lovers and their company decide it’s the perfect attention ploy?

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing (a lot near the end), Drinking mention

A/N: this was meant to be a drabble... now it’s becoming a series...i’m sorry

“...and the winner of Inkigayo today is...Y/N with ‘Drivers License, Congratulations!”

You step towards the center of the stage and take the trophy and bouquet from a rookie idol, who flashes a bright smile at you, but you can see the envy in his eyes. You once had that same hunger and ambition that he seems to reek of, it’s a reminder of how far you’ve come.

Taking the mic, you begin to sing a more sultry and edgier vibe than usual, which seems to gather more screams from fans than usual. You remember what Seulgi taught you and gaze at the camera lens with a subtle pout, trying to capture the angst of the song in your gaze.

It feels ridiculous, feigning emotions you no longer feel, singing a song you begged the company not to put out in a corset fitted shirt that’ll leave your ribs sore and reddened. It’s pathetic and cliche, you quite literally sold your soul (well, heart) for fame.

“Yeah, you said forever, now I drive alone past your street…”

Everyone behind you waves at the camera, signalling the show is ending. You leave last, taking several confetti bits for your scrapbook, which is the only thing keeping you from remembering this is all real.

Backstage, Iris and San are waiting in your dressing room, they greet you with proud grins and slaps on the back.

“Well, if it isn’t miss twelve...no, thirteen wins in two weeks.” San praises, enveloping you in a hug.

“Could be thirteen by tomorrow~” Hums Iris in a sing-song tone.

A groan leaves your lips, while slumping into an uncomfortable chair. You tune out their excited plans for your makeup and hair tomorrow, San says something about an end of year Award show.

All you want is to go home to your empty dormitory and sleep.

When you finally arrive to the ‘comfort’ of your ‘studio apartment’ (box room), it isn’t long before you strip down to your pyjamas and aggressively rub off the layers of makeup that seem to cling to every pore and fine line of your face. The cold air from the fan soothes the aching of your body from your strict workout routine. You stay awake until 4am, reading comments from netizens and replying to fans on your fancafe, it was hard not to become obsessed with checking what people thought; whether they loved or loathed you.

[+184 -93] Y/N is talented, but they look devoid of emotion since last week...maybe singing a song so personal isn’t a good idea….what if the person it’s about hears it…..

User FYL**8 was right, it had become draining trying to convey emotions you’d long let go of. Your debut song was fresh and fun, it didn’t garner much attention but at least you hadn’t had to fake emotions and relive your first heartbreak.

Although the memories of the breakup didn’t hurt as much, the happiest ones were the most painful. The feeling of ignorance, thinking he meant forever and believing him completely...it was all so distant yet felt a fingertip away.

That night you slept with a heavy heart, remembering what it felt like when he’d hold you close and right and kiss you on the head to soothe your worries. Why did it have to end? Why like that? You try to drift into a nice sleep after another exhausting day but to no avail, thoughts of him are flooding every thought. Has he heard it? There was no way he hadn’t, he loved to check out every ranking song for inspiration or for another artist to add to his monthly playlist.

Would he get angry? Sad? Laugh at your pathetic feelings? He was right in the end, when it came down to it you only shared your feelings when it was too late.

Stupid Christopher fucking Bang.

It wasn’t often you’d refer to him as Chan, you had met him when he only saw it as another name for himself that he hardly used. Back when his hair had been fluffed up curls that he couldn’t contain and his light freckles weren’t covered by BB Cream. When he didn’t belong to the world and only loved you.

After months of forcing yourself not to, you hastily search “Stray kids Bang Chan + Y/N”, Then “Stray Kids Y/N” and finally “Skz Y/N”. The results are minimal and far inbetween, mostly tweets from fans wishing for a collab and oddly enough one person making edited photos of you and them, which are so convincing you have to remind yourself you hadn’t met them.

Thoughts drift to his friends, the ones who didn’t know Chris was even seeing someone and had been for over a year. They tried to sugarcoat it, say they forgot, it’s hard to keep track when you’re training and all that.

The sinking feeling you felt when Minho asked how long you’d been together, guessing a month at most. When you did reply, ears burning with embarrassment he coughed and muttered “Oh.’, That had stung.

Everything had seemed so perfect, until you opened your eyes and saw it for what it was.

You don’t end up sleeping much, two hours at most, Then it’s time to get ready and head to the Broadcast Studio for today’s event. All you know is it’s a show about giving advice, the reviews aren’t great but you aren’t allowed to turn anything down because fame is a double-edged sword that you can barely grasp as is.

Iris and San are already waiting for you when you get there, within minutes makeup is being patted into your skin and your outfit is laid out on the chair next to you.

“Sleep more, Y/N-ah, I had to use a double coverage concealer to hide your dark circles.” Iris said in a fretful tone.

“I try, it’s hard being famous.” You reply jokingly, flipping your hair the best you can. Iris smacks your hand away and frantically finds her hairspray.

Within twenty minutes you’re dressed and not one hair is out of place, San pulls you aside with an uncharacteristically stern face.

“The company have specific goals for sending you here, they want you to delve into a story of heartbreak to comfort today’s victim, while keeping anonymity and remaining as vague as you can.”

Of course, even a show about helping others is fictional.

You nod solemnly and prepare to go on air, sitting on a cushion next to a popular comedian who doesn’t bother to even look at you. A well-known Streamer is on your other side and you begin polite small talk, which seems to irritate the host.

“We’re on in 3,2….1!” A sharp click follows the director’s queue and the host bursts right into the introduction.

After you’re introduced it’s easy to tune out, you couldn’t give a shit about that stuck-up comedian and the actress to their right. Instead you think of how the fuck you’re supposed to conjure up an emotional performance with little to no time to prepare.

‘My ex-boyfriend hid me for almost two years’ no, not even worthy of a cheap gossip magazine. ‘I thought my boyfriend loved me, turns out he loved his career more’ Maybe...but you sound too needy.

“Today’s guest is Lee Chaeun of Suwon! Tell us your story, please.”

You turn to look at the guest who walks onto the set and sits at the head of the pillow mats. She’s clearly a young girl, her baby face is covered by face-framing layers of shiny black hair and her eyes are already glassy.

“Last year, I began dating my crush after years of admiring him from afar...Everything seemed so perfect until last week….He dumped me by text message saying he needed space and now he’s with someone new..” Chaeun bursts into tears and the host fakes a sympathetic face and passes her a box of tissues.

“Ah, you’re young...you don’t know anything yet. This is a normal phase for teenagers, men realise themselves and break girls down so they become beautiful women. It’s just a case of a little girl not wanting to grow up!” Chimes in the Comedian, who talks about his falsities as if they’re facts.

The audience erupts into laughter and the heartbroken teenager lowers her head in embarrassment. Which only makes you more enraged, Who told that guy he was funny?

“Chaeun has every right to be upset!” You exclaim, cutting through the laugher like a hot knife. “When a relationship ends when everything seems alright for one person, it's cruel. Being blindsided isn’t a joke. It hurts and she deserves closure, and to move on someday to a better person..What happened to her shouldn’t happen to anyone!” You barely register a gentle hand on top of yours, far too surprised by the fact there are tears dripping down your face. Crying wasn’t an option, so you pull yourself together and apologise to Chaeun and the host you cannot stand.

“Y/N, You seemed personally moved by Chaeun’s story, have you experienced a painful breakup?” The host asks curiously.

“You could say that,” You begin with a wry smile. “I was with someone who lived a double life, they were completely different when they were with other people...Things ended when I was still planning for future dates...it made me realise how fake they were.”

The guests all nod and you squeeze Chaeun’s hand, she smiles at you seeming relieved that she isn’t the only one who has felt this kind of pain.

Everything goes smoothly after that, other guests chime in and the actress that seemed snobby is openly discussing her ex vomiting all over her Valentinos. You can’t help but wonder if the company really suggested this, or if it was divine intervention (Choi San, your manager).

You don’t feel so alone anymore, everyone is guaranteed several things, two being love and heartbreak of some kind.

“Thanks to singer Y/N and actress Sojung, Chaeun was able to feel a little better...Thank you for joining us on ‘Help No Counsellor!’, Join us next week when…’

“Choi San, you sneaky bastard.”

He tries to act surprised but a shit-eating grin soon overtakes his acting, Iris shakes her head and zips her makeup bag closed. It isn’t long until you’re all at The Min’s enjoying red bean bread and warm tea. “What does inept even mean? I’m assuming it’s a good thing because Wooyoung kissed me after saying it.” San mentions, his lips curving upwards at the fond memory.

“I’d have to agree with Woo, it fits you perfectly.” You reply, circling around his question while Iris tries not to choke on her food.

