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babbushka · 3 years

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Change of Plan

Lawyer!Kylo x Reader

5k ; Mostly fluff. CW: Rivals/enemies, possessive behavior, name-calling (but in a playful way), NSFW (PIV, dirty talk, bathtub sex)

Available on AO3

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Of all the days to cancel a date on, Valentine’s Day really had to be the worst.

Not that you had been dating that guy or anything – what did people consider dating these days anyway? – you’d only seen him a couple times. Work made things hard, made dating hard, and as much as you hated to admit it, part of you was really looking forward to spending the holiday with someone.

So when the text came through that he’s so sorry but something came up, any and all excitement you had had went straight down the toilet.

Which is how you find yourself with your arms crossed over your chest, making your way down the sidewalk at three in the afternoon, doing some sort of walk of shame. Of course you were on the way to the meet-up spot when you got the text, wanting to be there early to compose yourself and get those butterflies in your stomach to calm the fuck down. If you didn’t care so much about punctuality, you might be in bed still right now, nursing your feelings with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

If you didn’t care so much, you might be in the safe warm comfort of your apartment, instead of being so exposed like this. The thought only becomes more prevalent in your mind when those butterflies turn to anchors in your stomach, your mood only sinking further, as a familiar black car pulls up to you.

“Hey!” The window rolls down, and you hold your breath and will yourself not to look so obviously just-gotten-dumped-on-valentines-day-even-though-we-weren’t-even-dating.

“What the fuck do you want, Kylo?” You sigh, trying not to shiver. February in Manhattan wasn’t exceptionally freezing but you had definitely dressed for aesthetics over practicality – just another thing to make you feel like shit about it all.

Kylo, as ever, looks perfectly handsome.

It’s infuriating.

“Get in the car.” He calls to you from the backseat, the driver going at a slow enough pace to match your speed.

You don’t stop walking, even though the offer is tempting. What was he even doing there in your part of town, didn’t he have the case to prepare for? Shaking your head, you wave him off.

“No, I – I want to walk.” You swallow around the sound of your voice breaking, hating the way your eyes are betraying you. Kylo hears it anyway, and you brace yourself for him to make fun of you for it, but the taunting teasing mocking jokes never come.

Instead, he rolls his eyes at your stubbornness, and says something to his driver because the car stops then, and Kylo opens the car door, standing outside it and gesturing for you to come in. You notice that he’s dressed exceptionally well; sporting one of his nicer suits, winter light from the sun reflecting off his shiny black Allen Edmonds.

“The forecast says rain, you’ll get soaked.” He argues, and you hate him, hate how he’s right.

Steeling yourself with a big deep breath – because you are not going to cry in front of Kylo fucking Ren – you make your way over to him, barely able to look him in the eye as you slide into the backseat of his car. Happily, Kylo sits himself nice and close to you, closes the door, and at once, the driver pulls back onto the main road, matching speed with the other vehicles.

Kylo opens his mouth, and you smack a hand over it before he can even take a breath in, leveling him with a dark glare and threatening, “Before you say anything, I want you to know that I cannot handle any criticism in this moment.”

“I wasn’t planning on criticizing you.” Kylo shakes his face a little to get your hand to fall off his mouth, and you aren’t so sure you believe him.

“Then what are you here for?”

“I’m taking you out.”

Blinking, you stare at him. Was this some kind of joke? But the more you look at him, the more it makes sense. Belatedly, you realize he must have been on his way to your house, because he was driving the same direction you were walking. The nice suit, the shined shoes, the freshly done hair…hell he had even trimmed up his goatee.

“Excuse me?” Is all you can ask, wondering what this is, what kind of angle he’s coming at you with. Because with Kylo, there’s always an angle.

He shrugs, scratches at a spot underneath his chin and casts a glance down to his lap, and you for a moment think he might be…nervous. Well, sincerity certainly wasn’t the angle you had been expecting.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, and people tend to go out to celebrate.” Kylo is distracting with the way he talks, hands gesturing all over, masking a flash of vulnerability in his tone with sarcasm as he continues, “And I figured if you’re the only woman in New York City who isn’t out celebrating, you’re going to be a real fuckin’ bitch on Monday when we go to trial, so, here I am.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re terrible at being romantic?” You mutter, your heart pounding in your chest so loud that you’re sure he can hear it.

Cracking a wide grin, he taps the underside of your chin with his knuckles, before reaching forward to grab a big bouquet of red roses from the front passenger seat, careful not to disturb the petals as he pulls them over the center console and hands them to you.

“Look I even brought you flowers and everything – not to be romantic don’t go getting heads over heels or anything; some schmuck was giving them away for free down the road, I figured you’d like them better than them ending up in the garbage.” Kylo’s mouth runs faster than your mind can process it as you’re presented with the flowers, and if you hadn’t sworn to hate him for all eternity, you might have leaned in to kiss him right there.

“You figured right.” You smile, trying to remember when the last time anyone bought you flowers that wasn’t your secretary congratulating you on another case won, and fully accept the idea of a night out with Kylo by asking, “So, where are we going?”

With that go ahead, the driver speeds up a little more, makes a couple right turns. Kylo doesn’t tell you, just slings an arm around your shoulders and keeps his plan a secret. Those damned butterflies are back, and wouldn’t you know it they’re better than ever, and you can’t help but think that you’re lucky you were already dressed. It’s then that you evaluate what it is that you’re actually wearing.

On the date that never was, it was supposed to just be some wine tasting thing, so you had put on a beautiful dress that showed off all your favorite assets, as it were, and a pair of shoes that looked nice, but weren’t really meant for any sort of outdoor activity. Hoping beyond hope that Kylo wasn’t an outdoorsy sort of fella, you let yourself lean into him as the car zips through the Manhattan streets.

That hope slowly starts to die, once Central Park starts to come into view, and you realize that whatever he’s decided for his surprise is definitely not going to be conducive to these heels.

“Don’t worry, we’re not running or anything.” Kylo senses your mild stress, and with that, lies straight to you as the car slows down to a halt, and he grabs your hand and pulls you in a light jog into the park.

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Central Park is, as it always tends to be, bustling with people. It’s not quite late enough in the day, or cold enough outside for it to be a more secluded spot – if anything in Manhattan ever is. You clutch the bouquet of roses to your chest, having forgotten to leave them in the car, as Kylo forgets to give you back your hand, the both of you chuckling and out of breath.

“Destination number one.” Kylo gestures grandly to a bench, when he stops jogging after a few minutes, once you’re deep inside Shakespeare Garden, making you give him a funny look.

“There’s more than one?” You ask, wondering just how involved this whole evening was going to be.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Kylo replies with a cheeky grin, before bringing you closer to the bench.

When he said this was the first destination, you had thought he was referring to the park, but as you come closer, you recognize this bench as the famed Whisper Bench, mostly because there’s a couple of people already trading secrets there. It’s made entirely out of concrete, twenty feet long and curled on each end.

Kylo waits politely until they leave, and then he’s leading you by the hand to one side of the bench, jogging over to the other end.

Like the people before you, you each bend over and cup your hands around your mouth.

“You want to go first?” You whisper, wondering if it’s really true, that your words will travel across the bench and reach him.

You don’t have to wonder though, not for very long anyway, because soon after his deep baritone is shooting across the bench, making your cheeks heat with something too close to affection for you to ignore it, especially when his big secret is, “You look very beautiful tonight.”

“You’re not half bad either.” You send back to him, making him grin with all of his crooked teeth.

There are people waiting for you to be finished, so Kylo comes back around the other side of the bench, and breaks out into a sprint the second he has a hold of your hand once more, making you yelp and laugh as he tugs you along to the next spot on his list.

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From 79th street, he brings you to 64th, where you’re faced with the charming little Chess & Checkers House. It’s in the children’s district, but thankfully there aren’t too many children around. The octagonal building is surrounded by twenty-four permanent tables that have inlaid boards.

“Put the flowers there so no one takes the table.” Kylo instructs, and you do as he says, along for the ride.

“We’re playing chess?” Your eyes widen happily, and Kylo immediately recoils in a cartoonish way, shaking his head and making you sigh with exasperation.

“No fucking way, you’d kick my ass in a heartbeat.” He says, making those butterflies go crazy once again. Kylo walks up to the window of the little building, “We’re playing something I have a more even playing field on – one checkers set please.”

“Oh you’re so on.” You grin, taking him up on his challenge.

You set up the table, giving him black and keeping red for yourself. After three games, it becomes incredibly evident very early on, that Kylo has no idea how to play checkers. Taunting him the entire time – because really, who doesn’t know how to play checkers? – you collect your wins easily and smugly.

It felt good to win, that’s the whole reason you became a lawyer in the first place after all, but it felt especially good to win against your arch rival. The fourth game ends when you eventually take over the board, using a few strategic moves that have him completely pissed off.

“You can’t just do that!” He protests, the vein in his neck jumping out, as you jump over three of his pieces and turn your piece into a queen for the second time in a row.

“Of course I can! Don’t be such a sore loser.” You roll your eyes, but he’s not having it.

“You’re a fucking cheater I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea.” Kylo takes all the pieces off the board and shoves them into the small box that they came in, angrily muttering to himself, “Making up rules as you go along and all this bullshit.”

“I won fair and square and you know it. Consider it a prologue for our case on Monday.” You rest your chin in your hand, watching with satisfaction as he scoffs and grumbles all the way back to the small octagonal house to return the pieces with the shame of losing four games in a row.

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Not far away at all down 65th street is the next stop on Kylo’s route, and you almost don’t believe that this is where he means to take you, when you stop your giggly jogging in front of the carousel. It’s getting pretty dark outside, between the rain forecast and the short winter days, which only lets the lights from inside the carousel shine brighter.

The golden inviting warmth of the lights blink and pulse along with music that plays, and standing there in line, with this big bouquet of roses, half of which have lost the majority of their petals just from all your running around, makes you feel like you’re in some kind of romcom.

Kylo lets you go in front of him, a hand on your waist as you take the big step up, immediately seeking out the perfect horse to claim as your own. You know that there’s two-seater options, but nothing beats the classic design of a galloping horse.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” You ask him once the carousel begins to spin, and he remains standing next to you, one hand on a golden pole to steady himself, the other resting gently on your thigh.

“And break one of these things? I don’t think so. The last thing I need is for the park to sue me.” He jokes, and you laugh at that, my my how would the tables have turned in that case.

“You made a good call, it’s chilly up here.” The movement of the carousel has the wind biting at your face, and at once your hands come across your chest to warm up the tops of your arms through your dress.

“I was wondering why the fuck you didn’t bring a coat.” Kylo immediately begins to fuss with you so you don’t go falling off the damn horse.

“I hadn’t planned on being outside today!” You defend yourself and your poor choice of attire as the carousel horse moves up and down, making it harder and harder for Kylo to get his hands on you, in turn making the two of you laugh.

“Yeah yeah, a likely story I’m sure – take my jacket.” He gives up trying to warm you up himself, and instead shucks off the thick wool jacket and drapes it around your shoulders.

It’s an intimate gesture, one that you’re not so sure how to take. You and Kylo hated one another, really loathed each other’s existence. Every day you thought about him and got a headache, and you knew he felt the same way. He had said as much, even. Kylo was a ruthless, terrible, awful, handsome, funny, charming…oh sonofabitch.

“But…then you’ll be cold.” You whisper, watching as the twinkling lights shine and shimmer in his big brown eyes, wondering when he got so close.

“So?” Kylo whispers back, holding a hand out for you to take when the carousel comes to a halt.

With his jacket around your shoulders, you don’t hesitate to take that hand, once again conveniently forgetting to let go of it even when both of your feet are firmly planted on the ground.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, once you’re both off the carousel and are walking a little less purposefully, just meandering down the park.

“I could go for some hot chocolate if there’s a place around.” You appreciate the question, finding that you don’t want the evening to end just yet. Not yet, not when you’re having so much fun.

Kylo must be thinking the very same, because his face lights up, and you can practically see the gears turning around and around in his head as he nods, “I know just the spot.”

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People in the park were so smart, you decide as a vendor hands you one of those eco-friendly paper cups filled nearly to the brim with piping hot cocoa. Big marshmallows float gently and melt steadily as you take a loud sip and thank the man while Kylo pays. How the hell Kylo knew this guy would be here, you don’t know, but knowing Kylo, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had the guy’s number on speed dial or something.

It’s quiet, in this little spot of the park. As it gets darker and colder, more people start to head back to their own homes. You know too that realistically, you will have to go back to your apartment as well, so you take small, deliberate sips of your cocoa, hoping to draw out the time left.

Kylo is quiet, sipping on his cocoa too. You wonder if he’s thinking all the same things, if he’s dragging it out so that he doesn’t have to say goodbye yet either. You wonder where his driver is, what that poor sap is doing while you and Kylo dance around each other like this.

He keeps stealing glances at you, and you keep pretending to ignore them. Yes the sun has officially gone down beyond the skyline, and yes you’re probably colder than you should be comfortable with, even with his jacket around your arms, comically too large for you. Yes the flowers have all but wilted completely from the wind and the running, and yes your feet are killing you.

But you don’t want it to end, not yet.

Never in a million years did you think you’d have so much fun with Kylo of all people – never in a million years did you think you’d be so glad to have a date cancel on you. Who the hell needed a wine tasting anyway? You knew what wines you liked and didn’t like. Even though you were both well into adulthood, being with Kylo tonight made you feel like a kid again, in that sense that you hadn’t had this kind of fun in a long time.

It is at that moment, that the sky opens up completely, and rain begins to fall in freezing cold sheets, all at once. Shouting out of surprise, the two of you are shocked, and it’s all you can do to not drop the cocoa and somehow freeze and burn yourself simultaneously.

“Shit, let’s get out of here!” Kylo breaks the silence by saying, and you agree at once, the two of you running running running through the trail, looking for a place to take some shelter.

In the dark, it’s hard to find such a place, so Kylo cuts through a shortcut path that he knows, that has you popping out on the other side of the park, through a big gate and onto the street. No more than a few seconds go by, before his car pulls up, and Kylo practically yanks the door open, pushing you in quickly and climbing in behind you.

The two of you exchange glances, soaked to the bone, and burst out laughing, shivering and trying to warm your hands by the heater. The car seems too small then, seems like there’s no space for the both of you. You’re acutely aware of how his leg is pressing up against your own, how his bicep nudges yours, how his face is practically right up against yours, as you both turn towards one another to get near the heater.

“What did you have in mind now?” You whisper, and you’re not sure, but you think that you can see him swallow nervously.

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When Kylo’s car pulls up outside the Baccarat, you really wish that the rain hadn’t ruined both of your outfits. No one seems to mind the two of you dripping on the floor of the lobby, as Kylo exudes all the confidence of New York City’s top prosecutor, but you certainly wish that you looked less like a drowned rat.

A key is slid across the counter, and into the elevators you and Kylo go, stealing little glances back and forth, looking away shyly when you’re caught. Eventually, the doors open again, and it’s a short walk to one of the most beautiful suites you’ve ever seen.

“You don’t get to say I’m not romantic ever again.” Kylo smirks, and you’d smack him for that if you weren’t still taking everything in.

Not only is the room beautiful just because it’s a luxury hotel, but Kylo must have gotten some sort of romance Valentine’s Day package, because the room is completely filled with tasteful and elegant décor.

On a silver bar cart that’s been wheeled into the sitting area of the room, there’s a bucket of champagne and crystal glasses. Gourmet chocolates in a satin box sit next to it, as does a small wrapped present that you’re dying to open at some point. Cashmere robes are laid out neatly on the massive bed, and large spherical rose bouquets are placed all over the surfaces, complete with rose petals leading to the bed from the room’s front door.

“Bubble bath?” Kylo offers, and you give him a knowing smile, grateful to both be warm, and to be naked with him.

His body never fails to make your eyes wander, you think. Between how hard he works and antagonizing you, you wonder when he ever has the time to work out, because surely he must work out. Kylo’s solid and strong in a way that makes you feel absolutely primal, and as he helps you step into the steaming water of the bathtub, you don’t think you’ve ever felt more safe.

“We have a five-course dinner coming.” Kylo murmurs softly as he settles in behind you, pulling your back to lean against his chest as he grazes his lips against your ear, “And breakfast in bed tomorrow, among other things.”

“What would you have done if I had plans?” You ask as you chuckle and lean more fully against him, scooping up some of the thick frothy bubbles and blowing them into the air.

“I would have convinced you to ditch them.” Kylo says right away, making you roll your eyes.

“You’re so smug."

“I think I’ve earned it.”

You can’t argue with him on that, as much as you love arguing with him. Kylo kisses along your shoulder, up up up to the edge of your jaw, your cheek, making his way to your temple as your bodies soak in the hot water of the tub and you get the chance to simply relax and be together.

“You know, I almost had plans.” You bring up softly, the sting of rejection not hurting so badly anymore. In fact, you pretty much forgot about the date that never was, and you’re not so sure why you’re bringing it up now. Maybe because you can admit that this was a better Valentine’s Day than you could have ever hoped for.

“I do know.” Kylo splashes his hand in the water for a little while, before dropping the unexpected admission of, “I asked him to cancel.”

Water sloshes over the side of the tub with the speed at which you turn to shoot your eyebrows up at him, mouth dropping open in surprise.

“What? Really? Why?” The demanding questions fall from your lips at once, the thoughts in your head coming to a screeching halt.

“I haven’t been planning this night for ages for some nobody in copyright law to come in and fuck it up.” Kylo has no hint of regret in his voice, and that catches you up. “Are you mad?”

Instead of answering him, you lean in and wrap your arms around his neck, your lips crashing onto his. It’s possessive, to a degree that you should be mad about, but…but you’re just not. In fact, you feel the complete opposite of mad, you feel relieved. Kylo wasn’t just taking you out on some pity date, he wasn’t just trying to get you to not be such a bitch on Monday, no he had planned this out.

For weeks, possibly even a month, to get a reservation like this, Kylo had planned to surprise you. It was incredibly sweet, so as you kiss him hard and slip your tongue into his mouth, as his hands smooth around your back, cradle the base of your skull, hold you close, no – no you’re not mad.

Needing to be closer to him, you straddle his lap, as the kisses turn deeper, more passionate. Kylo’s hand tangles through your hair and crushes you to him, soft groans and grunts spilling out of his throat. Chest heaving as you gulp down breaths, you gasp as your nipples brush against his pecs, and stiffen at the contact. Kylo swallows down the sound, nips at your lips, gets them swollen and kiss-bitten.

“Fuck me?” You ask breathlessly, and Kylo grins with all those teeth of his again, and you let him manhandle your legs to better support yourself on either side of his thick waist.

“Sit on my cock baby, let me do the hard work.” He encourages, and you moan as you do just that.

The hot water helps relax you, but you’re not nearly stretched enough to take him in one fell swoop, so you let your head tip back, mouth open as you moan and slide down onto his cock inch by inch, hands bracing on his chest, letting gravity help.

“Goddamn you’re big, Kylo.” You moan, and he puffs up with pride in a way that you regret feeding his ego, but not really.

“You can take it, you’ve done it before pretty thing.” He’s focused, focused on making you feel good, and he’s good at it.

Kylo lets one of his hands slip down to rub at your clit just enough to get your thighs trembling, legs spreading to sink further down onto his cock, pulling out the sweetest whines and moans out of you. He sits up against the wall of the tub, one hand on your hip holding you steady as he rubs his fingers against you under the water, and that’s a good thing because when he does finally bottom out inside of you, you slip on the floor of the tub a little.

“I’ve got you,” he assures you, leaning forward to press kisses all across your breasts, smothering praise into your flesh, “Good girl, just relax for me.”

It’s hard to relax when he feels so fucking good, and you tell him as much, making him chuckle. But then he’s planting his feet and lifting his hips, fucking his cock up into you, and you can’t tell him much of anything at all.

“Oh fuck,” You sigh happily, eyes rolling back into your head as you ride him, “Yes – yesyesyes Kylo -- !”

“Did you – fuck keep squeezing my cock baby – did you really fucking think you’d have a good time with whatever his name is?” Kylo asks darkly, possessively, as he thrusts into you with a rhythm that has you gripping the side of the tub, body rocking back and forth, covered in bubbles that stick and pop all over you.

“No,” You whine, “But dammit you haven’t spoken to me since last – oh! Oh yes, yes please Kylo.”

He’s managed to find your gspot like this, and fucks up against it with each thrust of his cock, the head pressing and rubbing against it back and forth and back and forth, making your eyes roll back into your head, your toes curling under the water.

“Just because I didn’t tell you – this pussy is so tight holy shit -- I was taking you out doesn’t mean I wasn’t planning on it.” Kylo says, and you don’t even know what the fuck he’s talking about anymore, especially as he latches his mouth to your throat and sucks bruises and marks into your flesh.

“Well – Ah! – well next time warn a fucking woman, would you?” You swat at his arm, your thighs working to bounce on his cock, sweat and steam curling around you, making your bodies stick to one another as the both of your hands slip and slide all over, wanting to touch and pinch and grab.

His cock spears through you in the most delicious way, your cunt throbs and pulses around it, the moans and gasps and sighs and grunts of pleasure sing through your bodies. You and Kylo don’t have sex often – but every time it’s like this, every time it makes you wonder how you could do anything else in the world, other than get fucked by him.

“If I – fuck baby, fuckfuckfuck – if I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” He grunts, and that’s all the warning that you get before he’s coming.

You can feel the hot load of it spreading through your body, and you whine, desperate to come too, digging your nails into the muscle of his shoulder as he fucks you through his own orgasm. You’re so close, just on the precipice of bliss, just a little longer, a little more – and then he’s dropping a hand to your clit once again, and that’s enough to send you over the edge.

“You’re such an asshole.” Resting your head on his chest, you press a kiss to the sweaty line between his pecs, and melt against him as your orgasm ripples and shakes through you.

Kylo being the most insufferable man on the planet, only tucks some of your hair behind your ear and presses a kiss to the top of your head. His hands trace patterns against your back under the water, and there’s a distinctly teasing sort of softness in his words, the kind where you can practically hear the smug smile in his voice, as he wishes you a, “Happy valentine’s day sweetheart.”

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Tagging some pals! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren smut #valentines day #adam driver fanfic #adcu #my writing #kylo ren/you #lawyer!kylo ren #lawyer au

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becaeffinmitchell · 3 years

Photo

Fic: what i have (is who i carry home) (1/1)

Summary: Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least.

aka, five Valentine's Days Beca Mitchell's had.

Note: After ten thousand years, I’m free! Or, you know, after eight years, I’m finally posting my first Bechloe fic. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone 🥰 Gif credit goes entirely to @evenstars (thank you so much again!)

Words: 4,954

Read below or on AO3!

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i. 2012, Freshman Year, Barden University

There are so many other things Beca would rather be doing.

Like go to the dentist. Actually show up for class. Spend time over dinner with her dad and the step-monster.

Okay, maybe not that last one. Nothing in the world would make her choose that.

But here she is, in that stupid red hoodie, holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, refusing to sing that stupid song with Amy.

Later, back at the auditorium where they have Bellas practice, Aubrey's voice is shrill and loud. (As always, Beca thinks.)

"Beca, you really need to be picking up the slack. We need every dollar that we can raise so that we have enough to cover our journey to the semi-finals, and you're dead last in our fundraiser right now."

Amy mutters something under her breath, soft enough for Beca to hear something about — the bus? The Trebles? She doesn't really know. Whatever it is, it's not something she wants to get in the middle of.

"Maybe we can think of something new to do." Beca's tone is dry, and she schools her expression into something neutral on her face, her head tilted slightly, knowing that Aubrey has to know she isn't just talking about the fundraising activity.

It's just — she can feel the potential of these girls, okay? And it's such a shame that they're stuck doing the same three songs, over and over. If she could at least try, show them her arrangements, maybe they'd have a fighting chance.

"I have the pitch pipe, and I say we do this exactly how we have been doing it."

Beca is about to say something snarky, something she knows is going to get under Aubrey's skin, when Chloe's voice rang out beside her.

"It's okay. I'll do it with Beca tomorrow."

She hasn't even noticed Chloe approaching them in the midst of this, so her head whips around so fast at the sound of her voice.

"Don't you have a class during that time, Chloe? That's the whole reason why we couldn't pair you up with Beca." There's something about Aubrey's clipped words that is super careful and controlled, like there's more that she wants to say but isn't.

Chloe shrugs, before turning to Beca with a beaming smile. "It's okay, skipping out on one Russian Lit lecture won't make a difference."

Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least. She thinks she doesn't know anyone who's more enthusiastic about everything and anything.

There's something about Chloe that feels like embers starting at the base of Beca's dead, cold heart, warming it up and turning itself three sizes larger.

It's not a thing she wants to unpack right now; she's not the type to get attached to people, and especially not when she's going to go through with her plan, and leave at the end of the school year. It doesn't matter if her dad helps her or not.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Chloe's voice, melodic as it comes, breaks the silence as they walk towards the south quad. She looks ready to go through the entire residence hall, her angel wings bouncing behind them.

"It's a day corporations literally invented to convince everyone to buy cards and chocolates and flowers at jacked up prices, so..."

Chloe lets out a happy sigh. "Maybe so. But it's also a day to celebrate love! And love is so awesome. I love love. And I'm not just talking about romantic love, though that is nice. You can also celebrate the love from all relationships in your life. Like your best friends, or your parents, or your siblings."

Beca raises an eyebrow, because Chloe is just so goddamn earnest. She tugs at her hoodie. "Let me guess, you and shower guy have a date?"

"Who, Tom?"

"How many shower guys do you have?" There's a beat. "Actually, don't answer that."

So here she is, still in that stupid red hoodie, still holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, and singing a duet with Chloe Beale.

The next morning, Kimmy unceremoniously drops a box at the foot of Beca's bed, a loud thud waking her up.

There's a sleeping mask, a whole clip of flash drives, two huge jars of peanut butter, and cans of Red Bull in the box. There's also a card, and her name is written carefully in the middle of an envelope.

Happy Valentine's Day, Beca!!!! I've said this before, and I'll say it forever: I'm SO glad that I met you. I LOVE that you love music like it's the one thing you can't live without. It's something that really resonates with me, too. You make us better. :) :)

xoxo,

Chloe!

Beca drifts off to sleep that night, the music still playing in her headphones. She's wearing that sleeping mask across her eyes.

------------

ii. 2014, Junior Year, Barden University

The thing with Jesse is, he really loves these grand gestures of romance.

Sometimes Beca thinks that that's his favorite part. It's almost like he's in love with the idea of being in a relationship.

Worse still, in love with the idea of her, like she's this perfectly scripted character who exists for him.

Last year for Valentine's Day, Jesse had shown up at her dorm. Well, outside of her window actually, boombox on his shoulder. She'd tried not to wince, her lips pressed together into something resembling a smile (she hopes) to the strains of In Your Eyes, at the ungodly hour of dawn.

It isn't even that she had just gotten to sleep like, two hours before that. Or the very clear and enunciated "fuck off!" that her neighbor gave them, complete with a dramatic slamming of her window. At least she doesn't have to deal with that now, now that they've all moved into the Bellas house, newly renovated.

It was just a lot, right? And maybe she should have been a better girlfriend to anticipate it this year, or at least match some of that. Rise up to his level, or something. She just has a reservation to a fancy Italian restaurant in Midtown, and she made that way in advance. So maybe she gets points for that?

January rolls into February, and she dreads it. Every day is a countdown to The Fourteenth.

Here's the more pressing thing: Chloe seems sad. Not all the time, but Beca catches it occasionally.

She presumes she knows her best friend pretty well by this point, until she's doing things like failing a single class on purpose so that she doesn't graduate. For the second year in a row.

And Beca gets it, at least on an abstract level. If she starts thinking about what comes after graduation — and that's in a year and some — she gets nervous, too. But in no version of her reality does she get so paralyzed with fear, that she would opt to repeat her senior year like it’s groundhog year.

She wishes she could know why, for certain. She can't help if she doesn't know what's going on in Chloe's head, but for the first time, it's Chloe's turn to clam up and switch the subject.

So Beca doesn't push. She hopes it's enough to keep her afloat as she works through whatever it is. She doesn't really know what that entails, but music? Music she can do.

She pours her energy into putting together a really solid mix for Chloe; it's all the songs that remind Beca of her, and their friendship. She picks songs and arranges them and removes them before she puts them back in, because it has to sound right.

Beca feels like the world's biggest dork for giving it to her the morning of Valentine's Day.

Well, second biggest dork, because she intercepts Chloe leaving the gift boxes in the room, for her and Amy.

"Hey, uh. Happy Valentine's Day," she says, handing her the flash drive — one of the many that Chloe has gotten her over the years, like she's her supplier — and hoping she doesn't look as awkward as she feels. "It's not anything like your, like, super thoughtful gifts." She gestures in that general direction. "But you're my best friend, so... here."

She gets pulled into a hug, and Beca can't be sure, but it sounds like Chloe's 'thank you' is strained and she's about to cry.

Beca hopes it's enough.

"So, Jesse gave you just the one earring?"

Beca's back from the dinner. It was... nice? There was a string quartet and Jesse made them play John Legend's All Of Me, and Beca didn't actually die of embarrassment when he started singing along, so she'll chalk that up as a win.

"Yeah, it's like — symbolism, I guess. From the movie." Beca shrugs, chewing on the popcorn she's made that Chloe is currently stealing. She thinks about lightly smacking her hand away, but ends up shifting the bowl so that it's nearer to Chloe.

Does she regret putting Don't You (Forget About Me) in their setlist? Maybe.

Probably not, all things considered, because it worked well together with the other songs, and they did win the finals that year. But it elevated the movie to mythical and legendary status for Jesse, and if he does that arm raising motion one more time during squabbles he wants to get out of? Beca might lose it even harder.

"Is it symbolism or a metaphor? I could never tell the difference."

"I think it was a metaphor in the movie," Beca starts, a thoughtful expression on her face. "But more of a symbol for like, me and Jesse? Oh my god." She presses her free hand to her eyes. "You're such a nerd. Stop making me think deeper about this than I need or want to."

"I just think it's nice," she hears Chloe say.

Beca hums, tone neutral. "It's something, for sure. Wait." She whips her head to face her best friend. "You didn't go out tonight? Ms. 'I Love Love'?"

Chloe chuckles lowly, quietly. "I have all I need here in this house, anyway."

When Beca goes to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water, she thinks she hears the soft strains of her mix playing from Chloe's room.

------------

iii. 2017, Brooklyn, NY

It's apparently the warmest February in New York on record, but Beca is still fucking freezing.

The incessant chill envelops the air, and she pulls her coat closer to her. She's bundled under layers, but the radiator in their tiny little apartment is, as most things in it, almost completely busted.

Jesus Christ. It's cold.

Amy is convinced she's cold because she's moping, because she's sad about breaking up with Jesse.

Beca knows she isn't, and it's not just the long distance thing.

They'd given it a fair go, and it sucked that he got busier with classes and she tried to solve all of the music industry's problems as an associate producer, working hours trying to make tracks sound... sonically unrotten.

It's not just the long distance thing, because if Beca was honest with herself, it was probably a sign that when he told her that he was thinking of completing his studies in California, her immediate response was that of neutral indifference.

So, she is totally fine.

Beca hears Chloe singing softly before the door even opens, and she can hear it swing open too, and she knows Chloe is about to shrug her coat off —

"Don't bother, it's also cold in here," Beca says, from under the covers.

Then, her eyes track Chloe as she walks to the radiator —

"I checked, it's working. Supposedly."

"Aww." Chloe strides the distance — not that it's that long — and sits down on their shared bed. "You're so cute when you're grumpy."

"Aren't you freezing?" she chooses to deflect the comment, hugging herself petulantly. "Hey, how was your date with that guy at the clinic?"

Chloe hums noncommittally. "We went for coffee and he double-booked me with another girl."

"Dude. What a dick." Beca feels a flash of — annoyance? Chloe deserves the world. Chloe deserves everything she wants. "I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay though." Chloe smiles at her. It's that smile that Beca catches that she thinks it's just for her, but she's also a logical person who knows that Chloe has that ability to make people feel like they're the most important person in the world. "I've got all I need right here."

Warmth pools at Beca's stomach, and honestly. It's a nice change from the freezing.

It's 2 AM, and they're cuddling, because of course they are; because Chloe is warm; because Chloe is an embrace personified; because... Chloe.

Beca stirs awake, and she feels Chloe's breath tickle at the base of her neck. She shifts, not uncomfortably. Then, Chloe's hand drifts sleepily, and lands somewhere on Beca's hip.

And then.

There is a sudden, startling clarity in Beca's mind, knocking the figurative breath out of her. Her eyes fly open.

She loves Chloe.

And not in the same way where she loves the rest of her found family in the other Bellas.

Oh no, a voice sounds in her mind.

Oh, this is very bad, she thinks.

She can't believe how still she is right now, feeling the entire weight of Chloe's body in contact against her. Feeling her slow, steady breathing against her back. She's not even cold anymore.

Okay. So she loves her best friend. Cool, cool, very cool. That's totally fine. She can handle this.

Chloe's been such a fixture in her life, at every turn; in every note in between the downbeat and upbeat that is her life. Music is in Beca's veins, her whole life, but music flows right through Chloe. She's tucked warmly in the melody, a motif throughout the entire song.

Holy shit, Beca thinks. She's been in love with Chloe for so long, she doesn't even know when it started.

Okay, so. There's a weird spot on the ceiling, right? And Beca just keeps staring at it, because if she closes her eyes, she will feel Chloe's presence so keenly, pressed next to her.

She can't do anything with this knowledge. She can imagine it now, Chloe giving her a comforting hug but tells her, sorry Beca, I love you but not in that way.

It's five whole years of friendship, of Chloe by her side no matter what, and that is the one thing that she's got that she doesn't want to risk, just because she had this stupid revelation.

God. It's so stupid. It'll pass. Right?

------------

iv. 2018, Los Angeles, CA

What is really fucking weird, even in the grand scheme of things, is journalists asking her if she's doing anything for Valentine's Day.

Which, like. First of all, Beca's not stupid, she knows it's a way to suss out her personal-slash-love life.

She's kept that pretty close to her chest for now.

But also, there's literally nothing to tell. She's not being defensive because there's something to hide away. Beca is knee-deep in work all the time, and she goes home to an apartment that feels too big for just herself. It's a big change from the entirely too cramped apartment in Brooklyn.

Sometimes she finds herself missing that very specific part of her life. Not the struggling and being unhappy doing work with no integrity, obviously. But Chloe is now a message and three hours ahead, instead of being a daily fixture in her apartment, and it leaves Beca feeling off-kilter.