Fits of laughter die down when you spot a familiar face, Lee Mijoo.

Her blonde hair flows down her back in loose curls and her soft eyes seem to enchant everyone, admittedly even you for a short time.Behind her is a slightly taller figure dressed in all black and your stomach drops.They don’t seem to notice your presence, so you decide to use this valuable time to hide behind a menu.

San and Iris try to play along best they can, but it is quite distressing that all of this has happened so suddenly, with no prior warning. But he did bring you here, a lot. So it’s amusing to see his date ideas haven't changed.

As he’s walking past you he pauses, and you want to shrivel into a hole and die, He’s clearly recognised you but can’t be 100% sure due to The Min’s menu covering your entire face.

“Y/N?”

Shit. You cannot hide from this.

Slowly taking the menu away and placing it down on the table you smile at him, maybe a little too forced but it’s the best you can do. His hair is blonde now, his curls are long gone but his smile is as genuine as ever.

Stupid Christopher Bang and his stupid ‘I-totally-didn’t-break-your-heart’ attitude.

“Chan, nice to see you. Still obsessed with their double shots?” You humoured, he seemed grateful for that.

“Oh, absolutely...and I see you’re still not saving any bean bread for anyone else.”

You laugh, it’s a bittersweet one at best but nevertheless it’s a laugh.

'Well it’s great to see you again, I’d love to exchange numbers if that’s alright?”

Without thinking you nod and oblige him, much to your friend’s disappointment which is evident by their glares. Mijoo exchanges smiles with everyone, who could hate her? She was funny, kind hearted and beautiful in every aspect.

When they finally leave to their outside seats you breathe a sigh of relief and sink into the chair.Iris strokes your hair and San grabs more snacks to go, the walk home isn’t peaceful. It’s awkward and silent, which only makes your head spin more. When you drop off Iris you know a lecture is coming, San hates doing it but you know he tells you what you need to hear, even if it hurts.

“Look, I’m happy you were able to brush off all the hurt today but earlier on you were crying about….this. Don’t give him the power to hurt you twice.”

“You’re right, thanks Sannie.” You reply, taking his arm and smiling at the warmth of his (Wooyoung’s) fuzzy coat.

Once San leaves and you get inside, it’s a matter of minutes before you hop in the shower and get rid of all the hairspray and mascara that’s been making you itch all day. The warm water soothes away your nerves and the impending frostbite from being outside in the cold for far too long.

Once you feel clean and somewhat scalded you step out onto warm fluffy towels (cheap warm fluffy towels with holes in them) and get situated for bed.

Just as you exit the bathroom your phone rings and you answer immediately, it’s probably Iris wanting you to play a new Among Us mod with her.

“Iris?”

“Uh, no, Chris.”

“Oh.” is your initial reply, why would he call you at midnight?

“Where you asleep? I’m sorry I’ll call back another ti-”

“No!” You interject, much too eagerly. “No...it’s fine. I’m not even in bed yet.”

“Oh” He sounds relieved, much the opposite of you.

“I just wanted to congratulate you...The song, it’s great. What’s it like actually singing one you wrote?”

“Great,” You admit with a smile he can't see, “It feels...genuine. I Couldn't stand the thought of giving the song away.”

“I can see why.” He replies in an unreadable tone.

“Did it make you uncomfortable? Me singing...about-”

“No, why would it?” He cuts in, he sounds slightly agitated.

“Look, Chan, I’m sorry. I should’ve texted you, well I did but you changed your number. But it’s my story too, okay? I needed to heal somehow.”

Minutes pass with no answer, as if he’s trying to think of exactly what to say without getting more irritated or to spare your feelings.

“When did I become Chan?” His voice comes out wavering,and it hurts you.

“That’s what everyone calls you now, you’re not just Chris the trainee anymore.” You reply in a gentle way, trying to ease the building tension.

“But to you, when did I stop being Chris?”

“Probably when you broke my heart,” You deadpan, before adding a ‘kidding’ and bullshit reason.

“You weren’t kidding, but you broke mine too. Don’t make me the bad guy.”

This had taken you aback, you had been in a perfectly happy relationship for almost two years and then he changed his mind, said he wasn’t happy and it wasn’t your fault. When the fuck did you break his heart?

“When exactly did that happen?” You query, “Before or after Mijoo?”

Chan lets out a dry laugh, “Don’t talk about what you don’t understand.”

“Well what does it matter? You never told me shit anyways.” You snapped.

“That’s because you wouldn’t fucking listen. Maybe to you it was all sunshine and roses but I was struggling, I changed and outgrew us. I didn’t want to but you were stuck in dreamland where we’d debut at the same time and live happily ever after. I realised it wasn’t going to happen and set you free so you wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” You bark,”Fucking embarrassed of what exaclty? I left that shithole you call your company by choice and worked my way up. I’m not embarrassed, but you should be. You’re a fucking sellout Christopher Bang.”

Before he can reply you end the call and throw your phone at the wall, it would’ve broken only for the forty dollar case the store assistant convinced you to buy. You burst into tears just like you had that night when it all came crashing down. He must’ve loved seeing you in pain, because he keeps doing it even now.

That night, you wish for everything to go back to a time before him and the heartbreak that followed.

It’s early on a Friday when you’re called into a board meeting with the CEO, Director and San, who looks like someone stepped on his clay masterpiece. You still haven’t been told anything and as the minutes pass by you wonder if they found out about you getting drunk at Club Suran several weeks back. What if someone saw San there too? What if–

Suddenly the doors open and in walks JYP’s CEO, followed by several others and finally Chris. He looks as confused as you, but you quickly look away before he spots you. Last night was still fresh in your mind and you didn’t need anymore reminders or conversations with him.

“Dispatch has sent us several photos of you two together, spanning several years.” Your CEO announces, an Executive pulling the photos up on the screen behind her. “Including one from yesterday.”

“That was a coincidence, we broke up a long time ago.” You admit, she seems satisfied with your answer and nods, which makes you remember that damned dating ban you have.

“Usually, we’d shoot down these rumours immediately...but this could be quite beneficial to both Stray Kids and Y/N.” JYP’s CEO adds, “Stock prices have shown a rise for both of your albums, and real time searches are at an all time high.”

“I have a girlfriend.” Chan states, arms folded. “So that’s out of the question if you’re implying we fake a relationship.”

“Look Bang Chan,” Begins one of the Advisors, “It’s all for show, we’ll plan every detail and your girlfriend will keep her mouth shut if she knows what's good for her. Frankly, our sales aren't what they used to be and you need this, if you want complete musical and artistic control.”

Chan takes a while to think, you know this is all he’s wanted. Control over everything he and the boys put out there, with no censorship or edits by anyone else. Your CEO assures you you’ll also benefit from the agreement, including your debt fully cleared and money in your bank account as soon as you sign on the dotted line.

“How long does this last?” You ask, pen in hand.

“Twelve months, then you’re free again.”

Chan looks to you for conformation and you ignore him, signing it and standing up to leave. You only stop to sign more formalities and then you and San head back to your local coffee shop.

“Well, you sure have a funny way of moving on.”

#i'm sorry in advance #however thoughts are welcomed #skz chan #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #stray kids blurbs #stray kids scenarios #bang chan angst #stray kids imagines #skz blurbs #stray kids chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan imagines #bang chan blurbs #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you

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secret-rendezvous1d · 3 years

Text

“i fucked up.”

hello, hi!

here’s the spencer reid angst that came from this prompt here; “can you write some angst where spencer and the reader work together in the bau and he does something incredibly stupid in and reckless and she’s so frustrated and upset with him that she doesn’t talk to him the whole rest of the case/ride home & then they have a big fight when they get back to their place and it ends with her confessing she’s scared of losing him and that’s why she got so upset?”

just like smut, angst isn’t something i am very good at so i hope this did some justice to the prompt which i really enjoyed writing. some anger, some upset, some drama... all in one story so i hope it is what you wanted when requesting what you asked me to write. if anyone has any ideas on what i can write then don’t hesitate to send it in - i’ll eventually get to it, hahaha.

like, reblog and send in some feedback, please. it’s greatly appreciated and it helps me work out what you want to see and what you are after. if you want something specific then do let me know! i’d love to try and write something for you.

thank you. enjoy.

“i fucked up” spencer reid x female reader (reader insert imagine) word count; 4.1k.

summary; when spencer chooses to do something reckless in the field, he gets himself injured and doesn’t think of the consequences afterwards.

As soon as YN saw Spencer take his vest off and place his gun back in the holster, her gut dropped.

She wanted to shout at him and persuade him not to do what he was thinking of doing but he already had Hotch shouting orders for him to stay back, she wanted to chase after him but Morgan was already on that whilst calling his name to get him to look back and take a think about what he was about to become a part of, she wanted to grab his discarded vest from where he had dropped it in his haste to get into the house without being a threat to the unsub and secure it back around his middle and strap it back over his shoulders because, to her, there was no way she would have let him go into the house without it. The gun could only do so much in a situation and it wasn’t going to protect him if he was caught in the crossfire and shot in the chest and left to bleed to death because he was trying to do something good.

All she could do, much to her annoyance, was stay put behind the car with her gun cocked, to be another set of eyes on the scene to catch anyone who could make a potential run for an escape without realising the house was surrounded and that they had nowhere to go but the arms of a cop of who had handcuffs at the ready and a gun cocked and ready to shoot of they tried to play smart. She couldn’t run in, all guns blazing and allow her emotional side to take over to stop him when he was already doing what he spontaneously thought of, because who knows what that would have set off and she probably would have made the problem even bigger than it needed to be.

She felt sick when he disappeared behind the shrubbery, out of sight for everyone but Morgan, who was hot on his heels, and into the unknown.

All they could do, on the outside, was wait and see what happened. Everyone kept a sharp eye and ear out for any sounds of a struggle, any hints of the unsub escaping, any weapons cocking or grunts from an attempt to injure someone, any shouts for help and any calls for back-up or for a medic because Spencer had really gotten himself into a problem and Morgan couldn’t handle it by himself.

Hotch kept making the occasional glance in her direction, which she chose to ignore because he was the head of the team and he should have done more to stop Spencer from going ahead with whatever he thought he was doing and he should have followed him into to scene to order him back out to wait and stand around with everyone else, and she could hear Morgan’s occasional updates over their radios and the distant ‘clear’ being said when each room had been checked which brought her some sense of comfort but the inevitable was still yet to happen. That unsub was still in the house, no one had left and no one had gotten an order for half of the team to go to another address because they had the wrong place and the person they were after wasn’t where they were, and YN knew it wasn’t exactly going to be an arrest that was made easy.

It wasn’t until she heard a panicked call for Hotch and for some kind of back-up that she looked at him, tightening the vest to her chest and re-cocking her gun to shoot anyone that threatened to come her way with a weapon with a focus on nothing but to injure her to get passed her, and he didn’t have to give her the go-ahead glance because she was already passed the car and up the front lawn steps before anyone else was prepped and ready to be her back-up.

She could hear struggles from the back room and, as horrible as it sounded in her mind, she prayed it was Morgan in the middle of the scrap - at least Derek could deal and fight back at anyone who came at him with fists balled and arms raised up.

It wasn’t Morgan, she knew that deep down in the back of her mind and she didn’t need to see a visual to know that Morgan was the one who stood in the corner of the room whilst announcing back-up was required and a medic was needed desperately because there was a ‘man down’, and when she saw Spencer on the floor, as a victim to someone’s severe and unstable behaviour, work protocol on loved ones went out the window. She shot at the thigh of the unknown subject, watching them fall to the ground in pain and angrily throwing insults and anger towards her, allowing Morgan the opportunity to hold his arms behind his back and cuff him so he could do no more damage to anyone, but she didn’t even care about what he was calling her or his feeble attempts to break her because all she could focus on was the lanky man curled up on the floor with a bloodied lip and a swollen eye and his arms cradling his chest as he winced in pain.

“You stupid idiot,” she hissed at him, crouching down to his level and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Deep down, she cared about him and she hated how angry she felt towards him for being hurt but that same anger was at a level in her body that was strong enough to push her caring thoughts aside; regardless of her love for him, what he did was stupid, it was unnecessary and it got him in the bad books. “What the hell were you thinking? In fact, no. No, you weren’t thinking at all. I don’t know what happened but whatever you were trying to be, whoever you were trying to impress, you were stupid for even thinking you could do it alone.”

“YN-”

“No,” she held her index finger up at him and halted him from even beginning his sentence. Blood dribbled slowly down his chin from a cut that would definitely require some kind of stitch, soaking into the collar of his striped shirt and leaving a patch that kept expanding into the fabric, “Spencer, you don’t get to say anything right now. You were stupid, reckless, careless. Did you even think about what you were doing? You knew how dangerous this man is yet you came in and thought you could save the day.”

She felt a pair of hands on her shoulder, pulling her back from Spencer to allow the medics to take a once over and determine whether he needed medical attention from a hospital or whether they could fix him in the ambulance outside, one medic crouching down by his face and taking note of the cuts and bruises on his lips and around his eyes and nose and one medic kneeling down behind him to have a feel of where he was sore around his body.

“Being angry at him won’t help the situation right now,” Hotch murmured, guiding her out of the house, away from the scene and back out in the open. All eyes seemed to be on them, JJ giving her a sympathetic smile and Blake squeezing her hand soothingly as Hotch walked the both of them down the steps. He had no plans to stop in his tracks so the girls could ‘gossip’ about what had just happened. “He almost got himself killed and I’ll have that conversation with him when we’re alone and when he’s better and able to understand. I don’t need you doing my job for me.”

“I’m sorry but-”

“No buts, agent YLN,” he interrupted, leaving her at the passenger side of the black SUV she had arrived in. Arms folded over his chest, his tie a little skew whiff and twisting under his forearms, his eyebrows furrowed and his forehead wrinkled with frown lines. “I advise you to keep your personal life out of the field next time, okay? What he did was wrong, he went against the team, but we don’t need a scene in the middle of a crime scene. Be professional about this and sort your problems out on your own terms.”

He turned around and walked back towards the house, leaving her reeling in her boots, angrily placing her gun in her holster and yanking the car door open. With a slam behind her, she got comfy in the front seat and folded her arms across her padded chest, watching as cop after cop after cop passed the car and briefly glanced at her - she felt embarrassed, to say the least, but what was she supposed to do? Fall to her knees and cry because her boyfriend had been brutally beaten by a killer? Ignore the fact that her boyfriend was bruised and bloody in the middle of a musky living room so she could place attention on the one person who didn’t truly deserve it? Stand amongst the crime scene, arrest the man who had killed for fun, and completely ignore how they’d used hands and feet to take down and assault an agent?

There was no chance.

She watched as they arrested the bloke, seating him in the back of a police car that was parked two vehicles up from the one she was seated in, feeling sick to her stomach at the sight of the smirk and humour that laced his features together. He truly was one sick son of a bitch and she knew he was getting what was coming to him; not only the murder of four women but the assault of a federal agent when resisting arrest and she couldn’t wait to watch him get sent to rot in a cell for the rest of his life.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a gurney roll across the tarmac. Spencer was stretched down the thin bed, an oxygen mask tight to his face, and three medical examiners surrounding him, pushing him towards the back of the ambulance waiting to take him to the closest hospital so he could be checked over. She should have been going with him, holding his hand and agreeing on meeting the rest of the team back at the airport before boarding the jet home, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave the vehicle. Treating it like it was locked, like she had no way of escape.

“Are you not going with him?”

Morgan made her jump; she hadn’t heard him open the car door and she must of missed him seating himself in the driver's seat, a hint of concern in his voice as he clipped the seatbelt around him.

“I don’t want to see him right now,” she admitted guiltily, looking down at her fingers and picking at her thumbnails, “Morgan, he makes me so angry when he does things like that. He’s not some kind of superman, for god sake. I don’t know why he thinks he can do that and come out unscathed.”

“He thought he was doing the right thing,” Morgan said; Spencer’s actions didn’t need justification from someone else. He needed to justify his own actions and he needed to realise he wasn’t someone that could pull off something as confident as that and have the same outcome as someone who had done it before. “He had the right idea at heart. He thought he was less threatening going in with nothing, to show we weren’t here for a fight-”

“And look where that got him,” YN scoffed, rolling her eyes and looking out the window and watching the ambulance, holding Spencer, roll passed the car and disappear behind the group of people who had come out to be nosey at all of the commotion, “I can’t see him or speak to him right now because if I do, I’ll shout at him. And I don’t want to shout at him. I don’t want to but he makes me want to, Derek.”

“You don’t have to shout at him,” he reasoned, “just sit him down, hear him out and show him where he went wrong. Tell him how it made you feel. Maybe it’ll do him some good to have a calm conversation because Hotch will have his ass on that jet for being so reckless.”

He started the engine with the key in the ignition and shifted it into gear, driving off soon after the ambulance had been cleared to leave, following Hotch’s SUV out of the crowd and down the quiet street. Gaining speed as the tyres rolled over the tarmac, going in the direction of the airport.

No matter how disappointed and angry she was at what he’d done, she hoped Spencer wasn’t seriously injured.

Home had never felt so... unhomely.