But maybe that distance is a good thing, after... you know. Revelations.

Anyway.

Her work ethic doesn't stop rumors. She's linked to every guy available — and some not — every single time one of them likes her Instagram posts. She's pretty sure she's had at least two full relationships, according to the National Enquirer.

Theo gleefully sends her screenshots. She tells him to fuck off.

Chloe Look out, super star! I'm going to be in LA for a good friend's wedding in February!! If you think we're not going to hang, you're sorely mistaken.

Beca is busy, but she sure as hell isn't going to miss Chloe coming to LA.

Beca You have good friends outside of the Bellas? I am shocked, Beale.

Chloe Don't be jealous 😉

She's not. Not because of that, she catches herself thinking, and frowns at herself. Not because of anything, she decides. It's also exactly how she decides she doesn't have feelings for Chloe anymore, because Chloe is happy with Chicago, and Beca has work, and honestly? Best outcome out of every outcome possible.

Still, Beca offers up her apartment for the long-ish weekend that Chloe would be in town. She's not a monster, and Chloe has like, a mountain of student debt.

It's the least she could do.

(Beca thinks back to that first performance at the Citadel, just under a year ago. Thinks of all the nerves she's never felt before, while she's walking to the microphone. She's always had the girls on stage with her, but not this time. Her family would be seated in the front row, supporting her no matter how far she goes.

She gets to bring them up on stage this time, of course, but it's also a temporary balm and she knows it. But that's fine, she can figure that part out.

It's the after that smarts a little.

After the performance, after the event, after she feels that pit, growing and clawing from her stomach when she sees Chloe lock lips with Chicago.

After she walks away with Theo, trying her level best to carry on a conversation as if she's not affected by what she'd just seen; trying not to think of all the what-ifs.

After, on the plane back home, when she directs a small smile at Chloe's direction. If she's happy then she's happy for her.

It's the least she could do.)

Chloe's flight reaches the airport at 7 in the evening, and Beca's right there at LAX, waiting for her to emerge. She can see a couple of people with the big paparazzi cameras, training their lenses at her, but she doesn't care.

There's a flash of red as she sees Chloe running to her, and thankfully she catches her.

"Oh, I've missed you," Chloe says, so earnest and sincere as always; always, and Beca can hear her own heartbeat. She's almost worried that Chloe can too, like a traitorous Tell-Tale Heart.

"Yeah, well, regular sight for sore eyes, that's me." That's good, right? She hits jocularity right in the bullseye with that, as if she can't feel the top of her ears growing hot.

Chloe just laughs; like another kind of warmth. She draws her in again, hand rubbing up and down Beca's back.

Beca thinks she's stupid, for feeling like she's home.

They get to Beca's place, Chloe appraising the place appreciatively as she wheels her luggage in.

"This is already at least fifty times nicer than our little shoebox in Brooklyn," she observes, and Beca shrugs, a little embarrassed.

"I mean, the label's paying for it, and it's like, it's — it's ridiculous." There's a voice at the back of Beca's head repeating, our little shoebox, and she wants it to shut up.

But it is ridiculous. She has so much space, and two rooms; she sleeps in one and the other one is where she works. She's pretty sure she spends more time in the latter than she does the former.

"Anyway, uh, so here's my sort-of office, it's a bit of a mess right now." She waves her hand around (god, why is she using her hands so much) at the room with her equipment and instruments, before stepping to her bedroom door. "And here's the bedroom, which, like. You should take the bed. My couch pulls out and it's really comfortable?"

"Don't be silly," Chloe tells her, looking back at the king-sized bed. "We've slept in way more crowded spaces. This will be perfect."

Beca swallows, hard. Perfect.

Falling back into a routine with Chloe is scarily easy.

She's been here for less than three hours, and Beca's already back to being attuned to her. They put on some music in the background, she listens to Chloe talk so passionately about school and all the stuff she's learning, and Beca is so proud.

She brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas after Chloe does, exactly like how they used to, and climbs into her bed.

"Oh, shoot, I almost forgot," Chloe's saying, and Beca cocks her head curiously to see what she's forgotten. Her best friend comes back with a box, and hands it over to her.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bec. Also, I don't think flash drives are in fashion now," she winks. "So your Google Drive storage has been renewed, for all the audio files you need to back up. Don't worry, I didn't look at anything else."

"Wh — oh. Oh, right, Valentine's Day, gifts and all," Beca says, and looks at the box in her hand. "Wait, is this —"

"Chocolate from your favorite place in New York? Yessss," Chloe says, a laugh coloring her tone. She settles back into bed. "Not that you have a shortage of chocolate places here, but Amy reminded me of the time she ate most of the last box after how you were saving your favorite pieces, so I thought I'd bring some here for you."

Beca's heart clenches.

"Thanks, Chlo." She's pretty proud of how unwavering her voice is. "I miss it."

"It's been tough for me too, not having you in my orbit," Chloe says, bumping their shoulders together.

"Yeah? Must be extra tough, because Chicago's not around either." Then she's scrambling. "Not that I'm like, comparing myself to your boyfriend in any way."

She sees Chloe's mouth twist to the side. Beca's eyebrows knit together.

"Chlo?"

"He's not my boyfriend anymore." Chloe's words are slow, measured. Like she's afraid of setting something off.

Beca pauses, as she takes it all in.

"Oh. I mean — Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's been..." Beca sees Chloe's furrowed brows as she thinks. "Three months, almost. Just right before Christmas."

Beca thinks back to Christmas; to the group messages, the online gift cards and food deliveries made in each other's names. Nowhere in her memory exists this piece of information, and she's pretty sure she's not been that shitty of a friend to miss this.

It feels a little bit like being hurt, actually.

"Oookay," she says, licking her lips a little, letting the air out of her slowly. "Okay. Well. Good night, Chloe."

Beca can't fall asleep, and she's pretty sure she knows why. It's been an hour of staring at the ceiling, and she tries to will her stupid mind to shut down for the night.

She thinks Chloe must be asleep by now; her body clock must be three hours —

"Bec?"

Beca pauses for so long that she thinks Chloe might actually think she's asleep.

"Yeah."

She feels Chloe shift. "I want you to ask me."

Beca wants to be obtuse and frustrating; wants to pretend she doesn't know what she's talking about. Instead, the confusion and hurt win out.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, then into a sitting position. It doesn't feel like a conversation that they should have lying down. She waits for Chloe to do the same, before finding her voice and words.

"Why didn't you tell me that you and Chicago broke up?" Dimly lit by the street lights outside, Beca sees her shift in place, and she feels Chloe's hand reaching for hers. "I thought — well. You know. That we tell each other things."

Which is slightly rich, coming from her, she knows. But still.

Chloe sighs, just quietly. "Because I have feelings for someone else."

Beca blinks, taking that in. It's a weird feeling because she's simultaneously crushed and hopeful, and maybe it's the hour, or maybe it's Chloe's hand in hers, but as her eyes sweep across Chloe's face, Beca is emboldened.

She leans in, and time feels like it's slowing down as she closes the distance and presses her lips on Chloe's, roughly and then temperately.

Beca's not the most impulsive person. In the moments, though, when she is, they always leave her wondering if she'd done something stupid — like punching creepy middle-aged a cappella guys, like leaving in the middle of a fight, like pulling the girls up on stage during her solo set.

Like kissing Chloe Beale in her bed.

So she pulls back suddenly, as quickly as she had started it, an apology already stumbling out. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I just assumed, I'm so sor—"

Chloe makes a noise; something that sounds like no, her eyes so startlingly blue even in this light, and Beca freezes. She's sure her brain is working out some sort of rambling apology or excuse, maybe pass it off as a joke somehow?

But Chloe pulls her back in, both thumbs lightly touching Beca's cheekbones as she meets their lips again.

This second kiss is deeper, slower, more connected. It takes her breath away, as her hand curls at the back of Chloe's neck. Chloe tastes like mint and sweetness and sincerity, and a little like hopeless optimism on Beca's part.

A soft gasp escapes, and Chloe pulls away this time.

Beca has a tentative smile on her face, as she takes in a breath heavily; the questions written so plainly on her face.

Chloe's eyes shine.

"It's always been you, Beca."

------------

v. 2020, Los Angeles, CA

Having your anniversary on Valentine's Day is good. And bad.

Mostly good, because it means that Beca has that to help keep herself honest and not forget it, because it's impossible to.

Also, she won't forget, but, you know. Just in case.

Bad, especially last year, because it fell right around the Grammys weekend, and apparently when you're nominated and win pretty much... every single category you're in, that's kind of a big fucking deal.

(It started with Best New Artist, and by the time she's on that stage a fourth time, she literally had no other words and nothing but so much gratitude.)

But yeah, so last year's Valentine's Day-slash-anniversary was overwhelming. People contacting her from all corners, wanting to congratulate her and get some sound bites; the internet pouring both support, and scathing critique on her and her music.

Beca wishes she could say she rose above it, that she was as cool as her publicist thinks her to be.

Instead, Chloe had to deal with her, a stressful human ball of anxiety and nerves. Amazing, wonderful, sweet Chloe, just happy to be around her during these exciting and utterly vulnerable times.

This year, though. This year she's older and wiser.

Hopefully.

This year, the day falls on a Friday, but they've decided to celebrate it the next day and through the weekend instead, because Chloe has a seminar she needs to attend for school, and Theo had packed Beca's entire day with a long meeting.

Key word: had.

At 7 AM, as she wakes up groggily and checks her phone, the invite has disappeared from her calendar, presumably rescheduled for some other time. She vaguely notes the message from Theo about entire teams not being available, and Beca's not going to question the reason why, because she's immediately looking up flights to Ithaca and books the first one out.

(I'm not private jet rich, dude. Also, carbon footprint. Text to Amy, because of course.)

Here's her plan:

She'll make a beeline to Chloe's apartment (Beca's been here plenty of times, in the past couple of years; met her friends here in Cornell, hung out with them, appreciated that they're her support circle while she's here), and she'll say something incredibly dorky, and Chloe will kiss her, and then, they will properly celebrate.

God, the things Chloe can do with her mouth; the sounds Beca can get her to make.

Beca doesn’t even bother squirming in the plane seat.

Chloe I have a surprise!!!

Whereeee are you? 🥰🥰🥰

Here's what happens instead:

Beca has to fly back home — noun, the place where she lives; noun, Chloe — because while she was spending six hours flying east, Chloe had done the same in the opposite direction; her seminar being canceled (something about the professor being sick?).

She can't believe it.

Okay, she can maybe believe it.

God, the Bellas are going to have a field day with this.

In the group chat, Chloe's taken a selfie of herself in Beca’s apartment and captioned it: I flew here a day early to surprise Beca, but she flew to Cornell instead to surprise me too 😂

Emily OMAG YOU GUYS that is SO CUTE!!!!!!

Beca reads Emily's text, shaking her head, knowing that this is the younger girl's version of restraint.

Flo One time I thought a guy was going to propose to his girlfriend on the plane, but turned out he was having a heart attack instead.

Jessica&Ashley #justsoulmatethings

Rush hour in LA is so horrible, and it's nearly 8 PM when she finally gets back to her apartment. She jogs all the way from the Lyft to her door.

Beca never jogs.

Her own door flings open, and she sees the smiling face of the woman she loves.

"Flying cross country for me is so romantic."

"You did that too," Beca points out, a small smirk on her face.

"Yeah, but you did it twice." Chloe beams, and kisses her again, and again.

#bechloe #pitch perfect #bechloe fic #beca stupid mitchell #and her working through her feelings #kinda #(also please validate me)#my fic

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yourstarvic · 3 years

Text

You quickly were knocking the door, aggressively whispering yelling, “Sara! Yui! Open the door! Please!”

After a few more seconds go your knocking, Sara aggressively opened the door. Glaring at you since you woke her up, she whispered yelled at you, “What do you want.”

“Rin and I kissed,” You whispered in panic. Hearing the new information, Sara’s eyes instantly widen and her jaw dropped down in shock. She let out a whisper scream, causing you to do the same as well. “I know,” you whispered back, barging in the room.

“What is going on?” Yui asked, rubbing her eyes as she looked at both of you.

“(Y/n) and Rin kissed,” Sara whispered back, pointing at you as you went to her bed and flopped on it.

“What!” Yui whispered yelled, sitting up from your bed in an alarming manner.

“I know!” Sara said back. As well as you did but in Sara’s pillow. You all then let out an airy yell in panic. “Why are we whispering!” Sara yelled in the middle of the yelling.

“I don’t know,” Yui said in her normal voice. “But what happened (Y/n).”

Taking a deep breath, you got up for the bed and started to pace back and forth in the center of the room. Sara moved to sit next to Yui, both watching you curiously. Taking another deep breath, you stood in front of the two Itachiyama managers. “So um,” you started, “Rin prepared something in the gym… and we were talking…. And then we kissed…”

“We need more detail,” Sara with a creased eyebrow.

“Just tell us about the kiss,” Yui said, not caring about the events before.

“It was so good,” you whimpered, started to describe the details with hand movements. “So, so good! It was slow and passionate but there were times it was rough and fast. As if I died, went to heaven, saw my dead ancestors, said hi to them, and went back down to my body. He just took me! And he was towering over me and putting his body on me but not his whole body, you know?”

“No, I do not,” Yui smirked, looking at you with amusement.

“Where were your hands?” Sara asked, wanting to know me.

“First it was being his neck,” you showed with your hands, “but then it went to his hair. And I kinda tugged on it, but like in a nice, gently, but rough way. And I swear I heard a small moan, but that’s beside the point.”

“Did Suna walk you back to the dorm and kissed you goodbye?” Yui asked.

“What?” You said with a dumbfounded expression.

“(Y/n),” Sara said seriously, “did you left Suna in the gym?”

“W-Well…” you said with a tight lip smile.

“Huh?” They both said in confusion.

“I told him it was time to go to bed…” you gulped.

“…”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I panicked,” you said loudly, “I didn’t know what to do!”

“You could have stayed!” Yui yelled back.

“I know!” You said, “But in my defense, he asked something that I wanted to avoid…”

“Huh?”

“So um… this is what happened…”

“See…” Suna said hoarsely, “That didn’t change anything.”

“Rin…” That was all you could whisper, feeling this thumb slightly tugging on your bottom lip. Your hands trailed down from his face down to his biceps, gripping them. “I-” you started, but couldn’t find the words to say anything.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Suna whispered, slowly opening his eyes. He saw how your hair sprawled around you, your cheeks had a red tint and your lips were slightly swollen from the kiss. “But you do need a breath mint.”

Your eye twitched at his words in anger. You opened your eyes to glare at him, seeing he was smirking down at you. You gripped his arms harder, making him wince in pain. “What…Did…You…Say?” You told him in a dark tone.

“I said,” Suna leaned his head back, taking his hand away from your face and place it on the floor next to your head, “you need a breath mint.”

“You jerk,” you yelled at him. Pushing him off of you and straddling him in a seating position as you hold on to the collar of his shirt. Tugging on it harshly, you winged him back and forth as you yelled at him, “That’s all you have to say! You need a breath mint? You jerk! You can’t say that to someone after having a kiss, an amazing kiss!”

“You think the kiss was amazing?” He smirked, holding your hands to pry them off his shirt.

“I never said that,” you stop tugging on the collar. “I just said kiss.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

The two of you went back and forth at it. And just as a few minutes before, it led to the both of you kissing once again. Letting go of the collar of his shirt, you wrapped your arms around his neck and his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling each other closer.

The two of you clinging to each other, trying to be close to each other as possible. But in-between the kiss, the two of you would mutter small sentences.

“We should stop,” you muttered before you kissed him again.

“We should,” Suna agreed, doing the same as you.

“This is crossing the line.” Kiss.

“It is.” Kiss.

“We really should stop.” Kiss.

“We could.” Kiss.

The two of you did stop after a few moments. Slowly breaking away from his lips, both of you leaned your forehead against each other. “That was…” you trailed off.

“Amazing?” Suna slightly smirked, bring up what you said earlier.

“I hate you.”

“I don’t know,” Suna nudged his nose with yours, “that kiss says differently.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, leaning back slightly.

“But,” Suna whispered, “does that mean we are dating now?”

“Dating?” You gulped, backing away from him.

“Yeah?” Suna nodded slowly, letting go of your face and put it planted on the floor.

“Like a date, date?” You said, trying to register the events.

“Like a date, date.”

“Boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“W-With feelings for each other?”

“I mean…” Suna shrugged, “and we figure that out along the way?”

“It’s getting late,” you said with a tight lip. Getting up and looked down at him, seeing you were looking at you with wide eyes, “We should get some sleep since we are leaving tomorrow, goodnight.”

“So um…” You told the two girls with an awkward laugh and finger guns, “that’s what happened.”

“Oh.”

“My.”

“God,” they both said together, looking at you with disbelief.

“Yeah…” You nodded, “Not proud of myself.”

“Well, do you want to be with him?” Sara genuinely asked you.

To which you shrugged your shoulders at her, “I don’t know…”

“How do you not know?” Yui looked at you with disbelief. Standing up from the bed, she walked over to you and grab your shoulders, shaking you, “He is hot! And you know him since you moved to Japan when you were little!”

“I don’t know!” You said as she was shaking you, “I’m confused!”

“There’s nothing to be confused about!” Yui yelled back, “Do you like him or not!”

“Maybe!” You yelled, trying to make Yui stop shaking you, “I’m terrible with figuring out my feelings!”

“What’s his favorite food?” Yui asked, continuing to shake you.

“Fruit jelly sticks!”

“What does he love to do?”

“Take naps!”

“What his favorite color?”

“Black!”

“Do you like him?”

“Yes!”

Right when you answer her question, you looked at her in shock. She stopped shaking you, giving you a mischievous smile. “Wait,” you started.

“I knew it!” Yui yelled triumphantly.

“I-It was in a friendly way!” You tried to explain.

“You like him!” Yui teased you.

“Shut up,” Sara said coldly to the both of you, cause you to tense at her voice. “You’re yelling and we could get it trouble.”

“S-Sorry,” You and Yui said shyly.

“But anyway,” Sara sighed, giving you a smile, “it’s clear you like him, (Y/n). Base on your disruption of the kiss and that you kissed him twice is a sign.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Sara said firmly. “I know you are confused. Think about your feelings for him and talk to him. In the meantime, go to bed. You are leaving back to Hyogo tomorrow, and you need your rest.”

Letting out a sigh in defeat, you nodded your head. You thanked them for listening o you and bid them goodnight as you left. You went back to your room, making sure to stay quiet went inside your room. Laying inked, you stared at the ceiling, trying to think bout the events. Gently placing your fingertip on your lips as you thought of the kiss.

Does he have a feeling for me? Do I have feelings for him? I thought he wanted me with Osamu? Why did he say that if he said the kiss didn't mean anything...

Meanwhile….

“Why did I say that,” Suna muttered, feeling the embarrassment crawling all over his body. He now laid in his bed, already done cleaning up in the gym and returning the projector to Komori. With his hands covering his eyes, Suna let out a whine, review the events of tonight.

Why did I kiss her? Did she kiss me?

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow about it,” Suna whispered. “Besides… it won’t change us… Even if I did ask her out…”

Yeah… Talk to her….

MASTERPOST-PREV-NEXT

FUN FACTS:

Suna and Osamu would play pranks on Atsumu and see who can get him to blow up first.

A guy once tried confessed to (Y/n). It was before practice started in the gym where everyone could watch. He wanted to seem bold and confident but everyone on the team was glaring at him he ended up running out of the gym.

Aran, Kita, Omimi, and Akagi would study together.

No one knows that (Y/n) moved to Japan when she was a baby, expect for Suna, Kita, and Aran. Everyone else thinks she was born in Japan.

Atsumu once told a dirty joke to (Y/n) thinking she would find it funny since everyone thought it was funny, including Kita. She didn't didn’t show up to practice until she thought about the joke when she was studying and laughed.

Every Valentines day and White day, everyone on the team would have a competition on who would get the most chocolates and confessions. Kita and (Y/n) share the number one spot. Aran is second followed by Suna. Osamu and Atsumu are tied for fourth place.

Notes: There are almost 300 notes on the masterpost! Thank y'all so much!!! I love y'all and I’m so glad you guys are liking it!!! Stay safe, stay warm, and don't forget to drink water!

TAGLIST: @thelochtessmonster99 @freaksnque @bloody-bella @girlyluke @tendo-sxtori @angels17324 @madmelle @tiktikty-tokity-spagetti @helloalex80 @fandomatakeover18 @mus1caln0tes@kac-chowsballs @satoriluver @bbdaydreams @hi-im-a-bat @circusjanreblogs @420-uwu @sakusaakiyoomii @erinoikawa

193 notes · View notes

sketchguk · 4 years

Text

lover to lean on; pjm

➳ pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

➳ genre: neighbor AU, flower shop AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 20k

➳ synopsis: for months, you can hear your no face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. you’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course you’re bitterly single. but one day, the apartment is radio silent. and one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. so on valentine’s day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other.

➳ warnings: explicit language, pining, unrequited love 🤔, accidental voyeurism, unhealthy eating/sleeping habits, praise kink, body worship, nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, penetration, fluffy sex

➳ a/n: oops, I uploaded this later than I expected because the word count really got me. anyways, this fic is inspired by the song call me by keshi x rainlord. go give it a listen!

Wake up and smell the roses.

That would be a great philosophy for life if you didn’t have to wake up to the sound of sex at 2 in the goddamn morning.

Perhaps it’s your fault for not checking on the thickness of the drywall prior to moving in, but it wasn’t exactly the first concern that came to mind when touring the flat. Now, it’s more of a personal problem than anything: you being bitter about not having sex while your neighbor and his girlfriend are going at it like rabbits 5 feet away from you. It’s not a very valid complaint to bring up to your landlord. He’d probably tell you to suck it up and get laid.

And he’s right.

Besides, it’s not so bad most days. You hardly even notice the sound of running water through the rusty pipelines every morning or the whizzing of the ancient radiator on cold nights. In fact, you welcome it. It’s become part of the rustic building’s old-school, pre-historic charm.

That, you can get behind.

But one thing is for sure. You’re never going to learn to appreciate the strangled garble of a morning blowjob in the steamy showers or the banging of the bedpost against the paper thin walls when you’re in desperate need of some beauty sleep, well deep in a state of REM.

It’s anything but charming.

The 3 inch thick divider between you and your not-so-considerate neighbor does absolutely nothing to drown out the soft moans and hard grunts. You can hear them loud and clear through the dead of night as if they’re right beside you.

“My god,” you sigh, rolling around your bed restlessly. Your hand blindly palms at the sheets in search of the pillow that rests beside you, placing it over your face and sandwiching yourself between the cushions. If you can’t kill your neighbor, you might as well suffocate yourself first to avoid incrimination, shamefully persecuted for third degree murder.

A frustrated groan falls from your lips, but it’s stifled against the buffer. The banging stops almost immediately.

“Shit,” you hear from the other side.

Did he come? Is it over?

You pray, hold your breath, and lie still as if you’re the one caught red-handed. But you’re not a voyeur. At least not on purpose.

It isn’t your fault for being a light sleeper because the only thing to blame is the flimsy partition your landlord dare considers a wall. If you could have it any other way, you would. This is far from ideal granted that you didn’t even ask for any of this, but it’s far too late to get a refund.

Lately, you’ve been spending your nights muting out vulgar dirty talk, the occasional squelches, and the obscene skin slapping on skin. Over time, you’ve come to know your neighbor on a much more intimate level than you would have liked despite never seeing him around. Like the fact that he thrives off of edge play and praise kinks. Yeah, it’s probably for the best that his identity is kept a secret otherwise you wouldn’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again with the knowledge that you have stowed away in the crevasses of your brainー knowledge you would prefer to forget. You don’t even know his name, but you’re long past the point of being acquainted with one another, so it would pretty be awkward to ask for it now. All you know is that he’s stuck in his own bubble, too blinded by love and lust to even consider his poor neighbor.

Most nights, you even make the effort to stumble through your cluttered, moonlit studio apartment in search of your cheap headphones that usually dangle precariously over the edge of your desk. You’ve made a mental note to invest in some earplugs and a more effective set of headphones too.

Truly, you’re not the type to invade one’s privacy. You have nothing to be sorry about because you respect your neighbor, his girlfriend, and their sexy time. If anything, they should be the ones apologizing for keeping you awake for three consecutive nights. No less on a Tuesday.

But perhaps the act is already done and you can let bygones be bygones. Maybe he’s already come, and as unfortunate as that may be for his girlfriend, the chances are he's low on stamina tonight. The vivace metronomic thuds against your shared wall would suggest he was going pretty hard at it too. Not that it’s any of your business. You’re happy that your neighbor is so in love, and that he can have sex all day, all night and fall into the comfort of his lover’s arms, unlike you. You’re not bitter.

Not at all.

You don’t mean to get invested in his relationship, but it’s just that tonight, he finished rather early as opposed to the hour it usually takes him to climaxー foreplay and edge play and all. You don’t keep track of the time per se. That’d be a little creepy, but it’s hard not to do so when you’re losing out on a precious hour of sleep each night. Especially when you’re stuck in your own overactive imagination, wondering how good his stroke game is and what type of lingerie he’s intoー

“Sorry!”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Then the realization hits you momentarily.

He’s talking to you.

They must have heard you groaning through the stupid, thin walls, and therefore, you’re responsible for this very awkward exchange.

Your grip on the pillow loosens as you lift it over your head.

“It’s okay!” Your voice cracks with a heightened tone, “Just make sure you use protection!” The cringe settles into the pit of your stomach as soon as you respond. You squeeze your eyes shut and mentally facepalm yourself. You should have left it alone, but your cursed mouth moves way faster than your thoughts.

The couple whispers to one another, but it’s hushed and hurried. Faint and hard to decipher. Angry, even. The wall must be really selective on what it chooses to mute out which is absolutely perfect when you actually want to know what’s happening on the other side.

However, moments after, you can still hear the rustle of sheets and the patter of footstepsー two pairs. Even the harsh close of the door and the soft turning of the deadbolt, a resounding click that could be heard if you were to listen close enough.

Once again, there’s a shuffle of feet that skid across the hardwoodー one pair. A few creaks echo from the aged floorboards. And then there’s a squeak from the bed slat, a heavy mass pressing on the mattress.

You sit in silence with eyes wide open as you trap air into your lungs in fear of breathing out. Correction, in fear of your neighbor making comments on your rude interruption. If you could pretend that you’re asleep, maybe the problem will disappear into the night.

But it doesn’t because it never works that way.

Moonlight filters through the pane glass windows, right between the cracks of your curtain. It illuminates your face and keeps you awake longer than you need to be. You manage to let out the breath you’ve been holding when something else breaks the silence.

You can hear it faintly. The soft hum of an unfamiliar tune before the soft outbreak of vocals. The song is bitter, but the voice is sweet.

Your neighbor has gotten into the habit of singing whether it be at dawn or dusk, yet you can never complain given his velvety voice. Sometimes it’s accompanied by the strum of an acoustic guitar or the tap of an electronic keyboard. But one thing that never changes is his love for the same old bubble gum pop music that’s rinsed and repeated on the radio. Nothing but love on the brain. Mushy lyrics that bear no meaning to you, and frankly, to anyone who’s painfully single and/or heartbroken.

You would have expected nothing less from this man though. His taste in music is a given. Most days, you can physically feel his warmth and kindness based on the dulcet timbre of his voice. Although you’ll never care to admit it to him, it helps you fall asleep on nights when you’re drained from work. They’re comforting songs that warm your heart, especially because he’s singing such sincere lyrics about his girlfriend.

His love for her is pure, and it’s disgustingly cute.

No matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you’re happy for the lovely couple while internally cringing during their late night endeavors, you’re wondering if you’re subconsciously longing for a relationship just like theirs.

But you’d be crazy not to dream about that kind of love story. One in which the guy cooks a meal for you at the end of every night, served alongside a hot cup of peppermint tea to help you sleep better. In which he runs a bath for you, flower petals, candles, soap suds, and the whole shebang, only to hop right in behind you. Someone to keep you company while giving you a back massage, working on the hard-to-reach knots that line your shoulder blade after a hard work day. Of course at his own volition, never having to be asked to do so.

Perhaps you’re more invested in your neighbor’s picture perfect relationship than you thought, knowing all these little, intimate details no one else should know. But once again, the thin wall is to blame. You’re not an eavesdropper. You’re just a hopelessly hopeless romantic who needs to wake up and smell the damn roses.

Because apparently, not every relationship is as perfect as it seems.

“Everything okay?” You don’t know why you open your mouth, but you do, and you can’t take it back. He’s long since stopped singing, but the residual silence is louder than the gentle voice that once filled the space.

He sighs deeply. The frustration is unmistakable, and you regret ever saying anything.

“Yeah… Just trouble in paradise.” He chuckles dryly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to it.

The room is quiet again. You debate with yourself, wondering if you should hash it out with him or go to fucking bed knowing that you have a 7 am shift tomorrow.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The kindness of your heart outweighs all else, but you cross your fingers and secretly hope that his answer is no just so you can finally get some shut-eye.

“Uhm… I wouldn’t want to bother you.” His voice wavers. He sounds tired, but maybe it’s the exhaustion from navigating the rocky waters of a relationship. You’ve been there before.

Everyone’s been there before.

Your eyes are closed, and just when you think you can go back to bed, your mind and heart betray you.

“I wouldn’t be bothered,” you tell him, “I’m already awake too.”

His chest rumbles with a true chuckle this time. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m probably gonna invest in some ear plugs tomorrow,” you quip, waving it off.

“You really don’t have to,” he deadpans. There’s a pregnant pause, and you’re left confused. He continues with a shaky breath, “I’m not sure we’ll be back together after this.”

Now you’re even more confused. Were they not just ravaging one another moments ago?

“Valentine's Day is coming up next Friday…” you muse. “You could still win her back, you know?”

The radiator whirs in the background. It’s silent.

“Do you love her?” You query, thumbing the pilled edges of your blanket.

“That’s a loaded question.”

Now it’s your turn to stay silent.

“I think I do,” he starts. His voice is rough. “Love her�� I mean.” He falters in uncertainty. “Sorry, I’ve never admitted it to myself before.”

“That’s okay.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but the situation is totally out of your hands. You don’t even know the full picture, yet it somehow feels like you’re on the other side of the breakup even though you’re just sitting in the audience, watching, or rather hearing, the drama unfold.

Your fingers interlock with one another, resting over your chest as you lie flat on your back. The heavy weight of your heart sinks lower into your stomach. Maybe love isn’t real, or maybe it’s not meant for people like you and him. Or is it just some misconstrued concept jumbled up in your brain? Some romanticized notion you’ve only ever dreamed about or seen in movies and read in fanfiction?

You gulp, pondering over how things could possibly go wrong in their seemingly perfect relationship. Well, there are millions of reasons, but maybe you’ve only ever heard the good times roll. Days when they’re frolicking in a meadow of sunshine and nights when they’re singing and dancing and laughing, head over heels in love, and everything is just peachy perfect. Maybe the bad and the dirty have yet to expose itself to you, still hidden behind an extra layer of stucco drywall and eggshell paint coatings. No matter how many times you bitch about them, the innermost part of you is still rooting for the couple you’ve had the displeasure of listening to have sex every night. But it’s always worth it, or so you think, for the sake of them being in a good place. To be undoubtedly quote unquote in love—

“Have you ever been in love?” It surprises you that he’s the one asking instead of the other way around.

You stare blankly at the ceiling with a racing heart. Biting your lip, you speculate whether or not you should reveal such intimate details about your life to a total stranger.

“Nope,” you shake your head. He can’t see you, but you hope that your response is convincing enough.

“Would you want to?”

You can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, what kind of question is that?”

“You’re right, it was stupid.” He chuckles. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you warn him, “You don’t have to.”

“Sorr—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll personally come over and flick you on the forehead,” you say, reprimanding him.

His laughter is even sweeter than his voice. “Harsh. But nice? I guess?”

That’s the perfect description for someone who works in the service industry, which unfortunately, you do.

“It’s for your own good,” you suggest, nodding your head in self indulgent pleasure. Kind of like how avoiding love is for your own good.

The silence quickly settles in, as does the existential dread. Your eyes shift around to the empty apartment before you, and you soon realize that you’re painfully alone.

The radiator goes off again and the clock ticks perpetually. The moment escapes you.

His voice fills up the room. “Can I ask how you’re doing?”

The corner of your lips curl up in a fond smile. You exhale a deep sigh, one of contemplation. “I’m okay… Just... learning how to deal with unrequited love.”

“Harsh,” he echoes back.

“Yeah.” You curl up on your side, sighing and reaching for a pillow to spoon.

“Want to talk about it?”

You gnaw on your lip. It’s a bad habit to have. “There’s not much to talk about. It’s just some guy who always walks in at work. We make small talk, flirt a little bit, and then he leaves until the next day.” A highlight reel flashes before you, and you tug on your blanket, nuzzling into the warm fabric that offers you some semblance of comfort against the outside world as you dig your nose into the soft linen.

“How do you know he doesn’t like you?”

You shrug to yourself. “It’s just a feeling.”

You think the conversation is over at this point. Moments go by until your ears perk up at the faint sound of his voice. “You should ask him out.”

Your neighbor surely seems to enjoy making a fool out of you. It’s a nice thought to have though. To think that you have the confidence to ask a guy out. The guy you’re crushing on, no less.

You satiate your neighbor anyways just to entertain the idea a little longer and give him a little push towards his own love story. “Only if you make amends with your girlfriend though.”

“Girlfriend? Oh— no, she’s not my girlfriend,” he says in defense.

You’re perplexed. “Wh-? She’s not?”

“No... uh, just friends with benefits,” he confesses with a cough.

Flashbacks start to go off in your head as you try to connect the dots like some mathematical formula. Is love actually an illusion? Maybe love knows no labels, but a small part of you still wants to believe that they’re wholeheartedly in love and on the verge of marriage or something. But that delusion instantaneously bursts into dust and ashes, confirmed by none other.

“Hey, I’m kind of tired, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I’ll make it right with her so long you talk to the guy.” He lets out a huff. “Don’t let him miss out on a good thing because of the what ifs.”

Comfort washes over you at the sound of his advice. In a way, he’s right. Maybe it’s time that you put yourself out there in spite of the possibilities. Even if it’s utterly terrifying.

“Goodnight,” you mumble back, wrapping your arms securely around the pillow.

He hears you loud and clear, “Goodnight. Thanks for the talk.”

He knocks out soon after that, but it’s hard for you to sleep when you’ve got nothing but love on the brain.