Usually, upon their arrival and cramped in the elevator on the way up to their floor, they were making plans before they got to their front door. Choosing what takeaway they were going to order from, telling the other what they fancied to eat so they could whittle down the long list of local restaurants and decide one that catered to both of their needs, deciding on what film they were going to watch before they went to bed and chucking ideas around for what they could do to pass the time until their food had arrived.

Except, this time, the elevator ride was quiet and she wished she took the stairs so she didn’t have to stand so close to him. There was no talking and no silly disputes over what film they wanted to watch for the night, even though he wanted to desperately hear her voice talk to him about something pointless rather than hearing her voice talk about him to someone else; he was fed up of being the topic of someone’s gossip. There was no conversation about getting dinner in, there was no indication that a conversation on any topic should have been started and there was no reason to make small talk when she was angry with him. She was tunnel-visioned for nothing but pure astonishment and rage and there was no way she would have made a conversation through to the end without mentioning how stupid he was. He certainly wasn’t going to force her to talk to him if she didn’t want to; as much as it pained him, more than the bruised ribs and the black eye that was now forming around his left eye, he respected that and if she needed time then time is what she was going to get from him.

It was late when they landed so he wasn’t surprised when she walked into the bedroom without kissing him goodnight, without telling him she was going to bed without food, without telling him goodnight and that she loved him and would be waiting for him to get himself ready for bed. The door closing behind her, a thud from her bag colliding with the floor echoing throughout their apartment, the muffled and wobbly sigh that left her mouth could be heard from where he stood in the entryway and he couldn’t bear to think that she was about let all of her pent-up emotions out silently.

The argument they had had as soon as the case had come to an end had driven a wedge between them for the entire night, with the drive to the airport and the flight home feeling awkward, with tension that could have been sliced with a knife. She couldn’t sleep on the ride home because all she could picture was him in pain, she couldn’t look at him as he stretched out on the sofa of the jet because he looked pained and she couldn’t talk to him because her cover would have been blown - she was pained but she didn’t want him to know that, not just yet. She wanted him to squirm and have his mind reeling to gain some kind of understanding, because he wasn’t an idiot when it came to reading the room, on why she had such an outrage at his poor decision.

Home… neither of them could consider it home when it didn’t feel like it.

If Spencer was known for one thing, it would be his ability to sneak around without being detected.

The chill in the air that filled their living space had gotten too much for him to bear, even with the woollen socks pulled on his feet and the jumper he tugged on in a haste to leave the bedroom and the throw blanket he picked up from the back of the sofa to wrap himself up in before he fell asleep. The cushions weren’t exactly his pillow from the bedroom, the sofa cushions weren’t the memory foam mattress he slept upon during three or four nights of the week, the glaring red light from the television had nothing compared to the street lamp that was directly set outside their bedroom window and the whirring of the electrical appliances in the kitchen were much more of a distraction than relaxing.

Arguments were rare between the two of them. Silly spats and sarcasm had been top level in terms of arguing - they could never make it through to the end of fiery hash of words without feeling guilty for something they said in the spur of the moment - and how they argued couldn’t have even classed as verbally fighting each other because they weren’t going for the jugular of the problem.

Any creak of the floorboards beneath his feet or a sudden squeak of the bedroom door would have woken YN up in sudden fright.

To him, as he stood in the doorway and a little distance away from her, she looked so peaceful as she laid curled up beneath the comforter, staying strictly on her side of the bed. But, as he tiptoed closer to the edge of her side of the bed and knelt down, he could see the streaks dried on her cheeks. The bags under her eyes, the soreness underneath her nose from the tissues that had been balled up and left on the bedside table, it was enough to make him realise that she’d silently cried herself to sleep.

“I fucked up,” he whispered, his palm cupping her face and feeling the dried tears underneath the pad of his thumb as he stroked the curve gently, moving the hair that had stuck to her skin, “baby, I fucked up massively and I’m so, so sorry-”

“Yeah, you fucked up massively,” she mumbled under her breath, loudly enough for him to hear her, signifying that she was awake and confirming the curiosity he had on whether she was deeply sleeping or trying to doze off without overthinking everything that had happened that day. She cracked an eye open and could just see the black silhouette of his body as he crouched down to her level, the street lights outside of their apartment complex filtering through the slit of the curtains covering their window and outlining him otherwise she wouldn’t have seen him through her tired eyes, his elbows resting on the edge of the mattress. “You put yourself in so much danger, Spencer. Fucked up isn’t even the right way to put it.”

“I know,” he sighed heavily, his hand still laying upon her cheek, “and you have no idea how sorry I am. I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to go in with no protection, I don’t know what made me think I could defy Hotch’s orders. I just knew I had to try and do something to get the unsub to come with us willingly and to not resist,” his voice sounded sincere, incredibly apologetic, and when she turned on the bedside lamp and let it fill the room with light (much to her sore eyes), his face matched his voice. Eyes full of forlorn distress, tiredness stinging at the corners and each blink felt like a papercut to his eyeballs, he looked exhausted and he held so much guilt in his stature. “YN, if I could take it back then I would.”

“Yeah, tell that to the bruised ribs and the black eye.”

The purplish, yellow ring around his eye looked horrific, stretching from his temple to the inner corner of his eye and in such a liquified state that had purple fading into yellow and yellow fading to the darkest of blues where he had been hit the hardest. The stitches on his lip looked painful, holding together the cut that had split from a knuckle to his mouth, a little blood having leaked out when he spoke, his mouth looking swollen and she could tell he struggled to speak and pronounce his words with ease..

He felt stupid, demoralised, and he was only brought back to the pain that throbbed below his chest when she pointed it out and reminded him of the injuries he pertained when trying to be the one who could bring the stalemate between the police and the unsub to its end.

“I’m still angry with you,” she grumbled, “but, if you’re coming to lay down, then hurry up so I can go back to sleep again.”

“Scoot over, maybe?” He wondered sheepishly, a scoff leaving her mouth that he didn’t take to heart because of the smile twitching at the corners of her lips. Obeying him, she threw the comforter from her body and began pushing herself along the width of the mattress until she was laid on the chilly and untouched side of her bed. The sheets wrinkling up beneath her body, and comforter made her feel cold - that was, until she felt him climb in beside her, leaning against the headboard and revelling in the warmth she had left behind in her place and closing his eyes in contentment. “You’re warm. You make the living room feel like the north pole.”

“Are you comfy enough?” She asked, looking at him from where she laid her head on his pillow, “do you want your jumper off?”

He nodded and cracked an eye open, looking down at her and smiling. She sat herself back up, moving onto her knees so she had easier access and a little bit of a stronger posture to pull the thick maroon jumper from his upper body, making sure not to jostle or nudge any of the areas that he had been punched, kicked and beaten over the last 6 hours. When his upper body became bare, she couldn’t help but look at the bruises that were forming under his nipples and the cuts that covered his upper arms and around his shoulders.

“It helps not to look at them,” he stated. But her eyes barely left the purple blemishes covering his chest, her fingers instinctively brushing over them, “they’ll go within a week. Maybe two. They won’t be so garishly purple then.”

“I hate you for this,” she frowned, retracting her hand when she heard him wince painfully, only then did her eyes meet his. One black and one a little red-rimmed and full of sleep. “I hate that you did what you did. But, I’m sorry for overreacting. I should have looked after you.”

“No,” he cooed and shook his head, “you had every right to react the way you did. You worried, you needed time to cool off, it’s okay. It doesn’t make me upset that you didn’t talk to me for the night.”

“Yeah, but, I made you sleep on the sofa, Spence. Out in the cold, with cuts and bruises and sore ribs, cramped up in this condition,” she mentally slapped herself in the face for being so stupid and so ignorant, her eyes drifting back down to the bruising, “god, they’re so horrible.”

“I’m okay,” he reassured her, “I’m okay, I promise.”

“I know but,” he grabbed her hands and shushed her, shaking his head, stopping her every time she tried to continue the conversation, “Spencer-”

“We don’t need to dwell on what happened. We need to focus on now and, right now, we need a cuddle and a good night's sleep and an early morning so we can eat a good breakfast before we go to work,” he smiled, her arms bracing her weight as she straightened her legs from underneath her and cosied down upon the mattress, the light switching off and succumbing the room into darkness, the only way she could really know he was getting cosy was the movement and the jostling of the mattress beneath her.

She was hesitant to even rest her head upon his chest because she didn’t want to cause him more pain.

“You won’t hurt me. You couldn’t possibly hurt me.”

128 notes · View notes

kuroopaisen · 4 years

Text

imitheos. (oikawa tooru)

➵ oikawa barely recognises the god he used to be.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: gn!reader, greek god au, melancholia? angst? is that something to warn people about?

a/n: so this got away from me, and ended up half a character study, but,,, @kacchand (sorry for tagging this one but i couldn’t tag @kacchand-archive aa) thank you so much for the warm, lovely things you’ve said to me ever since stumbling across my blog, and for complimenting my oikawa specifically. it’s those sorts of compliments that makes me feel all soft!

Oikawa Tooru. He’s still not sure of the name. He never chooses them himself; they come to him, quite naturally, each time he assumes a new form. Each time he knits himself a backstory, he wonders what this life will bring. If it will be better than the last.

He hasn’t always been Oikawa Tooru. He’s been many other forms littered throughout history, recycling the same ego. And before each of those, he was Apollo.

Apollo had been a god amongst gods, deity of so much and so many. He could absolve men of guilt, gift mortals with the power of prophecy, balance their lives in his hands as he commanded the fate of their crops. Even the gods feared him, loved him, revered him.

But he is no longer Apollo. He is a whisper of him, a half-forgotten shadow.

His old name is everywhere. Rocket ships, theatres, philosophical concepts. He’s watched countless effigies to his old self shoot themselves into the sky, chasing a distance once thought unreachable. They always seem to take the light with them, blazing into the darkness.

But Apollo is just a name, now. Everything he used to symbolise seems to pass through him like white smoke.

It’s so hard to find the light in this endless winter.

Archery is just a niche hobby, now. Wars are won through other means.

Disease and the means to combat it are far past his sphere of influence now. Both continue to take on new and frightening forms that even he couldn’t conjure.

There is no space in this world for prophecy anymore. Such things are considered untruths, the trade of hackneyed swindlers masquerading as fortune tellers.

But poetry. Poetry refuses to die.

Sunday afternoon. The sky is already dark. Slam poetry night at a dingy little coffee shop. He’s sat in his usual spot, a dark corner that grants him a clear view of the makeshift stage at the back of the shop. It’s the best spot to melt away into, to become a true observer.

He’s not sure why he’s come here. The coffee itself isn’t particularly good, nor is the atmosphere of the place much to his liking. It’s a little dingy, reliant on weak oil lamps for light. He knows that it’s supposed to give off a retro vibe, but he thinks it just makes it miserable. There’s the smell of musk too, permeated through both wood and cushion.

But something is drawing him to this place. Something, beating against the fabric of the universe, is telling him that this is where he’s supposed to be.

He still doesn’t know why.

You smile at him from across the room, giving him a small wave. You usually work Sunday afternoons, right until close. He isn’t sure of your name, and usually, he wouldn’t care.

But every Sunday, you seem to take it upon yourself to fulfil his orders. Once upon a time, he would’ve been sure that it was his charm that induced you to do so; mortals often found it hard to resist the gods, after all. But he’s not so sure he can still claim that allure.

“You’re becoming a bit of a regular,” you smile, setting his drink down in front of him. Something made with honey, but he’s not sure what. He never pays much attention when he orders.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’re always here on Sundays,” you nod, daring to meet his gaze. “But you’ve never performed yourself.”

Oikawa smiles. One person, at the very least, has noticed his existence. That’s as powerful as a prayer these days.

“I take it you’re a fan,” you remark, eyes scanning his face.

Oikawa nods. “You could say that.”

You smile. It’s small, and he wonders if it’s merely a nicety. “Of slam poetry in particular, or…”

Ah. Yes.

He wants to say it’s because he’s tired of typical poetry. Tired of all its embellishments and platitudes. Slam poetry is newer, younger, angrier. There’s a rawness to it, a rage that speaks to something more visceral in him. Pretty words are not enough anymore.

It’s an offering of something else, of a yearning he still struggles to place. It’s a call for something better, for change, for vindication.

But he won’t bore you with that. You’re just a waiter, making small talk to be polite.

“My preferences change often,” he shrugs.

He appraises you for a moment, clad in a button-up shirt and dress trousers, a charmingly small apron wrapped around your waist. He’s not paid you much mind before; maybe because he’s been looking too hard.

He once thought that this café was drawing him towards a modern muse, an echo of Melpomene. Or perhaps Erato? But it hadn’t been that at all. It had been a call to draw him to you.

For what, he can’t say. But this small moment, this little recognition in the back of a dingy coffee shop on a dour Sunday afternoon in the midst of winter, is the closest he’s felt to worship in aeons.

He fears, for a moment, that you might be Daphne. Or maybe Marpessa. He’s already lost another Hyacinth; not to death, but to the rhythm of life. The pull of a world to which Oikawa couldn’t follow. How long had it been since Hajime left?

Oikawa can’t say.

But he’s been so lonely. So faded.

Whoever you are, whoever you were, does not matter.

What matters is that you’re the first person in a very long time who can see him.

☉ ☉ ☉

“Back again,” you smile. Another drink with honey is placed in front of him. It’s the only thing he’s been ordering for the past few weeks.

He nods, looking up at you with a smile. He knows it’s dead behind the eyes, but he’s trying. He hopes, quietly, that the darkness will mask it.

“You must really enjoy the poetry,” you remark, looking over your shoulder.

One girl has just finished, face flushed with both nervousness and pride. She is young, perhaps barely seventeen, but with the fury of someone who knows too much about the horrors of the world. She’d done quite well by Oikawa’s account. He hadn’t derived much joy from it, but she certainly has potential.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his drink.

“Do you prefer more…” You pause, brow furrowed as you search for the words. “Traditional poetry?”

Oikawa shakes his head.

Perhaps his tastes would err more to the modern, if he knew more about it. But the fact of the matter is that he simply doesn’t have a clue. Too much time spent with volleyball preoccupying most of his thoughts, and very little time keeping up with the artistic scene of the last decade and a half.

He can’t speak as an expert. But he can speak as the god who invented poetry, who gave mortals the means with which to express their magnitudes. A gift, he’d said. To turn the human experience into something beautiful. But was it for them, or for him?

“The anger is sincere,” he muses, “And they all seem to have poured their soul into their poems.”

You nod, smiling at him. “I wish I was that creative, at their age.”

He looks at you. You look about the same age he should be; twenty-something, maybe? Young, perhaps still in university.

You’ve been spending your breaks with him for a few weeks now.

He doesn’t mind; in fact, he enjoys the company. And, you seem to care about what he has to say, which certainly fluffs his ego.

Why you would care so much about an odd, discreet man sitting in a dark corner of a coffee shop is beyond him.

But he wants to know why. Know more about you. What you love. What you desire.

“What do you want to do with your life?”

The question is sudden, perhaps a bit invasive. It flies from his lips before he has time to reassess it, to craft it into something a bit less intense. He fears, for a moment, that it might scare you – that it might be a bit too much.

But you laugh, tilting your head at him. “That’s a bit of a big question, don’t you think?”

He smiles. “You must have some idea.”

You sigh, shrugging. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I need to survive university before I can start worrying about that sort of stuff.”

He hums.

“What about you?” You ask, polite smile gracing your lips.

He bites the inside of his cheek, his brows creasing. “Not sure.”

He might have dreamed of greatness a while ago. He would’ve chased volleyball, brilliant and vibrant as he was.

Who would have thought that Apollo would find his heart in something so coarse as sport? For a moment, however brief, he’d felt like he might be able to shrug off this immortal shackle. To exist for himself, and not as a mere echo reliant on mortal belief. To maybe, finally, have a chance to live as he wanted to, dictated by his own desires.

That last spark of vibrant humanity had spluttered out the day they lost that one fateful match.

He had wanted to chase his own dreams, the tangible passions he’d discovered as a mortal. He hadn’t wanted to be this, a pathetic half-god that was fading into the grey. But that was the trappings of his dying godhood – a life half-lived, a dream unfulfilled. Where would he be, if he had been able to take on the world as Oikawa Tooru?

Happier, he supposes. Though, he can’t be sure. Because maybe this early evening, grey and cold and bitter, almost tastes like happiness. Almost. And he knows why.

☉ ☉ ☉

There’s a glow to him. He doesn’t notice it; he’s been brighter in the past, blindingly radiant. He was once considered the most beautiful of the gods for a reason.

But to you, this distant, peculiar man is beautiful. There’s something of a fallen giant to him; is he the sort of person whose glory days has long since passed? Had he been a high school hero maybe?

There’s something else to him, too. Something strange. Something esoteric.

You don’t quite know how to explain it.

It’s like he’s asking – no, begging someone to acknowledge him. To breathe new life into him.

And for all his strange, aggressive indifference, there’s a little flame in him. One that seems like it’s been burning for centuries, too stubborn to flicker out.

You haven’t missed how it’s getting brighter.

He only comes in on Sundays, staying from three until eight. If his prolonged presence bothers your co-workers, they don’t mention it.

Perhaps it’s silly to be so fascinated by a complete stranger, especially one that simply sits in a corner and watches. Perhaps it is even sillier to spend your breaks with him. But it’s as if you can’t help yourself; something pulls you towards him, even if you don’t understand it.