Waking up is hell, especially when you’re running on nothing but 0 hours of sleep and a single cup of black coffee. The only thing that makes the fatigue worth it is the peaceful lull at sunrise and the absence of your noisy neighbor’s daily blowjob. It’s as if some higher power read your mind and decided that you’re worth the divine intervention just for that one fleeting moment of jubilation.

But just like the law of gravity, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and your contract with the universe calls for some cosmic karma. It’s like you’re being punished because you can never seem to catch a break.

Work is unusually hectic, but with Valentine’s Day around the corner, it’s expected. If Black Friday is the worst nightmare for every retail worker, one can imagine a florist’s week leading up to Single’s Awareness Day, or much less commonly referred to as “A Shallow, Capitalistic Attempt to Buy Affection Day.”

Despite owning a flower shop, you still stand firmly against Valentine’s Day and all that it represents. Maybe you’re spiteful because you’re pitifully single and surrounded by lovey dovey mush at every single corner. But as of right now, it has more to do with the extra workload that lies at your feet.

Not only do you have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to open shop and prepare for the deliveries, but you also have to cut and process flowers, organize dozens of overnight orders, and arrange bouquets for the day’s purchases, all before 9am. The to-do list is endless, and not to mention, the number of calls you’ve picked up in the last hour alone has already backed you up on a number of orders. It’s stressful and incredibly time consuming to say the least.

By 10am, you’re ready to call it quits, but you constantly remind yourself that this job is your only source of income, and therefore, you have to barrel through with a bright and shining customer service smile on your face.

At this point, you really wish you did smother yourself with your pillow last night.

But the only thing that keeps your sanity in tact after the morning rush is the chance to make arrangements for the front display. It’s therapeutic to pick and choose foliage, sprucing them into beautiful pieces of art for passersby to enjoy. You’re grateful for the scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath which is remedial to your burgeoning headache. Even the sight of your favorite carnation is enough to ease the pounding pain against your skull.

However, making arrangements isn’t all sunshine and flowers despite popular belief. The worst part about it is the heavy lifting. It’s labor intensive to pick up large plants like the full sized leatherleaf fern in the back room, which is now carefully lodged into a concoction of gardening soil, compost, mulch, and active charcoal. But if nobody else is going to do it, you’re going to have to do it alone.

Lifting the hefty plant isn’t difficult to begin with, but it progressively becomes taxing when you have to carry it to the front of the store. As you emerge from the back door, the bell of the entrance chimes, signifying a customer’s presence.

You can hear him before you can even see him.

“Good morning!”

You nearly jolt at the sound of his chipper voice. Of course Jimin had to walk in at the peak moment of you struggling, looking like a disheveled mess with soil accumulated in your hair like a burrowed nest. You just hope and pray that it’s not smeared across your forehead like Simba.

Out of pure embarrassment, you hold the pot higher to hide your burning cheeks behind the plant despite your arms giving out. Would all of your problems disappear if you act like you’re not there? Once again, of course not, because he spots you in an instant, and you’re just not fated to have the good things in life.

He calls out your name before stopping to place his things down at the table and rushing over to you, “Here, let me help you with that.”

You have an ironclad grip on that ceramic pot, holding on to it as if it’s life or death. “No, it’s okay, I got it,” you say out of pure, frantic determination.

“Don’t be silly, let me.” He reaches for the bottom of the earthenware. His hand grazes over yours before you can pull away, shifting the responsibility onto him.

You offer him a grateful smile that extends your eyes, and he sends one back your way.

“Where do you want it?” He asks. You can’t even get a word in before he turns on his heels and makes space for you through the narrow aisle.

Leading the way, you show him the spot you’ve marked for the fern to hopefully reside for the next 24 hours. “Here’s good,” you tell him, pointing to the empty tile.

Jimin bends down and gently places the plant into its new home. Then he reaches into his messenger bag, pulling out a packet of tissues before gravitating towards the spray bottle.

“I’m a big girl, you know? I could do it myself,” you whine with a slight pout.

He grips on your right shoulder, and you’re locked in place. “I know, but I want to help,” he says with the utmost care, “And you can ask me for help whenever you need it, you know?” Jimin smiles at you, and his eyes lower into crescent moon shapes, the corners slightly creasing. Before you know it, there’s a cool sensation on your forehead. The tissue in his hand is thoroughly saturated and now damp against your skin. You recoil on contact and reach for Jimin’s wrist, ready to yell at him for the lack of warning.

“Hey!”

“Stay still, you have soil on you,” he alerts with sharp eyes.

You let go of his wrist and give in to his kind gesture, murmuring out a “fine”.

While he concentrates on cleaning you up, you can’t help but look up and lock your eyes on his. You swear you could spontaneously combust and astral project from the intensity of his stare. His close proximity makes you heat up, so you’re forced to avert your eyes elsewhere out of pure intimidation. Your line of sight meets his lips, and you’re stuck in place, staring at them. They’re so pink and plush, and his tongue even pokes out a little like a sleepy kitten with slack jaw. Most of all, they’re right there in front of you, and if you could just lean in a little more, you’d be this closeー

“All clean!” He says with cheer, tapping your shoulder.

He turns around in search of the dustbin, and you shake yourself out of your own daydream before he can catch sight of you.

You laugh it off and offer him a toothy smile, “If you really want to help, you could have gotten me a cup of coffee.”

“You’re making demands now, huh?” He asks.

“It’s more like a suggestion than anything,” you teasingly yell from the back room, grabbing the remaining flowers for the display. Meanwhile, Jimin lingers behind in the main room, admiring the freshly cut flowers laid out on the counter ready to be made into floral arrangements.

You manage to recompose yourself from that one moment of weakness by taking a glance over at the cute doodles of artwork that line your office wall. They’re little bits of happiness that keep you calm and remind you that there’s light in your life, and he’s standing in the other room waiting for you to pop a very important question.

Upon grabbing the necessary items, you make your way back into the store. You stop immediately in your tracks, nearly colliding into a solid figure at the sharp turn of the doorway. Your heart almost stops, but you shudder away before you could tip yourself over.

Jimin stands in front of you with his hand extended out, clenching onto a steaming, white paper cup.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of me and coffee now,” he laughs, reaching out once again, “Only one of us bites.”

“That’s for me?” You ask incredulously.

He nods his head, “Yeah, of course, silly.”

You take the drink from his hands, and before you can thank him, he chimes in. “It’s just how you like it. Black and full of caffeine.”

You press your lips up against the cup, taking a sip and humming in satisfaction at the drops of heaven. “Thanks, but why? And how’d you know my coffee order? Don’t get me wrong, this is really nice, but…”

“I saw how dead you looked yesterday,” he justifies cutting you off before you can ramble on. Honest, but harsh.

You put the cup back on the counter and continue with your task at hand, and he trails behind you.

“Thanks, that’s what every girl wants to hear,” you banter with all the sarcasm you can muster, pulling at the flower stems despite them already being placed exactly where you want them.

“Girls like it when guys pay attention to the little details, don’t they?” He asks with a gleam in his irises.

You look up at him briefly before averting his eyes and wiping clean the leaves on a near fiddle leaf tree, spraying food soil at its roots.

“Love it,” you gulp wryly.

Jimin takes note of how seemingly busy you are, so he walks around the shop, examining the new inventory of flowers. After making your round through the store, watering all the plants that need to be watered, you return to the disembodied zinnia on the counter, waiting to be arranged.

The silence is refreshing until it isn’t.

“Is the coffee good?” He queries.

“Huh?” You stop what you’re doing to casually glance his way. His back is turned to you, but he seems overly invested in the rose display.

“The coffee,” he repeats, back still turned.

You look at the untouched cup at the edge of the table and smile to yourself. You didn’t notice it before, but there’s a red doodle that contrasts against the white paper cup, no doubt customized by Jimin himself. It’s hard to pick out what it is exactly, but you’d recognize the flowers of God any day. The ruffled petals and thin, straight stem are simply unmistakable.

“Oh, yeah. It’s good,” you answer politely.

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?” He asks curiously as if he’s playing a game of 21 questions. It’s a question you’ve answered numerous times before, but facts like these can easily slip through someone’s mind.

“Easy, carnations,” you respond without any hesitation, pointing at the display in the right corner of the store when he turns around to look at you. He makes his way to the stand, eyeing the flowers.

“They’re pretty,” he comments, pulling out one of the bouquets to examine as if he didn’t already know.

You hum, and maybe the exhaustion is evident in your voice and your oddly scarce exchange of pleasantries.

Jimin carries on with the small talk anyways. “You’ve been sleeping okay?”

You snip away at the hard, green stems, tossing them into the trash beside you. Shrugging, you mindlessly answer. “Yeah, as much as a florist can during Valentine’s week.” You snicker with good spirit.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest well,” he scolds you all in good faith, eyes now scanning the small assortment of cards. You hum in affirmation.

If anything, he should be telling that to your noisy neighbor who refuses to let you get a wink of sleep.

A creak rings through the air as Jimin rotates the card stand, thumbing through the variety. “Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day by the way?”

You can feel your hands clam up as they stop fiddling with the lemon leaves. Your heartbeat picks up, and you’re left winded by the question. You hide behind the hesitation, nervous as to where this may lead. How could you possibly play it cool when your crush asks you whether or not you’re busy on arguably the most romantic holiday of the year?

Play it cool because remember, you loathe Valentine’s Day.

Your hands fumble as you pick up the lemon leaves again, snipping at the branches nonchalantly. “Uh, no, not really, you?” you gulp. Your eyes are distracted, too fixed on the greenery.

But you look up the moment Jimin approaches the counter with flowers in one hand and a card in another.

“Oh, who are these for?” you feign innocence in your voice as you reach for the brown kraft paper and the roll of red ribbon.

Jimin scratches the back of his neck, hesitating. “My girlfriend,” he mumbles, but it’s loud and clear, audible enough for you to apprehend like an echo in you ear.

“I don’t have much planned yet, but we’re probably going to grab dinner on Friday,” he shrugs with hands burrowed in his pockets. He shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, eyes focused on the gray specks of the ceramic tiles beneath him. “Something casual. I’m not really huge on the whole Valentine’s Day thing.”

It seems like every man in your life paints you like a giant fool destined for humiliation. Of course the hopelessly hopeless romantic within you deluded yourself into believing that some Prince Charming would visit your flower shop in anticipation of seeing you. Of course the flowers that he buys everyday has to go somewhere, you just never expected that each and every morning at the crack of dawn, the flowers you carefully hand-pick and wrap with unconditional love would be sent off to his girlfriend.

Of course you’re a huge idiot who isn’t destined for love.

It almost hurts to plaster the tight lipped smile on your face when your heart is prickled with thorns like the roses in your hands.

You lick your lips and painfully gulp the spit down your dry throat before you open your mouth again.

“Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

You pause. “You can’t give these to your girlfriend”

His eyebrows furrow and his hands run through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“They’re white roses.”

“So? She likes white flowers.” He doesn’t seem to get the point.

You almost chuckle in his face, and you would have if your heart didn’t hurt so damn much. So you refrain. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that white flowers are meant for funerals?”

His cheeks are dusted with a pink blush. He shakes his head no. “Uh, what do you suggest I give her then?”

You sigh, looking at the hopeless man in front of you. “Do you love her?” Not even a second goes by before you ramble, not very eager to hear the answer. “You could uh- give her that fern you helped me carry earlier.” You walk back to the front display, keeping a safe distance to hide your woe, extending your arms out like a game show host revealing what’s hidden behind door #1. (Hint: it’s your heart).

“Call it your love fern?” you shrug, laughing it off.

“I think a bouquet is fine.” Jimin staggers behind you, checking out the other flower displays, opting for door #2. “How about the carnations you mentioned?” He pulls out a bouquet of variegated carnations painted with pink and red tips. “These are nice, don’t you think?” He looks at you curiously with doe eyes in await of your approval.

Your mouth opens to interject, ready to digress into another lesson on the history of variegated carnations, but you bite your tongue back.

Jimin spots your reluctance, but quickly puts it to rest. “Look, I don’t think she really cares about the meaning behind the flowers. You said these are your favorite, and you’re the expert right?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice. “Mhmm.” Even your hum cracks. “But uh, maybe the deep red ones would be more appropriate?” You cock your head to the side and quirk your eyebrow.

“It’s fine, I swear” he reassures you, placing the bouquet on the counter before putting the white roses back in its stand.

Your feet refuse to move as if they’re cemented to the ground, but Jimin stands there in front of you with rosy eyes, awaiting for you to wrap up the object of his affection in a pretty red bow. So how could you refuse?

You walk past the carnation display on the way to the counter, and pick up another bouquet. Pink and red variegated. “Here, these are a little more fresh. The buds are tighter, so in a few days, you’ll see them nice and big.” You smile, closed lipped. “Just in time for Valentine’s Day.”

Jimin’s jaw loosens and his lips part. He knits his brow in a frown. “Uh, these aren’t actually meant for Valentine’s Day,” he says, running his hand through his perfectly imperfect raven hair. “She’s kind of mad at me right now,” he gives a mirthless chuckle while playing with his hands, “so I’m hoping I can make it up to her with this.”

Ah, your favorite flowers are reduced to nothing but a gift of pity.

“She’d be crazy not to accept your apology,” you say in a soft voice, gritting your teeth behind your tense jaw, eyes fixated on the little nursling in your hold. With a soft hand, you unravel the kraft paper and delicately wrap it around the bouquet. The very one you picked up this morning and arranged the hour prior, wondering if you’ll be able to send it off to a loving home.

Now you know for a fact that it’ll be in good hands.

“Do you think she’d like it?” Jimin chirps in.

It feels like your heart is on the threshold of bleeding out as he sends another prickle to the soft organ. Your concentration doesn’t even falter as you snip the ribbon.

“I know she will.”

You tie the fabric into the prettiest bow you can muster and slide the gift of love across the glass counter. Jimin looks down at the beautifully wrapped flowers with an ear to ear smile on his face. “Thank you so much for the help, I really appreciate it.”

“Just doing my job,” you remind him with a counterfeit smile, scanning the barcode at the back of the card. It’s a really cute card too. Sometimes I wonder how you put up with me then I remember I put up with you. So we’re even ❤️

You hate yourself for the fond smile you almost crack, masked behind the pained one you send his way.

Jimin passes you a $20 bill and grabs his merchandise from the table.

“She’s really lucky to have you,” you lament honestly with glistening eyes as he walks out the front door.

He doesn’t catch a word you say, but he manages to shout back a “thank you!” and a “see you tomorrow!” before speeding out, setting off the bell at the top of the door without ever looking back at your dejected figured.

You’re left alone to finish the rest of the work day, surrounded by none other than the sickly, sweet scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath, all while taking in the putrid sight of variegated carnations.

They say that you are your worst enemy, and they are 110% correct on the matter. You don’t know why you would think that you’d have a good day on the basis of your neighbor having a crummy one. It’s not like there’s some kind of transfer of energy. It’s been proven to you time and time again that divine intervention and karmic justice just aren’t real, and apparently, neither is science. Otherwise, by that logic, you’d have a superb day.

You would have slept through last night and woken up to a pretty pink sunrise painted across the sky— nothing but peace. To the chirping of birds in the distance and to the passing of cars on an empty street. You would have had enough time to prepare a proper breakfast— pancakes, eggs, bacon, and maybe even a nice cup of hot chocolate. Not a measly cup of black coffee to keep you awake for the rest of the busy day. You would have had a nice chat with Jimin at the flower shop about the capitalistic corruption of Valentine’s Day while he’d try to convince you otherwise. He’d prove you wrong, and you would have walked home with a blooming garden in your heart.

But science is bullshit and the transfer of energy is a complete lie— photosynthesis being the only exception. The only thing you got out of today was a huge migraine and a withering blossom in your chest.

So just when you think that the day could not get any worse, it absolutely does.

You can probably blame the poor mindset you boxed yourself in— having a cynical outlook on love and life because of the dreaded upcoming holiday. Maybe it was because your crush just stomped all over your garden and plucked the flowers to give to some other girl. Or, you can put the blame on past you, the big freaking idiot who previously stripped off her bed sheets at 6:30 in the morning in hopes of being productive by doing weeks of piled up laundry. At this point, all you want to do is curl up in a warm bed, too exhausted by the trials and tribulations of life, but you can’t even give yourself the satisfaction of that because you thought you were some kind of changed woman who could manage her stupid laundry.

Newsflash, you’re not.

The naked mattress in the corner of your apartment mocks you, so grudgingly, you take your laundry basket down to the laundry room for your most hated chore. With heavy steps, you trudge through the cold, cement basement. It’s dark and dingy down there. A little scary too, given the flickering lightbulb at the end of the hallway. Nevertheless, you march through the doors and into the rumbling alcove.

What you find in there is startling, yet you can’t say that you’re surprised seeing that this occurrence is far from rare. You almost consider walking back upstairs and knocking on your floormate’s door, asking him if he’d be willing to do your laundry in exchange for $5 just so you don’t have to sit there, listening to some couple make out in the back corner.

Apparently, everyone in the world is foolishly in love except for you.

You crank up the volume a little louder so your cheap headphones can drown out the sound of them locking lips with one another, but the poor quality does absolutely nothing for your abused ears. The boisterous public display of affection is deafening over the sound of your “Wallowing in Self Pity” playlist.

You’re only capable of catching a brief glance in their direction before gagging and veering off. She’s sitting atop of the washing machine as he stands between her parted legs. They’re so lost in their own world that they don’t even notice your presence.

Out of respect for yourself and the horny couple, you choose to occupy a washing machine at the opposite corner of the laundry room. But perhaps you can save yourself the irritation as well as the $5 in your wallet because you can hear their hushed whispers. They’ve separated themselves long enough for the guy to convince her to move to a more private location. Although she still leeches herself onto his neck, he’s attentive enough to know that they aren’t alone. He picks her up and drags her out of the laundry room with her legs wrapped around his waist, unwilling to part from him as if holding his hand simply isn’t enough.

You roll your eyes, thankful for the quietude and the money you’ve saved yourself, but as you sit alone in the drafty basement, doing the chore you hate the most, you can’t help but think how much better it would be to do it with someone else at your side.

Somehow you’re convinced that crossing paths with Jeongguk in the hallway is fated after thinking about him moments prior. Because it’s very uncommon for that boy to leave his apartment, cooping up all day long with his video games, only to catch a breath of fresh air for his nightly gym sessions. When you see him locking up his apartment door, you offer him $5 anyways just out of the kindness of your heart. He could probably use the money more than you anyways.

Although you didn’t have any intention of doing a good deed today, karma still finds a way to punish you. As always, it’s bullshit.

Upon entering your empty apartment, the space is already filled with the sonorous sounds of orchestral music. Violins, violas, cellos, flutes, oboes, and harps all performing in perfect harmony. It’s played through the walls, coming from none other than the speakers of your beloved neighbor. You wouldn’t mind the soothing classical melodies to cure your migraine so long it’s accompanied by white noise. But your neighbor’s laughter rings above the music as you can hear him count “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3” in a triple metre.

You know that he’s not alone because there’s also another voice laughing alongside him. The same one you’ve grown accustomed to over the months. Her high pitched squeals are unmistakable as they greatly resemble other sounds you’ve heard come from her mouth on many unfortunate nights. So you can safely assume that your neighbor and his not-girlfriend made up with one another already—

“Look at me, not at your feet!”

“I don’t know where to put them!”

“You’re stepping on my toes!”

“Sorry!”

“Oh yeah, you’ll be sorry!”

It’s hard to picture what’s happening behind the wall when you don’t have faces to match with the voices. But you don’t really need it when their bed slat creaks beneath their weight and their headboard slams against your shared wall. Not when her yelps erupt as a result of the tickle fest they’re currently immersed in. The sounds are vivid enough for you to know much more than you need to know. It almost feels like you’re intruding on an intimate moment that’s not meant for your eyes, let alone your ears.

Meanwhile, as you struggle to tuck the fitted sheets beneath the four corners of your mattress, you wonder whether it’s worth it to leave the apartment again after such a hard day. Of course for the sole purpose of avoiding a home made porn video being filmed in the process.

Maybe it’s not too late, and you can still catch up to Jeongguk. You could head to the gym and snatch back the $5 you generously handed him because the more you think about it, the more you believe that someone owes you for your miserable time spent in this apartment complex. But you can’t take your anger out on the poor boy from down the hall when he doesn’t deserve it.

The sanctuary of your bed calls your name like a siren, so instead, you do what you’re forced to always do— plug in your cheap headphones, blare out some music, and move on with your day.

And it works for the most part.

You’re able to successfully put on your bed sheets after struggling to play a big game of tug of war with your mattress. Despite the internal push and pull, you also will yourself to do adult things like tidying up the studio, making the space somewhat habitable for humans. By 9pm, you can finally sit down and enjoy a nice, hot meal. However, you’re forced to keep your headphones on because your neighbor’s not-girlfriend decided that she couldn’t go a single day without her not-boyfriend’s dick in her mouth.

You swear you’re going to ask him tonight why he hasn’t made it official because it’s clear as day that they’re in love with one another. You know that you definitely would be if someone offered you oral every single day. Unfortunately, nobody’s offering. Thus, you’re forced to live vicariously.

So as midnight approaches, and the moon reaches its apex, you settle into bed with a book in hand, ready to suffer through the night. It’s difficult to concentrate on the text when your music is blasting, but you suppose it’s better to listen to lo-fi hip hop beats as opposed to the scream of “daddy” over and over and over…

Although you applaud her for her shamelessness, you would still prefer if she could keep to herself.

Thankfully, these moments are only temporary.

With your eyes squeezed shut, you let out a lethargic yawn. Looking over at your nightstand, you spot your ticking alarm clock. It’s nearing 1 in the morning, and you decide that you’re exhausted. Well, you’ve decided that long ago, but going to bed before midnight is admitting defeat against your own body. Nevertheless, no matter how tired you are, you know in the back of your mind that there’s no way you could have dozed off with your neighbors going on a Netflix binge with speakers fully blaring audio from The Office. It’s as if they don’t know what headphones are.

But after “one more episode” and a disgustingly long makeout session, you can hear the shuffle of feet across the floor boards and the turning of the lock.

It’s nearly 2 am, and the radiator hisses. It’s quiet.

But then that’s when you hear it like clockwork. The delicate hum before the pleasant tune. Tonight, it’s not a song you’re familiar with. Something about the universe moving and happiness that’s meant to be. Mentions of penicillium and a calico cat? There’s lots of talk about letting someone love you, and that’s when it really hits you in the gut. You’re not so sure about the song, but as always, it sounds pretty. It’s not typical to call a guy’s voice beautiful, but it is what it is. It’s serene, and it’s the promise of tomorrow. It’s something you wish that would never stop.

But of course all good things come to an end.

There’s a purposeful knock against the wall which startles you. “Hey, I know you’re up. How’d your day go?” Your neighbor asks, breaking the silence and dragging your attention towards his voice once again.

You tug your headphones off and walk to the other side of the apartment to lay your book down on the desk, gracefully avoiding anything in your wake because your apartment is finally clean.

“You know, sometimes I wish you would catch me on my good days so I wouldn’t have to tell you such sad stories.” A wary smile surfaces your lips.

“Why, what happened today?” He asks with concern laced in every syllable. “Did you take my advice?”

You climb back into bed, pulling your covers over your torso. Sometimes you feel bad about how many silent complaints you have about your neighbor when he’s actually a really nice guy. He just lacks the proper etiquette knowing that the walls are paper thin.

“IIIIIII tried to.” You drag out the vowel, hesitant to recall the embarrassing story.

“Yeah, and how’d it go?”

“He doesn’t like me back,” you say plainly after a moment’s reflection.

Your neighbor scoffs. “He’s an idiot then.”

You try to fight back the smile because as untrue as it is, Jimin is anything but an idiot. But it’s comforting to know that someone has your back, defending you in all your honor.

This time, you genuinely chuckle. “It’s not that.... He uh, actually has a girlfriend.” It hurts to admit it out loud. “And I’m sure she’s lovely if he likes her that much.”

“Like I said, he’s an idiot for losing out on the best thing in his life.”

It’s impossible for you to fight back this bashful smile because it makes your heart flutter. This may be the first time you’ve felt good about yourself this whole day.

“Thanks, but I don’t know about that though—”

He interrupts you, “Come on, don’t say that. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

You shake your head in disbelief, “You’ve never even met me, and you don’t even know what I look like.” You roll your eyes, but a chuckle unintentionally falls from your lips.

“It’s not about what’s on the outside, okay? I already know you’re beautiful because that’s what you are on the inside.”

“Shut up, that’s so cheesy.” You flip over on your bed and dig your face into the pillow, flustered by his kind words. There’s absolutely no way people this nice exist in this world. “I could be a troll or a vampire or something for all you know.”

“Vampires are kinda hot. Haven’t you seen Twilight?” He banters. “And I’m sure this guy isn’t even all that great. Like, tell me something you hate about him.”

Your hands cover your mouth, stifling a laugh. “I’m not gonna hate on him because he doesn’t like me back. It’s just the reality of it. Besides, he’s perfect.” You roll your eyes, annoyed by how flawless Jimin is in your eyes.

Your neighbor prods at you. “I reaaallly doubt that. There has to be something. Not even a pet peeve? Maybe he’s chronically late to everything? Sings out loud in a quiet place? Has a super annoying laugh?”

“Yes, yes, and no.” You flip your pillow over to the cold side and settle in to lie in a more comfortable position, slipping your hand beneath the cushion. “I can excuse the lateness,” you lick your chapped lips. “He also sings like an angel, and his laugh is really endearing. He does this thing where he laughs with his whole body, and he falls over every time. I like it because I know he’s at his happiest then,” you remember zealously.

“Damn, I guess I’m just projecting my own flaws now, huh?” You can hear him snort from laughter, rolling his neck and cracking the joints in his body, and then the click of his knuckles, 10 of them, one after another.

“Ugh,” you scrunch your nose, “Don’t do that. He does it too, and I guess that’s the only thing he does that really gets to me.”

Your neighbor cracks another joint somewhere on his body just to annoy you, and you cringe. “See, now we’re talking.”

“I was gonna tell you that you sing well too and that I like your laugh, but maybe I’ll have to reconsider,” you taunt. “But still, you shouldn’t put yourself down for the things that show off your happiness.”

The bed creaks from the other side. He must have switched positions for that to happen. “Thanks,” he offers. His voice is muffled, face most likely pressed up against his own pillow. “How about you tell me about the things you like about him?”

“What? Are you trying to wound me?” You ask, slightly hurt.

He scoffs, “No, I’m trying to prove a point here. So, tell me.” He implores like this is some kind of couple’s therapy session. Apparently, without your other half.

As moonlight filters through your curtains and the cars whiz by on the empty street below you, you consider all the things you love and appreciate about Jimin.

“I love how selfless he is. He’s caring and attentive... He’ll know when I’m tired and he’ll offer me coffee. He also scolds me for sleeping late and he lifts my burdens for me, even when I don’t ask him to.” You close your eyes in retrospect of Jimin and all the good things in life that he embodies. “It’s not even the things that he does for me that make me like him.”

Your neighbor hums, letting you continue.

“I guess it’s the principle that’s important.” You play with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, pulling on the edges to give yourself some comfort. “There are people in this world who aren’t… the nicest? I guess. And… he’s one of the purest people I know. It’s like he goes the extra mile to make sure I’m happy… and healthy.” You take a deep sigh before your mind wanders to the darker parts of your brain. “But I also know he treats everyone else like that too. Because he’s that nice. So... I guess I should have seen it coming that I wasn’t so special anyways,” you recall with tears welling up in the brim of your eyes and a knot tightening in your throat.

“Don’t say that, you’re one of a kind,” he assures you sternly, “What’s his name? I’ll go beat him up right now.”

You give a bitter laugh, wiping away at your eyes with the back of your hands.

“My point is that there are other guys out there who are just as caring. And they should make you feel special because you are, and it’s what you deserve. So if the next guy who comes along doesn’t treat you that way, I will beat his ass, okay?” He says in the most nonthreatening voice ever.

You chortle, “Okay, yeah, sure.” You’re not totally convinced of that.

“You’re probably right, I don’t want to fight and embarrass myself after promising you that,” he giggles.

“I appreciate the sentiment though.” Earnestly, you do. You don’t know many guys who are this nice, Jimin being the exception. “How ‘bout you though? It sounds like you made up with your not-girlfriend? I hope that wasn’t you in the laundry room earlier,” you tease, deflecting the attention away from you with a raised voice.

He gladly takes the bait. “Oh shit, that was you? I’m so sorry.” He rolls around the bed in a fit of sweet laughter, and the slat creaks. “And yeah, we did,” he breathes out with a shallow huff after regaining composure. He sounds nonchalant about it.

“You don’t sound very happy?”

“No, I am,” he deadpans.

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Can you tell me what it is that you like about her?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately like you’d expect, but he’s dwelling on the answer.

“I love how kind hearted she is,” he thinks out loud. “She’s a natural nurturer.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, and you can’t help but reciprocate because of how pure that is.

“Like... she’s always so bright, and…” he stops. “I just don’t know how to explain it. You’d have to meet her to know what I mean.”

“Yeah you should invite me over so I can meet her.” You both chuckle knowing that you should meet one another before meeting his fuck buddy.

“I think you’d like her actually. She has this beautiful soul… I- I don’t even know. She just sees the best in everyone. I know that she probably has her own struggles, but I don’t think she’ll ever let anyone know about them,” he mulls over, going on a tangent.

“Why’s that?” You curl up on your side, hugging your pillow like you do during every conversation with him. It’s as if he’s recalling a bedtime story for you. You let out another yawn, and although you’re on the verge of falling asleep, you stay up a little longer just to hear him talk.

“I’m not so sure why… I guess I love her and hate her for this...” He reflects.

You hum, acknowledging him while urging him to continue his train of thought.

“I don’t know... but she’s the type to suffer in silence for the sake of seeing other people around her smile. And… I don’t think she’ll ever admit when she’s hurt or when she needs help. She puts others before herself. Like, she’s so hellbent on putting on a happy face so that others can be happy too.”

You nod to yourself, understanding what he means with every word.

“And It’s not like she fakes her happiness or anything,” he continues as if clarification is needed. “She’s just… such a joy to be around. She makes everyone feel welcomed… and comfortable… And when she’s really happy, like genuinely happy, it feels like everything is right in the world.”

You can tell he has a big, doting smile on his face. One simply cannot talk about a love like this and not smile.

“I only wish that she’d be vulnerable with me so I can make her world a little brighter too.”

“That’s really sweet, and also, I lowkey feel attacked right now,” you let out a dry chuckle.

“Sorry,” he laughs. “But I think that’s why you two would get along well.”

“Set up a date, and I’ll come over,” you joke with raised brows.

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about it,” he teases. “Oh, but uhm... if we’re still on the conversation of what I like about her, physically, I love her smile. I swear to God I stopped in my tracks the first time I saw her… and it still happens every time.”

“That’s cute,” you smile fondly.

“When she looks at me, I think the whole world stops for a second because I can actually feel myself get vertigo,” he giggles innocently. “And she’s also got this super adorable snort-laugh that never fails to bring out the best in me. God, it’s beyond cute, you don’t even know.”

“It sounds like you’re in love,” you suggest, curling up tighter into a ball, squeezing at your pillow. “I don’t see why you haven’t made it official yet.”

The pause is filled by the whirring of the radiator and the ticking of the clock.

“Yeah… I don’t know either.”

Waking up, you find out that going to bed with a broken heart is a little easier than going to bed with a hopeful one. Perhaps it’s the emotional exhaustion that puts you to rest, but it doesn’t mean you’re any less fatigued. All your efforts are put into your work, and in a way, tending to flowers has served as a distraction from the wilting ones that reside in your chest.

When in reality, you should find a way to revive those instead.

But as Jimin stands before you, you can’t resist the shriveled petals that land in the pit of your stomach like cherry blossoms in the midst of spring. You really don’t know how you manage to bear discourse about Valentine’s Day when he’s unknowingly sitting there with wide eyes, listening to you talk about unreciprocated love that’s so obviously directed towards him.

“You mean to tell me that you read romance novels and watch rom-coms, but you hate the most romantic holiday of the year?”

“Exactly,” you nod as if it’s indisputable.

He gives you a questioning look with a crease on his forehead and lips pressed together in a straight line. “Make it make sense,” he challenges.

You finish chewing on the forkful of salad you popped into your mouth before answering. “Can I rant about it?”

Jimin gives you the go ahead and you continue, “I don’t think you understand how much of a die-hard hopeless romantic I am.”

“Actually, I think I do,” he scoffs and raises his shoulders confidently with eyes closed as if it’s a matter of fact. “That doesn’t prove your point though,” he counters.

You put your hand up, motioning him to stop interrupting, “Let me finish.”

Jimin shrugs and grins from across the counter, allowing you to proceed.

“When I love something, I put my heart and soul into it. I believe in passion, chivalry, and true love.” He hums in agreement as you count down each item with your fingers as if it’s an unofficial list of all the things that encompass a hopeless romantic. “And for me, Valentine’s Day is a poor excuse to spend money and show off all the things you’ve received from your significant other.”

“That’s valid,” Jimin nods, agreeing while munching on his fries.

“Like, why spoil someone on this particular day? What happens during the other 364 days?” You spew.

Jimin mouths “365,” correcting you on the technicalities of a leap year.

You click your tongue, moving on to the point. “Are they not cherished for the rest of the year? I would hope that my boyfriend makes me feel special for more than a single night.” Your forehead creases, too livid at this point to even realize how sadly single you sound.

You’re too busy ranting, accidentally speaking over Jimin to hear him reassure you that you are special. “Also there’s just so much pressure to make the night special, as if they have to plan something, otherwise they’re not the ‘perfect couple’ or the ‘perfect man.’” You emphasize with air quotes.

“I felt that one,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“You see my point now?” You acknowledge him sullenly. There’s a tug on your heartstrings at the mention of his girlfriend, but you drive your point forward in hopes of changing the direction of topics. You don’t even want to think about whether or not he’s made plans with his girlfriend yet.

“And what’s the deal with chocolates?” You yell, completely frustrated, throwing your arms up. “They’re totally overpriced. And cards? Cheesy and terrible. My Instagram feed? Flooded with PDA, and it's a big stab at singles like me.” You enunciate angrily, driving your fork harshly into your salad once again.

He laughs and nearly falls off the stool he’s sat on top of before swiftly catching himself. You snicker at his unadulterated cuteness.

“How ‘bout flowers?” He questions with ketchup lingering on the corner of his mouth.