“What about the Greeks?” You ask one evening, sitting next to him in his booth.

His smile is bemused at best. “What about them?”

“Well… they’re classics,” you muse, “Are you a fan, or…?”

“Homer can suck my dick,” Oikawa grumbles. He never quite forgave that man for the unflattering portrait of his godliness.

You laugh. There’s an echo of a lyre in it. He wonders, for a moment, what you might look like with a laurel woven through your hair, smiling on a Pierian coast in the height of a blistering summer.

He doesn’t let his mind wander too far.

“I’m not really one for poetry,” you murmur, looking down at your hands.

“Is that so?” Oikawa smiles, taking a sip of his coffee. It’s lukewarm after sitting on the table for so long, but he doesn’t mind.

You shake your head. “I find it difficult to wrap my head around. It makes me feel kind of stupid.”

He nods. He used to understand poetry so well – in the darkest of nights, it was often the only thing he understood. It used to be laced with his very being, threaded through his body like veins. But now, it just fills him with bitterness.

“I like the classics, though,” you smile softly, playing with your fingers. “There’s something about the simplicity and straightforwardness of the language that appeal to me. And, I don’t know…” You bite your lip. “Some emotions seem to transcend time and culture. And some of the classics are so… raw. So… human.”

‘Human.’ He gazes at you, that word in particular playing over in his mind. There’s some truth in the classics, he supposes. Something in them that echoes across the centuries. But he’s been around far too long to care for patterns and parallels.

“Sorry,” you blush, smoothing your apron. “I must be boring you.”

“Not at all.” Oikawa shakes his head, leaning towards you. He takes another sip of his coffee. It’s cold now. “So, you’re a history buff, then?”

Maybe you are Clio, after all.

You shrug. “Only ancient history, really. But I haven’t read as much about it as I should’ve.”

“Are you a fan of the myths?” He asks, a playful lilt to his voice. He knows you won’t get the joke, but he doesn’t mind.

“Some,” you nod. “Why?”

“Know any about Apollo?”

“Apollo?” You smile. His old name sounds like a melody on your lips. “As in the god?”

“Sure.” Who else could he mean?

You pause for a moment, pressing your lips together. It’s a beautiful silence.

“Have you read Plato’s Symposium, by any chance?” You ask, gaze meeting his.

He nods. He doesn’t mind Plato; the man had been grateful for the gift of music, after all.

“There’s a story in it I really like,” you murmur, eyes turning towards the roof. “Well, it’s more of a myth, but… it’s the one about soulmates.”

“Oh?”

“Do you know it?”

“Vaguely.” Of course he knows it. He just wants to hear it retold in your voice.

“Well, alright,” you clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter. “There were three kinds of humans, descended from the sun, the earth and the moon. All had four arms and four legs, two faces, et cetera. But, the gods felt they were too unruly and powerful. By Zeus’ count, this was unacceptable, and he wanted to humble them.”

Oikawa hopes his expression is neutral enough. How is Zeus? Is he still around?

“Instead of simply destroying them, he split them in two,” you continue. “And that made us miserable.”

Your use of the word ‘us’ intrigues him, but he wants to save his questions for later.

“But, Apollo took pity on us,” you smile. “He decided to patch us up, and shape us into, well… the form we have today. The story goes that our navel is where he sewed our broken skin together. But he turned our heads around to what had once been our back, so we’d have to look at that mark as a reminder of our punishment and how incomplete we are.”

It does not matter to him if there is any truth in this story. Regardless, it certainly sounds like the folly of the gods.

“Once we were split, the two halves were flung to the far ends of the earth. From then on, each of us yearns with both body and soul to be reunited with our other half.” Your voice is so lyrical, so comforting. It is, perhaps, the closest thing to music he’s heard in a while. “Those of us who are lucky enough to find them supposedly know no greater joy. We’ll never feel so understood, so complete. Most of us though, will never know that joy.”

Perhaps the gods didn’t deserve the reverence they got. Perhaps they really had been tyrants, all along. But then again, there was little love between gods and mortals; if anything, worship was simply a reflection of the fears the divine inspired.

A new question itches at the back of his mind.

“Do you believe in life after death?” He asks.

You blink at him, eyes wide and round. “Well, I… I don’t know, really.”

He knows it’s a heavy question. He knows that he didn’t prepare you for it, and that it’s only tenuously connected to the conversation at hand. But, he always found that people were at their most honest when they were caught off guard.

“I don’t like thinking about it,” you admit, looking down at your hands. “It makes me all existential.”

Oikawa nods. Most humans react like this.

The relationship between mortals and death has always fascinated him. Fear, loathing, regret. It’s all bundled together. Sometimes, there is comfort. Sometimes, there is a sense of calm. But it is never easy to face the unknown, after such a brief stint of being alive.

It’s something he cannot understand in this existence of his that stretches itself thin across the millenniums.

What is death to a god? He imagines it must be something like relief.

☉ ☉ ☉

“Do you write yourself?” It’s a little question, one he knows was coming.

He doesn’t know how to answer.

You sit next to him in the lamplight, eyes sparkling as they always do. If he was more human, maybe he would compare them to the stars. Or perhaps the ocean after a storm. But he is not human, much less a poet.

How does he say that he’s never needed to? That his patronage, his presence alone was enough to inspire those classics you so dearly love? That he himself has never put lyrics to the human experience?

He has always been a god. There is no beauty to his experience; only in those small pockets of human intimacy he’s been granted across the centuries. There is no beauty to the life of a god – only fire, and fury, and hubris. Even his body is unlike yours; he has no heart, and he bleeds ichor.

“Not really,” he shrugs. It’s all he can say.

“‘Not really’ implies that you write at least a little,” you smile, leaning towards him.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t really have time to do something like that.” He pauses for a moment. Should he tell you? Should he reveal more of himself than is maybe wise? “I played volleyball in high school.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, tilting your head at him.

“I was good, too,” he sighs, brow furrowing. “But my team never made it to nationals.”

“Oh.” You look genuinely sad. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. There’s little else to do.

“I wanted to go further,” he admits. The lamplight casts a long shadow on his face, each feature soft and delicate as marble.

Each form, each reiteration, wants more.

So much of what he’s done this time doesn’t echo the traditional Apollonian figure. There is no art, this time. No song.

There was drama in sport, but it was different. It had filled him with a passion he’d never felt before, beating in his chest just like a heart would. It provided that rush of adrenaline, the brutal awareness of the importance of just one moment. Eternity stretches on forever for a god, but a game must end. Perhaps, in some way, death is very much the same.

He wants that closure. That passion for the now.

Now, more than ever before, he wants to be mortal. To lose himself in the storm that is being human – he wants it all. He wants to let go of the god he no longer is.

Where does Apollo end? Where does Oikawa Tooru begin?

☉ ☉ ☉

Time is passing again. Each day is over before it’s even begun, slipping through his fingers like a lucid dream. A heartbeat that isn’t his own thrums in his ears, quick and loud and frantic.

And yet, he finds himself outside the coffee shop, standing on the curb. You’re next to him, hands dug deep in your pockets. He’s arrived earlier than usual, catching you right at the beginning of your shift.

There’s something he wants – no, needs to say. Something that can’t wait.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, looking up at the sky. It’s pale, a shade found in-between blue and grey. A perfect winter sky, one you might find on a postcard trying to capture the beauty of the season.

Something is pressing on his chest, heavy and immovable. It feels like a goodbye.

“What for?” You laugh. It really is a delightful sound.

Where to begin? You couldn’t possibly comprehend it. Nor would you believe him. If he speaks too frankly, you may not remember him fondly.

“For the coffee,” he says.

There’s more he wants to say. Something about how, maybe, in another life, there could have been something more between the two of you. Something quite beautiful.

But he knows it’s wiser not to speak that into being. If you feel even a modicum of these emotions, then silence would be an act of kindness.

“Are you… going somewhere?” You ask, all signs of levity gone from your face. He regrets speaking at all now.

“Something like that,” he murmurs. It’s the closest he can get to the truth.

A long silence ensues. Oikawa doesn’t know if he should try to fill it; perhaps he should just let it sit for a while? To enjoy this little moment with you, standing with you in front of a dingy coffee shop on a dour Sunday night in the midst of winter.

Because this moment cannot last. Because nothing can.

“Well,” you clear your throat, eyes lingering on his face, as if you’re committing each detail to memory.

He smiles at you. He’s not aware of it, but it’s almost blinding. It brings a warmth to his face that you’ve never seen before, a warmth that makes him so striking, so beautiful, that you know you won’t be able to find the words to praise it.