Picking up a napkin from the edge of the counter, you mindlessly reach across to wipe at his lips, still in the process of ranting. “Don’t get me started on flowers,” you shake your head, folding up the napkin on the table. Jimin smiles at you as your eyes train on the fork that digs through your salad, stabbing into the poor vegetables. “Florists overcharge for them, and I hate it because I didn’t get into this business for the purpose of cheating people out of their money.” At this point, you’re rolling your eyes, seething at the thought of Valentine’s Day.

“Why’d you get into the business then?” He asks, silently offering his fries to you, the ones you’ve been eyeing ever since he revealed his lunch.

“Because I love flowers,” you say plain as day, reaching to grab a fry. “Because they make me happy, and when I send them off to someone, I know it’ll make their day a little brighter too.”

You wave the fry around in the air before sticking it in your mouth. Capping off your empty bowl of salad, you don’t seem to notice how Jimin looks at you and the understated beauty you exude.

“It’s cheesy, I know! You don’t have to look at me like I’m crazy,” you whine, briefly looking up at him with round eyes, turning around to toss your garbage.

Jimin flashes you a big, toothy smile, “No, you’re not crazy. You’re just... exactly what I thought you were.” His voice is low, almost as if he’s thinking to himself. As if they’re words you’re not meant to hear.

“Thanks? I think,” you giggle, unsure what he means. “Are you saying I’m predictable?” You inquire.

“I meant refreshing.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes form as he grins. “I’m just trying to figure out why you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day.”

“First of all, I don’t need a date,” you say in defense, teasingly offended.

“I know that, and you know what I mean. But you deserve to be treated like you’re speー”

“Second of all, I do have one.”

“Oh. You do?” He asks, creasing his brows and biting his plush lips.

“Yeah, with myself,” you jest with a smile, elbows resting on the counter with hands cupping your face.

Jimin’s chest deflates with an exhale, finally letting out the breath he’s been holding. “What, are you gonna watch The Notebook until you cry?” He pokes at your shoulder like a tease.

“I’m not that predictable,” you eye him with a gleam in your iris, fully knowing that it is the case. “But maybe,” you affirm with a sly smirk, “after I close up the shop at midnight though.”

“Knew it,” he scoffs. “But why are you closing so late? You should go home early so you can cry and watch The Notebook.”

“Mmm.” You hum, standing up from your stool and turning to hide the downturn of your lips. Running a rag underneath the faucet, you turn to wipe down the counter free of any crumbs. Jimin lifts his elbow up as you glide the cloth across the glass until it’s squeaky clean. “Let’s not forget that it’s Valentine’s Day, and I run a flower shop, Jimin. People are going to come by for a bouquet until the last second.” You exasperate, shaking your head in disapproval of all the last minute shoppers.

“You can’t get anyone else to lock up?” He suggests.

“They’ll hate me forever if I force them to work until midnight,” you reason, “Besides, it’s not like they’re single, so it’s fine. I can do it myself.”

“I really think you should be resting though. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, right?” He asks with concern in his intonation.

“I can take care of myself, I promise. I’m gonna treat myself after work anyways.” You do a little dance that consists of shimmying your shoulders and bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet.

He smiles at you endearingly with wide eyes, “I don’t think crying to The Notebook is a form of treating yourself.” He repeats as if the joke will never die.

You shake your head and click your tongue exclaiming, “If you must know, I’m gonna bake cookies.”

“Are you gonna share with me?” He pleads.

Your tongue pokes at your inner cheek as if you’re thinking about it. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might eat them all in one night.” Your lips purse in a taunt.

His mouth forms a pout, and you’re forced to give in to him and his bright puppy dog eyes.

“Ugh, fine, but only because you asked so nicely, I guess I can make some extras,” you groan, pressing your lips together straight like an arrow. You nudge his shoulder with your own despite the squeeze at your heart and the softening of your eyes, “For you and your girlfriend.”

It’s not like you had to mention it. But it’s been on your mind since yesterday, and you’re sure that the only way to fix a broken heart is to learn to accept it. Even if it means plucking out the thorns that are lodged in your heart until it feels numb. Empty and devoid of life.

“Girlfrie- oh, right, right. That’d be nice,” he sputters out, body stiffening, “Butー”

“Maybe I can bake them Thursday night?” You offer. “So you can pick them up on Friday if you buy flowers for her?” Your eyes blink in a failed attempt to wink.

Jimin stifles a laugh at your pitiful endeavor. It’s really pathetic how hard you try, pretending that you’re not hurt right in front of the guy who stormed into your garden.

But you suppose flowers can’t grow without a little bit of downpour.

He licks his lips, and his smile falters. “Riiight, but it’s okay, you should enjoy your cookies on Friday night because I’m not sure I’ll be around to buy flowers that day anyways.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, perplexed, head cocked to the side.

“Uh, don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, brushing it off before taking a look at his watch. “I have to head back to work though, my break is almost ending.” You watch him carefully with narrowing eyes as he collects his belongings, scrambling to head out the door. With the exit half opened, he turns around to bid you goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

The bell chimes and he’s out of sight.

You can’t even process his words because you’re too busy staring at the exit trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Adulthood is just an endless cycle of sleeping and working, but it seems like you’re lacking in the former activity seeing that all you do is work. In the final stretch of Valentine’s Day, with a few more days to go, you’re just about ready to crash and burn.

Upon entering your quiet apartment tonight, you fail to do anything productive. You nose dive into bed and curl up into a cocoon at the strike of 10 pm. Somehow, you don’t even care enough to tug off your jeans or remove your smudged makeup. You’re ready to accept the consequences of bad skin and a stained pillowcase because the only thing that matters is that you knock out the moment your head hits the soft linen. There’s no time to replay the events of today or plan for tomorrow when your eyelids weigh you down into a deep slumber.

There’s not a single thing that can spur you. Not even the shining of the moonlight over your profile or the rhythmic whizzing of cars on the empty street beneath you. Even when there’s a police siren ringing in the distance or a rumble from a descending airplane in the atmosphere above you, you don’t bat an eye. You can’t even hear the hum of the rusty pipelines when your neighbor hops into the shower at the breach of dawn. Even the whirring radiator and the ticking clock blurs into nothing but white noise.

They’re all there to keep you company as you lie down in a bed of withered roses. To offer you comfort in your barren Renaissance garden.

You can’t seem to put your finger on it, but you wake up feeling like it’s the best night of rest you’ve gotten in the last week despite it being a short lived slumber. It’s definitely the most consistent night of sleep you’ve had in a while. And even though you went to bed without dinner, it didn’t hinder your sleep whatsoever. It only means that you can eat a full breakfast to power through the day.

And powering through is what you do best.

Apparently, the world is up against you because you can’t remember the last time you even got to sit down. You’re constantly on your feet, attending to customers and fulfilling orders. There’s no time to breathe even when you’re literally enclosed in a greenhouse. There’s always something to do, and stopping to take a break means slowing down the process. It’s not an option you want to take.

At the end of each day, you’re wobbling back home with sore muscles and blurred vision. Your ability to function is beyond your own imagination. Your definition of “functioning” has diminished to standing on your own two feet although that still bears a challenge for you.

The sustenance in your body is nearly nonexistent, especially because you’ve been neglecting your self-care. Typically, you don’t think about eating on the job. It’s honestly not on your mind because there are only two things that occupy your brain space: (1) Work and (2) Jimin.

Somehow, Jimin takes better care of you than you do yourself. And without him around, you’re a walking corpse. He’s always providing you with lunch and snacks, leaving you sticky notes with reminders to hydrate yourself. You didn’t realize that you needed him this much to remind you of the simple tasks like drinking or eating or… smiling.

Sometimes he draws cute flowers or scribbles plant puns on the post-it notes, sticking them onto obscure places that are hard for you to find. Your favorite one being the time he wrote “I love it when you call me big poppy.”

He claims that the notes are designed to make you laugh, even for the few that are not very funny. They definitely do brighten your day, especially when you have the ephemeral chance to glance at them hanging up above your desk in the back office. Smiling at the itty-bitty illustrations has become second nature to you. When you’re going through a rough day, aka everyday, and you’re in need of a breather, you wander into the back room to pace around, only to come face to face with a kaleidoscope of doodled butterflies spanned across a string of rainbow post it notes.

He once drew a sunflower and said something cheesy about how your laughter is the embodiment of sunshine— how it would be a crime against the flora population if you were to go a day without laughter.

It was corny and far from being right, but it was so perfectly Jimin.

When he does stupid shit like that, it makes you feel like the biggest lovesick idiot in the world. In your naive past, you thought that the smiles he sent your way were ones reserved for you and only you. You were convinced that the shameless flirting was a silent mechanism used to express his inclination towards you. You assumed that the daily visits to your flower shop were formidable attempts to get to know you better. A little part of you hoped that the songs he shared with you equated to sharing a piece of his heart.

You absolutely were sharing. You just didn’t realize that you’d be sharing with someone else.

So when Jimin consigns adorable puns that melt your heart, and he stops by with a cup of coffee, just know that they’re acts of friendship. When he spends his lunch breaks at the flower shop and sings songs that remind him of you, he’s coming from a place of kindness, not attraction.

It is true that Jimin’s your sunshine, but it’s also a fundamental principle to botanists that too much of something is bad enough, and too much of nothing is just as tough. And deceiving yourself into believing that he was all that you needed had scorched up all the flowers in your garden.

The drought he put you in didn’t prepare you enough for the brewing storm.

It pains you to say that you need him more than he needs you because even if he isn’t romantically interested in you, you would have hoped that he’d stick around as a friend. His waning presence leads you to believe that he’s simply not interested.

Maybe you were too invested in what could have been between the two of you, you failed to see what was right there in plain sight.

Somehow, you still wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. And it’s pathetic granted you’re incredibly busy with work and your own crippling health. Yet thoughts of him still pop up throughout the day more than you would like. No matter how much you want to forget about your infatuation, you simply can’t will him away because of how often his beautiful face flashes before your eyes. You want to push him to the back of your mind, but whether you’re in need of a breather during your hectic schedule, admiring his stupid puns and butterfly mosaics, or you’re in need of some company in your eerily quiet apartment, doing laundry or having a meal all to yourself, you still can’t get the sound of his sweet laughter out of your head.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you manage to close up shop long before midnight. It’s a blessing and a curse because you are absolutely wiped out. Not only are you mentally checked out, but ironically, your flower shop is destitute of flowers, completely sold out from the holiday. As you clean up the barren space, you can’t help but feel as if a big weight has been lifted off your shoulders. The stress of Valentine’s Day is over, and you can finally go home, lie in bed with a tray of cookies, and enjoy the beauty that is Ryan Gosling.

You even consider closing the store all of tomorrow because you need the day off to recharge. So as you print out and paste your notice on the glass door, you’re dumbfounded to come across a sliver of paper that’s already attached on the other side. Opening up the door and letting in a gust of cold air breeze by you, you remove the sticky note that’s been unknowingly attached to your entrance.

Not a daisy goes by that I don’t think of you.

The smile that tugs on your lips grapples against the ache in your heart. Quickly, the fond smile melts into one of hurt and disappointment. Your left hand balls into a tight fist, marring crescent moon shapes into your palms. Meanwhile, your right hand delicately fiddles with the tiny square between your fingers, debating whether or not you should crumple up the paper and toss it away to be long forgotten. You’ve never been so confused about your feelings until Park Jimin came into your life, but you tuck the little daisy doodle into the pocket of your coat with a sigh.

With every passing year, Valentine’s Day becomes a little more bearable than the previous. Tonight feels like any other night, but better. You’ve come to accept that if there isn’t someone who can make you feel special, you might as well do it yourself.

Making a meal for you that doesn’t consist of ramen or 5 minute rice while dimming the lights and sparking up some candles is undeniably part of the healing process. And that’s what tonight mainly consists of. It’s all about love and self-care.

With your laptop perched on top of your dinner table and your Netflix queue lined up, you mindlessly mix at your wet and dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Nothing has made you feel more at ease than the comfort of watching your favorite movie on repeat and the sweet taste of raw cookie dough on your tongue. Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that can put a smile on your face.

As you wait for your cookies to bake, you settle into bed with your legs crossed and back pressed against the headboard. Laughter from the speakers of your laptop fill the space, and you can’t help but laugh along with the characters, disrupting the peaceful ambiance of your apartment complex. The rumble of your laughter subsides, and the movie rolls on from scene to scene.

Your ears perk up like Pavlov’s dog when the oven goes off. You turn your head so quickly you nearly get whiplash, but it’s all worth it for the love of chocolate chip cookies. The aroma of sugar is enough to will yourself out of bed and conveniently press pause on Ryan Gosling’s charming face.

Pulling on your oven mitts to retrieve the hot platter, your body begins to sway around to the sudden echo of music. The soft guitar strums reverberate through the walls and against the vacant space of your studio. Your body stops moving to the acoustics when you realize where the noise is coming from. Looking up, your eyes bore into the eggshell walls as if you can see through it. But you soon space out, focusing on the vibrations of the nylon strings instead.

The song fades out and the quietude breaks you out of your reverie. You blink in confusion, trying to remember the last time you heard from your neighbor. Although you haven’t spent much time in your apartment in the past week, you miss the late night chats with him. Lately, you’ve been knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow for some much needed rest. You haven’t heard his voice in forever, and especially not his angelic singing voice. Even tonight he refrains from singing in place of just practicing his guitar.

It’s a bit out of the ordinary.

His side of the wall is surprisingly quiet tonight. You would have expected him to be out and about with his girlfriend, but at this point of the night, they would have been jumping at each other's bones. Yet the gentle patter of footsteps and the lack of banging would suggest that he’s flying solo tonight.

Despite your curiosity, you’re not sure whether or not you’d want to bring it up in case it reopens some wounds. You think it’s best to leave it alone for the time being until he’s ready to come to you instead.

So as you proceed with bingeing your movies, there’s something in the back of your mind that still distracts you. It’s literally a crime that you’ve sat through 2 hours of The Notebook, yet you haven’t shed a single tear because you’re not even focused on the film in front of you. Rather, you’re thinking long and hard about the last time you heard your neighbor laugh in sincerity.

You really couldn’t care any less about the end credits that roll in front of you. Rather, with your chin propped up in the palm of your hands, you listen intently to what’s happening on the other side of the wall. It’s bizarrely quiet, aside from the sad symphony of string instruments that ring in the background of the ending credits.

When your screen turns black, you shut off your laptop and stow it away, knowing in your heart that you’re no longer in the mood for a romantic movie marathon. You make your way into your kitchen and reach for the cookies that have cooled off by now. But somehow, it feels wrong to sit here in enjoyment of your own company. Yet at the same time, this batch of cookies was the only thing you were looking forward to all week.

Nothing seems to satisfy you.

The only desire that creeps upon you is the desire to spend the night with someone else by your side. Frankly, it’s stupid because you know that you don’t need a man, and even the whole world knows that you don’t need one. Especially not on Valentine’s Day because you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate February 14th with every fibre of your being.

However, the idea of having a friend at your side doesn’t seem so bad at this point.

You transfer all the cookies from the tray onto a smaller plate, arranging the delectable morsels into a presentable fashion.

With your slippers on, you make your way out of your apartment, letting the door close softly behind you. Standing in front of your neighbor’s abode, you nervously shift your weight on the heels of your feet. Midnight is approaching, and you wouldn’t want to disrupt his night like this, but it just feels right to knock on his door and offer your company. Just to check up on him because perhaps he’s in need of some companionship just like you. And who wouldn’t want some chocolate chip cookies? Baked with 80% sugar and 100% love.

Mustering up all the courage in your body, your hand comes up in a tight fist, knocking at the wooden door. You wait a moment, but to your dismay, there’s no evidence of movement on the other side of the partition. You would have heard his footsteps by now, and perhaps the turning of the deadbolt, but it’s dead silent.

Perhaps he didn’t hear you, so you knock a little harder this time.

Nothing.

As you stand outside, lost in naivety, you wonder whether you should try to make a fool of yourself and knock again. It’s been a good 5 minutes of you debating between speaking up to get his attention or giving up and retreating to your studio in embarrassment. Then you mentally facepalm yourself remembering that it’s incredibly rude of you to drop by without any kind of warning.

But still, you had his best interests in mind.

You think that the third time’s the charm, so in a last attempt, you knock with full force.

“Uhh, hey!” Your voice shakes and cracks. Blame it on the nerves. “I made some cookies, and I thought I’d share some!” You semi-yell in hopes of catching his attention.

“One second!” Oh, thank God. You can hear the bed frame creak on the other side and the skid of footsteps across the floor boards.

Your heartbeat weirdly picks up because of the fact that this is quite literally the first time you’ve come face to face with your neighbor. The late night chats with him have always made you feel comfortable, but there’s a certain nuance to meeting him that shakes your nerves.

You brace yourself as you hear the lock turn, eyes casting down towards the plate in front of you.

“I didn’t know that today’d be the day we meet like thiー” He says as the door swings open.

You look up expecting to greet him with a smile, but the one you had prepared falters from your lips.

“What’re youー”

“Y- You liveー”

You stutter over one another, lost in confusion. Staring into the very familiar set of brown eyes in front of you, you’re confounded by your new discovery.

Jimin stands before you, running his hand through his black locks as he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you through.

“Hey, neighbor?” He sounds disoriented, untrusting of his voice.

You’re stood frozen at the foot of the entrance, unsure as to how you could possibly process all of this.

“I heard you made cookies?” He asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Here, come in.” He gently tugs on your sleeve, coddling you because of the state of shock you’re in.

You nod your head, barely cognizant of what’s being said. But your feet still shuffle through the entryway, and you slide off your slippers at the front door.

“This is so crazy,” he says, taking the plate of cookies off your hands. You’re both surprised that you have yet to drop them. He places the plate onto his coffee table, and his back is turned to you as you stand to the side, playing with the sleeves of your sweater.

How much weirder can this situation possibly get?

“You mean to tell me that we’ve been neighbors all this time and we didn’t even know?” You ask, sucking your lips inward, cocking your head to the side. Your words are a jumbled mess, but Jimin has become a master at deciphering your incoherent words through the thin walls many nights in a row.

“I’m just as surprised as you! I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots?” He exclaims in dismay, patting the seat beside him on the couch as an invitation to you.

Your brain feels as if it’s lost all of its cells because you have so many questions, yet you can’t seem to articulate them. As you sit down, you close your eyes and rub at your temples, praying that you’d wake up from this odd dream.

“There’s no way I could have connected the dots,” you sputter in collection of your thoughts, completely exasperated. “I just don’t understand.”

You fiddle with your fingers, and Jimin takes your hand in his. His touch is soft, and as much as you want to pull away, you give into him because there’s no way you’d ever deny him, especially not when he looks at you with those big round eyes.

“I have so many questions,” you admit, rubbing at your eyelids.

“Shoot.”

“Uhm,” your head shakes wildly. “I don’t even know where to begin?” Your eyes widen, shocked by how nonchalant he’s acting. As if he didn’t just lead you on and ghost you days on end, pretending that everything’s okay now.

“Take your time,” he chuckles reassuringly, offering you a calming smile.

“Uhm… How are you? I guess? Th- that’s kind of the first thing I wanted to ask you before… I- you know.”

Your heart gallops because he’s looking at you, biting his lip. And you, you are completely weak for the man who holds all of your affection in the palm of his hands, yet you can’t handle his smoldering stare, so you avert your eyes elsewhere. This is downright cruel and unusual punishment.

You continue, “Because I haven’t spoken to you much lately, you know?”

“You wanted to check up on me?”

You blink away, eyes now focused on the vase of wilting flowers on the coffee table. Pink and red variegated carnations. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself and regulate your breath. Your body stiffens and your shoulders tense. Even your jaw tightens, but you manage to nod your head.

“I’ve been better,” he admits sullenly.

Your hand lets go of his, pulling back to seek comfort at your side. It just doesn’t feel right to hold his hand so intimately when he’s made a mess of your head and your heart. You just can’t do it to yourself, and you can’t do it to him or his girlfriend. Especially not when his heart belongs to her.

You open your mouth as if you have another question to ask, but none of them are coherent enough to utter. There’s plenty of noise ringing in your head, but it’s all nonsense.

Jimin gently rests his hand on the ball of your knee, almost like a graze, but his touch is hot, and you brush him off with the recoil of your leg.

His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. His hands retract to his lap, respecting your wishes. He gulps, and noticeably the lump in his throat goes down in a swallow.

“Hey, it’s just me, okay? You don’t need to be scared.” He displays his palms out to you as a peace offering. A symbol of vulnerability. The tension in the air is palpable, but you still manage to keep your guard down in front of him.

Because this is Jimin. The guy you’ve come to know and unfortunately love. But it’s just that you’ve never seen Jimin like this.

“Yeah and that’s kind of the problem,” you breathe out. Your brows knit into a frown, and he looks at you in bewilderment, with wide eyes, parted lips, and stress tousled hair. “I- I don’t know if you’re Jimin the mysterious neighbor who’s been nothing but nice to me, or Jimin the guy from the flower shop who pretty much made it loud and clear he doesn’t want to see me,” you scoff.

“B- butー What do you mean? We’re the same person.” His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head subtly trying to convince you. He fiddles with his fingers, cracking his knuckles out of bad habit. Shifting his body so his knees are pointed towards yours, nearly in contact, he refrains from the much needed skinship. The heat radiating from his body is something you’re familiar with, and although it once brought you comfort, you can only feel resentment.

“Of course I want to see you? Iー I?” He’s a stuttering mess, shaking his head from side to side as if you’ve got it all wrong, but you interject because you have so much to say, yet you haven’t expressed yourself to your liking just yet.

“I don’t know about that!” Your hands clench up at your sides until your knuckles turn sharp. “Because neighbor Jimin is telling me he has a fuck buddy he thinks he’s in love with, and flower shop Jimin has a girlfriend he doesn’t want to talk about. So what is it? I’m hearing a lot about mixed feelings for this one person, and… if you’re involved with someone, I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” you spit out more harshly than expected, inching further and further away to the edge of the couch with your arms crossed over your chest. You gulp down a thick glob of spit in hopes of washing down the acidic sting in your throat, but it’s like bile just sits there on your tongue.

“Let me explain, okay?” He begs of you.

You sit there in sullen silence, staring at the carnations in your peripherals, ready to have him break your heart all over again. You nod, but you don’t even bother turning to face him, unsure whether or not you’d be able to hear him talk about how he’s in some complicated relationship with someone else.

“Please, look at me?” he pleads with a sniffle, “I need to know if you’re okay.” His voice cracks, and you finally look his way. You’re far from okay, but seeing him with glossy eyes, you also know that he isn’t either.

He licks his lips, and his hand comes up in desperate need of tucking the stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face. But he decides against it in fear of rejection, and he rests his hand on the ball of his knee instead. Your line of sight falls to his shaking leg. You hesitantly reach across to close your hand softly around his in comfort. His movement stops instantly as he lets out a huff.

Licking your lips, your eyes gaze towards your hands, and you can’t help but imagine how they’d slot into one another so perfectlyー

“_____?” Your eyes shift to lock with his and there are tears that brim at his corners, but they’re kept at bay, refusing to fall.

“I-” He exhales.

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, and you don’t know if it’s more for yourself or for him, but it gives him the strength to continue on.

“Look, that girl and I? We weren’t in a relationship. I promise you. I told you that we were friends with benefits because that’s what we were.” He insists, hoping the message gets across to you, but your heart drops lower into your stomach at his admission. You don’t even want to picture him with some other girl, yet you know way more about their relationship than you would have ever wanted.

Hell, you were even convinced that they were in love. A highlight reel of the last few months spent in your apartment flashes before your eyes, and your grip on his hand loosens. You think back to the days when Jimin was just some faceless guy, dancing around with his supposed girlfriend, having pillow fights, running warm baths, making out beneath the stars, and fucking around with her like they were in love.

But he continues in hopes that you’d understand his point of view. “It was easier to tell you the truth because you didn’t know who I was, and you wouldn’t have judged me for it. So I was an idiot, and at the flower shop, I told you she was my girlfriend because it would have been easier to explain this complicated mess.” A single tear cascades down his cheek, and he wipes it away with the crook of his elbow.

“I mean, she wanted it to be serious, but there was just something pulling me back. And do you know what that was?”

You shake your head no and pull away, unsure how much more of this you can take.

He looks you dead in the eyes, but you can’t even look at him for another second because the wilting carnations are sitting there, mocking you.

“_____, you asked me the other day what I liked about her, and I was wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer... It wasn’t easy because you were the only person I thought about.”

A sudden tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, unbelieving, but you compel yourself to look back at his visage, checking for any tells of a lie. He doesn’t even falter.

“She and I? We fought so much because she was convinced I had feelings for someone else. And you know?” He shakes his head, “…It’s true. I couldn’t think about the things I liked about her, but then when I thought of you. My god, it was just so much easier to talk about the things I loved about you because you’re the one I like. I didn’t know how to express that, okay? The songs that I wrote? The ones you hear me sing day and night? Fuck…” He rubs at his eyes, and they’re evidently red from all the tears welled up. “They’re all about you, and you didn’t even know,” he sobs out. The first drop of tears came out steadily, but as you examine his face in total shock, the tears begin to cascade down his face.

You wrap your arms around his neck, now understanding where he’s coming from. It’s all a little more clear to you, and there’s no need to continue on if he’s in hysteria like this. His arms instinctively squeeze around your waist, holding on tight, too afraid that he’d lose you if he were to let go.

“I didn’t have my feelings sorted out because I was comfortable with where I was, but it’s not like it made me happy,” he confesses. You hush him, running your fingers through his hair and caressing his slumped back. Sitting in silence, you can only hear the sound of your breathing falling into sync with his. Occasionally, the radiator would go off and a car would drive by on the street beneath you.

You tell him that it’s all okay and that all is forgiven, but he still continues in justification of himself. “And I was convinced that you’d think I was a horrible person for liking someone else when I’ve got a complicated relationship going on, okay? Because that’s how I felt about myself, and I swear we broke it off, but I was too embarrassed to come to you because I didn’t know how to explain the mess I got myself into. It’s all my fault, and I’m so so so sorry, you have no idea.”

He’s wracked with sobs, but you hum, listening intently to his every word. They’re coherent enough for you to realize that you’ve both made mistakes because of a huge misunderstanding.

The Jimin that you know and love is right here in your arms, and there’s nothing you can do but forgive and forget.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he cries out with a hiccup. “I promise you that you’re the only person I care about.”

You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, hoping that he calms down because there’s really nothing to apologize for. “What did I say? You don’t have to be sorry, okay?” You remind him.

He lets out a breathy exhale, “I messed up,” he hiccups, “I don’t deserve this. You.”

Your hands rest on his shoulder, gently pulling back from him, but he clings on tighter to your waist. Looking down at the sweet man beneath you, you smile to yourself.

“Jimin,” you murmur.

“Hm?”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You shake your head, and a soft chuckle vibrates through your chest. Still, you keep him in your embrace because although it may seem like Jimin is the one in need of a hug, you need it just as much as he does.

“Can I tell you a story?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tickling the skin at your sternum.

“I think I caught feelings for you the first time we met. Do you remember that?” He hums as you reminisce on the memory. “It was some random Sunday, and you walked in looking for a bouquet for your mom, but you realized you didn’t have enough cash on youー”

Jimin laughs beneath you, and it’s the way that he laughs that makes you realize you need that in your life. A cheshire grin spreads across your lips, and that’s when you know you can’t go a single day without hearing his laugh again.

“You didn’t have enough cash, so you pulled out a post it note and scribbled an IOU.” You can barely get the sentence out without chuckling to yourself. Jimin has stopped sobbing at this point, being reduced to a few sniffles here and there. You deem it as the right moment to pull back from his embrace so you can look him in the eyes.

“You drew a little daisy for me and that’s when I knew you were really something else.”

You cup his cheeks, and a grin tugs on his lips, matching the one on your face. His eyes shine in the dim light, just like how the sun radiates in the day time. A single tear trickles down his plush cheeks, and you wipe it away with the pad of your thumb.

“Look, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I have to admit that it hurt me when you said you had a girlfriend, but it really hurt me when you left without saying anything.”

His eyes cast downwards as if he’s ashamed, but you place your hand beneath his chin, bringing his attention back up.

“Know that I’d never judge you for the decisions you make and for the relationships you have, okay? And I don’t think you’re horribleー”

“You don’t?” He cuts you off with his big pleading eyes.

“No, far from it,” you beam, “I still think you’re the most selfless person I know.”

Jimin’s face drops at your confession, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you’re not special, because to me, you’re the most extraordinary person in this world.”

He cups your face, noticing that your eyes are starting to well. Drops of tears roll down your face, and Jimin’s quick to dry them away, pressing his lips against your cheeks to collect the drops of salt water. As you smile, another stream of tears pour from your ducts. Soft pecks are trailed against your skin, and you think you’ve successfully washed away all the pain.

You can feel the flowers in your heart slowly starting to bloom in preparation for spring.

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, opening up your eyes. He’s merely a few inches away from you, stuck in a daze.

His eyes can’t decide whether they want to look at the gleam in your irises or at the curvature of your lips, flickering between the two.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Your whimper is hardly loud enough for your own ears, but he hears you loud and clear.

His hands rest at the sides of your neck as his thumbs run over your cheeks, grazing over the flesh of your lips. “Can I show you how special you are to me?”

You nod your head, and Jimin is overcome with the urge to kiss you, inching closer with puckered lips. They’re soft against your own, plush and pillowy. You melt into his touch as if he’s the light of your life. You think you could cry again from the sheer amount of euphoria built up in your little heart. Having him in your arms is all you could ever ask for.

He pulls back slightly in need of a breath, and you take the opportunity to climb into his lap, with knees settled on either side of his taut thighs.

“Missed you,” you whimper against the column of his neck, nosing at the sensitive skin.

Jimin’s breath hitches as he bites back a moan, “Missed you more.”

“Not possible,” you trail gentle kisses against his collarbones, pulling back on the cotton of his t-shirt to expose more of his neck.

His hands rest on your outer thighs thighs, squeezing tight on the muscles. You reach behind you to grab at his forearms, urging him to move his hands higher onto your body. He takes the hint immediately and experimentally squeezes at your ass. Your lips part from his neck, and Jimin takes the opportunity to latch his mouth back onto yours.

His lips are gentle in contrast to the firm grip he has on you. But with your weight resting on top of him, core pressed up against his crotch, you can feel how hard he is beneath you. In need of some release, you start to move your hips back and forth, grinding over his hard on.

Jimin gives you a lingering kiss on your lips, pulling back with a harsh groan. You offer a teasing smile, and he leans forward. He supports your weight at the bottom of your ass as your legs wrap around his waist. You nearly yelp when he stands, holding you up in his arms.

“I got you,” he reassures, pressing his lips firmly against yours, walking towards his unmade bed space. He lays you down gently on top of the messy covers, climbing between your legs. You whine upon the release of his lips, but his mouth leaves hot kisses down the column of your throat, causing you to gasp.

“Is it okay if we take this off?” He asks, thumbing at the hem of your sweater.

You nod sitting up, and he tugs the material off for you, tossing it to the edge of the bed. Upon sight of your bare chest, he molds into you, lips suctioning around your pebbled nipple. His other hand massages at your unattended breast, squeezing at the supple flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” he hums against your body.

You’re easily affected by his words as your back arches and your legs hook around his torso. Canting your hips upward, you signal to Jimin with a whine that you’re desperate for his touch.

“There’s no need to rush, baby, we have the whole night,” he warns you, leaving a kiss between the valley of your breasts.

You cry out in frustration, but it soon subsides when he satiates your needs. You relax when his hand lowers into your sweatpants, cupping at your heat. His middle finger traces at your entrance, running it up and down your panty clad slit. Your hips lurch once again, but Jimin presses your hips down, flush against the mattress.

As his tongue circles around your sensitive nipple, his fingers decide to dip into your underwear. The obscene sound of your juices squelching can be heard when he presses his finger into your tight hole. Inserting a finger in, you can feel your walls stretch around him. A cry falls from your lips as he begins to rub at your clit with the pad of his thumb.

Jimin inserts another finger, and your cunt feels so hot with the amount of friction. Pumping two fingers in and out, there’s a pleasurable burn that ripples throughout your body. Beads of sweat form on your hairline, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand. You can practically feel your heart beating out of your chest.

“Tell me how it feels, okay?” He asks, switching over to your other breast.

“You feel so good,” you mewl. He hums against your nipple in affirmation, biting lightly at the perky bud.

“Jimin?” You call out for him.

He parts from your chest to look into your eyes, fingers still pumping in and out of you with flexing biceps.

“I think it’d feel better if you’d fuck me,” you admit, no filter needed.

“Shit,” he groans, slowing down the pace. “I want to eat you out first though.”

He retracts his hand, and you feel empty without him inside. Your sweatpants and panties are tugged off in one swift motion, casted to the side along with your sweatshirt. Looking up with stars in your eyes, you can see that Jimin is still fully dressed. You open your mouth to tell him about your wishes, but he must have read your mind because he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it with no regard.

Beneath his clothing, he reveals to you his robust body. You’re dripping with lust, and it must be so obvious from the way you stare at his abdominals. Everything about him is so well-built, and you curse the talented dancer in front of you.

“Like what you see?” He teases, winking at you as he descends down your body.

“Love it,” you moan.

His breath is hot against your wet pussy. With juices dripping down your ass, you ruin the linen sheets beneath you. His fingers play with your core, spreading your swollen lips to reveal your flower, admiring how pretty your cunt is.

Sitting up with elbows propped, you look down in frustration between your bent legs to see Jimin licking his lips, staring at your heat like he’s ready to devour you. He kisses at the long, dark lines of stretch marks that reside on your inner thighs before his tongue presses softly against your wet clit, kitten licking at the bud. Reaching out, your hand balls around the white comforter to anchor yourself down. As you spread your legs wider, Jimin’s hands hook around your limbs to rest at your thighs. He presses them down, restricting your movement.

His tongue laps at your heat with no mercy, licking a stripe up your sex and tracing letters onto your clit, sending your nerves aflame. Your breaths are shallow as you pant, melding yourself to the mattress. He flicks his tongue, prodding it against your hole and delving in and out. He massages your tight walls as it clenches around his tongue.

There’s a knot in your stomach that forms embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it when his plush lips give your cunt so much attention, sucking harshly on your clitoris. He looks over at your features, taking notice of your reactions, licking over and over the parts that make you squirm the most.

Your face scrunches in pleasure, nearly toppling over the edge. But you’re not ready to come. Not yet at least. Not without having Jimin’s hard cock inside of you.

Jimin is relentless against your pussy, but he doesn’t even let up when you call his name out. Your grip around the comforter loosens in favor of digging your fingers into Jimin’s luscious black locks.