“I hope I’ll see you again,” you murmur. It’s the best you can manage, keeping your feelings in your heart as best you can.

“Me too.”

He means it.

It’s time to go. Where, he’s not sure. But, with all the courage he could muster, he turns his back to you, making his way down the street.

There’s a space in his heart for fear. But it’s empty. Whatever’s coming, whatever’s about to change – he’s ready for it.

He welcomes it.

☉ ☉ ☉

He opens his eyes. He’s tangled in blankets; his own, or someone else’s?

One thought.

My name is Oikawa Tooru.

In the haze of a Sunday morning, he knows nothing else. His eyes flick to the blinds as they flutter with the wind that whispers through his window.

The light floods in.

It’s finally spring.

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa toru x reader #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x you #oikawa imagine #oikawa tooru imagine #haikyuucreations #this was a labour of love #it's different from my usual style but i enjoyed it

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Coffee [8]

Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

➜ Words: 3.3k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

You always thought you would be happy to see him again. To come face to face with the man who you miss the most — who you’ve yearned to see so much. Like reuniting with a close friend who you’ve lost contact with. Like rediscovering a piece of yourself that you had lost. But you didn’t know it would be so painful. That your heart would be so heavy. “H-hey.” “Hey.” Seokjin smiles and your heart stutters but then constricts. It’s hard to breathe. “Are you on your way to class?” You hold your books closer to your chest as if they could do anything to protect you. Your eyes sweeping over his features, trying to freshen your memories of him. You can’t recall the last time you heard the sound of his voice. “Y-Yeah. Are you?” “I’m on my way to the library to meet up with some people for a group project,” he says casually with a good-natured smile. “Oh. A group project already?” “Yeah, I know right.” Jin sighs lightly, lips falling into a slight pout. “Well it’s my last ever semester, so it’s the last push.” “Totally. I...get it.” “I should go now before I’m late. It was nice seeing you, Y/N.” You nod and without waiting a beat, he brushes past you, continuing down the hall. You hate it. The way he looked at you, talked to you so nonchalantly, how he didn’t even blink thrice. Jin was friendly, but you know him — and he treated you the way he treats strangers. There weren't any softened gazes, gentle words. None of his actions had a trace of lingering feelings. His polite smile is the same one that’s reserved for mere acquaintances. Distant. You’re no less than a stranger to him. And as you watch Jin’s backside fading down the corridor, you quickly wipe away the tears that shed down your cheeks. // “You ran into him?” You nod, toying with the hem of your sweater. “That’s great news,” Jungkook murmurs from the corner of his mouth, preoccupied with choosing a game. “Yeah, I know, right?” You're stiff, but he doesn't pay enough attention to notice. You’re sitting on the floor of Jungkook’s dorm room, knees gathered together as you watch him set up. He’s finally cleaned up after you insulted him that he was a pig living in a pigsty, and he was offended enough to clean up after himself and do his laundry. Jungkook switches on his PS4 and flops down on his small couch with the controller. He glances up at you when there’s ongoing silence and realizes he should say something more. “That means there’s hope, right? If he’s willing to talk to you and all. I know a lot of exes who would run in the other direction.” “Yeah. That’s true, I guess.” Jungkook is optimistic. “If you keep talking to him, who knows, you might get back together before you even realize.” There’s a loud knock on the door, someone’s fist banging on the surface. The boy in his gray sweatpants and black, boxy shirt sighs, gets up and opens the door. The person on the other side glares at him. “Dude, about fucking time. Was standing out there for an eternity.” “Shut up, I literally took ten seconds.” “Yea, but ten seconds we could’ve used playing. Hey, Y/N!” Hoseok grins, plopping down on the couch and stealing Jungkook’s controller. Jimin follows in, greeting you with a smile, and Taehyung and Yoongi are the last with the former harshly nudging the latter forward. “Alright, alright,” Yoongi grunts quietly and then faces you with his hands dug into his hoodie pocket. “Y/N. I wanted to apologize for my behaviour last time.” He looks less sorry and more disgruntled and reluctant, but it’s enough to amuse you. You snort. “It’s no big deal.” “Okay, cool.” Yoongi exhales and sits beside you. Taehyung shakes his head but redirects his attention to Jimin when he steals his favourite controller. “Hey, hey, hey, paws off, bro.” “What?” “That’s mine.” “Who says?” “I wrote my name at the back in pencil. Look. See?” “You wrote on my controller?” Jungkook is outraged, snapping into their argument. In the meanwhile, Yoongi scrolls through his phone and notices you’re blankly staring at Jungkook's old flat screen — the one he stole from his parent’s home months ago and somehow set it up here. “I meant it.” “What?” “I know it looked like Taehyung made me,” Yoongi mumbles, “Which he did. But I meant to apologize anyway. Eventually. I know I’m an ass.” “You��re an honest one,” you admit with a small smile. If there was anyone who was going to be frank and truthful, it would be Yoongi. He won’t sugar coat it, won’t string pretty words together to make you feel better, so that’s why you pick him to inquire, “Can I ask you a question, Yoongi?” “Sure.” “Do you think I’ll ever be able to get back together with Jin?” “No.” His gaze connects with yours. “You won’t. Usually people break up for a reason and that reason always stands.”