“Jimiiiin,” you whine, tugging lightly at his roots. “I need you, please, please,” you beg.

He leaves a kiss at your bud, and you shudder in response. Jimin climbs up your body, and you shiver at the loss of contact.

“You need me, huh?” He teases, “You want to come?” You nod your head ardently when he presses his red, swollen lips against yours. He grapples with your mouth in a bruising, passionate kiss. With clicking teeth and suckling tongues, you can taste yourself off of his plush lips, completely drenched in your arousal.

Trailing your hand down Jimin’s sturdy body, you can’t resist running your hands over his perfectly sculpted abs. But on your descent, you pull on the strings of his heather gray sweatpants, loosening the elastic around his waist.

Your palm slides beneath the band, tucking beneath his boxer briefs. His eyebrows scrunch, and he gasps against your mouth when you wrap your hand around his hot, veiny cock, stroking at his erection. His cheeks flush as you swipe your thumb over the head, collecting beads of precum on your fingers.

He shudders at your touch. “Oh my God, I might die if you keep doing that,” he nearly cries.

You smile against the skin of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Meanwhile, Jimin reaches over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom. He nearly falls off the bed, losing balance on his knee when you stroke his cock a little faster.

As Jimin sits up, trying to open up the packaging, you careen forward to pull off his sweats. You can hardly pull it down below his thick ass given the position he’s sitting in. But it’s enough for you to pull his dick out and wrap your hand around his girth in all its glory.

While waiting for Jimin to take out the condom, you decide to tease him like he deserves. Switching positions, you lie down on your stomach in front of him. With a glob of saliva built up in your mouth, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching it drip down the shaft and onto his balls. You glide your hand up and down to spread the saliva, making sure he’s nice and wet. His balls tighten the moment you suckle your lips around his slit.

You look up at Jimin with wide eyes in hope of some praise.

His eyes stare into yours, but he quickly throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m not gonna last, please, I know your mouth is like heaven, but I want to be inside you,” he rambles.

He tucks your hair behind your ears and rests his hand beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. His lips meet your forehead in a sweet kiss before you lie back down on the bed, spreading your legs wide open as an invitation.

Jimin ungracefully pulls off his pants down the rest of his legs. He pumps his thick cock in his hands before sliding on the condom and lining himself up at your entrance. You groan, reaching out for his wrists as he glides his length up and down your folds, making sure you're nice and wet for him, fully prepped.

The callous on his thumb is rough against your clit as he rubs down on it, easing the discomfort of penetration. Your velvety walls stretch around his member as he sinks into you inch by inch.

You’re gasping for air as he sheaths himself inside you, but you remain calm because Jimin peppers kisses all across your face.

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned.

“Mhmm,” you hum, “Might need a second.”

His nose nudges at your cheek, “Take all the time you need, baby.”

Moments go by until you’re comfortable with the stretch. You don’t know how Jimin has so much patience with you when you can literally feel his dick twitch inside your pussy, impossibly harder than he was moments prior. But like the angel he is, he still waits for your go-ahead.

“Jimin, you can move,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and offering a butterfly kiss.

His mouth finds his way to yours, and he kisses you with so much fervor. You’re too distracted by the kiss to notice him slide out of you.

But your lips part slightly, letting out a gasp when he drives his dick back into you, setting a moderate pace. Your hands reach for the skin of his back, latching your nails onto the smooth surface. The slap of skin on skin is obscene as his hips meet yours, pumping himself inside of you. The delicious burn has you digging your nails into his shoulder blades, scratching at his taut muscles.

You weren’t wrong to say that you can’t go another day without hearing Jimin’s laughter, but at the time, you were not privileged enough to hear his moans against the shell of your ear. That is the one thing you don’t want to ever live without, too spoiled by the sensual man above you.

Jimin fucks into you deeply, changing his angle as he shifts his weight onto his knees. His calculated thrusts to your g-spot sends you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes focus on your pussy, watching his dick disappear inside of you like an addiction. With a firm grasp on your hips, he lifts you higher to help you reach your orgasm.

“Jimin, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, gripping your walls tightly around his length.

“I know, baby, you can come.” He lowers himself onto his elbows so he can come face to face with you. His hands reach down between your bodies, and he rubs harsh figure eights on your swollen clit. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body trembles beneath him, moaning his name like a vice.

Jimin rides out your high, pumping into your tight hole until your legs nearly give out. He doesn’t dare pull away, continuing to circle your clit until you’ve nearly reached your limits. Your walls pulse around his cock, squeezing around his shaft until he’s nearly at his edge. His hair is matted to his forehead, slicked by sweat. You brush away the loose strands with the tips of your fingers.

“Are you close?” You breathe out, hush and quiet, cupping his jaw with the palm of your hands.

“Mhmm,” he gulps, rutting into you, pumping your cum in and out as it sheaths his shaft.

His pace falters as he approaches his orgasm, hips stuttering against yours. Jimin nearly collapses on top of you as he spills himself into the condom, moaning into the cusp of your ear. His chest presses up against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

You trace soothing circles onto his back as he basks in the afterglow of post orgasmic sex.

His breathing soon evens out, and it’s comfortably quiet, that is with the exception of the radiator hissing in the corner of the studio.

“Wow.” He kisses your temple before pulling out, letting the remains of your cum flow out of you. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“So on a scale of 1-10, how special would you say you feel right about now?” A smug smirk tugs on his lips, and you playfully smack his pecks.

“Does this answer your question?” You ask, peppering 10 kisses onto his lips.

“Mmm, no, I didn’t quite hear your answer” he says, leaning in for another kiss, “Tell me one more time?”

And as Jimin kisses you goodnight, you know in your heart that the heartache and the loss of $5 are all worth it in the end if it means you get to wake up and smell the roses with Jimin at your bedside.

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blessednereid · 3 years

Text

LFLLLL Prologue: Mutual Pining

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

WC: 3.5k

Taglist: @rogershoe

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Lydia's House

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"Lydiaaaaaa!" You had barged into Lydia's house unannounced that afternoon. You had work that afternoon, but you called in sick, not physically, but emotionally. And only Lydia could help you.

"LYDIA LORRAINE MARTIN!"

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Lydia's mom, Natalie, had come out of her office because of your shouts.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Martin, I didn't realize you were home. Your car wasn't in the driveway," you apologized.

"It's fine, dear. Lydia's upstairs taking a nap. You know how much of a heavy sleeper she is."

"Thank you, Mrs. Martin."

"Please, I've told you many times. Call me Natalie."

You nodded before heading upstairs, where Lydia's room was.

You opened her door, and as you thought, she was lying on the bed, snoring and drooling. A sight you had gotten very used to since you first met her in third grade.

"Lydia Lorraine Martin. We have a code-red!"

Immediately, Lydia jolted up from her bed and began flailing her arms in the air. She lost balance before falling off the side.

"Oh, MY- Ugh." You went to help her sit back upright on the bed, sat next to her, and laid your head in her lap.

"Y/n, what's wrong? Why did you wake me up?"

"We have a code red!!"

'Code reds' were what you and Lydia had when you caught real feelings for a guy.

When you were younger and in middle school, Lydia had gotten a crush on the cutest guy in your math class.

On Valentines Day, she wrote him a card and put it in his locker. The card said, "I think you're cute♡︎ What do you think about me?" Later that same day, she found out that almost all of the kids in your two's class had read the card. And on top of that, the guy was a huge jerk about it.

Since then, you and Lydia vowed to never catch feelings for anyone until you were at least twenty-five.

"Who is it, babe? What happened?" Lydia asked with a concerned tone.

"It's Isaac."

"Your partner for the World History project?"

"Yeah, him," you sighed. "We started getting closer, and he started talking to me, and we bonded over our moms' death, and there were carnival rides and vampires and freezy pops!"

"Woah, Woah, Woah! Slow down!"

"So basically, I did what you told me and took him to the county carnival, right? Then, he told me about his mom dying, and we talked about that, and then we went on rides and fought about their pace, and he was fine after like a two-hundred-foot drop. So then, we went on a rollercoaster, and after that, I was cold because I was wearing a light jacket."

"Okay, keep going…"

"So then he warmed me up by giving me a hug and then led me in the building, and we just hung out there until like five? Then when we were doing the slideshow, he started asking me about my room and shit, and when we were done, we watched that show I told you about, with the high school vampires."

"Oh, the babysitter one?"

"Yeah, that. So, he was actually interested. And then we just kept watching it together throughout the week since we finished the project. And then when we were presenting today, you know I have that stage fright. He just held my hand and calmed me down, and he listened to me after we were done, and he actually cared about it instead of dismissing it.

"Not that you dismiss it, Lydia." She nodded.

"Anyways, after that, GB had to talk to us, and she ratted me out about writing his name down, and then he got slightly mad at me but not really, and then I explained. And he just told me he would see me tomorrow for our movie night…" you trailed off, debating whether you should tell her the last part.

"So that's when you realized?"

"After that, I turned away, and then he kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear, 'see you tomorrow or something like that!"

Lydia chuckled. "So you have a code red?"

"Lydia, I have a hang-out with him tomorrow. I'm not gonna be able to fucking think straight!"

"Babe, just go and see how it goes. Maybe it's a 24-hours thing, you know? Just adrenaline. It affected you like this because you don't go out."

"Lyds, it's not like that. It's different."

"Y/n, that's what I tell myself before every hookup," she deadpanned.

"Okay, yeah. You're right. It's just a 24-hour thing."

"It's just adrenaline, babes. Nothing more, nothing less."

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Movie Night

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'Nothing more, nothing less…"

Those were the words that kept repeating in your head as you twisted Isaac's hair around your fingers around Isaac's hair as his head rested in your lap.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

You blinked rapidly.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine!"

"It's just, you're not watching the show?"

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about something."

"Whatever you say, princess…"

Princess. The pet name made your heart flutter, and you thought you would explode.

"Give me a minute, please!" was all you said before picking up your phone and dashing out the room.

You headed to the bathroom and dialed Lydia's number right after texting her "Code Red Emergency."

"It's not a 24-hours thing, is it?" she said when she picked up.

"No…"

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do…"

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Previous Day

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Isaac

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He watched you as you turned around. His nerves crawled through his spine, and he curled and unfurled his fingers before finding the confidence–, no, before finding the ability to move.

When his lips touched the side of your face, his heart was set aflame.

'How did I just do that?' he thought. But entirely different words came out of his mouth.

"See you," he said, and he internally pumped the air when he saw your lips curl upwards into a smile.

When he reached class, his actions had finally sunk into his mind.

He went to his seat where his friend, Dillon Karis, sat beside him. Dillon was the only friend of Isaac, and they had known each other since middle school.

"Dude!"

Dillon turned his head to his friend, whose urgent tone caught his attention.

"You know that girl I was telling you about?" Isaac said enthusiastically.

Dillon scoffed. "You mean the one who's been taking up all your Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights?

"Yeah, I remember her."

Isaac rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Dude, I think I may actually like her…"

"Holy—" Isaac cut him off.

"Shut up!"

Dillon took two breaths to calm down before speaking.

"Explain. Now!"

Isaac threw his head back.

"I don't know. It's just the way she makes me feel." He smiled. "It's like… the way my mom used to tell me about how she felt about my dad? It's weird."

"Bro, you barely know her. Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure, but I think."

"Well, let me know. This is interesting. Shoulda brought some popcorn today, as I had planned," Dillon burst out laughing, and Isaac followed.

"Dude, I have to go to her house tomorrow."

"Why? I thought you already turned in the project."

"We have our movie night," Isaac said before realizing what that might sound like to his friend.

"Oh shit! So y'all already been going on dates?"

"No! No…" Isaac pointed his finger at his friend, signaling him to stop.

"Dude, so what are you gonna do?"

"I don't know…"

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Movie Night

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Isaac was now highly flustered as he laid his head in your lap. You didn't bring up the kiss, so he assumed he either made you uncomfortable or you didn't like him enough to care.

He looked at your face to see if there were any signals or indications, but he saw that you were completely zoned out.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

You blinked before saying, "Oh yeah, I'm fine."

Isaac raised his eyebrows before turning his attention back to the television.

When you dashed out the room with little explanation, Isaac took his emotional matters into his own hands. He had decided to get rid of his feelings, sure that they were unrequited.

He headed out of your room and knocked on Stiles' door.

"Come in!" he heard faintly, and he opened the door.

"Isaac, what's up?" Stiles had barely looked up from his work.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but I need some advice, and I figured that you probably know a lot about girls…"

"Not really, but I'm flattered you would think that. Please come in!"

Isaac stepped into the room and sat on Stiles' bed.

"Is this fine?" to which Stiles nodded.

"So, Isaac. Tell me what's going on," Stiles said before clasping his hands together.

Isaac took multiple deep breaths. He was about to ask your brother how to get rid of his feelings for you. Who does that?

"I have a crush… on this girl. And I know that she doesn't like—"

"You know, or you think?"

"I think, but she's given no sign of liking me…"

"Okay, continue."

"She doesn't like me. And I was wondering if you knew if there was anything I could do to… get rid of the feelings I have…"

"Oh boy. Isaac, I wish I knew. I'm in that same position. However! I wouldn't tell you if I did know. Because you never know, right? Unless they've told you that they don't like you, you don't know for sure. And even then, it could happen in the future."

That was not the advice Isaac was hoping for, preferring to put himself out of his misery before he could get in it.

"Alright, thanks, Stiles."

"No problem, bud!"

Isaac walked back to your room, where you were laid down on your back.

"Hey, where did you go?"

"Nowhere, I just needed to… uh.. get some air."

You squint your eyes, and even Isaac wasn't convinced by his lie, but he didn't say anything else before he laid beside you.

"Lydia is having a party next Saturday. You should come."

"Oh, I don't think—"

"Please, Isaac? It'll be good for you to get out of your house like Mrs. GB said."

He couldn't resist the tug on his heart when you flashed your pouting eyes, and he had to give in.

"Fine, I'll see what I can do. That's not a promise."

"Yay!" You exclaimed before pressing a kiss to his forehead. The action made Isaac's heart race, and all he wanted to do at that moment was kiss you.

In fact, it was all he thought of for the next few minutes.

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Isaac's Daydream

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"Love?"

"Yes, babe?" you responded to him.

"This is the spot. Stop going ahead of me."

You mouthed an "Oh" before laying down on the blanket he set by the flowerbed.

"So, whose house are we breaking into right now, Mr. Lahey?" you teased. You and Isaac were sitting in the backyard of a foreign house you had never seen, but you followed Isaac anyways.

"Yours."

You scoffed a 'what' as you had never seen the house in your life.

"Mines. Ours." He smirked.

Your face of pleasant surprise made his racing heart slow, as he thought you wouldn't like it.

"This is our house?"

"Well, it was my grandparent's house. They left it to me when they died. They said I can only get it when I turn 18, and now since we're together, It's our house."

You leaped onto his lap and kissed him feverishly.

"This is the best surprise ever!"

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Reality

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Isaac!" You yelled, and Isaac didn't know what you had said before.

"Sorry! I just zoned out."

"It's not a problem."

╭╼|══════════|╾╮

You

╰╼|══════════|╾╯

"So, do you want to watch a scary movie?"

You actually weren't planning on doing any of what Lydia had suggested you do, which was to just come outright and tell him you like him.

Instead, you chose to suffer in silence, thinking there was no way possible that Isaac liked you back. And even if he had, you two would be better off as friends… Right?

At least that is what you chose to tell yourself.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Isaac Leaves

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

When the movie was over, Isaac went home, and you prepared for bed.

That night you dreamt of things you wanted in your life that you couldn't have.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Your Dream

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Hey, Isaac?"

You two were curled up together on a couch watching a movie, much like your reality. However, a few things were different.

"What are we having for dinner?"

"Babe, we're in a hotel, and the only restaurants have a pre-set menu. If you want food, you either get what they have, or we Postmates."

"But neither sounds good. I want Pasta!"

He sighed. "Then lets Postmates pasta, babe."

"But I want you to make it," you pouted.

"Okay, how about this." You turned to face him to hear his proposition.

"I get you dessert with the food they have here, and I make you pasta tomorrow?"

You smiled and wrapped an arm around his neck.

You hummed before saying, "That sounds perfect," and he kissed you with a burning passion.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Morning

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Y/N! WAKE UP!" Stiles woke you up from your dream.

"WHERE'S THE FIRE?" You flailed around before falling off the bed.

Stiles chuckled loudly.

"MIECZYSŁAW STILINSKI!

"IT'S A FUCKING SUNDAY!"

You groaned loudly before grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him, effectively knocking him down but not ceasing his laughter.

"Relax, Relax! Dad's taking us out for breakfast."

You rolled your eyes heavily. "Ugh, I hate you. GO! Let me change!"

"Wait! Wait! I have a question…"

"What?"

"What's going on between you and Lahey?"

You looked down and away from him. "Nothing," you murmured.

When you looked back at him, his eyes were narrowed, and his forehead was crinkled.

"I don't believe you one bit."

Your face heated.

"There's nothing going on, Stiles."

He scoffed. "We may be fraternal, but we're still twins, Y/n. Whatever, I don't like him anyway."

"Why not, Sti?"

He moved his face closer to yours, and you craned your head back for air.

"Because I'm your brother, I'm never gonna like any guy you date. None of them are worthy of my sister."

"Well, you don't have to hate him because nothing is going on."

"Hmmm... Sure," he stated simply before walking out.

You got ready, wearing an off-shoulder baby blue top that was slightly… starchy in texture, as well as a pink plaid miniskirt and black slip-on sneakers.

When you got downstairs, your dad and Stiles sighed a heavy "finally," and you mocked offense.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Waffle House

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

You got in the car and began driving. You looked out the window enjoying all the sights while Stiles tried to coax your dad into talking about cases.

Your dad turned and pulled into the parking lot of the Waffle House.

You sat at the counter and talked until someone came to get your drinks order.

"So, Stiles, when are you going to bring a date home?" your dad asked with a squint.

"Not anytime soon, He's still stuck on Lydia."

Stiles blushed. "Well, I mean, It's working. She knows who I am. "

"No, she doesn't. But… I do know this girl—" Stiles cut you off.

"If it's not Lydia, then no, thank you. I'm stuck on her like white on rice."

Your dad interjected your argument. "Stiles, you sound like a stalker. Normally, we arrest people like you."

"Okay, Let's change the subject. Y/n, wanna tell dad about Isaac or should I?"

You rolled your eyes. "Why should I? There's nothing going on?"

"Wait, who's Isaac?" your dad said while whirling his hand beside his head.

"He was my partner for a project I had for World History."

Stiles laughed. "We presented on Friday. What have you guys been doing in your room?"

Your dad's eyes widened. "Why is he in your room?"

"We just watch movies, Dad! We do nothing else!"

"I highly doubt that. In fact, why don't I ask Isaac right now?"

You blanched. "What do you mean?"

"He's coming up behind us," he said, looking past your head.

You began choking when you saw him in your peripheral version.

"Can I get you something t- Stiles!" Isaac popped up from behind you and began to ask for your drink orders.

"Hey, Isaac," you said as you turned around.

"Hey, Y/n!" His intonation was normal, his facial expression was off.

╭╼|══════════|╾╮

Isaac

╰╼|══════════|╾╯

"What do you want to drink?" he asked, though his focus was on your dad's squinted gaze pointed directly at him.

"Can I get a coffee?" Noah spoke up first. Isaac jotted down his order.

Stiles followed.

"I'll get an Arnold Palmer!" he said while raising his hand.

"Is that on the menu?" Isaac asked confusedly.

"No, but it's half of a lemonade, half of an iced tea in one glass."

"Okay… Arnold Palmer."

"Y/n," the lovestruck boy said with a smile. "What about you?"

The corners of your mouth turned up. "It's not on the menu, but is there an option for an iced coffee?"

"Uh, I'm sure there is." He knew there wasn't, but he also knew you didn't like hot coffee much.

"Are you sure? I don't want to--"

"It's fine, Y/n," he reassured.

He walked away and headed to the kitchen to tell the cooks the drink order.

"I need an iced coffee, a regular coffee, and A half-and-half lemonade-iced tea. Please," he added.

Isaac glanced outside the kitchen window and gazed at you softly. He admired the way your eyes glimmered in the sun and how your hair bounced with every gesture you made. From this, he began to appreciate how amazing your hair looked and how the light refracted off of it.

He smiled a lopsided grin as he watched the way your lips move. He imagined how they would feel on his. Soft. Smooth. He had the notion that you were probably experienced in that field, more so than he was.

No. He couldn't imagine that. When he thought about the things he just thought, it sounded creepy and perverted. Besides, there was no way that you liked him back, so even thinking about it would just lead to further heartbreak.

He grabbed your table's drinks and walked back, trying to ignore your smile because he couldn't stop the race that his heart ran whenever he saw it.

"Alright, here are your drinks."

"Isaac, can I talk to you outside?" asked Stiles.

"I'm actually working, so I can't do that. But, I can take your orders."

He jotted down each of your orders and went back to the kitchens.

╭╼|══════════|╾╮

You

╰╼|══════════|╾╯

"Stiles, I swear to God, I'm gonna hurt you."

"Not my fault you're over here pining after Lahey but won't do anything about it."

"Up your ass and off your high horse, Stiles!" You did your best to be quiet with your statement, but your dad still heard.

"Hey, hey!"

"Sorry, Dad," you and Stiles said simultaneously.

You watched the cooks prepare the food in front of you, but you hoped to see Isaac somehow, even though he was in the back.

You thought about his messy hair and how it felt in-between your fingers... How his eyes dilated with each smile, and the tiny specks of green in those ocean blue eyes were always able to calm you down.

You noticed how his lips were never chapped and how his cheeks looked like apples when he smiled, and the one dimple that was prominent in those moments as well.

You wondered if this was how Lydia felt for the boy that caused their entire concept of code reds or if you began to feel something much more for the boy with the shy demeanor and quiet voice.

When Isaac came back, you thought about how you could try to confess your feelings. But, you knew that if Isaac was barely willing to talk to you for a long time, it would be a snowball's chance in hell that he liked you the same way.

"Alright, here's your waffles and your hash-browns, Y/n. Your sandwich, Sheriff, and your All-Star breakfast, Stiles."

"Thank you, Isaac," you said with a smile.

He turned to leave before you called out.

"Um, Isaac!" He spun around on his heel at your calling with a questioning look on his face.

He walked back towards you, prepared to write something else down on his order pad.

"Movie night, tomorrow?"

He smiled. "Yeah, sure."

"Dorota, you cannot tell me you do not like him."

"Mieczysław, I do not."

Your dad cut in. "Sweetheart, and if you do?"

"I don't. Can we just leave it at that?"

#Love lost lovelorn love found #isaaclahey #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey #isaac x reader #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey fluff #isaac lahey smut #isaac lahey angst #isaac lahey x oc #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski fluff #stiles stilinski angst #teen wolf #teenwolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf y/n series

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banshee1013 · 3 years

Text

Fic - Uninhibited

Written for the @profoundnet Discord Server Valentines Exchange - Reunion round, and specifically for @annethecatdetective :)

Title: Uninhibited Rating: Mature Tags: Castiel/Dean, Canon compliant, S15 Spoilers, Witch Curses, Literally Sleeping Together, Fluff and Light Angst Word Count: 5787 Summary: On what appeared to be a routine hunt, Dean gets zapped by a witch's curse - and suddenly he has no qualms expressing his undying love for Castiel. It's everything Castiel has hoped for and never thought he would have. When Sam discovers the counterspell, reversing the curse seems like a no-brainer - but will it cause Castiel to lose the love he never thought he would have? AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600769

========================================

“Dean!”

Castiel runs and skids to a halt, falling to his knees in front of the prone form of his friend. Pressing two fingers to his forehead, he breathes a sigh of relief. Still alive.

His attention turns to the fleeing form of the witch. Raising a hand, he wills his Grace into it and clinches it into a fist. The witch freezes mid-stride, twisting against an invisible force holding him in place. With a jerk of his arm, Castiel propels the witch around and pins him against the nearest wall.

“What have you done to him?”

The witch laughs. “I’ve given him a great gift. You’ll see.” He flicks his wrist, a bolt of purple flying out and striking Castiel. It doesn’t hurt him but distracts him enough to loosen his grip, and the witch disappears.

Castiel utters a string of Enochian curses that would make Lucifer himself flinch. Nothing for it, and he has more important concerns at the moment, his attention returning to the unconscious hunter.

Even unconscious, he’s beautiful, Cas thinks with a pang in his chest, maybe even more so, the usual lines of care and strife stripped from his face. Castiel places a palm on his forehead and exerts a sliver of Grace, but it bounces back against his hand, as though hitting an impenetrable barrier.

But it must have done something, as Dean’s eyes begin to flutter open, his breath gasping as he regains consciousness. Seconds later, Castiel is hit by the full force of those green eyes as they meet his own, hazy and dull at first but sharpening quickly with recognition.

“Cas?” Dean rises and reaches for him, Castiel grasping his shoulder to help steady him. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Castiel blinks. Of all the names Dean has called him over the years they’ve known each other, this one had never been directed toward him. He dismisses it as an aftereffect of just having regained consciousness. “Yes, I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

Dean heaves a visible sigh of relief — then suddenly there’s a hand behind his neck and Dean’s lips are pressed against his. The shock of the contact is quickly overcome by a growing heat beneath his skin, an involuntary moan escaping around their fused lips.

After a measure of time that Castiel cannot name, Dean pulls back and presses his forehead against his own. “Feeling much better now,” he says softly, his breath ghosting against Castiel’s lips and sending a shiver down his spine.

It’s everything Castiel has ever wanted and knew he would never have, and he desperately wants to relish the sudden reality of his desires coming to life before him, but the relevance of the witch’s last words rings in his ears. Castiel takes a deep breath and pulls back to catch Dean’s eyes. “Dean, tell me… what’s the last thing you remember?”

Dean frowns, his brows pinching together. “Uh… well, we followed the witch to this house. We’d split up to clear the rooms and…” He stops, eyes narrowing angrily as realization dawns. “Did that sonuvabitch get the drop on me?”

Castiel nods somberly. “Yes. I heard a shout but by the time I found you, you were already unconscious. I was able to pin the witch briefly but they escaped.” He sighs and looks down, unable to meet Dean’s eyes in light of his failure. “Unfortunately, I do not know what spell or curse was laid upon you. I attempted to heal you, but somehow I am being blocked from doing so.”

He is once again shocked when Dean places light fingers under his chin and lifts to look into his eyes. “Hey, it’s alright. Let’s go home and talk to Sam. We’ll figure it out.” Castiel’s breath stutters to a halt as Dean’s hand slides to his jaw, his thumb brushing his cheekbone before leaning in to kiss him again.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Dean says after he pulls back again, barely audible over the buzz in Castiel’s ears, then rises and offers a hand down to Castiel, pulling him to his feet.

“C’mon, babe. Let’s get outta here,” he says, smiling and squeezing Castiel’s hand, then guiding them to the door and out to the waiting Impala. Castiel glances down at their joined hands and wonders what he’s going to do now.

~~~ *** ~~~

“Sam! We’re back!” Dean announces loudly as he enters the bunker. “Who’s gonna bring me a beer?”

“Get it yourself!” Sam’s voice echoes from behind the stacks in the Library. Castiel wonders if he’s examining the books there, looking for an answer to the nature of the curse the witch placed upon Dean; Castiel having texted him about it as soon as they were on the road again.

Dean grumbles but there’s no real heat in it. He pauses in the Library and turns to Castiel, his hand raising to grasp his upper arm. “Want anything while I’m in there, sweetheart?”

Castiel, his throat dry and voice gone, shakes his head. Dean nods and smiles, his hand trailing down Castiel’s arm to his hand to give it a squeeze before pivoting on his heel and heading toward the kitchen.

As soon as he rounds the corner and is out of sight, Sam’s head pops from behind one of the stacks, his eyes wide. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

Castiel could only nod in agreement.

“So, what happened? Tell me everything,” Sam asks as he moves to sit at one of the tables in the Library, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. Castiel takes the seat across from him and recounts the events from earlier in hushed tones to prevent Dean from overhearing.

Not that it was an issue; Dean shouts from the kitchen that he’s starving and going to make burgers and did they want any. Sam looks to Castiel, questioning; he nods and Sam yells back in affirmation before turning back, gaze unfocused over Castiel’s shoulder and forehead furrowed in thought.

“Purple light,” Sam muses. “Last time I saw that was Rowena using magic from Book of the Damned.” The unfocused gaze sharpens and focuses back on Castiel. “But you said the witch was male, right?” Castiel nods, and Sam’s lips purse. “I have no idea what happened to the Book — it wasn’t among her magic journals and items we took from her apartment.” He sighs. “I hope it hasn’t been recovered and used by whoever this was,” he continues, “but I’ll do some digging on that assumption anyway.” Castiel nods again, but his inner turmoil must be written on his face as Sam’s eyebrows raise in question.

“Cas… is there... something else?”

Castiel looks down at his clenched hands, noticing he’s been subconsciously wringing them. “I...I’m not sure what to do about his advances.”

Sam’s expression grows serious. “Has he been making you uncomfortable? How bad has he been? He hasn’t… propositioned you or anything, has he?” Sam pauses to swallow uncomfortably. “Or worse?”

“All he’s done so far has been pet names and kisses. And no, he hasn’t been making me uncomfortable.” Castiel takes a deep breath and squirms a little in the chair. This is not a conversation he ever expected to have with Dean’s brother, and he’s quite unsure how to broach it tactfully. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Sam’s expression is puzzled at first, eyebrows pinched in confusion — then Cas witnesses the metaphorical light bulb illuminating as his eyes grow wide. “Oh… OH!” His mouth spreads into a wide grin. “Well then, I guess this is your lucky day!”

Castiel feels the heat of a blush flashing across the back of his neck and across his face, his embarrassment warring with a sense of outrage. “Sam, no!” he hisses. “Dean is not expressing affection of his own volition. He’s been compelled!” Castiel drops his gaze to his hands, surprised to find them clenching again. “It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of his condition, regardless of my feelings for him.”

A snort from the other side of the table has Castiel glancing up from his hands to see a smirk on Sam’s face. “Believe me, Cas — those feelings are real.” The smirk dissolves as his jaw drops. “I wonder…”

His musings are interrupted by Dean breezing into the library, a plate in each hand. He sets the plate with a single burger in front of Sam, then swings around the table to sit next to Castiel, sliding the second plate with two burgers in front of himself. He leans over to drop a kiss against Castiel’s cheek as he grabs a burger off the plate. “Dig in, babe,” he murmurs, his warm breath brushing over the shell of his ear causing an involuntary shiver to rattle down Castiel’s spine.

Dean leans back and winks at him, grinning as he takes a big bite of his burger; and Castiel’s blush burns across his skin again. He grabs the remaining burger and takes a big bite in a vain attempt to distract himself from Dean’s uncharacteristically forward behavior.

God help him, he’s enjoying this new flirty, attentive Dean.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Dean asks between bites, and Castiel almost chokes on his mouthful. Sam covers wonderfully, though.

“Just discussing the case,” he says. “Cas told me you took a hit. How’re you feeling?”

Dean’s grin widens. “Feelin’ pretty great, actually,” he says as he drops another wink at Castiel. “Cas says I was unconscious when he found me but I really feel fine now.”

Sam leans back in his chair and puts on an air of nonchalance. “So you don’t… feel any different? Anything strike you as being different at all?” He glances up at the ceiling. “Like, oh, I dunno, how you feel about Cas?”

Castiel’s head whips from where he’d been staring at Dean to gauge his reactions to Sam’s questions to Sam himself, panic at his directness crawling up his throat and causing his heart to play hopscotch in his chest. Sam has the audacity to wink at him, but then he startles and whips back around when he feels Dean’s hand take his own, his eyes widening as Dean raises it to his lips and looks directly into his eyes.

“Nope, I’m still totally hung up on this guy,” he says softly, lowering his hand and giving it a squeeze, then raising his free hand to stifle a yawn. “But I am pretty worn out.” He stands, pulling Castiel to his feet and wrapping an arm around him, holding him close; Castiel’s heart feels like it’s going to beat its way right out of his chest wall. “Think I’ll turn in. Can you handle the dishes, Sammy?” he asks, nuzzling Castiel’s hair and humming in contentment.

Sam, the terrible person he’s suddenly become, nods gleefully. “You bet! You lovebirds should hit the sack.” He stands, gathers the dishes, and heads to the kitchen, throwing yet another wink over his shoulder as he turns the corner into the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Dean finally pulls away from him and turns, leading Castiel towards the living areas — and presumably, Dean’s room. Castiel feels panic creeping up as they walk down the steps into the war room. He knows he should stop this — tell Dean the truth, that the witch’s spell is compelling these feelings from him. But he finds he is unable — or rather, increasingly unwilling — to say anything, and the guilt gnaws at him.

But — this is everything he’s ever wanted and never thought he could have. And Dean is the happiest Castiel has ever seen him. Should he really deny Dean — or himself — this happiness?

Haven’t they both suffered enough? Sacrificed enough?

The witch did say he had given Dean a great gift. Who was he to look this gift horse in the mouth?

But as they reach Dean’s door, the guilt forces him to at least say something.

“Dean.” Castiel pulls him to a halt and he turns to face him; Dean’s eyes, drooping with weariness, suddenly soften as he reaches a hand behind Castiel’s neck to pull their foreheads together, and closes his eyes.

“So, I know we haven’t really… y’know, slept together yet,” Dean says, his voice hesitant, uncertain, “and I know you don’t really sleep, but…” Then those green eyes open and meet Castiel’s, thumb stroking his cheekbone and taking his breath away again. “Could you… just stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?”

Just being with him, laying beside him, even if just to watch him sleep. It’s more than he’s ever had and ever thought he could. That wouldn’t be a violation, Castiel reasons, and nods.

“Of course, Dean.”

~~~ *** ~~~

A thin stream of daylight streaks through the skylight over Dean’s bed and strikes his head, the red and gold highlights in his hair sparkling in the light. Castiel can’t help himself, reaching toward the pillow next to him to gently run his fingers through it — not enough to wake him but just to watch the light dance — and wonders if sleep had broken the spell.

While Dean had only asked for Castiel to stay until he fell asleep, as soon as he’d laid nervously beside him — having stripped down to his boxers after Dean expressed confusion when he lay down on the bed fully clothed — Dean had turned into some form of human octopus, legs and arms curling around him and pulling him close, head on Castiel’s shoulder and nose buried in the crook of his neck. Dean was asleep moments later, Castiel reasoning that he must have been very tired indeed to have managed to do so over the jackhammer of Castiel’s heart.

So all through the night, he lay there, Dean’s warmth pressed against his body, his soft snores against his neck, and he argued with himself.

The spell is causing him to act like this — Dean would never want this, one voice in his head reasoned, while another argued, but Sam did not seem concerned — why? That was indeed a good question, and one he would need to address as soon as he could extricate himself without waking Dean.

But when Dean finally rolled over, releasing him… Castiel found it impossible to leave him. The thought of Dean waking up without him there — would he be sad? Disappointed? The spell might exacerbate his fear of abandonment… perhaps even give him nightmares. No, he couldn’t do that to him, not in his current condition.

Or so the voice in his head reasoned, the other voice moving down and settling uncomfortably in his stomach. He didn’t get up and seek out Sam — instead, he rolled over and curled against Dean’s back, pulling him close, and Dean sighed contentedly in his sleep and snuggled back against him.

If this is so wrong… why does it feel so RIGHT?

But of course, the feeling in his gut wouldn’t let him alone. Would Dean wake up and wonder what Castiel was doing in his bed? Would he be angry? Or worse, disgusted?

Castiel freezes as Dean’s eyes flicker open, the sunlight striking them and turning them verdant. His lips stretch into a soft, sleepy smile.

“Hey, good morning sunshine.”

Castiel releases the breath he’d been holding as Dean rises up on an elbow and leans to press that smile against his lips. The kiss was chaste but oh so sweet, and Dean sighs contentedly as he lays back down and stretches, the sunlight playing across his bare skin turning Castiel’s mouth dry.

He swallows and manages to croak out, “Good morning, Dean.” The lingering guilt bubbles up and he asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Like a million bucks.” Dean glances back over, his eyes wide. “Did you stay all night?” Castiel nods, timidly, worried over Dean’s reaction to the admission, but Dean’s eyes go soft. “I’m sorry, that must have been boring as hell.”

“No, it was very enjoyable,” Castiel blurts out and only an act of extreme control prevents him from slapping a hand to his mouth, but it is rewarded by a bright smile from Dean.

“Was it, now?” he teases, eyebrows waggling. “Do I have to worry about my chastity?”

Castiel feels the hot flush darken his skin and Dean must see it as well, bursting into laughter and pulling Castiel against him. “Just teasing, sweetheart,” he says, but with a wicked grin, he whispers into Castiel’s ear, “but for future reference, I’m down with somnophilia if you are.”

Castiel wonders if blood remains in any other part of his body, as it feels as though every drop has rushed to his face, and Dean laughs once more before kissing him again — not quite so chaste this time and leaving Castiel breathless when he pulls back, brushing his fingers through Castiel’s hair before settling on his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek.

“C’mon, sunshine, time to get up. I’m starving and in desperate need of coffee.”

Castiel nods dumbly, and with a final peck on Castiel’s lips, Dean rolls out of bed, pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. After a moment to collect himself, Castiel follows suit, redressing in his suit and tie before pulling the trench coat back on, a feeling of resolve settling over him as he does so. He must talk to Sam as soon as he’s up today.

He turns to find Dean looking him over and sighing. “One of these days, I’m gonna get you to wear something else — even if it’s just here in the bunker.” The wicked grin returns as he comes closer, his fingers settling around Castiel’s tie and using it to pull him near. “Although the tie does have its uses,” he says softly before pressing another kiss to his lips, the tip of his tongue sliding along the seam.

Castiel’s resolve slips and with a soft sigh, his lips part for Dean’s tongue. Dean groans against his lips, his hand sliding from the tie to Castiel’s jaw, tilting his head and kissing him harder; then Castiel is being pushed backward and up against the wall, Dean’s hand moving behind his head to protect it while the other grasps his waist to pull him in tighter. The unmistakable hard line of his erection presses against Castiel and he gasps against Dean’s mouth. Dean hums and breaks the kiss, lipping down to Castiel’s neck and rolling his hips, eliciting another gasp.

Castiel pulls the final vestiges of his resolve together, managing to get his hands to Dean’s chest and weakly pushing him back. “Dean,” he pants, “we have to stop.”

The hurt look on Dean’s face is almost enough for his resolve to slip again, but Castiel holds on to it desperately, like a drowning man grasping a floating bit of wreckage. “Please… I have to talk to Sam.”

Dean’s face darkens. “Sam? It’s not like you have to ask his permission, Cas.” He steps back, arms crossed. “We’re both adults and it’s a free country. We can do what we want.”

Castiel sighs. “It’s not that, Dean.” He casts his eyes down so he doesn’t have to see the disappointment on Dean’s face. “It’s about the case yesterday.” Dean opens his mouth to protest and Castiel cuts him off. “Please, Dean. Just let me talk to Sam first.”

“Fine.” Castiel glances back up as Dean pivots on a heel and heads for the door. “Do what you gotta do. I need coffee.” He storms out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he heads for the kitchen.

Castiel leans back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths to collect himself. Finally, he pushes away from the wall and goes in search of Sam.

~~~ *** ~~~

He doesn’t have to go far as Sam almost runs him over in the hallway, walking briskly from the direction of the Library. “Cas! What happened?” He grasps Castiel’s arm, eyebrows pinched in concern. “Dean just came stomping through the library on the way to the kitchen.”

“He, um…” Castiel searches for the words to explain that would invoke the least amount of embarrassment for them both. “He was very… amorous and I asked him to stop so I could talk to you before… well, anything untoward could happen.”

Sam at least has the decency to look startled before bursting into a gale of laughter, and Castiel bitterly wonders if Sam’s soul really was returned intact. “Oh! Well, that’s better than what I thought had happened!” His laughter dies down to a chuckle but his eyes are still dancing merrily as he clasps a giant palm onto Castiel’s shoulder. “I thought maybe the spell had worn off and he lost his shit when he woke up to find you in bed with him!”

Castiel’s ire diminishes and he nods. “That was my concern as well, but the exact opposite occurred.” His statement sends Sam into another round of chuckles, his hand dropping from Castiel’s shoulder as he bends over in his mirth, and Castiel sighs. “Sam, please. Can we focus on the issue now?”

Sobering, Sam straightens and nods, laughter still in his eyes but mercifully not on his lips. Clasping an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, Sam guides him back down the hallway to the Library.

“I’ve actually been up for a while doing some research and I think I’ve discovered what the witch did to Dean,” Sam says as they cross the War Room and into the library. The table where they had been sitting the night before was now strewn with books. He releases Castiel’s shoulder and picks up a nearby notepad, covered with Sam’s neat script. “I think it’s an uninhibiting spell.”

Castiel tilts his head in confusion. “Uninhibiting spell?”

Sam takes a seat at the table and gestures to the one across from him. Castiel sits, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. “So, last night when I asked Dean how he was feeling and he said how great he felt — remember what else he said?”

Castiel nods. “He said he was…” He pauses, feeling the blood rushing to his face again and amazed how the rest of his body continues to function with the continued lack of blood flow. “He said he was ‘still totally hung up’ on me.” His hands writhe together on the table in his embarrassment… but oddly, he feels a sense of lightness, a fluttering in his stomach as if a swarm of butterflies had taken up residence there.

Sam snaps his fingers and points. “Exactly!”

Castiel sits back in his chair and glowers. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Sam.”

“C’mon, Cas… think about it. When does Dean ever say he’s fine? Or admit his feelings for anyone, even me?”

Castiel begins to see where Sam is coming from, but still… “I see your point. But Sam…” He stops, eyes dropping and the fluttering in his stomach souring. “Dean does not care for me in that way.” The words are like ash in his mouth, the memories from last night and this morning like white-hot blades to his heart.

Sam snorts. “That is one hundred percent not true.”

Castiel’s head jerks up to shoot a glare in Sam’s direction, puzzled at his recent behavior. Sam is fully aware of his affections for Dean, and it is not like him to be callous or cruel, making light of other’s feelings, and yet… The look on Sam’s face gives him pause; his face is open and honest, and even… exasperated?

Could it be true? Is it possible Dean actually returns my feelings?

Just then, the stormcloud that is Dean rounds the corner of the hallway coming from the kitchen. “What’s not true?” he demands, setting his coffee cup roughly on the table before yanking out a chair and falling irritably onto it.

“That you’re not crazy in love with Cas.”

An involuntary squeak leaps from Castiel’s mouth as his head snaps towards Sam, eyes wide in panic at his bluntness. He cringes when Dean loudly scoffs.

“Well, that’s absolutely not true.” He turns toward Castiel and then visibly deflates, all earlier ire dissolving like salt in water. “Although I can see why you think I don’t love you after how I’ve been acting.” He turns in his chair and reaches over to take Castiel’s hands. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, raising Castiel’s hands to press a kiss into each one, then glances up through his lashes, that wicked grin returning and Castiel braces. “But please, the next time you don’t wanna have sex, don’t use my brother as an excuse.”

Sam, who had tipped back in his chair to watch the exchange, flails as he loses his balance and almost falls over backwards before recovering with a gasp, followed by a bellow of laughter — but Castiel barely notices, having completely forgotten the necessity of breathing.

“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam wheezes in between guffaws, “We absolutely have to get this curse off you.”

Dean’s eyes snap away from Castiel to Sam. “Curse? What curse?”

“The curse the witch placed on you, of course.” Sam sobers, shoving the notepad across the table, Dean snatching it up and reading as Sam continues. “You were zapped by a curse that removes your inhibitions…” He smirks. “Especially, it seems, the ones related to that river in Egypt you’re so fond of.”

Castiel turns a puzzled glance at Sam. “What does the Nile River have to do with this situation?” He sighs in exasperation as both brothers burst into laughter. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“I’ll explain it to you later, Cas,” Dean says, then sobering, turns his attention back to Sam. “So you’re saying this… curse… is making me love Cas?”

Sam shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just… finally… getting you to openly admit it and act on it.”

“Huh.” Dean sits back in his chair, his expression thoughtful, then turning resolute. “Then I say we leave it be.” He turns to Castiel, taking his hands again. “I don’t want to go back to being afraid…” He swallows, and continues, “Or being in denial of loving you, Cas.”

That metaphorical light bulb goes off in Castiel’s head. “De… Nile.”

Sam snorts and Dean rolls his eyes.

Then the lightbulb grows brighter. “You mean…” He can’t bring himself to actually say the words, the fear of being rejected — mistaken — too much for him to bear.

But Dean must know what he was about to ask, sliding from his chair to kneel before him, his eyes earnest and filled with honesty. “Yes, Cas. I love you. One hundred percent. One thousand percent.” Dean turns to glare at Sam over the top of the table. “And I don’t want to lose this. Ever.”

“You don’t have to, Dean.” Sam leans forward across the table. “You can choose to be honest with your feelings even after we remove the curse.”

Dean rises, pulling Castiel up with him and into a spine-popping hug. “I don’t want to lose this,” he whispers into Castiel’s ear. Then suddenly, and much to Castiel’s surprise, Dean pushes him back, hands clasping his shoulders. “Waitaminute.” His green eyes go wide, hope and disbelief at war in them. “D-do you… do you love me too?”

“Yes, of course. Hasn’t it been obvious?” Castiel’s eyes narrow in confusion. Is it possible Dean hasn’t been aware of his feelings? How absurd.

Dean sighs, pulling Castiel back into a hug, to his delight. “I guess I was blind as well as stupid.”

Castiel returns Dean’s hug, relishing the ability to finally do so without reservation. “Not stupid, Dean. Just stubborn.”

Dean pulls away enough to press a light kiss to Castiel’s lips, breaking it to press his forehead to Castiel’s. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”

Loud throat-clearing echoes in the room, and they snap out of their reverie, turning to Sam. “So, what do we do?” he asks.

Castiel turns back to Dean. “It’s up to you, of course,” he says, staring into those amazing green eyes so full of love, but becomes aware of a gnawing fear growing in his stomach.

If they reverse the spell, it’s entirely possible Dean will snap right back into his usual modus operandi — stubborn denial of his right to happiness, to love and to be loved in return.

But on the other hand, while Castiel wants Dean’s love more than anything else in this world, he wants it honestly — not coerced or forced.

“It’s up to you,” he repeats, “but I hope you choose to reverse the spell.”

Dean nods, eyes downcast. “I don’t wanna be a puppet. I want…” He pauses and takes a deep breath, the eyes meeting Castiel’s full of determination. “I will do this — feel this — honestly.” Another quick kiss and he turns back to Sam.

“Let’s do this.”

~~~ *** ~~~

Castiel paces the hallway outside the infirmary.

He walks to one end, pauses, walks back. As he passes the door, he pauses briefly and listens; but only for a second, the fear taking hold and pushing him to move again, to the other end of the hallway. Turn, repeat.

Each time he pauses at the door, the fear that he’ll lose Dean forever grows, burning in him like hot ash.

He had helped Sam gather the ingredients for the spell but could not bring himself to participate — asking Sam to question Dean after the spell was over and come to him personally to break the news to him gently rather than be there to witness it for himself.

It was cowardice, pure and simple. He admonishes himself for it — he should be there for Dean, come what may. But there are just some things he cannot bear, and having Dean reject him outright without a buffer is the greatest of them.

He almost has a heart attack when he hears the door to the infirmary open behind him. He pauses in his march, the fear choking him, rooting his feet to the floor.

“Cas?”

Dean’s voice, soft and almost timid, is the thing that finally loosens his feet; slowly, hesitantly he turns, his eyes rising slowly to see Dean at the doorway.

He swallows past the lump of fear in his throat. “Hello, Dean.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders, steeling himself for the inevitable. “How are you feeling?”

Dean walks toward him, steps echoing in the hallway. Castiel freezes as Dean stops in front of him; waits and tries to push down the anxiety as Dean stands silent before him.

“I feel…” Dean starts, then hesitates. He takes a deep breath, starts again. “I feel… good.” He smiles, shy but with a hint of the determination from before. Castiel’s breath catches as Dean reaches to take his hands.

“Please, Cas… have patience with me,” Dean sighs softly, staring down at their joined hands. “I remember everything… everything I felt from, y’know, before…” He pauses again, the struggle to overcome his barriers evident and Castiel has never been more proud of him. “It’s still there, but… I have work to do.” Dean looks up to stare into his eyes and it’s all Castiel can do to keep from collapsing from relief and joy — Dean may be struggling to express his feelings, but his eyes are full of all the love he’s currently unable to say.

But Castiel has no problems with expressing himself.

“I love you, Dean. I will wait for eternity for you to be ready, if that’s what it takes.”

Dean sighs in relief and leans forward to touch his forehead to Castiel’s. “It won’t take that long, I promise.”

EPILOGUE:

Rowena’s eyes flutter, the cloudy grey dispersing and returning to their usual hazel green. She breathes a satisfied sigh.

“Was the spell successful, my Queen? Did I do well?” She glances down at the slight young man kneeling before the throne, the black eyes somehow conveying hope of receiving her praise… or perhaps it’s fear of being the recipient of her displeasure. Eh, either is good.

“We’ll see,” she says, her voice lilting in exaggerated nonchalance, but she takes pity on the young demon. “But it looks promising.” She waves her hand in dismissal and the demon scurries away happily — or as happily as a soul condemned to Hell can be, she supposes.

She steeples her fingers, tapping the tips to each other in contentment. Promising, indeed.

The stools in the throne room catch her eye and she can almost see them sitting there, tense and rigid in each other’s presence. “FIX IT!” she had admonished them then, and it seemed like maybe they might have on their own — but she has always been impatient, and knows all too well the price one pays when they’ve waited until it’s too late.

She had been watching, and waiting, and growing more impatient with them but unable to act — even the Queen of Hell has her limits — until she encountered the young demon, a former witch fresh from the rack, and an idea blossomed.

Taking the young demon as her personal servant, she had instructed him in the spell that would loosen Dean’s inhibitions, cultivating him until she was sure of success, then laying a trail for the boys to follow. The spell went off without a hitch — well, except for the little idiot almost being caught by a surprisingly powerful Castiel. Who knew seeing the love of his life unconscious on the floor would elicit such a powerful response? She smiles slyly to herself, thinking of other fun ways she might prod that response from the angel in the future. Could come in handy.

A surge of pride overcomes her — she had been counting on Samuel, her all-too-short protégé, to pick up on the nature of the spell and find a counterspell for it, and she was so very proud of him — followed by a momentary stab of sadness. Oh, the things she could have taught him if it wasn’t for that pesky little tyrant Chuck!

A wicked, leering grin curls her lips. Of course, there was more to her plan than simply helping a hunter and an angel — both of whom at one time actively pursued her demise — find love and happiness. Fostering that love and devotion was the ultimate weapon for her revenge against Chuck. For she knew at some point in the near future, there would be a confrontation between him and the Winchesters — one didn’t need prescience to see it, it was clear as a bell to anyone with eyes — and an angel with an attachment to the elder Winchester even more profound than the original bond between them on their side would certainly seal Chuck’s doom.

Ahhh, but it is GOOD to be the Queen!

#destiel #fic #castiel #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #witch curse #fluff and angst

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casualmaraudering · 4 years

Text

The party is in full swing when Remus arrives.

The pub - privately rented by Marlene just for the occasion - is packed with people, loud chatter, even louder music, and the smell of roasted peanut butterbeer and stench of firewhiskey. There's people singing, dancing, chatting (or, rather, yelling) and doing just about anything a person might on a birthday party. Remus barely manages to remove his coat, hat and scarf (the interior is, thankfully, charmed against the cold February weather) before several people bump into him upon entering, leaving, or re-entering.

Squishing through the crows proves to be a tad difficult, but not before long, Remus is in his favourite part of the inn - the comfy corner with the booths, more or less away from the main happenings of the party. Plenty of people mingling, still, but one can at least have a conversation without yelling.

There, in one of the nooks, Fabian is waiting for him.

He's dressed just as usual - a button up, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his school tie just barely done. His hair is a bit messy, but Remus reckons that's due to the wind - his would be just as bad if he hadn't found his hat just before leaving his dorm. He is wearing suspenders, too - quite dashing, almost like a vintage schoolboy. And, he is holding two glasses of what appears to be warm drinks. Remus smiles to himself at the sight. It's a view to admire.

He swiftly takes a seat next to Fabian and snatches one of the glasses with a grin.

"What kind is it?" he asks, leaning back to rest against the wooden wall. Fabian, similarly to himself, takes a sip.

"Cinnamon," Fabian says, glancing at him. "With a splash of whiskey."

Remus huffs with a grin, letting himself inhale the sweet smell of the butterbeer. "You remembered my favourite."

Fabian doesn't comment, instead taking another sip of the butterbeer. Remus isn't sure if that's the warmth of the room, the hot drink, or his words, but he swears there's a slightest flush to Fabian's face.

They finish their drinks in silence and only then move on to conversation - various topics: school, friends, family, books. Then Remus gets them both another drink. And after those are done, Fabian does the same. And then that repeats.

By the fifth round, Remus's stomach is pleasantly warm, and him and Fabian are sitting thigh to thigh, and somehow Rem's ankle had made it around Fabian's leg - Remus isn't exactly sure when that happened, but he doesn't mind. Nor does he mind when Fabian's arm happens to rest behind his back.

"-and so we've lost. Quite a shame."

Remus doesn't even pretend to be listening, honestly. He's more focused on counting the freckles on Fabian's nose - there's far too many to possibly count, but Remus wants to try anyway.

"You and your Quidditch," Remus says, his tone just slightly quieter than before. "Seems everyone talks about that and that only."

Fabian smiles. "Not you. You've barely said a word."

Remus pushes himself just slightly closer, carefully watching Fabian's features.

He doesn't miss his eyes briefly glancing down. He smiles.

"'m not exactly interested in talking right now."

Fabian smiles, cocking a brow. "Oh, really? Whatever should we do, then?"

"I might have an idea."

In the end, it's Fabian who closes the gap, right as his arm pulls Remus in by the waist. Remus inhales, content, as their lips meet, and he lets his body relax and his fingers intertwine at the back of Fabian's neck. The crowd and the noise doesn't seem to matter anymore. It all fades to nothingness with each and every kiss.

It’s so much better than Remus have imagined.

"Prongs, if you don't stop frowning those wrinkles will stay there, and they don't look good at all."

James scoffs and crosses his arms, leaning back. Sirius simply rolls his eyes - one can't exactly get James out of one of his mother hen moods.

"Remus said he'd be here! And I haven't seen him even once! What if something happened? We should've waited for him when he was getting dressed, letting him come from the castle to here all alone was an awful idea-"

"James," Sirius interrupts him. "Contrary to what you seem to think, Remus is not a toddler. He can handle himself. He's probably got lost in the crowd, or found someone to chat to."

"He's got no friends other than us!"

"Oh, I don't know," Lily chimes in suddenly - not looking towards James or Sirius at all, however. "He's being very friendly with someone over there, on the left, look."

Sirius and James both look towards where Lily is glancing. It takes a while to locate Remus through all the crowd and people moving about, but once they spot him-

"No way," James says - far too loud for a usual setting, but thanks to the general noise, no one as much as glances in their direction. Sirius remains silent, eyes glued to the couple, breathing getting heavier and heavier by the second. "Who the fuck is that?"

"Damn," Peter chimes in suddenly, setting a new round of drinks at the table - Sirius didn't even notice when he arrived. "Bickings owes me a galleon."

"You bet on Remus getting laid?"

"I bet on him and Prewett getting together. Same thing."

"You know him?" Sirius asks, brows furrowed. "And you know he's into Moony? And you've not said a thing?"

"Everyone who takes Herbology knows they're into each other," Peter explains, calm as ever. "They're rather handsy, too, but they've never, y'know... made it quite this official. There’s been bets going on for a while. It’s the only thing that kept that class this exciting."

"Who is he again?" James asks. Just as Sirius, he keeps his eyes fixed on the couple. Though Sirius reckons it's more cause of the shock factor rather than anything else. Sirius, though... he's simply a glutton for his own misery, it seems.

"Fabian Prewett. Ravenclaw, Quidditch captain, Prefect. He's not half bad, honestly. A good fit for Moony, I'd say."

"A good fit," Sirius mocks, angrily stirring his soda with his straw. "A good fit wouldn't be groping Remus in public like that. He's got no damn shame."

"You say that as if Remus isn't the one tugging at his tie," Lily says, amused. "And Remus likes him. He talks about him a lot."

"He's never mentioned his name! Not once!"

"Yeah. Cause he has tact. Something you might want to look up the definition of, James."

"What? What has that got to do with anything?" James questions.

Lily sighs, and then rests her arms on the table, leaning towards the boys.

"He knows Sirius likes him. So he doesn't want to be rude or hurt him by talking about people he's interested in."

Sirius freezes for a moment, locking eyes with Lily. She shrugs at him with a gentle smile.

"Wh- who told him?"

"He figured it out himself a few weeks ago."

"Shit," James mumbles, turning towards Sirius and lying a hand on his shoulder. "We should leave."

"No," Sirius replies harshly, finally tearing his eyes away from Remus, ignoring the burning, uncomfortable feeling to his stomach. "I don't care. He can do whatever he wants. And good for him. If he likes that guy."

"I mean, doesn't matter anymore," Peter butts in. "They just left."

James and Sirius whip their heads back to that very spot, but Peter is right - the couch is empty.

"We might wanna stay away from the dorm for a bit," Peter continues. "Just to spare everyone the embarrassment."

Sirius simply nods, eyes fixated on the little couch Remus had just been sitting on a few moments ago. With someone. Someone who’s not him.

He'll just have to throw out the Valentine Card he bought and get over it.

#remus lupin #fabian prewett #sirius black #my tag #wolfstar #but one sided so idk if it counts lmao #written while im waiting for the morning out of my bedroom hiding from a cockroach there #my writing #my writing tag #i hope this posts my internet is so bad #redmoon

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ripspaghet · 3 years

Text

STUPID CUPID | 01

↳ series m.list | 00 | 01 | ongoing

→ pairing: jimin x reader

→ word count: 3,309

Prologue Summary; You and Jimin have been neighbors since you were four years old and hated each other ever since. It isn't until the two of you head off to college that fate, or rather, a certain baby with wings, decides its time to teach the two of you a lesson.

→ warnings/genre: bodyswap au, enemies to lovers, slight smut, eventual smut, slow burn

</3

It's not always in the dead of the night, or the middle of a downpour, that the people we love decide to leave us.

A splash of yellow paints across the canvas of a blue sky, wings fluttering against a cool breeze. Curious little things - butterflies that is - the way they flutter about and land on anything colored brightly, your windowsill for example.

The people we love often leave during ordinary days, just like this one.

Holding your breath you inch the tip of your index finger towards it. Of course, you know butterflies aren't meant to be touched. Though, what four year old is going to pass up something as pretty as this? As you itch closer it startles, but not from you. An abrupt slam of a door shakes your walls and you turn a cheek to the retreating insect. You stare at your bedroom door. Pushing yourself off the windowsill, you make your way over, feet brushing against the carpet floor, and out the door.

"How could you!" Another slam ricochets through the house and you flinch back, nearly retreating to your room, "How dare you!"

After that moment in life, you were no longer the type of person to let serendipity rule you - so, it's only natural that you ignore it when it falls into your lap - turn and walk away as if it'd never been there, to begin with.

A week before the Switch

It hadn't been long since the sun peeked out from the horizon, but the warm body next to you is what stirs you awake, limbs stretching and contorting. Going against your better judgment you let a heavy lid peek open, only to snap it shut again.

"I saw that." An arm snakes around your shoulder and pulls you into a toned chest, his sun-kissed skin warm against yours.

"Then you should apologize for waking me up." You try wiggling out of his hold, but he follows you, nose nudging the crook of your neck while his slender fingers press into your hip bone.

"Stay."

You sit up, "Let go," Pushing the blankets from your sweaty skin you realize you wouldn't be getting any more sleep with him beside you - the literal sun himself.

His sleepy gaze follows you as you move towards your dresser drawers, "Come back. I'm sorry for waking you."

It takes only one glance to determine his motives, almond-shaped eyes flickering up and down your bare skin. He lays on his side, an elbow propping up his head, fingers combing through dark messy hair. You can't help but let your gaze wander down over the thin cotton sheets draped across his lower half. A smile ticks up the edge of your lips. More often than not, this guy has a way of forcing you to convey urges you push down. It's one of his many endearing qualities that annoy the living hell out of you.

"Come here."

Rolling your eyes you push your drawer shut again and make your way back to the bed. As soon as you slide back into his reach his hands are on you, tugging you to his lap as he rolls over. He looks up at you - eyes lowering to your exposed chest then waist, where his hands begin to wander up. When he reaches the swell of your breasts his fingertips graze along the supple skin, eliciting a sharp intake of air from you, "Say it."

Your eyes flutter open, annoyance coming full force, "That's a little cliché, don't you th-" His thumb and forefingers clamp down on your nipples and a submissive whine falls from your lips.

"I said, " He hisses, lips pressing against your sternum, "say it."

You let out a sigh, "Hoseok, "

A satisfied smile lights up his face and he releases you, letting his hands fall to your thighs, "Good girl,"

You snort, trying to distract from your flushed cheeks, "What are you getting at?" You nudge the fingers that caress you, "Don't tell me you want more this early in the-"

"I do," He leans in, speaking between slow and teasing kisses that he places along your neck, "but," He sighs, "I do need to ask you something first."

"Ask me what?" You pull away.

"Ah, " He groans, "won't you let me soften you up first?" Hoseok has always been like this, avoidant of serious topics and more than active during the sexual or unimportant ones.

"No."

His eyes shift away from yours, finding your pastel sheets more interesting, "I don't want to ruin this."

"Oh, yeah?" You begin to pull away from him again, only his grip on you tightens.

"Alright," He hums, snaking his arms around your waist, "will you be mine then?"

You freeze against him, staring with wide, unmoving eyes, "Excuse me?"

"I know, but I care about you. I even-"

"No." You shove his arms off to crawl out of the bed.

"You don't have to say it back. We can just-"

"No, we can't just. We had a deal. You were supposed to tell me if you ever developed feelings. I'm not the slightest bit interested in a relationship, or you for that matter."

He rolls his eyes as you put your clothes on, "I've always had feelings for you. I only said I didn't so I'd have a chance."

You freeze, turning to look back at him as he sits up, "Seriously?"

"I'm in love with you ____." He smiles as if he's just said the simplest thing in the world. Like it's easy for him to just give away everything he is to someone else - someone like you no less. A person who couldn't give a rat's ass for his so-called feelings.

You let out a dry laugh and turn towards the bathroom, "Love, huh?"

"Give me a chance to prove it and I'll have you falling for me in a week."

"I have no interest in love, Hoseok."

Hoseok clicks his tongue, "So cold, you won't even budge an inch?"

"What is it with men and not knowing what the word no means?" You pick up your toothbrush only to feel hands smooth over your hips and enclose you in a pair of strong arms. Where your skin meets him, a flame blooms, though you choose to ignore it to instead squeeze toothpaste onto your brush.

"Say you'll think about it."

You turn around to face him, your chest touching his, "If I say that, will you get out?"

He nods with satisfaction.

You place your toothbrush in your mouth and push him away from you, "I'll think about it."

"Good, " He smiles, "I'll be going overseas to visit my sister this weekend. By the time I get back, you'll have decided. Right?"

"Sure," You feign interest and begin brushing your teeth.

"'Think about it', as if." You scoff, "I've told him a thousand times over that I'm not interested. After this, we're done. I've already blocked him."

"I mean, I can't blame the guy. You've been going at it for over a year now."

"Jin," You grab the finger his pointing at you accusingly, "he knows next to nothing about me."

He hums, taking his hand back, and passing you a paper bag that's filled with your favorite breakfast pastry, "I just saying, maybe you should give him an actual chance this time."

"Why?" You raise an eyebrow as you take the bag from him, "So he can prove me right?"

"You haven't been in a real relationship since high school. You can't act like you know what it's gonna be like."

"How much different can relationships be now? They're nothing but trouble. I fail to see how that can change just because I'm older." You furrow your brow while picking at your food.

"Relationships aren't trouble, they're work. You're just too lazy and cold hearted to see that."

You groan and take a drink from your coffee, "Whatever, as if you'd understand. You fall in love with everything with a pulse."

He nods at you, unashamed, "Love is the seasoning of life - to live without it is to be dead."

"You're so melodramatic."

"Alright, change of subject. I've been hearing whispers from people." Jin smiles brightly at you.

"Oh? And what's that? More gossip?"

"Gossip?" He scoffs, "I'll have you know that this is top-quality news I'm gathering day to day and I ought to be running an article for this school."

"Tch, " You take a bite out of your breakfast, willing yourself to ignore your elder.

"Anyway," He huffs dramatically, "as I was saying, this Valentine's Day there's going to be a big party at the Jjang house-"

"There's always a big party at Jjang."

He narrows his eyes at you, "If you'd let me finish I was going to say, they're making it so that everyone who shows up has to wear red and a mask, or you're not allowed in."

You swallow your food and cough, nearly choking, "Huh?"

"Yup, they finally got sick of all the hate the art department dishes out on them."

"Can you blame us?" The booth cushion dips beside you and you turn to see another one of your friends now leaning over you to steal a piece of your breakfast, "My grandmother could throw a better party than those guys and she's dead."

Jin chokes on his drink, "Jungkook! Your poor grandmother!"

You snort, "Hey, Kookie."

Jungkook gives you a goofy smile as he chews before turning back to Jin, "My grandma is alive and well, Hyung. It's only a metaphor."

"A metaphor?" Jin sputters, "Do you even know what a metaphor is?"

Jungkook shrugs and smiles when you pass him a bag of donut-holes, "Not exactly."

"I think what he said can be implied as a metaphor."

Jin's eyes cut over to you, "Yeah, well, you're as much of an idiot as he is, if not more so." A sack of donuts slaps against your chest and you catch it before it falls into your lap, "You two need to go before you're late to that practice again."

"Alright, but before that how'd it go with that girl Yuna?"

Jin's eyes snap back in your direction as he sucks in a sharp breath of air, only to choke on the egg sandwich he'd been chewing. Coughing profusely, he lets out a croak, "What the hell?"

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, watching as your friend wipes the egg off his face, which is more than you can say for Jungkook. He's cackling so hard that people in the cafe are starting to turn their heads.

"Honestly, I bought you both breakfast and now you're harassing me in public," Jin grumbles under his breath.

After a bit more "harassment" you and Jungkook leave Jin to head to your practice. As strange as it is for an art major you've had an obsession with sports since you could remember. So, you joined one of the few sports teams available at your university your freshman year. You also convinced Jungkook to join alongside you. Convincing him wasn't that difficult either, seeing as both of you are extremely competitive. All it took was a bit of taunting.

"Early as always you two." A hand pats your shoulder and you laugh nervously.

"Sorry, Irene."

"Whatever," She drops her sarcastic tone, replacing it with a cheerful laugh, "just hurry up and get changed. I swear you do on purpose."

You turn to look at her,"Do what?"

She glances at Jungkook, who's already left you behind to get changed, "Oh, nothing." She pats your shoulder again with what you might call a forced smile, "I wouldn't want things to be awkward."

You raise a brow as Irene leaves you be to start warm-ups, "Okay?"

Irene is the team captain and a good friend of yours. It's hard not to be her friend when she's so easy to get along with, although you've shared a few weird moments with her that suggests something to do with Jungkook. You've suspected for a while now that she may have a crush on your best friend, but being unsure you refuse to help her or get involved in any way. Jungkook hates when you meddle with his love life, which you learned from experience when you tried to set him up with a girl in your anatomy class. Long story short, Kookie was forced to turn that girl down and was upset with you for a week about it. Ever since you've refused to help any of the girls that have approached you to get to him.

Once in the dressing room, you quickly change clothes and lace up your shoes after tying your hair up.

Love just isn't something you should involve yourself with. Whether it's for yourself or your friends. Who knows, maybe bad luck with love runs in the family.

You leave the dressing room and approach where Jungkook waits for you on the court, "Warm ups?"

"Yeah," He nods, "Irene wants us to catch up with the others. So, she's probably going to give us more to do once everyone is finished. Let's get this done as fast as possible."

"Alright, full speed ahead." You playfully bounce on your toes a few times before making your way to the other side of the net across from Jungkook as he tosses the volleyball from hand to hand, "Show me what you got, virgin."

He laughs, "I think you have the wrong idea about me."

"Then you shouldn't have a problem proving it, right?"

"Just ask your sister."

"I don't have a-"

"Wait nine months."

"Huh?"