Two weeks pass by as you ignore the thoughts lingering in the back of your mind. You overlook it like an assignment on your desk that needs to be done or like that messy drawer you should clean out but keep procrastinating on. And it’s easy to distract yourself when the entire school is stirred. Of course it would be. After all, the most competitive holiday was coming up. “What are you going to make for Valentines?” “Me?” You blink. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it yet….” The atmosphere hyped — even the dining hall is louder, the air buzzing. The holiday simply dedicated to love has long been replaced by alumni years ago and became a competition. After all, this was the place where everyone could make sweets after all. No longer was Valentine chocolates simply melting chocolate from the store and pouring them into molds — every single person here can properly judge the quality, taste, texture, flavour, and the presentation. According to rumours, the tradition started between three people, specifically when a girl told her two potential suitors that she would become the Valentine of whoever baked better. It sounds like some ridiculous Shakespearean tragedy, but as people went head to head to win the affections of their crushes — it essentially evolved into a competition. And at this point, it doesn’t matter who gives it to who. It’s who bakes it better. “I’m still debating if I want to do raspberry possets or raspberry religieuse,” Taehyung hums, chin resting in his propped up hand, and he turns to his side. “Which one do you like, Yoongi?” “Why the fuck do you care what I like?” “Well obviously because I’m going to make it for you,” he giggles. Yoongi glares. “Fuck off.” “Who else am I supposed to give it to? You have no one, I have no one.” “What about Jimin?” you ask, trying to hold back laughter with said brunette. “He has his mom.” “Hey,” Jimin whines, “I have the Valentine’s Day fundraiser at the hospital this year too.” “So you’re not going to make anything for your mom?” he deadpans. “Well, no.” Jimin pouts. “I’m going to make her red velvet cupcakes.” “Don’t make fun of him,” you chide Taehyung and turn to the other. “That’s really cute, Jimin.” Jimin grins, eyes crinkling into half moons. “Don’t worry, Taehyung can say whatever he wants. He’s just jealous my mom’s the best. She raised me all on her own and I wouldn’t be here without her.” “Okay, I’ll admit she’s really nice,” Taehyung has a dreamy expression. “I miss her warm hugs.” “That’s weird,” Jimin deadpans, pleasant smile switching into a face of comical disgust. “Don’t talk about my mom like that, dude.” You laugh and look over at the sleepy man lazily chewing on his mac and cheese. It’s always funny to watch Yoongi eat. He looks physically pained to chew and swallow — you wonder if he would blend all of his food to just drink it if he could. “Are you going to make anything, Yoongi?” “No. Who would I give it to?” He ignores Taehyung when he exclaims ‘me’. You direct your attention to Hoseok and he shrugs. “I might...make lemon and poppy seed cupcakes or strawberry rhubarb shortbread bars.” “For who?” Jungkook asks, brows raised. “Uh, no one.” But it’s obvious that the answer is too suspicious, so he gives in with a sigh. “I owe Y/N’s friend, Aeri, a favour, so I’ll probably make something for her.” “Ooh, I haven’t heard you talk about Y/N’s friend before.” Taehyung leans in closer, eyes glistening. “Shut up,” Hoseok quips. “What about you, Y/N?” “I...haven’t decided if I will or not. Maybe I’ll make something for Jin.” Yoongi’s eyes flicker up, brow cocking, and you stare back at him blankly. Jimin catches the quick exchange and intercepts. “You should tell Jungkook to make you his chocolate-covered strawberry cupcakes.” “Holy fuck, I remember those!” Taehyung slaps the table, startling both you and Jungkook. “Those was so fucking delicious, I thought I was going to cream my pants when I ate them. I can still taste it.” He slurps up the spit that’s accumulated in his mouth. Jungkook’s nose wrinkles. “No. It’s too much work to make that.” Taehyung bats his lashes. “You wouldn’t make it for us?” “That’s an even harder no.” “Psh. Valentine’s Day hater.” “Fuck off. It’s not my fault that the holiday is stupid.” “You just hate it because you’re alone.” You pat your friend on the back. “It’s okay, Jungkook. You’ll find love someday.” “Okay, fuck you too,” he spits without much malice, making Yoongi smirk. “Jungkook just knows his small package can’t satisfy any man or woman.” Yoongi’s insult rouses laughter from everyone and the man being grilled has his brows shot to his hairline. “For your information, I have a substantial size and I’m probably bigger than everyone here. Especially you, Mr. five foot nine.” You blanch. “Gross.” But while Yoongi doesn’t seem injured by the retort, Jimin’s the one who’s sitting straight and he whines, “Why do you have to bring height into this?” They ignore him in favour of Taehyung’s questioning, “Really? Bigger than everyone here?” “Okay fine.” Jungkook points at Taehyung. “Except you.” You look between the pair of them. “Did you guys have a dick measuring contest or what?” “We will not speak of the past,” Jungkook deadpans, making you laugh even more. // You know that you shouldn’t. With what Yoongi’s told you, with what you know yourself, you shouldn’t go out of your way to do something so unnecessary. You shouldn’t put your heart on your sleeve to get hurt again when it’s not going to be worth it. But in your life, there've been a thousand shouldn’ts and you’ve always grasped onto the one should. It never hurts you to try, and that’s how you’ve made it this far. “Hey, Jeon.” You catch up to him. Jungkook’s legs are unbearably longer than yours and when he walks fast it puts you out of breath within seconds. Luckily, he sees you and has the decency to slow down. “What?” “I need your help.” Jungkook’s steps slow even more until he outright stops in the middle of the hallway. He looks so apprehensive, you have an urge to slap that expression off his face. “Hey! It’s not like I’m not going to ask you to kill someone for me!” “Yeah, well, the last time you asked for a favour, we destroyed a kitchen trying to temper chocolate. I’d rather you kill me, thank you very much.” “Pretty please? Promise it’s not bad.” “Ew, ew. Don’t look at me like that and stop pouting, you’re not cute.” You frown at him. “Look it’s not a huge, huge thing, promise.” “What is it?” “Well, you’re Jungkook, World’s Best Chocolatier, right?” You nudge him with your elbow and it only makes him more suspicious with how you’re thickly laying down the praise. “And you know chocolate hates me. I definitely don’t know about it as well as you do either, so I need you to bestow your gifts onto me—” “What is it, lady? Get a move on! I don’t have all day.” “Can you help me make something for Jin?” Jungkook pauses. He stares at you. Maybe his brain finally died — not like there is anything to die considering it’s always been a little on the empty side. But then he finally opens his mouth. “What are you planning?” “Just something simple. Like truffles. What do you think?” Jungkook hesitates, then he looks at you. “Fine.” “Really?” “Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand away, but you grin at him. “You know you’re my best friend, right, Jungkook?” “Yeah, well, it’s something I never really signed up for,” your best friend mutters and continues walking while telling you that you’ll owe him and that means more notes from multiple lectures. But it’s worth it. On the fourteenth, right on Valentine’s Day, you meet with Jungkook. He audibly sighs when he sees you tie up the back of your apron. “What?” “Nothing. I just can’t believe I’m spending Valentine’s with you.” “I thought you didn’t care about the holiday.” “I don’t. But that still doesn’t mean this isn’t lame. Whatever. The quicker we get this done, the quicker I can leave and avoid all this.” He motions around, but you know what he means. Love is in the air and it’s sickening — couples were holding hands, kissing each other on the tips of their noses, rubbing their cheeks against one another, dialing up the PDA to an uncomfortable amount. But you can’t blame them. You and Seokjin were once like that. “Do you know how to make ganache?” “Do I know how to make ganache,” you mimic him mockingly. “Of course I do! What am I, an idiot?!” “Well, you didn’t know how to temper chocolate so you tell me.” You glare at him. You would mouth off but can’t risk him storming out. The two of you gather the eight ounce semi-sweet chocolate, a half cup of whipping cream, cocoa powder and some vanilla. Jungkook helps you heat the cream to a simmer in a small saucepan, looking over your shoulder at every step along the way. While you’d usually mind the way he’s intruding in your personal bubble, you don’t want to get anything wrong. “Make sure it doesn’t burn.” “It’s not going to burn.” “You said that last time.” You snap. “Keep bringing up last time and this will be the last time you step into the kitchen, Jeon.” A second later, you’re begging Jungkook not to leave. But thankfully, he has enough mercy and lets you off with a warning. The pair of you continue making the ganache, placing the chocolate in a bowl before pouring the cream and adding the vanilla to it. You allow it to stand for a few minutes before stirring it into a smooth, deep mixture. You place the ganache in the fridge for half an hour to chill. In the meanwhile, you clean up the mess and wash whatever dishes you have. Jungkook, on the other hand, shows you Yoongi’s reaction of Taehyung proposing to him with some cupcakes in front of campus in which the former man straight out walks away. Jimin who’s filming is giggling hard enough that the camera is unsteady, but his laughter is infectious and makes the both of you grin. Jungkook says he’s glad he wasn’t there lest Taehyung turned to him and started to declare his fake affections and cause a crowd to gather. Apparently it’s happened before. When the ganache is ready, Jungkook helps you roll it into balls and dust with cocoa powder. You pull out a box you had prepared to place them in, and you could not be prouder when it’s complete. It looks like a product that you could buy in-store. Simple yet elegant. “All done.” “All done,” you repeat after him, viewing your final product. Chocolate doesn’t hate you so much when you’re with Jungkook, you realize. “He’ll love it.” “Yeah….” You can imagine it — calling out Jin’s name. He’d spin around, regard you with his surprise. You’d extend your arms to give him the box. You’d try to show through this small gesture that you still love him, but you wouldn’t speak the words in case the moment would be ruined. But with your courage mustered, you’d tell him that you miss him in your life. That you don’t want to be strangers anymore. Whether that means remaining friends or being lovers again. But you know that it’s just your fantasy. A delusion — your optimistic imagination running wild with the semblances of hope still left within you. A sweet dream you would have in your slumber only to wake up to reality. The grief of your heartbreak morphed into a wishful thinking. The image and scenario you’ve constructed in your mind is simply part of a chapter in your life that would never happen. “He wouldn’t take it,” you whisper. It's a truth that’s hard to face, that you’ve been running from and turning yourself blind to. But you know Seokjin. After nearly two years together, you know the kind of polite smile he gives to strangers. You know how he treats acquaintances. You know when he’s being distant, how he acts when things don’t matter to him anymore. And you know that— “He wouldn’t….” He would never take this. He would never accept the chocolates you’ve made on Valentine’s. You would never be able to muster the courage to tell him how much you miss him. And he would never agree to being friends after your extensive history together. Your head lowers, and tears drip down your cheeks. Jungkook is rendered speechless but you feel his hand on your shoulder. He squeezes comfortingly. You sniffle, wiping your face with the back of your hand, and you take a truffle to throw into your mouth. You chew in your cheek and look at Jungkook with your reddened, teary eyes. “I-If he won’t eat it, we should.” That’s how you end up on the floor of the kitchen with Jungkook beside you. The two of you are leaning against the kitchen island, hidden away from the window of the door and any intrusive eyes peering through. The tips of your fingers are stained with melted chocolate — the fruits of your labour gone in an instant. The realization sinks in. After months of what you’ve tried to keep a hold on it. Having hoped aimlessly that you could change this back around. What had shattered into sand and slipped between your fingertips, but you tried to catch it again. It hits you in an instant. Harder than it ever has. “It’s really over, isn’t it, Jungkook?” you ask in a murmur, in a broken voice. “It’s over.” The relationship ended. Any form of a relationship with Seokjin is gone forevermore. Jungkook turns his head, gazing at your profile. He pats you on the back. He’s learnt long ago that he wasn’t very good at speaking, but that his words don’t mean as much as his actions do. So in silence, Jungkook eats the truffles with you. It’s not bad, he muses internally. You’re getting better at chocolate despite how you never had a knack for it. Well, technically he made them but whatever, your effort still means something. He chews and keeps to himself how the chocolate truffle strangely tastes sweet and bitter, like both sugar and black coffee.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook reader insert #jungkook as a cutie baking boy who doesn't know to deal with emotions #and oc as a person who has too many emotions lol #Y'ALL no spoilers but this is the turning point #cue the song past the point of no return

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