With that Jungkook tosses the ball up and jumps for it, landing a harsh slap on it that sends it hurtling through the air toward you - only, you're caught off guard when someone suddenly shouts at you and your head whips around. The ball slams into your chest, knocking the wind out of you with a dramatic 'oof'. And stood there, at the entrance of the gym, is a group of dance majors that you can't stop yourself from scowling at. Especially, when you notice him silently avoiding your eyes at the center of the group.

The one on his left laughs, having seen you land firmly on your ass, "Did you both see that?"

"Glad we came in late today. We could've missed it, right, Jimin?" The other nudges him.

He hums in response but doesn't look in your direction, just continues toward the dance studio.

Sixteen Years Before the Switch

"She's pretty isn't she, Jimin?"

The boy shifts his gaze before hiding behind his mother's leg.

"Why don't you go play? I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Can I?"

She nods with an encouraging smile, "She won't bite."

Jimin was only five at the time, you four and typically, when two children are neighbors they become friends, sometimes best friends for that matter, but that just wasn't the case with you and Jimin.

"Hi, I'm Jimin. Me, my mommy, and daddy live next door."

You didn't respond, just continued playing with your blue toy truck, quietly ignoring the boy next to you.

"I like the color of your truck."

You glanced over your shoulder at him, only to quickly look away again when you met his eyes. His presence was making you nervous, you only wanted him to go away. But, he didn't take your rushed gaze as a sign to give up and go away, if anything it only made him think to try harder and that's when he reached for your hand, "Let be friends-"

"Leave me alone!"

Sure, you didn't necessarily bite him, as his mother had suggested, but you sure as hell pushed him away and ran. Admittedly, it wasn't Jimin's fault. Moving to Busan had been the beginning of the end for you. Your Mom hoped that maybe Jimin and you would hit it off. After so much change in your lives, she wanted at least you to be happy, even if she wasn't. Though, the similar interest in sports and sweets made no difference. The bickering never ended between Jimin and you. Coaches were forced to put one of you on the bench, while the other played, or someone was getting hurt. If your families ever had dinner together, you fought over dessert.

"You'll only get hurt."

"Me being a girl makes no difference in my abilities to plow you into the ground, Jimin!" You throw the soccer ball at his face, landing a satisfying thwack.

You think Jimin grew to hate you for it. Not that it mattered at the time, since you disliked him first.

"But that's the last piece, Momma."

"Jimin is our guest ____. Don't be rude."

"But-"

"No buts."

You glared at Jimin across the table, wishing your legs were long enough to kick him from where you sat.

The older you got, the worse it became.

"What did you say?"

Your teammate scowls back at you, "I said, you're a girl and outta act like one."

"And who are you to say what a girl outta act like?" You shove him into the lockers just behind him and he yelps in surprise.

"Hey,"

You pause, head-turning to the left where the entrance to the hallway is.

"Don't you think you're being a bit reckless?"

Stepping back from your teammate, you sigh, "Great, just what I need."

Jimin has always been the popular type, loved by everyone for acting like someone he isn't. That's probably what annoyed you the most about him when you got older, he was never himself. He always lied about what he thought or how he felt to please others while acting completely different when no one else was around.

"Leave him alone and go to class, ____."

"Or what?" You laugh dryly, "You're talking as if I'm bullying this guy when he's the one who-"

"Didn't you hear me? Are you deaf?"

Your glare sharpens, "Oh, I heard you, Park."

Long story short, that was the first time you'd ever been suspended. Your mother was pissed, to say the least, and you quit the soccer team that year.

A week before the Switch

Jimin eyes you from the entrance of the gym, expressionless as his friends cut up on either side of him. You can't help the scowl that contorts your face, nor the tension that builds up in your shoulders. It's been a few months since you've seen him on campus and you'd almost forgotten about him, until now.

"You alright?"

You take Jungkook's hand and stand back up, "Fine." You dust off your bottom with a sigh. Another thing, none of your friends know about Jimin. Seeing as he is someone you wish you never knew, it makes sense that you avoid even the subject of him like the pledge.

"Let's start over, you hit this time." Jungkook passes you the ball then turns to head back under the net.

With a solid nod, you force yourself to relax, putting all your tension into your fingertips that now grip the ball.

Jimin just so happens to also have a love for the arts, which has lead to the two of you attending the same university - him being a dance major and you, art. Luckily, you rarely see each other since dance majors normally reside on the opposite side of campus. On the off chance, you do see him it's always because of volleyball practice or one of his friends, who just so happens to be an art major.

"____, earth to ____?"

"Sorry," You toss the ball up and slam your hand against it, sending it through the air and over the net.

"Nice," Jungkook bumps the ball back to you. You run for it, the feeling of eyes following you.

You have a sinking feeling that something super annoying is in the works.

To be tagged send an ask🏹💌

#bts au #park jimin #jimin #bts jimin #jimin au #jimin x reader #stupid cupid | 01 #stupid cupid series #bts crack #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #childhood enemies #jimin fanfic #body swap au #eventual smut #bts slow burn

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retirementhomecollab · 3 years

Text

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: living room

☾ warnings: f!reader, supernatural themes (kind of), slight mockery of said supernatural themes.

☾ word count: 1.7k

You decide to head to the living room.

You think there’s no better place to get into the swing of the party. Making your way to the centre of the room, you think you see a few people you know, including a certain spiky-haired boy, leaning over a board game.

“This is bullshit,” you hear him grumble as you spot a small group of guys from last semester’s general biology lab (affectionately referred to as the biology for idiots course).

“It’s not bullshit,” Hanamaki argues as he leans forward and places his hands on something in the middle of the board. “Now put your fingers on the planchette, Hajime, I’m trying to get myself a ghost girlfriend tonight.”

Beside him, Matsukawa snickers. “Dude, I don’t even think you’d be able to land the chick from The Ring. Maybe we should just ask the spirits about when you’ll get a job.”

Kneeling across the board, Oikawa lets out a whistle. “Low blow, Mattsun.”

You skirt around the couch to get a closer view when the brunet spots you from the corner of his eye.

“Oh!” he calls out, waving you over with a sudden grin across his face. “Look who’s here!” he calls out to seemingly everyone but you. You watch the same smile form on Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s faces as they spot you too and you suddenly feel very reluctant about joining them.

“Perfect timing,” Oikawa purrs as he motions for you to sit between him and Iwaizumi. “We’d love for you to join.”

You draw closer, finally able to spot the game at your feet. An array of letters and numbers are printed on the board with ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ printed on the top corners. On the very bottom, beneath Matsukawa’s wrists is the word ‘Goodbye’.

“Oh no,” you breathes, the realization hitting you all at once.

“Oh yes,” Oikawa says.

You’re slotted right next to Iwaizumi now, shoulders touching as you listen to Oikawa’s lighthearted explanation of how to “properly” use the board. To your relief, it doesn’t look like as genuine as you would imagine it to be; the board itself is shiny and cardboard and the planchette is heavy plastic.

You’re not sure if the spirits care about this though, you never thought you’d be in the position to wonder.

“You don’t have to go along with this,” Iwaizumi speaks up from beside you. You glance at him. He’s wearing a pair of cargos with a loosely-buttoned dress shirt and an unzipped vest. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and from the way he’s leaning over, you can see the broad expanse of his chest from beneath his collar. Oh god. You look away.

“Aren’t you wondering what he is?” Hanamaki pipes up, cognizant of your not-so subtle once-over of his best friend. He opens his mouth to speak again but Iwaizumi interrupts.

“I’m an archaeologist,” he says quickly.

“A slutty archaeologist,” Matsukawa amends and you almost choke on your own spit.

“How am I a slutty—?”

“Your clothes are half off,” Hanamaki argues, cutting him off as Oikawa continues on with something about saying goodbye to the spirits.

“It’s hot in here! The place is packed,” he reasons but you can see the growing flush in his face. Knowing them, it’s certainly not the first time they’ve had this discussion tonight but you can’t help but feel a little flustered as well.

“Okay!” Oikawa claps his hands together. “Everyone in?”

You watch as Hanamaki and Matsukawa place two fingers on the planchette with Oikawa following suit. You hesitate and Iwaizumi does as well.

“Does this even work with all this noise?” you wonder uneasily. In every shitty horror movie you’d seen with an ouija board, the rooms had been candlelit and silent, with the board being the centre of attention. Your situation couldn’t have been more of the opposite.

“Dunno,” Matsukawa admits.

“Figured we’d try for the shits anyway,” Hanamaki adds.

“I’ll just watch,” you say, placing your hands in your lap as you watch them circle around the board.

“Me too,” Iwaizumi nods and you turn to give him a small smile.

Oikawa sticks out his bottom lip for a second before shrugging. “Fine by me.”

Despite the bustle around you, you watch with rapt interest as they take turns asking innocuous questions. It begins with simple yes or no inquiries; whether or not Hanamaki would fail economics this semester (yes) or whether Oikawa would get a girlfriend by Valentine’s Day (no).

“Hmm,” he pouts, clearly disappointed with the answer. “Will Iwa-chan get a girlfriend by Valentine’s Day?” he asks the board in a saccharine tone.

You watch as the planchette migrates across the board to land on the ‘yes’.

“Oh?” Matsukawa smirks.

“Oho,” Hanamaki muses.

“What?” Iwaizumi frowns. “Leave me out of this, Shittykawa.”

Ignoring him, Oikawa continues on. “Is the lucky girl someone we all know?”

The planchette doesn’t move off of the ‘yes’.

“Is she here? At this party right now?”

A second passes and you hold your breath. It still doesn’t move.

You glance at Iwaizumi but he’s glaring at Oikawa with murderous intent. The brunet conveniently looks away.

“Can you spell out the name of his dear future girlfriend?” he asks the board in a faux-hushed tone. Your eyes shift from the planchette to Iwaizumi’s hands, his knuckles white as he curls them into fists.

The triangle moves down the board to land on a letter.

And then another.

It takes you all of five seconds to realize what’s happening now; it’s spelling out your name.

Heat rises up your neck and you train your eyes on the wooden flooring in front of you, unable to look at the board anymore.

Supernatural or not, you can’t help but feel the warm bloom of embarrassment in your cheeks. Sure, Iwaizumi is attractive, and maybe it was incredibly difficult to work with him as your lab partner last term because you’d get caught up with appreciating the view, but you’d forced yourself to not think too deeply about it. Especially after you’d awkwardly parted ways at the end of the semester.

Sure, you see him around campus frequently, but it just isn’t the same as when you’d stay up together, slaving over ten page lab reports and commiserating over lost marks.

“This is stupid,” he mumbles before pushing himself off the floor. You watch as he heads towards the entrance of the apartment without even looking back. Oddly, you feel the urge to follow him out.

“We’ll say goodbye to the spirits for you!” Oikawa calls out cheerfully before turning to you.

“Could you do me a favour?” he asks, tilting his head. “Could you just make sure he doesn’t get lost?”

You could argue that this apartment was right next to campus and that the likelihood of Iwaizumi getting lost on the grounds of a place he frequented everyday was close to nil. But you already have half a mind to go, so you nod and stand up to follow him, brushing off your skirt as you approach the door.

The crowds of people grow thinner and thinner as you make your way back down the hallway and down the stairs, leaving the pounding bass of the music behind as you step into the chill of the night.

You shiver as you glance around the building’s exterior, looking for any sign of your former lab partner. The wind nips at your bare skin and you think you see a retreating figure on your right but before you can chase after it, you hear a familiar voice at your back.

“What are you doing here?” Iwaizumi questions and you turn to face him. The streetlamp casts harsh shadows across as his face as he looks down at you apprehensively.

“I was looking for you,” you reply simply. “Oikawa, he—”

“Man,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t believe he fucking told you to—”

“I was also worried,” you interject, biting the inside of your cheek. “I, uh. I don’t know if the board works like that but it didn’t really seem like— it didn’t really seem like it was anything supernatural that was— y’know.” You gesture noncommittally with your hands.

“Yeah,” he says in agreement. “Yeah, I think they were just fucking with me. Sorry you got caught up in that. They can get out of line sometimes.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine,” you insist, eyes flashing to his. “I just don’t know why they’d use my name,” you laugh, cringing when it sounds a bit hollow.

Iwaizumi sighs.

“To be honest,” he begins. “Last semester, I…I kind of had a thing for you. Y’know, probably because we went on all those study dates and spent all those nights staying up together.”

You blink.

“Oh?”

Was he really…? Did he really…?

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I… I don’t know. It’s stupid. You probably don’t want to hear about this, anyway.”

“No,” you shake your head, a sort of giddiness settling in your chest. The wind bites at your cheeks but you can barely feel its chill anymore.

“I—I was so nervous I couldn’t even look at you sometimes!” you blurt out with a giggle as you come to terms with the absurdity of the situation. “You were just so…”

““So…”?“ he questions.

“So…attractive,” you admit abashedly. “It was so ridiculous, I couldn’t even make eye contact with you,” you gripe, recalling the dozens of awkward moments in which you felt like you were just going to keel over from being in his presence.

“You think I’m attractive?” he asks, dumbfounded, and you nod while staring at the space three inches above his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you—? Why didn’t we—?”

“I didn’t know,” you exclaim.

“I didn’t know, either,” he breathes, a small laugh bubbling from his throat.

“But now we do,” you offer, daring to meet his eye. The cold of the night does nothing to quell the spark you feel when his gaze lands on yours.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Now we do.”

The flame inside you burns even brighter.

“Let’s go back inside,” he suggests, beckoning towards the entrance of the building.

“I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Pick a different room: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the open bedroom. > Go to the balcony. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the bathroom.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #the witching hour

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fiction-allows · 3 years

Text

Washington Square (Laurel/Hardy, 4800 words, PG-13)

For @theempressar and @stanxollie - a little Valentine from me to you! mostly fluffy L&H fic. thank you for all the fun we’ve had :D

warnings: PG-13 for a paragraph of noncon, period typical language and conceptions of gender, flexes the grittier style of their early works

This was inspired by stanxollie’s great retelling of Why Girls Love Sailors, where the drag queen gets the guy in the end. :p I hope you enjoy. question mark.

It was closing time when he stumbled on the kerb and took a dive off his heels. He laughed it off and quickly flashed the green silk hem of his dress up over his bloomers, to give the drunks a little show - all part of the joke, keep walking. He didn’t want their sweaty hands on his silk. He didn't need help, he needed shoes that fit - he climbed to his feet, righted his ringlet wig that had slouched over his eyes - he needed hat pins, too; a box didn't last long when all the jennies he lived with helped themselves. He straightened himself up and squared his shoulders. Fierce. It was only three in the morning. What was he going to do with himself?

He had a dime in his pocket. Maury hadn't paid his talent up, and wouldn't until next week.

He wasn’t talent, anyway. He was incidental entertainment, called on when one of the girls was too drunk to perform. The rest of the time he was hanging around the tables, cracking jokes and flouncing. When the molls wanted to use the powder room, he escorted them and kept them laughing.

It wasn’t exactly a career, was it, Stanny boy?

Maybe he should find something, someone, anything, anywhere else. The city bit shit in the winter. He could go to Union Station and talk his way onto a handsome dame’s ticket, headed for California. He could stow himself in a bunk, bundle up and sleep, and stay there until they crossed the Rockies.

He tripped again, which brought the daydreams to a halt. Stan pulled his fur wrap tighter around his bare shoulders and took serious stock. He had enough for breakfast if he didn't eat tonight. He could get warm if he went to the train station. He couldn't go home, it was Lonnie's night to use the room for sheepshead. She’d be good for dinner tomorrow. His stomach told him that was worth a night in the cold.

He straggled behind the foot traffic down the sidewalk toward State. He stopped to bum a cigarette from Lady Godiva, who answered to Herbert during the workweek, and they stood under the dark coffee shop’s awning exchanging a few pleasantries about the weather, shoes, who’d been locked up in yesterday night’s raid on the park.

“Never do it in the bushes,” Lady Godiva said sagely, and Stan nodded with equal sagacity, and his wig slipped down over his eyes again.

Godiva reached into her velvet purse. “Honey, here.”

Now he had a dime and a few bobby pins in his pocket. He was about to move on, when Lady Godiva gave him another nod. “Honey - there.”

Stan turned to look. A big man had come up the street, contra-traffic. The slight weave in his step said he'd been turned out from one of the other night clubs. He had stopped when he heard Stan and the Lady talking, and was examining some graffiti on the side of the brick building with intense interest.

Some background might help: Lady Godiva was the world’s foremost expert on the identification and classification of men and males who wanted something and were willing to pay for it.

Not that this fellow was easy to miss: Towertown was full of girls in trousers and boys in skirts, big boned frames in dainty dresses and elfin gals with impeccable Windsor knots, and he was planted on the sidewalk in a white sailor's uniform like a bull moose in the headlights. A bull moose trying to make itself look like part of the furniture. He had looked up insouciant in the dictionary, but accidentally read the entry for awkward.

Background, part two: Lady Godiva was good at matching fighters by their weight class. She knew exactly how hopeless Stan was at the game - but this one was a nice soft target. A practice dummy, if you will.

Stan, in a completely inarticulate way, had reached the same conclusion. The guy must weigh eighteen stone if he was an ounce, but he was trying to look smaller than he was in his white uniform. His age was hard to pin down, because he looked travelled, but not even the side profile could hide the baby fullness of his face.

To Stan, he looked like an absolute lamb.

Someone else would take advantage in a minute. There was Esme, poised outside the walk-up to her john’s apartment, watching the dispersing crowds go by. She was clocking the lamb too. She caught Stan’s eye, gave him a sly smile, and the race was on.

Stan moved to head her off. He stepped into the man’s shadow, and touched the blue-braided sleeve of his jacket.

"You lost, baby?” Stan asked.

The big boy jumped. He turned away from the public art and glanced Stan up and down. Then again, a double-take that Stan didn’t take personal. An awkward, innocent fluster of hands, fingers, a scrunched nervous grin, followed the mad goggling yo-yo of his eyes. "I seem to have t-taken a wrong turn."

He stuttered. He had weeping willows and southern charm in his voice. He was a little drunk. Oh, honey.

“Where’re you headed?” Stan laid his hand flat on the man’s arm. Behind them, Esme hissed and faded back into the night.

The man was suddenly mannequin-like with uncertainty. “Not far.”

“Then I’ll walk you,” Stan decided for them both. “What’s your name?”

“Oliver.”

Stan smiled, twined Oliver’s arm with his. “Are you from around here, Oliver?”

“My room’s on Division Street.”

“Originally,” Stan clarified, as he gently pulled Oliver to get him moving up the sidewalk. Stan felt a rush of heat from him as Oliver blushed.

“Georgia,” Oliver said quietly.

“Georgia. Peaches. Wonderful. Don’t look at them.” A hail of whistles as they turned the corner, some of Esme’s mates. It wasn’t often that Stan hooked such a big one. Stan stuck out his tongue behind Oliver’s back. More jeers. He crushed Oliver’s arm against his ribs and drew him away northeast.

It was only a few blocks, but the crowds thinned out fast as they left Washington Square. The nightlife faded to sniffing junkies and unlucky panhandlers, and the sidewalk was empty by the time they reached the four-story boarding house Oliver was calling home.

“Well… here’s mine,” Oliver said, feebly.

ROOMS FOR RENT - LONG TERM, said the optimistic sign propped on the window ledge of the ground floor. The place looked fleabitten, like it had mange. But Stan looked enviously at the glowing windows. They were nearer the lake and the wind picked up an extra bite off the water, and he was losing feeling in his toes. Then he looked at Oliver, whose arm was still in his.

The moment to clinch or cut loose had arrived. There was an awkward pause, because neither of them knew exactly what happened next, when it was a bloke from Georgia and a bloke in a dress.

“Do you want to come in?” Oliver asked. His tone was smoother, now that the walk had cleared his head.

Stan smiled dumbly. He was feeling shy. He had come this far, hadn’t he? Come on, Stan, say something. But he was frozen, and it wasn’t the temperature. “I...”

“You don’t have to,” Oliver said, with a painfully gallant smile.

He sounded relieved. And Stan felt hurt, and suddenly piercingly lonely, which broke the impasse just a moment too late. The opportunity had closed in his face while he was tongue-tied.

Oliver extracted his arm, then stuck out his hand for a shake. “Take care, then.”

Stan reached for his hand, feeling all at once like he wanted to cry. The night was dark and… big. He nodded miserably and took Oliver’s hand.

Oliver winced as their bare palms touched. “What are you, cold blooded? Some kind of salamander? Why are you so cold?”

“I don’t -” Stan stammered.

“Where’s your place?” Oliver demanded.

Another gawping shrug, as Stan tried to make sense of the sudden veer in the conversation. It was like Oliver had dropped him in a bottle and spun it. “Can’t go there,” Stan said helplessly.

“What? Why not? You know what - forget it. Get in here.” Oliver shooed him up the steps and to the door, and pounded on it.

Stan panicked. “Wait, what do we tell -”

“You tell him you’re my sister from Savannah.”

Stan had a minute to get into character before the landlord answered. He grunted when Stan fluttered his eyelashes and claimed to be a sister from Savannah, but he let them in, and harrumphed back to bed without comment.

And that is how they ended up in a room no bigger than a very small room, with a bed, a cupboard, a stand and basin, and Oliver’s work clothes inexpertly washed and hung to dry over the light fixtures and radiator. He was using a pair of his long johns as a sort of makeshift shade over the room’s single drooping window. There was a palpable draft about shin-height due to the sagging window frame, like wading through ankle-biting ghosts.

Oliver sprung into action playing host, scooping his grease-splattered overalls off the radiator to let some warm air into the room, hiding his underpants by kicking them under the bed, and then he offered to take Stan’s wrap, and Stan let him take it and hang it, like the most pathetic garland in the world, on the hook on the back of the door.

“Won’t you sit down?” Oliver asked with exaggerated politeness, indicating the bed.

Stan sat, crossed his legs, brushed down his silky dress, subtly hiked it up a few inches on the upstroke.

“What about you?” Stan asked, with a put-on high-pitched giggle and wiggle.

Oliver was undoing his neckerchief. He glanced at Stan in the mirror propped above the wash basin. “I’m fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“The floor?” Stan asked, in his babygirl voice.

“You take the bed. Bathroom’s down the hall. Don’t steal my money, will you? If you’re good, I’ll buy you breakfast tomorrow.”

Stan’s legs uncrossed, his heeled foot fell to the floorboards with a shocked little stomp. “You brought me up here to… sleep?” He forgot the pitch of his voice in his surprise.

“It’s miserable out there,” Oliver said. He slid his collar stay out, dropped it on the stand, and started on his top button. “Throw me one of them pillows, will ya?”

Stan hopped off the bed. He grabbed a pillow, and handed it to Oliver. Oliver fluffed it between his big hands, then dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor.

“I’ll wrinkle my dress if I sleep in it,” Stan said. The femme was back, and she was distressed. He clutched at his neckline in dismay.

Oliver’s eyebrows knit together. He raised one slightly as he appraised Stan. “You do one nice thing,” he groused, though his heart wasn’t in it. “There’s a clean nightshirt in the cupboard. You can borrow it.”

Stan opened the cupboard and grabbed it. He excused himself to the bathroom down the hall.

When he returned, heels and wig in hand, dress over his arm, clad in an entire circus tent’s worth of nightshirt that billowed around him like topsails, Oliver was prone on the floor, head on the pillow, one of the blankets primly tucked over him. Looked for all the world like he really meant to spend the night right there. His eyes were closed. Could he already be asleep?

Stan crept into the room quiet as a mouse.

“It occurs to me I didn’t catch your name,” Oliver said. He wasn’t asleep at all.

“Stan,” Stan said, flatly. He had shed the girl with the wig and heels. He supposed a man was better suited if this was a set-up to a murder. He placed his shoes on the floor, hung the wig next to his wrap, and stole a hanger to keep his dress looking tidy in the cupboard overnight.

Oliver was watching him through slitted eyes. Stan knew he must look a sight with his short unkempt hair, the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, the huge nightshirt with sleeves that slipped down to his fingertips. He smiled apologetically. “Sometimes you take a lady home, and you get something else.”

“Nice to meet you, Stan,” Oliver said. “Go to sleep.”

Stan crawled into bed. He flailed and paddled in the huge nightgown, and finally found his hands again to pull the covers up. He looked at Oliver again, on the floor in the draft, and he shivered in commiseration. He cleared his throat. “You know, it’s foolish to sleep on the floor. You’ll catch your death.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t be stupid, come up here.”

Was that a chatter of Oliver’s teeth? Oliver grunted, threw an arm over his eyes as if that would shut Stan up.

“I promise no funny business,” Stan insisted. He was getting worried. He couldn’t possibly go to sleep himself if Oliver slept on the floor. The thought of it made him utterly miserable. Tears pricked his eyes. “Please don’t catch your death.”

The arm came away from Oliver’s eyes, and his expression was that of a man who has ended up in an enclosure at the zoo - not the lion enclosure, or the gorilla enclosure, but perhaps the penguin enclosure, and they’re pecking at his knees. “You’re a weird one, aren’t you.”

Stan nodded honestly, still fighting tears.

Oliver sat up. Then he held out his hand, and felt the ice cold draft flowing in from the window.

He gathered up his pillow and blanket and threw them at Stan on the bed. “Move over.”

Stan swam through his nightshirt toward the wall, and Oliver heaved himself onto the mattress. They settled, an elbow apart, after a little burrowing and tug of war over the coverlet. Silence ticked by for a few moments, as they both got used to the sensation. The weight pulling at both sides of the mattress, their body heat starting to pool together under the covers.

Stan sniffed away the last of his tears. He folded his hands over the coverlet in satisfaction. “There. Isn’t this better.”

“Who lets you out on your own?” Oliver asked in disbelief. But he already sounded sleepy.

Stan was fading fast, too. He yawned. “It’s Lonnie’s night to use the flat for sheepshead.”

“Sheepshead.” Oliver snorted.

“Goodnight, Ollie.”

He heard a breathy chuckle. Oliver - Ollie - liked it. “Goodnight, Stan.”

* * *

Stan fell to sleep and commenced a light snore, cocooned in Ollie's nightshirt. Oliver crossed his arms under the bedclothes and tried to ignore the predicament. Stan had still been wearing his - her pantyhose, and her hose-clad toes were scratching at his shin. She hadn't scrubbed all the perfume off. There was a flowers-and-musk scent trapped with their heat in the blankets.

Oliver, my boy, you need to get a hold of yourself. You wouldn't take advantage of a lady.

Whatever Stan was, exactly.

Adrift, it seemed to Oliver.

He kicked Stan’s foot back toward his side of the bed, blew the air from his nose and closed his eyes.

* * *

The sun was shining cheerfully through the union suit when they woke up. At breakfast, Ollie watched Stan pack away a pound of home fries, four eggs, two rounds of bacon and a stack of pancakes. He ate like he hadn’t been fed in a month.

He was a pretty normal fella over the breakfast table, even in the dress. Well - not fully normal, the way he put sugar on his eggs, but Ollie let it slide. He was funny, and he thought Ollie was funny, which tickled Ollie right in the cockles of his pride.

Stan listened with rapt interest when Ollie talked about the merchant marines and where he had been, and the convoys during the War. He got that doe-eyed look that dames did when Ollie got on the subject (though Ollie neglected to tell him he had, in fact, been a cook), which also tickled Ollie in a way he couldn’t explain. It made him want to flex his arms and look big.

Three stacks of pancakes between them later, Ollie paid the check and they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"I have to report," Ollie said. "You might want to head home and ah -" He swiped his cheeks and chin with his palm.

Stan nodded. His whiskers needed sanding. The waitress had stared at him a little.

Ollie was staring at him, too. His eyes were sparkling.

“Come to Maury’s some time,” Stan said. “You can see me work. I’ll be there every night this week.”

“I’d like that,” Ollie said, but Stan couldn’t tell if it was a punt or a promise.

Ollie tipped his hat. “See you around, doll," he said.

Stan flashed him an angelic smile.

* * *

No Ollie on Wednesday. No Ollie on Thursday. Not that Stan was anticipating. His tips were suffering, though; he wasn’t quite as funny when he was distracted. The mobsters didn’t trust a freak who wasn’t also a clown, and their girls didn’t like a downer. It was hard to be charming when every bigger guy who walked in the place sent a little jolt from his scalp down to his knees. But they always were too - something. Too rich, too crude, too repressed or too married. Their greatest crime, of course, is that none of them were Ollie.

Monday came again, and Maury didn’t pay him, even when he filled in for Bernadette a few times over the weekend.

He needed money to eat, though. And for a ticket out of here, since it looked like he was back on his own.

Best way to make a quick buck? Well, Lady Godiva could tell you.

It started civilly enough on Tuesday night in the alley behind the club. The dumpsters made for convivial surroundings, and the romance was palpable as the rats scurried away from their twirling feet and the single bulb above the back door fizzled in its socket. The man was sweaty with beer and wanted to dance, sort of a swaying grabbing twisting motion - suddenly Stan had his chin elbows and knees up against the brick wall of the alley, and a hairy steel beam of a forearm across the back of his neck. Stan protested, with a giggle that was high with alarm. That big body ground against his and he ground into the dirty bricks. He clawed a little to get some purchase to shove back.

“Hey, wait, wait,” he protested, and that got him dragged around to face the guy, who didn’t look very keen on waiting.

A few things went through Stan’s mind. One, he didn’t want to be here. Two, he wished he wasn’t. Three, his heels gave him a little extra height but the guy still had half a head on him, and four, this large drunk man was going to be shocked in a minute if his hand kept going - and that is a very specific kind of fear, the fear of being found out by an angry grasping hand in the dark. It vitalizes.

Stan struck back at him and gave a shout.

And like a miracle, he heard an answering "Hey!"

It might have been an angel. It was a big voice, if not very deep - but it was alarm enough to get the hand out from under his skirt.

Stan took the opportunity to use a knee, and the man folded up like an ironing board.

Stan looked up and there was -

Ollie's shoulders filled the alley almost wall to wall as he came toward them. He swept the scene, the man crouched on the ground retching, Stan’s disarray and his heaving chest.

His hand stretched out to Stan. "Come along - he can’t hurt you - well done."

Stan took the offered hand and stepped over the gasping, sputtering heap. He slipped by between Ollie's double-breasted jacket and the brick wall, and heard Ollie give the guy a kick for good measure.

On the sidewalk, Ollie brushed off his mink and repositioned it on Stan's shoulders. There was a run in his hose from the scrapes on his knees. His mascara was smudged up like two black batwing eyes. Ollie pressed his handkerchief into Stan's hand so he could clean himself up.

"Did he hurt you?"

Stan shook his head.

"Good. I'd go back and kill him." Ollie removed his coat because it was the gallant thing to do, and draped it around Stan’s shoulders.

"Where have you been?" Stan asked. He didn’t want the coat - he was still hot from adrenaline, and mad at Ollie for abandoning him - but he grabbed it and pulled it tight around him all the same.

"What? Oh - they sent me to Omaha to pick up a load. Just got back into town tonight."

Ollie looked so perfectly, sweetly innocent. Completely guileless. Just concerned for his friend, and very handsome in his dark suit.

"Oh," Stan said.

"I’m sorry I didn’t make your show. I left a note at the boardinghouse."

"Oh," Stan said again.

Ollie's voice was very gentle. "Were you waiting for me?"

Stan nodded.

"I'm here now. Come on, let me walk you home."

Stan folded the kerchief shakily. ' 'I can't. Sheep-"

"Sheepshead, I know."

They ended up back at the boarding house, together, Stan with his face scrubbed clean, snuggled in the crook of his arm sleeping soundly, as Ollie propped a book on his chest and read in the pink and orange glow of the jewel-papered lamp.

This was nice, Ollie thought, looking away from the book to the window. Snow was hissing against the glass like an angry cat, but it was warm, Stan was snoring softly. It was nice.

Stan exhaled, blowing the pages of Ollie’s book, sending him back some pages. Ollie thumbed forward to his place. Stan exhaled again. They fluttered back. And so on. Eventually, Ollie turned out the light and went to sleep.

* * *

They had fun. Stan left Maury’s club and found a job at a boutique, giving all of the broad-shouldered ladies and theydies advice and helping them find the right fit. Ollie put in for a couple months of shore leave, and for a while it was easy street. Sometimes they played darts, drank beer, argued, rode the L until they were sober enough to remember their stop. They went to the lake front and laid on the grass and teased the stone lions in front of the art institute.

Sometimes Stan slipped on his little black dress and his heels and made Ollie prove he deserved him. Those were the days Ollie turned into a gentleman. Doors opened as if by magic, never an inconvenience to be seen. Kisses on his knuckles as if they were perfect, delicate strings of pearls, a hand possessively on his swishless hips as if to say, I got you.

I get you.

Stan took Ollie to his first drag ball. Ollie was a hit in his best suit. He was easy to like and even easier to love. On the floor he lead with such a light-footed agility that Stan sometimes had trouble keeping up, and every one of the drag queens tried to budge in for their turn. It was a matter of feminine pride, wasn’t it, to try to ride the bull. Stan let them play, because at the end of the night, it was always him and Ollie. Stan belonged here, and Ollie belonged to him.

And the clock ticked on. The stuttering from the Stock Exchange, so far away, became a rumble, became an avalanche. Towertown - like Greenwich, Times Square, like Camden, like babylon Berlin - was a dream, a fleeting Camelot that couldn't last. The crackdowns on public disease - of the flesh and of the spirit - closed the fairyland clubs and scattered the communes. The dreamer was stirring. The pendulum swung to the right, picking up momentum as the glory of glitz-and-jazz became hunger and want. Markets crashed and the soil turned to dust.

They skipped out of Chicago when Ollie’s shore leave was up. They tramped through the upper midwest on the bus routes, St Paul, Fargo, Duluth, as far as Bismark and back again to Cleveland, and then all the way out west to California. The horizons were dark, the faces in the street were drawn. Shangri-La faded into sopping wet socks, holes in their jackets, and odd jobs.

History lurched from the sickly sleepwalk of hunger into a waking nightmare of war machines and atomic death, into bodies piled in camps and on the streets of Stalingrad and the tide lines of Normandy, and souls suddenly unmade by a flash in the sky. All this played out in the papers as he and Ollie scraped and saved and wandered the home front. Stan’s youth faded, too, he wilted and widened and wrinkled, and the only grace was his ill-fitting jacket hid some of it even from himself.

* * *

1955. They lived. They saw the war end, the men come home, and the prefab suburbs start stamping across the landscape. Eisenhower and his administration drew big bold lines across the nation and decided to pay for them with a gasoline tax. The commies took up residence under American beds, and the homosexuals fell back to the closets for self-preservation. They were good days for the nuclear family and a straightjacket for everyone else.

Speaking of straightjackets - in the new atmosphere, Stan felt more and more like he needed one.

The suit had never fit exactly right, but sometimes, it didn't fit at all. Then - in secret - he opened his battered case and pulled out the things he kept under the false bottom, fake gems and wrinkled velvet, and tried to breathe free, if only for a moment, in a strictured world.

He tried to keep it private, so as not to embarrass Ollie, not to shame him in front of his friends. America was bestride the world, the least Stan could do was keep up appearances in their little sphere of the second-hand antique shop (VERY OLD THINGS - Laurel and Hardy --- Proprietors).

They had dinner tonight with some of Ollie’s new friends from the local Charitable Brothers lodge. He had been strangled for air all day… he didn’t want to go there looking like this, with his suit coat and shirt and the trousers that Ollie had pressed so nicely. It wasn’t… him. The thought of playing that masquerade all night… he was tired, he couldn’t do it.

He held up the dress.

It was hopelessly out of fashion now. It smelled like he had packed everything from shoe polish to ham sandwiches on top of it. But he smoothed it out, put the stiff wrap around his shoulders, shook the last drops of perfume from the vial and dabbed them behind his ears. He strung the pearls around his neck and smiled at himself in the mirror.

The pearls had lost their lustre, and his teeth showed another twenty-some years of coffee and cigarettes when he smiled. The smile quickly faded.

"Are you ready yet?" Ollie demanded, barging heavily into the bedroom, hat on his head and impatient.

He stopped short when he saw how Stan was gazing at the mirror, the haunted look in his eyes.

Ollie took off his hat.

"I'm sorry -" Stan looked at the old bag in the mirror. "I'll change."

Ollie crossed the room and stood behind him, gazing over his shoulder into the glass. "Why? You look wonderful."

Stan snorted.

Ollie reached for his hand, pulled on it to turn Stan toward him. "As beautiful as the day I met you." He kissed Stan's knuckles with a bow and flourish. Returned Stan's hand to his side. Then spun one finger in the air. "Turn around, I'll do you up."

Stan put a hand over his mouth as Ollie's fingers crept down his back, then pulled the edges of the dress together and slipped the buttons into their holes. One by one, up his spine until the clasp at his collar, and Ollie put his hands on Stan's shoulders.

"Don't cry," Ollie said, gently.

Stan dropped his hand. He was grinning. He spun and hugged Ollie to him tight. He reached up to grasp his chin, turned his face, and give him a firm kiss on the cheek.

Ollie kissed his forehead. "There you are. Come on, we'll be late.

* * *

Shuffle the cards. Masculine, feminine, man, woman, Mars, Venus, two houses and a trench and barbed wire and the guard towers of convention in between. He lived in no-one's land in between, bombarded from both sides - and then Ollie had stumbled across him, stuck his head over the lip of the trench and called him doll, eyes sparkling. He recognized a fellow outcast, a fellow question without an answer.

They got out of the cab.

Stan felt warm lips catch the cool metal of his dangling earring against his neck, and he shuddered. Ollie's hand squeezed his. It didn't matter if people stared. Let them.

“Who’s this?”

Ollie’s hand on the small of his back. "This is my wife." No shame and no joke. Daring the world to doubt it.

#don't like don't read etc

19 notes · View notes

chocolate-parfait · 4 years

Text

Fluff alphabet - ikevamp headcanons (Theodorus Van Gogh)

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Depends tbh

He takes you out to see an art exposition (which basically is kinda like work for him,,, but he still enjoys it nonetheless)

Spends time with you and Vincent!!! If it's sunny then you're probably going to have a picnic in the garden, enjoying the warm rays of the sun as his brother paints

SOMETIMES!!! IF YOU ASK HIM TO!!!! He'll let you come with him and Arthur to the pub

He'd rather you not come bc it's full of drunkards who just want to hit on pretty women and start a fight

But every once in a while it's nice to enjoy a drink with you and his bestfriend although he'll admit it with flushed cheeks

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He loves your determination and your courage even if they might get you in trouble sometimes

He finds it kinda hot when you stand up for him, for Vincent, for artists' rights and all of the like

He also finds you unbearably cute and he loves all your facial expressions, he finds them entertaining and he loves how easy to read you are

He's used to put on the tough guy facade when he's at work but he's extremely grateful that he can let his guard down whenever he's around you or Vincent lmao

Loves. Your. Smell.

You smell super sweet and???? It makes him go crazy???? He'd cover you up in syrup and eat you as if you were a pancake if he could

It's intoxicating tbh

Probably cuz hes a vampire lol

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Whenever you're feeling down he'll take a break from work and stay with you

Cuddle time hell yeah

Holds you as you cry/vent to him

Tones down the teasing A LOT

He tries to be as "kind" as he can although he's still a bit rough sometimes (it's not his fault, he's too used to treating people like dogs)

When you're having a panic attack, he'll be a bit taken aback at first, but then he tries to be as helpful as he can

He gives you some space but at the same time he keeps his big, reassuring hand on your back, tracing soothing circles with his palm as long as the episode lasts

He'll also be hyper aware of your surroundings, searching for anything that could make you feel even worse, and takes you to a secluded place

He's a bit awkward with words when it comes to being kind and to anything that isn't businesses-related, he's more of an action-first-talk-later type of man

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He's so busy he doesn't stop to think about it unless someone actually asks him what his plans with you are

He wants to marry you, that's for sure, so that everyone knows you're his and he is yours

When it comes to kids he wants to wait a bit, he's super busy and honestly he' a tad bit insecure, too (who wouldn't be?)

If it happened "by accident" he'd still be happy of course, but I think he spends so much time and energies on his job that handling kids would be too much for him

So he'll wait for things to calm down a little, he wants to be there for the kids after all

If he knows you really want them though, he'll happily comply

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Dominant

He's so used to being with Vincent (which is rather passive) that he tends to be the leading one in relationships

This doesn't mean he doesn't take into account your feelings and always acts on his own though

He often knows what you're thinking about so he'll act accordingly

He LOVES it when you stand your ground though!!! It's hot 👀👀

Play hard to get and he'll get back at you with twice the teasing

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Your fights with him aren't really angry screams, throwing things at each other or anything like that

They're pretty calm (on the outside)

Usually they happen because of pent up frustration or because he was hiding something from you, taking all the burden himself

When you finally call him out for it, he'll act as if he doesn't know what you're talking about at first, then he just,,, says some theo style mean stuff and that's when you snap

Your reactions change depending on the topic but they can vary from sulking to stomping away in tears

He sighs to himself and gives you some time and space, then he comes to you and you sort it out one way or the other

So basically your fights are just because he doesn't want to burden you too much

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Of course he's grateful

He's grateful that someone as sweet and caring as you fell for him

He's grateful for all the times you worry for him, even if he thinks he doesn't really deserve it

He's grateful for your happy smiles and kind words

He's grateful you acknowledge his passion, his job and most of all you understand his goal and ideals

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Like I previously said, the fact that he usually tends to keep things for himself tend to bring you two to fight

He hides things from you because he doesn't want to worry you more than necessary and he sure as hell doesn't want to put you in danger (especially when it comes to the Academy)

He also doesn't say all the kind words of appreciation he has for you because he wants to appear tough and he's just a tsundere

On certain occasions though, when he truly feels his heart brimming with warmth and love for you, he'll just tell you how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, and every little thing that passes in his mind

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You helped him see things from a different perspective and to take things slower

You also helped him understand that he doesn't necessarily need to put others first and that he doesn't need to suppress his needs to give space to others

On the other hand he showed you how some ideals are worth fighting for and how seXY A MAN CAN BE-

ahah jk....unless...?

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Since he's pretty possessive it's more common to see him jealous than not. Hell, he'd be even jealous about Vincent if you spent too much time with him.

He doesn't really get flustered when he has to say and show that you are his, why do you think he chooses to call you Hondje even when in public huh?

He glares at whoever tries something on you and if they don't give up, he punches them

If you're in a situation in which he can't immediately intervene he just trusts that you won't choose some random guy over him. After it though, he'd want to spend some time with you (either cuddles or something else wink wonk), to let you know that he loves you and that you are the only one love of his heart.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

If he's in the right mood for it he'd be able to make your knees weak in seconds.

His kisses are usually a bit rough and they sometimes involve some pulling and groping here and there.

You first kiss together was actually more tender than what you'd expect from someone like him. It was your first one together and he wanted you to enjoy the experience as much as possible.

Anyways his kisses make your head spin and he always makes sure to leave you wanting for more because,,,, he's a tease

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

In a tsunder-y way

You have to read between the lines tbh and at first you didn't even realize it

It just didn't register and then you're like 👁👄👁what

With flushed cheeks and a frown he just "what, you need me to repeat that, Hondje?" Then he turns a switch flip flip and the situation escalates quickly

"I'll repeat it for as many times you need to hear it. You're the only one I need."

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He doesn't really think about it, it feels so natural for him to be with you that marriage would only change your civic status. You two are already bound for eternity wedding or not.

That doesn't mean he doesn't want to take the big step though, it's still symbolic (the only symbolic thing he actually cares about lol)

He'd totally surprise you with his proposal. It'd be a bit like Jumin's valentine date.

Important day, he's not there because of work/"I have forgotten", actually not it's just a prank, takes you by surprise bc he actually comes home earlier!!!! And he remembers too!!!, you're delightedly surprised, proposal, happy ending

The wedding is quite small, just your friends (he's not inviting anyone from work bc they'd just end up causing a scene because of nOBle PeoPle blAh BlaH tHe AcAdEmY BlaH bLah TheO YoUr DrEAm iS StuPid Blah BlAH BLAh) although Comte insists on paying for everything and putting some grand gala decorations everywhere

Despite this being your wedding this little shit just won't stop teasing you

The reception is 80% sweets (PANCAKES) and 20% actual food = everyone is dying of diabetes

Dressing code: white

Everyone is dressed in white clothes and the decorations are as candid as clouds

Don't ask me why. His wedding card told me so.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Hondje (top 1 of course)

My love (when he's feeling particularly soft)

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

He's less snappy and despite his remarks, you can see the h a p p i n e s s in this man's eyes.

It's quite obvious to everyone that he's in love because he's super overprotective all the time

Also, he doesn't directly express his feelings not because he's shy or anything, but because he believes actions count more than words.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He doesn't mind it, although he tries to avoid anything too SCANDALOUS when Vincent's around

He likes holding your hand and slipping an arm around your waist TO MARK THE TERRITORY

He tends to be more pushy with pda when someone's flirting with you, that aside he generally keeps hugs and kisses for when the two of you are alone.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

He's a natural persuader and it's pretty amazing how he can twist other people's thoughts and mold them as he pleases

He does this for a living so of course he's good at it

But! it doesn't work with you. You can see through his words and right into his soul, he's powerless when it comes to you

Something that comes in handy though is his quick wit and firmness that grant you stability in moments where you feel at a complete loss. He's the rock you can rely on.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He's a simple person and he likes simple things

He's not really cliché nor goes to great lengths to show you his love for you, he's in the middle

Sometimes though he lets his feelings flow freely without any mean comment nor anything, knowing it's just the two of you.

He knows you're pretty easy to please so even if he takes time off work and/or does a simple little gesture, it means the world to you

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Of course he believes in you!!!

If you ever need them, he'll get in contact with the thousands of connections he has

If you're in a slump he'll give you an encouraging speech and then end it with some teasing remark, loving to see you all fired up for what you love doing

Since you believe so fiercely in him, he doesn't see why he shouldn't return all that support, doubled

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Contrary to Leonardo and Arthur who love a bit more spice in their relationships, seeing how hectic his schedule is, a routine might be more comfortable for him

He enjoys spending his time with you doing calm and relaxing activities like picnics, visiting art galleries or going out for a drink

To him your cute reactions are all the spice he needs

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

More often than not you're pretty easy to read, but sometimes you DO surprise him with your recklessness though

He knows whenever you're feeling down and he'll try to cheer you up with actions more than words (you can't trust him on that front)

Since you have a completely different mindset than his, he might get surprised at the reasons why you're actually upset and if he finds it pretty trivial he'll say something along the lines of "you're upset over that? You dummy."

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

You and Vincent are the most important people of his whole life, and his job is pretty much the reason he's alive

You and Vincent are almost on the same level but he'd never give you up to him,,,, so you miiiight be a more dear to him than his big bro

Everything he does with Vincent he'd do it with you, but it doesn't really work the other way round (if you know what I mean)

Also we're comparing his big brother and his soulmate so,,, of course there are bound to be some differences

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

When he's overworking himself you just drag him off to bed where he lays his head in your lap and falls asleep as you play with his hair

You have such a calming presence that he can't help but relax and feel at ease so you often find him dozing off when the two of you are together

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

He loves patting your head

Cuddles time are usually for when he's feeling stressed, you're in a bad mood or for making up after a fight

If the two of you see each other firdt thing in the morning when no one's around he'll give you a kiss on the lips and a warm smile

okay but imagine a kiss from theo im-

Hugs from him are for special occasions

When you don't see each other for some time the first thing he'll do when he sees you is giving you a tight hug

When something dangerous happens and he sees you're safe, he hugs you

Hugs you when you're sleeping too

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

When he's missing you he tries to take his mind off of thoughts of you

He buries himself in work

He stays at the mansion as little as he can, because everything reminds him of you

At night he often goes drinking with Arthur because he can't bear the feeling of the place next to his in bed empty and cold

Let's not talk about the way your pillow emanates your scent :)

It's basically a living hell for him

The first days he does pretty well at hiding the fact that he misses you

Then he starts to get irritated and snaps at everyone

Cue Vincent helping him relax

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Who are we even kidding he'd give his life for you if it ever came to it

Just please don't make him choose between you, Vincent and/or his job

If he had to, he'd probably give up his job but you'd lose big part of him

But on the overall he'd give up anything for those three things

#sometimes i rlly portray him like a dog owner im so sorry #ok u know what i refuse to be a dog now ur the dog theo arf arf #feel like im your cat im your dog nananana i dont wanna be a friend nanananana can i be your pet? nananana #ok im done now #happy birthday theo #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire #theodorus van gogh #my writing #fluff alphabet #ikemen vampire imagines #ikemen vampire scenarios #ikemen vampire headcanons

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sinner-as-saint · 5 years

Text

Valentine.

Steve Rogers x Reader.

Requested.

Run-through: You go out for a drink on Valentine’s Day, right after breaking up with your boyfriend. Surprisingly, at the bar, you run into an ex, the one and only – Steve Rogers. Old feelings are rekindled and revelations are made.

Themes: SMUT, slight dom/sub, language (no pun intended)

A/N: Imagine this taking place after Endgame, but Cap came back as he left.

Also, I won’t be falling for any of your emotional blackmail this time, this fic will not be made into a series. Enjoy!

Valentine’s Day.

Not a great day to break up with a boyfriend of 3 years.

Yet, on the brighter side of things, you finally saw him for who he truly was. A manipulative, good for nothing, emotionally unavailable man child.

You broke up because you found out that he had been cheating and sleeping around for a whole month. And in a weird way, you were glad that you found out before it was too late.

In need of some air, you set out on a walk after kicking him out of your house, along with his luggage. The walk eventually led you to the local pub and you thought, screw it, and might as well get a beer before going home and cry.

The little bell dinged as you pushed open the bright red door. The pub was cozy, with a couple of people playing pool, a few scattered at the tables and one man at the bar. He had his back facing you so you couldn’t see his face yet.

You breathed in the warm air which smelt like beer and oily food, and walked in. You decided to settle on one of the bar stools instead of one of the booths, mainly because you were alone but also because you weren’t going to be here for long so, that would be quicker.

You sat three stools away from the man at the bar and smiled at the bartender.

“Hey Y/N! What are you doing here alone, where’s Josh?” Charlie, the bartender asked, he was a friend of a friend and you guys knew each other for a while now.

“Oh, we broke up,” you simply said, and noticed that the stranger who also sat at the bar, lifted his eyes off the ground and looked in your direction.

You kept your eyes focused on Charlie as he processed what you just told him.

“Oh crap, I’m so sorry. Fuck him, he didn’t deserve you anyway. What can I get you? It’s on me, don’t worry,” Charlie spoke, placing both his hands on the counter as he waited for your order.

“Thanks, I’ll a pint of beer, please,” you spoke and noticed that the stranger still hadn’t stopped watching you.

Charlie nodded at your order, picked up a beer glass and immediately started filling it up through the pump.

“Y/N?” a voice spoke from beside you.

Confused, you turned you face and met with someone you didn’t think you’d ever see again.

“Steve?” you asked, more surprised than ever.

Steve smiled as he got off his stool, walked towards you and sat on the one right next to you.

“Remember me? How have you been?” he asked, with a warm smile on his face.

You giggled as you took in his appearance. Dark jacket, dark jeans, shaved face and his hair was perfectly styled.

You dated Steve Rogers years ago. Your relationship was healthy and stable, however due to the nature of his work, you had to go separate ways. It took you some time to get over him, until you finally did.

At least that’s what you thought.

He was different, guess life has been harsh on him. You heard about the Winter Soldier and the whole fall out after that. Then with the snap, which you were lucky enough to survive, you believed his job was taking a toll on him.

He looked tired, but attractive nonetheless.

Wait, what?

“I’ve been well, I think. Not so great at the moment but, I guess it could’ve been worse, you know. How are you?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

Steve allowed his eyes to take in your appearance for a brief second, and he admitted that you had indeed changed.

You looked beautiful. Your hair was longer, fuller. Your smile was just as warm as he last saw it. Almost instinctively, his eyes dropped to your cleavage and for a brief second, he missed the time when you were his.

You narrowed your eyes when you saw that his jaw ticked. Mindlessly, you placed your hand on his which was placed on his thigh.

“You okay, Steve?” you asked, tilting your head to the side slightly.

He nodded.

“Yeah, sorry. Just, long day. I’m good, things have been stressful lately but, I think it could’ve been worse as well,” he answered, his eyes not leaving your face.

You smiled, taking another sip of your drink, and lifting your hand of his skin and placing it back on the counter.

You and Steve took a trip down memory lane; he spoke about the times when you dated and you laughed at each funny memory, occasionally adding your own commentary as well.

Perhaps it was the sound of your laughter, or the alcohol in his veins, or maybe even just the sickly sweet atmosphere given that it was Valentine’s Day – but Steve finally admitted to himself that he missed you.

While joking around, your hand mindlessly gripped his biceps as you tried to balance yourself on the stool while he made you laugh like you hadn’t in a long time.

You couldn’t help but think about how much you had missed him.

2 beers later, Steve suggested that you moved to one of the empty booths because that would be much more comfortable and also more private because you could tell that none of you wanted to go home then. You both wanted to make the moment last longer.

Steve sat opposite of you, and his blue eyes twinkled as he stared at you with his fist under his chin, his elbow rested upon the table while his other hand was lightly wrapped around the cold pint of beer.

You giggled as he stared at you. You were far from being drunk, yet you could feel a buzz taking over.

“What?” you asked, giggling as you took off your leather jacket, leaving you in your red, short plaid skirt and black, lacy bralette top.

You looked hot, and you knew it. You had actually taken the time to dress up for your date, but it was all for nothing now since you walked in to your boyfriend hooking up with another woman. It was a slightly risqué outfit, but it was cute and with the broken heart and beer in your system – you didn’t care of you got any looks.

Steve couldn’t help the itch in his crotch once his eyes roamed around your rather exposed chest. The top was rather see through, and your hair covered most of it but your perfect swells were very well accentuated by the outfit.

And he missed you a little more.

“Nothing, just . . . you’re pretty,” he replied, clenching his jaw again.

You laughed, more like scoffed at the compliment.

“Yeah, not pretty enough to keep a man though, right?” he didn’t miss the sarcasm in your tone as you spoke.

He watched you intently as you took a long sip of the beverage. He watched the movement if your throat as you swallowed and something flipped like a switch in him.

A flame formed in the pit of his stomach. A heat, one which could only be satiated by you.

“Hey, I never asked, how’s your girlfriend? I know you’re seeing someone, Captain, who is she?” you teased innocently.

You crossed your arms on the table, and leaned forward, completely forgetting that the gesture made your breast even more visible to the man in front of you.

Unknowingly, you were torturing him.

He mentally groaned, both at your irresistible appearance and at your question. The way you called him ‘Captain’ did something to him. Perhaps it caused the fire in him to burn brighter. He couldn’t understand what it was, all he knew was that he had a hunger.

For you.

“Uh, yeah, she . . . she’s fine. We, uh, we fought last night. Plus she’s away for work, that’s why I’m here. Alone,” he lied.

Steve lied about fighting with his girlfriend. They didn’t fight the night before. Actually, they never fought. And he was almost a 100% certain that she was having an affair at her workplace but he could never find the energy to confront her about it.

Steve couldn’t figure out why he lied. It definitely wasn’t the alcohol. He was enhanced, it would take more than just three pints of beer to get him drunk. He wasn’t even tipsy yet.

Perhaps he lied because he believed that you would . . . sympathize? Maybe he wanted to seem vulnerable and broken so you would show him some sort of affection.

At the thought of you showing him even the tiniest bit of affection, the fire in him amplified. His mind instantly clouded with lust.

He started fantasizing about you, while you were right in front of him. He thought about what you would look like if you were sitting on his lap instead of the seat of the booth. He thought about what you would taste like if he had his head in between your-

“Oh I’m sorry you had be alone on Valentine’s Day. Relationships suck sometimes, don’t they?” you placed your hand on his again, and rubbed his knuckles with your thumb.

To you, it was a friendly gesture, but to him – it fueled the lust which was coursing through his veins. It wasn’t enough, he wanted more.

He leaned back in his seat and his jaw ticked again. Not in annoyance, but rather because his pants got tighter with each passing second, as he tried hard not to lower his eyes to your chest.

He enamored, completely. And he wanted nothing more than to have you naked and whimpering in pleasure against him.

“Yeah, they do suck. You know, sometimes I wish I didn’t give up on you, on us,” it slipped out of his mouth before he could control it.

He mentally cursed himself for saying that out loud.

You sat up straight in your seat and reluctantly removed your hand off his. He watched your actions attentively. He was quite the observer, and he knew that you were taken aback by his words.

He persisted.

“I wish I stayed, and didn’t let you go,” he spoke again. His voice was soft and it sounded almost like a plea.

You were silent. Your thoughts were a mess as you lowered your eyes to your lap. When you lowered your head, your hair fell in front of your face; concealing you from him.

In less than a second, his hand reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear. The action reminded you of the time he first kissed you.

The scene had been the same. You were shy and lowered your head to the floor, he tucked your hair behind your ear and pulled you close to him and he kissed you.

You still remembered the first kiss you shared with Steve. You remembered everything, and apparently, he did as well.

“It’s in the past now, Steve. It’s been years now, we both moved on from that, didn’t we?” it seemed as though you were questioning yourself more than you questioned him.

Had you really moved on?

He chuckled, taking your retreating hand in his and gave it a squeeze. His thumb caressed your skin and you couldn’t look away from him.

The blue eyes belonging to the man you once loved so much had you captivated under his spell.

“I should go, it’s late,” you whispered, looking at your hand wrapped with his on the table. You tried removing your hand from his grasp but he was still a stubborn as before.

A certain mischief formed in his blue eyes as they sparkled under the dimmed, golden lights on the pub.

“It’s a Friday night, Y/N, you can stay for a while longer. Let me buy you another drink, okay?” he spoke and barely gave you a chance to reply back as he signaled Charlie to bring over 2 more pints of beer.

You sighed. You knew what he was doing.

And you hated to admit that it was working.

You missed him too, terribly. But you had just gotten out of a relationship and he had a girlfriend. This was going nowhere.

And when you verbally told him that, he was upset.

“I just want to spend some time with you, alright? Can’t we do that, as friends, huh? I miss you, Y/N, and I don’t know what happened but I still wish you were mine. I would treat you so much better than the dick who broke y-,”

“Steve, enough. We can’t do that, we can’t go back to how it was. Things have changed, okay? I really should go home. It was nice to see you again, goodbye,” you stood up, grabbed your jacket and your purse and made your way out through the back door.

Steve watched you as you walked away, hair bouncing with each step, your hips swaying perfectly and teasing him.

He stood up as well once you were far away, and he followed your footsteps. He didn’t know what he was gonna do, but one thing he knew for sure is that he wasn’t letting you go. Not this time.

You pushed open the door and stepped into the back parking lot. You secured your jacket in your jacket in your hands and looked around.

It was a silent night, the only sounds being the muffled voices from inside the pub and the buzz of the bright red neon sign on top of the back door.

The street lights were the only source of light at the moment and a couple of cars were parked in front of you.

You sighed and started walking away from the pub, on your way home. But before you could, someone grabbed your elbow and slammed you against the wall right next to the door you had just walked out of. Naturally, you would scream but before you could, you felt the palm of a hand against your mouth.

Tears formed in your eyes out of fear, however your fear lessened once you recognized the blue eyes which stared back into your own.

Steve.

One of his hands was over your mouth, while the other was at your waist – pressing you into the wall while his legs were on either side of yours. He had you trapped. And his strength gave away that he was in no mood of letting you go anytime soon.

His lower body pressed into yours and the two of you felt the growing bulge in his pants.

Despite being scared, something in you sparked and it had you excited in no time.

This is so wrong…

“Why did you walk away from me? I just wanted to talk, just wanted to tell you how much I miss you and how I can treat you better than he did. Just listen,” he whispered in your ear, his cologne heavy in the air around you.

The warmth radiating off his body was surprisingly comforting given the situation you were in. Slowly, he lifted his hand off your mouth. But he still had you pinned against the wall.

His hand rested on the other side of your waist as his mouth hovered dangerously close to yours. You could smell the alcohol in his breath buy you knew damn well that he was nowhere near drunk. You knew when he got stubborn and dominant like this; it was when he was upset or angry at something. Or, when he was jealous.

And it was getting hard to tell which emotion was causing this reaction of him here.

“Steve . . .,” your voice trailed off as you couldn’t figure out what to say to him.

He looked like he was hurting. He looked emotionally exhausted. And you wanted nothing more than to make him feel better but-

“You have a girlfriend who’s waiting on you. Steve, we can’t,” you finally found what you were looking for.

An excuse.

A reason which would convince the two of you as to why you shouldn’t even be so close to each other, and why he shouldn’t be touching you like he was.

Yet, he didn’t care.

He pressed his body against yours even more, one of his hands travelled all the way across your body, lingered around your chest, palmed one of your breasts, until he gripped your jaw tightly in his large hands. The unnecessary rough gesture should’ve scared you. Only, it didn’t.

It encouraged the spark within.

Steve forced you to look at him. Your hands, which were placed on his chest as a weak attempt to push him off of you, stayed put. Almost as if they wanted to explore the muscular body underneath the shirt even more.

“I want you,” he whispered against your parted lips, barely touching them with his own but the proximity was enough to make you lightheaded.

Steve shamelessly voiced out what he wanted. And despite it being wrong, you didn’t push him away. Instead, you closed the gap between the two of you and connected your lips to his.

His mouth moved against yours perfectly. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and stroked the top of your mouth, driving you crazy in the process.

Your hands found their way into his hair and your fingers ran through his soft, blond hair. His pushed his torso into yours even more and earned a moan out of you.

Steve broke the kiss, lifted his mouth off you and smirked when he saw the hunger in your eyes. A side of him which he had never explored took over and now not only did he want you, but he wanted to own you.

His hand moved down your jaw and wrapped around your throat instead. He gave your throat a little squeeze and an involuntary smile formed on your face. His smirk grew, and so did the fire in him.

“Like it when I choke you, huh? You like having my hands around your throat, don’t you?” he spoke, dragging the tip of his nose along your jaw as his other hand slipped under your skirt and rubbed your clothed core.

You were wet, he could tell as moved aside your lacy underwear and ran his knuckles along your wet folds; smearing your arousal in the process.

“Fuck, you’re wet already,” he commented and gently tightened his grip around your throat. You moaned at his words and his touch.

This was wrong, but it felt right.

You wanted him as well.

He slipped his forefinger and his middle finger through your entrance with ease and grunted in your ear as he felt your walls instantly welcoming him in.

“Fuck . . . you’re just as tight and warm as you used to be, babygirl, always ready for me to use as I please,” he spoke as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the spots you wanted him too.

The nickname brought back many memories.

You bucked your hips against his hand and he chuckled as you moaned out loud while he touched you.

“You need me, don’t you? Say it,” he whispered in your ear, tightening his grip around your neck momentarily as he increased the speed at which his fingers slipped in and out of you.

He was desperate to replace his fingers with his cock, but he knew he wanted to get you all worked up first.

You could only moan and whimper as his fingers brought you close to your release. You moved your core against his hand even faster.

“Fuck, just like that baby, fuck yourself on my hand,” he whispered against your cheek.

You moaned his name out loud and he let out an animalistic growl and removed his fingers from you. You gasped in surprised as he denied you your release.

Your eyes widened as you looked into his shining, baby blue eyes.

He brought his two fingers which were coated with your arousal up to your mouth and whispered ‘Open’. And once you did, he pushed his two fingers into your mouth and you instinctively wrapped your tongue around his fingers while looking him in the eyes.

His lips parted as you sucked on his fingers, swirling your tongue around each one and cleaning them. His breaths started getting shallower as he pumped his fingers ever so gently into your mouth.

You whimpered when you felt his leg settling in between yours, pressing his clothed thigh against your clothed, wet core. He applied just the slightest bit of pressure and you groaned with his fingers still in your mouth.

He removed his fingers from your mouth and watched how hot and bothered you were; panting due to how close you were to coming all over his fingers just a few moments ago.

Your clit throbbed as he pressed his thigh against it, the pressure and the lack of friction was driving you crazy.

“Tell me you want me. Go on, I wanna hear you beg for me. Say it!” he demanded and gripped your throat a bit tighter than before. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, letting him know that you liked his hand wrapped around your neck.

You were sure that that would leave behind marks, but in that moment, you didn’t care.

He smirked.

You stared into his blue eyes, clouded with lust as yours were and you obeyed.

You told him, you begged him to touch you because the previous denial had left you hungry for his touch.

You saw how your words and your pleas fueled his lust and his ego. You saw the change in his demeanor, and how the power flowed through him. Even in the dark night, his eyes sparkled as he watched you whimpering against him – begging for him.

“Not yet, babygirl. Now, get on your knees,” he lifted off of you for a moment and pushed your body down until you knelt on the concrete ground in front of him.

He quickly undid his zipper and pulled down his briefs.

His hard on sprang free as he did so, hitting his lower stomach. Your mouth watered shamelessly at the sight of it.

He was so much bigger than any of your past lovers, and that excited you.

Your mind went to the first time he had fucked you. You could still remember how it felt, and your core throbbed just thinking about him slipping in and out of you harshly.

Your hands instinctively wrapped around his length and you placed the tip against your lips, kissing it and feeling the pre cum coating your lips. You pushed your mouth against it, taking in the tip and swirling your tongue around him.

He groaned, his hand holding your head and guiding you further down his cock.

You took him in your mouth slowly, inch by inch; his raw taste drove you crazy. And so did the sounds which left his mouth.

The rough concrete scraped your knees slightly but you couldn’t careless as you bobbed your head around him.

His grunts and groans showed how much he liked having your lips around him.

“You take me so well, baby, fuck!” he whined as your tongue stroked the slit on his tip. Your hands toyed with his balls as his body tensed. He was close, you could tell.

You bobbed your head around you a few more times and soon, he came in your mouth; sending his seeds down your throat.

You swallowed whatever he gave you, and stood up after you did so.

He pushed you against the wall again and gripped your hips tightly as he dipped his head into the crook of his neck.

His hand slipped under your skirt again and he dragged your underwear down your thighs. He placed his fingers against you and rubbed your wet fold again.

You moaned just like the first time, desperate for his touch.

“Tell me what you want, baby. Use your words,” he whispered along your collar bones as he licked and bit the skin; leaving marks behind. Claiming his territory.

Fuck.

“I- I want you Steve. Please, I need you in me, please, it hurts,” you pleaded and felt him smirking against your skin.

He chuckled, darkly.

He dragged your underwear down your legs until it reached your ankles. You stepped out of it and he pulled you up against him by your thighs.

You were pressed up against the wall of the pub, with your legs wrapped around his lean waist. He aligned his member to your entrance and pushed himself into you rapidly.

He barely gave you a few seconds to adjust to his size before he started rocking in and out of you. You felt all of him, each vein each stroke brought you immense pleasure.

“You were meant to be mine. You were supposed to belong to me, only me,” he grunted as he gripped your hips tightly while he slammed his cock into your entrance repeatedly.

His words fueled the spark which formed in you. And your head fell back as you moaned at his actions and his words.

His thrusts were relentless.

His mouth soon found yours and he nibbled on your bottom lip and you let out ragged breaths. He was taking over all your senses and you were more than happy to surrender to him.

While he fucked you raw, his hand moved up to your throat again. His fingers wrapped around your throat and forced you to open your eyes and look into his.

A thin layer of sweat formed on his face, as he fucked you relentlessly; earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls.

“Steve, I-,” your words came to a halt as he slipped his tongue into your mouth again. He tasted himself on your tongue and hummed in appreciation.

“You’re mine, you get that? All mine,” he whispered against your lips, tugging on your bottom lip and making you shudder against him and the wall.

His hand left your throat and toyed with your breasts through the see through material of the bralette. Your back arched off the wall in pleasure as his hands grabbed you wherever he could.

The momentum he created at your core intensified the pressure which was building at your lower region. You could hear the wet sounds that he caused each time he pushed himself into you and the sounds of your skin clapping against each other was downright sinful.

He moaned against your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back. Your legs started to shake around him as he quickened his pace. He pounded into you at a crazy speed.

“Steve -, I’m gonna c-,”

“No you’re not! Hold on, babygirl, a little longer,” he denied you again and kept rocking into you, speeding up with each thrust.

You felt like you were losing your mind. The pleasure was too much and you couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you gushed out around his cock; screaming his name in the process.

He moaned out loud when he felt your walls pulsating violently around him. Hearing him moan was the sexiest thing you had ever heard.

His thrusts became irregular as he came right after you as well, shooting his load at your walls.

He didn’t pull out even after the two of you came. He just kept his throbbing cock carefully buried in you.

He relished your warmth and kissed you passionately.

Your hands tangled in his hair and he gripped your waist, holding you carefully pressed against the wall and his muscular body.

He took his time on you as his mouth moved against you. He moaned into the kiss, rubbing his skilled tongue against yours.

All of this was wrong, but none of you regretted it. As for the future from there on, you’d figure something out. As long as you had each other, things would make sense on their own.

And this time, none of you would give up on one another.

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